“More than happy, My Lady,” he said, enjoying the feel of her arm on his.
“I adore this place,” she said, quite suddenly. “I daresay you find that rather unusual, given that it is so very close to your own lands.”
“Well, I rather think that the beauty of the place is not dependent upon its neighbour.” He laughed.
“No, indeed, I believe very much the same myself. However, I suppose you rather wonder at my finding the place at all.”
“I am only glad that you did, Lady Cunningham,” Philip had said, quite truthfully.
“I must rather admit to you that I have been here day-in-day-out these last months looking for somebody.”
“And whom do you seek?” he said, quietly wondering if she were, perhaps, not the least bit interested in him at all.
“I am very much missing my dear friend, Davina Marfont. Well, Lady Davina Farrington, as she now is.”
“Oh yes, of course. Forgive me; it had not occurred to me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Sir. You were not to know that we were such great friends.”
“On the contrary, Lady Cunningham; I am very well aware of the great friendship that exists between you and my brother’s wife.” He smiled at her and found himself feeling a little sorry for her. “Davina talks of you often, and I rather think she misses you terribly.”
“Does she really? Does she really speak of me?” Cordelia’s eyes had shone suddenly with tears and Philip instantly realised just how much she had missed her friend.
“So warmly it is as if you were sisters, My Lady,” he said, suddenly wondering what he ought to do as he saw the first of her tears fall.
“Please, do forgive me,” she said, stopping in her tracks and turning from him just a little as she searched in the pockets of her skirts for a handkerchief that quite simply did not exist.
“Here,” Philip said, handing her a clean handkerchief from his own pocket. “Take this. And please, there is no need for you to apologise.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was so tiny that suddenly he wanted to comfort her.
She still faced away from him for a moment, clearly a little embarrassed at her sudden tears. As she continued to look down into the stream, her back to him, Philip took a single step and reached out to lay a hand upon her shoulder.
When she did not move, nor present any resistance whatsoever to his touch, he moved to stand closer still. When he was right behind her with not more than two or three inches between their bodies, Cordelia turned to face him.
With her tears dried, she simply walked into him. She leaned against him and waited until finally, Philip realised that she wanted to be embraced. Slowly, and not without nervousness, he did just that.
“Thank you,” she said, quietly. “I have not been able to speak about Davina to any of my family and certainly have not gained a moment’s comfort from them for my loss. I thank you for your kindness, Sir.”
“My dear Lady Cunningham, how you must have suffered. I really am most dreadfully sorry to hear that you have had nobody to speak to. I suppose it is in some ways understandable, given the circumstances under which Davina left your estate. I have no doubt that your family have really rather turned against her.”
“Oh, they cared nothing for her in the first place,” Cordelia said, still leaning heavily against him. In truth, Philip wished that she would never move again. “They treated her almost like a servant, even when she was at table with my family taking dinner. And her uncle, he was truly dreadful towards her. You see, Davina and I really rather depended upon each other. Not for anything practical, but for the warmth of genuine friendship and care. Neither one of us received that anywhere else, you see.”
“But surely your family love you, Lady Cunningham? For how could they not?” he said, still holding her tightly and talking into her clean and fragrant hair.
“I should not like to stake my reputation on the fact, Sir. In truth, I must tell you that we really are a most curious sort of a family. This dreadful feud seems to infect everything, and any ideas of light and laughter, fun and happiness, knowledge and learning, are all kicked away in favour of plots and schemes and spite.”
“I am so sorry.”
“I daresay you think we are quite dreadful, Lord Farrington.”
“I do not think you dreadful at all. In truth, I find a lot of recognition in your words. Not entirely, but in some rather important ways,” Philip said, wondering idly if he was, perhaps, about to be just a little unfaithful to his own family.
“Do you really?” she said, and Philip realised that she was keen to have just one person in the world with whom she had something in common. In truth, he would have given anything to be that person.
“Yes, really. I also find this feud dreadful and, not only that but rather pointless.”
“But what of your aunt? Your Aunt Verity who died? Are you not most terribly angry about that?”
“I am not angry, Lady Cunningham. In truth, there is not one amongst myself or my brothers who has any right to feel angry about the death of a woman we have never met. In truth, I have often thought it to be a rather insulting sort of an excuse for the continuation of hostilities that ought to have never really begun.”
“But your brothers are angry, are they not?”
“In truth, I do not believe, as much as I care for them, that there is one among them who has any genuine regard for the plight of our long-dead aunt. For myself, I think it most terribly sad that a young woman thwarted in love would choose to hang herself until she died. But, whilst I know in my heart that it was a terribly sad thing, it is not something that can be changed with more hurt and pain heaped upon it. And I know also that my brothers do not have much true care in their memory of Verity Farrington, and I have known her name to be simply drawn up whenever convenient to bolster flagging conviction.”
“That is really rather sad in itself,” Cordelia said, turning her head a little and laying her cheek on his chest. “And I should very much like you to know that I think that she must have been treated quite dreadfully by my father to have done such a thing to herself.”
