Cordelia bit her lip. “Not its master, no. Not after I purchase it from you.” She paused for a moment before she added, “But I do have an opening for a chief architect… perhaps you could make inquiries on my behalf?”
His deep-blue eyes darkened at that, the same way they did when he’d been buried deep inside of her. It made her shiver.
“I’d be happy to. I know several reputable people who’d be perfect for the job,” he said.
“Excellent. I’ve come into a little money recently. And now I have a proper dowry as well to offer. I’m sure we could come up with an appropriate arrangement,” she said, grinning.
She made a move to begin walking down the hill, but Justin caught her arm. Before she could say anything, he’d swung her up into his arms. She was looking down at him, breathing heavily from the small exertion. “Cordelia Nichols,” he said, “are you implying what I think you are?”
“You’ll have to court me properly,” she teased. “I’ve been off limits for years now. I want to be wooed.”
“Oh, you have no idea…” he began, but she cut him off with a kiss.
With a satisfied sound, he pressed her closer to his chest and buried a hand in her dark, messy hair. Cordelia’s heart was too full to form words, so kissing was perfect. “I love you,” she breathed against his lips when they parted.
Justin’s handsome face was slacked with shock. “I love you, too,” he said, whispering, like it was a secret.
Cordelia wriggled out of his arms and held out a hand. “We still have to open the ball with the first waltz,” she said, breathless from equal measures of mirth and arousal. There would be plenty of time for kisses and caresses and laughter and bickering. But there would only be one time she could stand up in front of the entire ton, unkempt and wild, with the man she loved on her arm.
“There’s no way I’m letting Lady Prudence miss out onthisscandal.”
Epilogue
From the society of papers of one Lady Prudence DeLessops. 30 September 1825.
The social event of the season, the wedding of the Blacksmith Duke to Lady Cordelia Nichols has come and gone without much tradition, but plenty of aplomb. Your author can now reveal that the pair met this past spring when, by a series of strange occurrences, the manor house and title fell into the lap of one Mr. Justin Wright, formerly of Strauss, Gilroy, and Wright.
This author reported that the two were seen all over the estate together unchaperoned, and that a source close to the couple confirmed that they disappeared together for a rainy afternoon, their time being unaccounted for. However, this marriage shall lay to rest all the scandals that preceded it, including the rejection of the Earl of H., who was actually in attendance for the wedding. Now that he is brokenhearted and back on the marriage mart, this author believes that he may be the most eligible bachelor next season.
And what are we to do about that roguish Mr. P? The famed rake has also reportedly been spending an awful lot of time at Hollyhead House and stood as best man at the wedding, many a lady vying for his attentions, which this author has heard, are quite something. One shouldnot make insinuations when there is a lack of evidence, of course, but perhaps the beautiful, silent Lady P.N. may prove to be challenging enough for him!
Portia refolded the brochure and slammed it down on the dining room table, rattling the fine china.
“Careful with that. I was wanting to read it after you,” Justin said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice as he peered over the newspaper, raising a dark eyebrow at her. She could not hear him, nor read his lips.
“Ridiculous!” she shouted, attacking her toast with a butter knife. “Utterly preposterous! I cannot believe that polite society regards this woman as a respectable chronicler of truth!”
Hermione and Bea’s reaction to Portia’s tirade amounted to nothing more than collective indifference. Justin flicked his gaze over to Cordelia, who was hiding a smile behind her teacup. When they locked eyes, Justin tipped his head in Portia’s direction, silently praying Cordelia would lead the charge to calm her sister down.
“Oh, dearest,” Cordelia began, nonchalantly. “You know that driven is only read by…”
“Bored housewives and toffs,” came the chorus from the rest of the sisters, Portia’s voice growing ever-more exasperated. Justin hoped his fingers weren’t shaking as he chuckled to himself, clutching the paper to conceal his mirth.
“Justin,” Portia said. “Look at me. This is serious.”
Sucking in a deep lungful of air, Justin folded the paper and laid it beside his coffee cup. “I’m listening, Portia,” he said, taking his time to enunciate.
“I do not want Mr. Peverill and me to be seen together at all. Do you understand me? It’s difficult enough that you have him visiting us all the time,” she said, tripping over her speech from talking so fast. Her cheeks had grown red.
Justin held up a hand. “Really, Portia, he was only here these past few days because of the wedding.”
Cordelia was laughing, so he decided it was okay to throw her into Portia’s war path instead. “Besides, talk to your sister about it. I only hold the title; she owns all of the lands.”
As soon as he spoke her name, Cordelia narrowed her eyes at him. “Well,technicallyspeaking I own and run the lands in your name. You still have a stake in some of the operations, not to mention the vineyard that is being planted next week—”
Justin did not wait to finish before adding, “Operations which I have put my faith in you to run—”
“Oh, stop it!” Portia said, pushing back from her chair and standing up. “I will not have my name be dragged through the mud alongside a rake, no matter howexceptionalhis attentions might be.”
