Page 71 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“Yes, I’ve no doubt that you are.” Georgiana gestured to the letter. “To whom are you writing? I didn’t realize you had any friends.”

“I have few friends,” Cordelia said. “But that’s because I don’t consider mere acquaintances as friends. A friend is someone who values my company regardless or rank of consequence or whether it benefits them personally or financially. There are few people in the world capable of true friendship. But, in answer to your question, I’m writing to a dear friend from London.”

Georgiana arched an eyebrow.

“A doxy, if you must know,” Cordelia continued. “Very accomplished and exceedingly popular with her visitors. She taught me everything I know.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened and she stepped back.

“Forgive me,” Cordelia said, rising. “I ought not to have said such a thing.” She approached the bellpull by the fireplace. “Nevertheless,” she added, “it’s too late for me to lose my fondness for tea at this hour. Join me, or not, as you wish.”

Georgiana said nothing, though she stepped into the parlor.

“I trust it’s not too late for me to learn a few social customs,” Cordelia said.

“Is it not?”

“I must be able to receive the guests for your brother’s house party next month like a viscountess.”

“Viscountesses are born, not made.”

“Oh, really?” Cordelia sat beside the fireplace. “I thought viscountesses were made as a result of marriage.” She gestured to the chair opposite.

Georgiana remained standing, then she moved toward the window and looked out, folding her arms. Her body seemed to vibrate with unease. Resisting the urge to speak, Cordelia let the silence fill the room, waiting to be breached by the uncomfortable-looking young woman.

Someone knocked on the door and a footman appeared bearing a tea tray.

“Walter, how did you know…?”

“You always take your tea at this hour, Your Ladyship,” came the reply. “I took the liberty of bringing a teacup for Miss Margaret. Shall I bring another for Miss Georgiana?”

“No,” Georgiana said.

“Thank you, Walter,” Cordelia said. “You’re very kind, but that will be all. If you see Miss Margaret, would you tell her that tea’s ready?”

The footman bowed, a faint blush on his cheeks, then exited the parlor.

“We’re not supposed to thank the staff,” Georgiana said. “We pay them. Is that not enough?”

“Civility costs nothing.”

She turned her pale blue gaze on Cordelia. “Did your visitors thank you?”

Cordelia caught her breath.

Would she never be permitted to forget her past? Not that she was ashamed of it—how else could she have survived and earned her fortune? But for James’s sake…

She suppressed the little spike of sorrow. Each day her husband visibly strove to conquer his dislike of her past, but she saw the struggle in his eyes. She would almost have preferred him to display the same overt hostility that she saw in Georgiana. Perhaps, then, it might have been easy to love him less.

Georgiana drew near, and Cordelia tilted her head to meet the young woman’s gaze.

“Are you angry with me?” Georgiana asked.

“For inquiring about my past?” Cordelia shook her head. “Not really. It’s natural to be curious about a life that you don’t understand.”

Georgiana took the seat opposite her. Aware of the younger woman’s gaze on her, Cordelia poured her tea then took a sip.

“Why did you marry my brother?” Georgiana asked at last. “Do you care for him, or did you just want to marry a viscount?”