“Very well. Follow me.”
Mrs. Richmond led him down the hall and somewhere in the house he could hear Cordelia playing the piano. It was a spirited piece that sounded like a companion to the one she’d played at the party and he wished he could take a moment to go listen and possibly try to explain his behavior to her. Victor had never felt the need to explain his behavior to anyone but he wanted to at least tell her he was sorry. Then he looked at Mrs. Richmond and knew the likelihood of getting near Cordelia without her or Arthur was slim.
The doors to Arthur’s study were closed when they reached it and Mrs. Richmond knocked sharply on it. Victor had no doubt that her knock could be heard as far down as the root cellar, and a moment later Arthur opened the door. When he saw Victor, his face broke into a grin.
“Well, hello there Victor! This is a surprise. What brings you out here?” He reached out to Victor and the two men shook hands.
“I wanted to speak to you about your father’s estate. It’s a private matter,” Victor said, lowering his voice. He didn’t need to. Mrs. Richmond had already turned away and gone off to wherever she went when she wasn’t giving everyone suspicious looks.
“Of course. Do come in.” Arthur led him into the study and shut the door behind him, locking it to be safe. “Have you had news from your judge friend in London yet?”
“Nothing useful, I’m afraid. He said he might have some thoughts on it but neither of us wanted to put it in something so public as a telegram just in case someone gets a bit too nosy. I’m planning on meeting him in London at the end of the week to discuss it further. Unfortunately that’s going to have to be added to your expenses.”
“Of course it is. I trust you’ll take care of things properly.” Arthur sighed and looked up at the oil painting of his father that was above the desk. “This has all gotten out of hand.”
“Does Lady Whittemore know?”
“About Father’s will? I’m afraid she does. I was hoping not to have to tell her until we had better news. Sort of give her the bad news followed by telling her we’d sorted it out. She still had some hope that she would be able to get out of this right away and I had to explain the situation.” He looked at Victor. “I trust you’ll be able to handle the divorce?”
“Yes, I believe so. You’re willing to grant it to her so I doubt the courts will give you any trouble.” Victor joined him in looking up at the painting. He’d never actually met the late Lord Whittemore but judging from his will he couldn’t imagine that he was pleasant to be around. If he was going to be honest, the man seemed like a petty old bastard. “It may make things difficult for her.”
“Oh?” Arthur looked surprised. “Why is that?”
“Most men aren’t interested in a divorced woman,” Victor said with a shrug. “They see her as being ruined by her first husband. Not to mention they’re usually seen as being the ones to blame for the divorce. Husbands don’t just let their wives out of a marriage without a reason.”
“I see,” Arthur said. “I’d never even considered that. I’ve caused so many problems for her, I intend to take care of her until she’s able to remarry but I don’t want people to look at her badly.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Victor said, letting his sentence dangle slightly in the hopes Arthur would confirm his suspicion about why he wanted to divorce his wife. When he didn’t oblige, Victor shrugged. “In any case, I’ll do my best to get things sorted out for you. You’re simply going to have to be patient a bit longer.”
“I know. For her sake, I just hope it’ll be soon,” Arthur said. There was a knock at the study door and both men looked in its direction. “Yes?”
“Excuse me, sir,” the butler said, putting his head into the study, “but there’s a gentleman downstairs who says he needs to speak with you about the stable.”
“Oh, lovely,” Arthur said sarcastically. “It’s never good news.”
“I’m sure,” Victor said. “I’ll leave you to your stable problems. I can see myself out, I remember the way.” Arthur nodded and extended his hand. Victor shook it again with a smile, then opened the door and went out into the hallway.
He did indeed remember the way out of the mansion, seeing as how he had been escorted out only a few nights before. Arthur had been kind about it, far kinder than he felt Lady Whittemore would have been given her reaction to finding him with the maid, and Victor doubted he even knew why Cordelia was asking him to be shown the door. He got the feeling that Arthur didn’t refuse his wife much, probably because he knew that divorcing her was in the future and he was trying to make it up to her in advance. Victor sighed. Nobility had troubles he could scarcely dream of, but the retainer he was getting paid made dealing with them worthwhile.