“But I daresay that neither you nor I shall ever really know the truth of it. My brothers and I have only ever been given the facts as my father saw fit to deliver them and, I have no doubt, that you and your own siblings have been afforded the truth in much the same vein. I cannot help thinking the parents quite manipulate, whether they mean to or not. Sometimes they do it without even realising, I have no doubt.”
“You really are so very kind and so very sensible, Lord Farrington. In truth, with Davina gone, I had rather despaired of ever having so real a conversation again.”
“And you have provided, with your very presence, something that I truly had not realised was missing in my world. I am very glad that you twisted your ankle that day, Lady Cunningham.”
“I am very glad also, Lord Farrington. Do you think we would be able to meet again? I have very much enjoyed the time I have spent with you today, even if I have spent much of it crying into your shirt.”
“I should like that more than anything. And you must cry whenever you feel like crying; I shall not think any the less of you for it,” he said and allowed himself to tentatively stroke her gleaming chestnut hair. When she once again offered no resistance to his touch, Philip truly felt himself drifting into the arena of the lovelorn. Surely, he had never felt this way about a young lady before.
“I wonder, would you be so kind as to pass my love and regards to Davina? Obviously, if that makes things a little awkward for you or you think that your family might hear of our meeting and be angry, then do not. You must do as you think right at that moment and not put yourself at the centre of some great inconvenience.”
“My dear Lady Cunningham, Davina talks of you freely at Calgarth Hall, and there is none there who ever seeks to stop her. Her friendship with you is very clear, and my brother Lucas speaks most highly of you. In truth, you would not be an unwelco
me visitor to my home. If you would care to, I should very much like to arrange for you to come and meet with Davina again. If you feel too uncomfortable to attend my home, I understand, but I can offer you my complete assurances that you would be welcomed by all. And, of course, discretion would be assured. There would be not one in my home who would seek to cause trouble for you with your own family.”
“Really? Do you think such a thing could be achieved?” Cordelia had leaned back a little to look up into his face, lightly holding his upper arms in her tiny hands.
“I have no doubt of it, My Lady. In truth, I should find it rather satisfying to see you happy.”
“Well, I should very much like to, but do find out first if your family would be agreeable.”
“I certainly shall.”
Chapter Three
Cordelia could hardly believe how quickly her father’s health had deteriorated. His cough, an annoyance to her for so many weeks past, had become a very much more wracking and worrying sound. When he had finally taken to his bed, too weak to continue with his day to day business about the Duchy, the coughing had become something more disturbing. It had become a most vile sound as each explosive episode seemed almost to rip mercilessly at his lungs and the walls of his very chest.
With her father in his bed and physicians attending him almost around the clock, Cordelia felt almost to be in an unreal world, one that truly did not exist. Cornelius Cunningham was rarely attended by any members of his family, save for Richard and Cordelia.
Eleonora and their mother, Prudence, kept very much together throughout those days and yet stayed away from Cornelius’ side. Eleonora had loudly proclaimed more than once that it would do no good for the whole family to come down with this dreadful infection, whatever it was, and that their father would not be pleased if they all rendered themselves useless on its account.
Cordelia could not help thinking that it was nothing more than a puerile justification for not wanting to spend any time with their father in his hour of need.
Oscar, despite being a little quieter than usual, went about his business almost as if nothing particularly were going on.
All in all, and in spite of the fact that she and her father had no particular relationship to speak of, Cordelia could not help finding herself heartbreakingly saddened by it all. That a man should sire four children and be married for so long, only to find himself rarely attended when he was so very ill, seemed to Cordelia to be just about the saddest thing she could possibly imagine.
What a truly broken little family they were and, although she had always known them to be most curious in their dealings with and feelings for one another, Cordelia had never truly seen the extent of their strangely dissociated existence until her father’s illness had wholly taken hold.
On one afternoon, just two days before Cornelius finally passed away, Cordelia had, yet again, made her way to his sick bed.
“Father, are you feeling any better?” she said with a hopefulness she truly did not feel.
“Cordelia, you ask me the same thing every day. You must know, child, that I am not going to get any better.” He smiled at her a little awkwardly, almost as if they were two strangers having a rather inappropriately unguarded conversation.
“Father, you must not say such things for you shall come to believe them. You must maintain a positive aspect. If your mind remains positive, your body can only follow suit.”
“Even you do not believe that, Cordelia.”
“I just cannot bear to see you give up,” she said, tears running down her face.
“I thank you for your tears, daughter. I can only think now, as I lay here in my last days, of how I do not truly deserve them.”
“What nonsense, Father,” Cordelia said, speaking to her father more forcefully than she had ever dared to before. Of course, she knew fine well that he was dying, but her determined tone was more for herself than for him.
“I have never taken much care of you as I ought to have done, Cordelia, and seeing that only you and Richard attend me in my final days, I realise what a dreadful mistake I have made all these years.”
