Page 51 of Lyon of Least Resistance

Cordelia flinched and withdrew her hand.

Bloody hell, I’m making an utter mess of this.

“Get back inside, Georgiana, and join your sister,” James said. “I don’t want to see either of you until dinner is served, when I expect you to behave as befits the sister of a viscount.”

“As opposed to…”

“As opposed to what?” he said. “A viscountess? Because that’s what my wife is, and you will honor her for it. If you do not, you dishonor her title—you dishonor me.”

She glared at him, her eyes the color of ice. Then she dipped into a curtsy.

“Forgive me, brother, if I gave offense. It was not my intention to show disrespect to the title of Viscountess Bedford.”

Then she turned her back on Cordelia and marched back to the house.

He ought to demand a more heartfelt apology. But perhaps that was the problem: In her heart, Georgiana didn’t believe she’d said anything amiss. Rather than press the point, he’d best get Cordelia safely inside, away from the scrutiny of the servants.

But first he had to parade her past the line of men and women in their crisp, starched uniforms, each with their roles, responsibilities, and understanding of the running of a respectable household that eclipsed anything his wife might know.

How the devil was she going to survive?

But as he steered Cordelia toward the servants, her smile resumed and she greeted them in turn, speaking with warmth and friendship to each one. Her ease waned as she moved toward the upper servants, but the housekeeper and butler kept their expressions neutral.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Bedford,” the housekeeper said. “I’m Mrs. Case. I’d be obliged if you’d grant me an audience, perhaps tomorrow when you’ve settled in, to discuss the running of the household.”

Cordelia took the older woman’s hand. “I’m much obliged, Mrs. Case. I’m afraid I have little experience of…”

“Few ladies from London Society do, ma’am,” the housekeeper said. “I daresay a London house is organized very differently to a country estate. But I’ll help you in any way that I can. Now—did you bring your maid with you, or has she chosen to remain in London?”

Cordelia colored and discomfort shimmered in her eyes. The housekeeper patted her hand.

“I quite understand,” she said. “Young girls can be so independent these days, always wanting to seek their own adventures rather than follow their mistresses. I can recommend our head housemaid Tilly, who’s a capable young girl. Or, if you prefer, I can make inquiries in the village.”

“I would not want to take Tilly from her duties, Mrs. Case.”

“It’s no trouble, my dear. Tilly doesn’t mind, do you, lass?”

“No, ma’am,” the maid nearest the housekeeper said, bobbing a curtsy. “I-it’s a shame that your maid didn’t want to come here. I can’t think why…”

“That’s enough, Tilly,” Mrs. Case said. “Lady Bedford won’t want to listen to your tattle.”

“But you’re right, Tilly, nonetheless,” Cordelia said, and James’s heart lifted as her smile reached her eyes. “I much prefer the country to London. I was born in the country, and though I’ve lived in London all my life, my dearest wish has been to settle in the country.”

“Then, my dear, I’m sure you’ll be very happy here,” the housekeeper said. “Will she not, Mr. Osborne?”

The black-clad butler gave a curt nod.

“As you say, Mrs. Case,” he said. “Welcome to Bedford Hall, Lady Bedford.” He turned to James. “Will you be wanting tea? Supper is at eight, unless you’d like to defer?”

James pulled out his pocket watch and opened it. Half past seven.

“No, we’ll dine at eight. Will that give you time to dress, my dear?”

Cordelia hesitated, then nodded. “O-of course.”

“Tilly, show Lady Bedford to her chamber then tend to her as necessary,” Mrs. Case said.

The maid bobbed again, but James raised his hand.