“But perhaps the others do not realise quite how ill you are, Father. After all, they think you have a simple infection of some sort and that you will be displeased if they all allow themselves to catch it.”
“You know them as well as I, Cordelia, and you see such given reasons for what they truly are. You cannot hide it from me, child, for I can see it in your eyes. You do not believe their excuses any more than I do.”
“I shall own up to the fact that I am not at all happy with their behaviour,” Cordelia said, her voice trembling with emotion. “But perhaps when I have explained to them how very unwell you are feeling, they shall realise their error.”
“They make no error, Cordelia. They simply do not want to be here with me when it happens. And I have nobody to blame but myself. I have raised them all to be strong, but only in confrontation; only in the decimation of their enemies. It had never occurred to me to raise them to be strong in loss and grief. And, as I behold my success, I see how weak and afraid they are.”
“We all have a choice as to how we behave in this life,” Cordelia said, suddenly so sad that she was not at all keen to excuse the remainder of her family. In truth, she had only done it so that a dying man might not dwell upon his family’s inattention in his last days.
Since Cornelius Cunningham seemed very aware of the facts of the matter, there was little point in Cordelia continuing with her pretence.
“Indeed, we do, my dear, as you yourself have demonstrated this day and the several which have proceeded. I thank you for these final days of friendship, even if friendship is something that I have never particularly extended to you.”
“That does not matter now, Father. I bear you no ill will, nor would I wish you to feel that way for a moment.”
“You are a good girl, and I should like you to know that I have, in my own small way, always loved you.”
“And I have always loved you, Father,” Cordelia said, her voice breaking as sobs began to take hold of her.
“No, let us not waste these last days in sadness.” He reached out and touched the top of his daughter’s head as she leaned forward against the crisp white linens of his sick bed. “For I now see I have wasted a good deal of my life with the rather more unpleasant emotions. Yes, I can see that you know what I am talking about,” he said as she raised her head to regard him earnestly.
“You mean the feud, do you not?”
“Indeed, I do. In truth, daughter, I am much to blame for what happened.”
“Surely you could not have meant for poor Verity Farrington to have hanged herself so horribly. Surely you could not have known that would happen.”
“I am not talking just of Verity, although I know my own foolishness played a great part in her demise, but rather I talk of the continuance of this feud. I have clung to it and thrown oil upon its fires. That is what I am, above all other things, to blame for.”
“But Father, I do not understand. If you knew that you were making things worse, why did you continue?”
“To assuage my own guilt. To cover my own stupidity. The more I threw myself into this dreadful argument, the less inclined I was to explain all that had gone before. In truth, it was already too late to explain what had gone before to Wentworth Farrington, so great was his pain. And so, when he came at me with blame and hatred, I simply returned it tenfold.” For the first time ever, Cordelia saw a deep regret in her father’s eyes. “And it need not have been, daughter, really it need not.”
“Father, I still do not understand. Tell me, what really happened all those years ago? What happened to turn you away from Verity Farrington and towards my mother?”
“It is all so long ago, and so very hard to explain.” At that moment, Cornelius Cunningham was seized by a great fit of coughing so violent that Cordelia was suddenly afraid that it would carry him away into the next life.
After several minutes, he finally began to breathe a little easier, and the coughing had subsided. However, his face was deathly pale, and Cordelia could see exactly how much the fit of coughing had taken from him; how much he was drained by it.
“I shall do my best to explain to you, my dear Cordelia, but not today. I cannot manage it today.”
“I understand, Father, really I do.”
“But hear this; if you and I should not come to speak this way again, then I shall tell you where to look for the truth.”
“Oh, Father, please do not …”
“You must listen to me, child; do not let your emotions stand in your way.” He paused for a moment and, somewhat awkwardly, placed his hand over hers. “If you and I should not come to speak this way again, then you must go to the smallest of the attics on the far east wing of this house. There is much clutter in there and some searching for you to do, but you must look for a leather-bound box which is small and rather insignificant. It is red in colour, the shade of faded oxblood. It is no bigger than it would take to hold a few books which, in truth, is exactly what it does hold. My diaries, in fact, of many years gone by. That is all I truly have to give you, my child. A roof over your head and the home you have always had shall not change, but I can only add to it by bequeathing you the truth. I rather think that the truth might be a much more useful and fitting inheritance for you in the end.”
“But where is the key, Father? You said the box was locked, did you not?”
“Yes,” he said and began to chuckle a little at his omission. It was rather a beautiful moment, for Cordelia could hardly remember her father ever having laughed in such a way before. It was such a simple thing, so tiny, and yet so very large and important. “The key is buried, child. It is in our family graveyard and down about six inches beneath the earth at the foot of the stone angel statue.”
“You buried the key?” Cordelia said, a little incredulously.
Regency Romance Collection: Regency Fire: The Historical Regency Romance Complete Series (Books 1-5) Page 27