On his way out, his ears caught the sounds of Cordelia playing the piano. Victor automatically turned toward it, drawn by the notes and his memory of the shape of her face. There was something about her that had gotten under his skin in a way that no other woman had, and the desire to see her again was like a drug.
He found her in the room that had been converted into a conservatory, sitting at the piano. The piece she was playing was melancholy, slow and deliberate, and he could feel the emotion she was putting into each note. Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves but Cordelia showed hers in her music. He wondered just how much she knew or suspected of her husband’s secrets. She didn’t seem like an unintelligent woman.
Victor wasn’t sure how long he stood there listening to her play, but too quickly she turned from the keys and looked at him, her eyes widening and then narrowing when she saw who it was. There was a fire in them that he rarely saw in a woman, and in spite of the fact that her husband could walk in at any moment, he felt the rush of wanting to possess her.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said, and though her words were polite he could feel they were shot through with ice. “Have you come to see my husband? I believe he’s in his study.” She turned back to her piano. “It’s very rude of the servants to let you simply wander about our manor. I shall have a word with them.”
“I already saw Lord Whittemore,” Victor said. “He had to meet with someone and asked if I could see myself out. Then I heard you playing and wanted to come listen.”
“I see. Well, no one’s stopping you.” She turned back around and put her fingers on the keys, then began to play. The room was again filled with the rich notes that he’d heard before, and Victor moved closer to her as if he was in a trance. Cordelia didn’t seem to notice, even when he stood over her shoulder, close enough to see the pages of sheet music she was reading from. It didn’t surprise him to see that her playing didn’t match what was on the page, but he was impressed that she was working from memory. Cordelia looked over her shoulder and jumped, startled, when she saw how close he was. With a growl of irritation, she slapped her hands on the keys and stood up. “What are you still doing here?”
“You said I could stay and listen.” They were separated by the piano bench but he could feel the anger radiating off Cordelia as she looked at him. “I know I left last night in a hurry, but I hope you aren’t upset with me.”
“If you don’t know the answer, I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell you.” Cordelia snatched the sheet music off the piano and pushed past him. Not even realizing what he was doing until he felt her under his hand, Victor reached out and grabbed her upper arm.
“Lady Whittemore---“
“Don’t you touch me,” Cordelia snapped. She jerked her arm away from him, dropping her sheet music in the process. Her cheeks filled with color as she knelt down to scoop it up. “Go,” she said without looking up at him. “Just go. Get out of my house.”
“All right, all right,” Victor said, holding up his hands. “I’ll speak to you about our business when I come back to see your husband.”
“I have no business with you,” Cordelia said, holding her mixed-up stack of sheet music to her chest. “Good day, sir.” She stalked past h
im, nearly running into Patricia on her way out the door. Cordelia glared at the younger woman for a moment, then turned back to Victor with a dangerous smile. “Please show Mr. Pembroke out, Patricia. If you’re able to find the door once I leave you alone together, that is.”
As soon as Cordelia was gone, Patricia looked at Victor. Her cheeks were even redder than her mistress’ had been and she was unable to meet Victor’s eyes. For his part, the passion he’d felt for the girl was completely gone. She was still attractive, but in the light of day he could tell that she was quite a bit younger than he’d thought after a few drinks, and he wasn’t interested in women as young as her husband liked his men.
“May I show you out, sir?”
“No need,” Victor said. “I know the way.” He walked past her, ignoring the crestfallen look on her face, and started down the hallway toward the door. It somehow felt longer than it had the night before and he glanced at the stairs as he opened the door to leave. If Cordelia had gone up them, she was long gone. Victor sighed. This family was more trouble than it was worth.
Eight
Not caring if Victor had been shown the door or if he was still in the house, Cordelia nearly ran up the stairs and down the hall to her room. She flung the door open, then slammed it closed hard enough to rattle a picture frame that was hanging on the wall.
Cordelia wasn’t sure exactly why she was so mad at Victor. It wasn’t as if they were keeping company, and she had no claim to him. Finding him with Patricia shouldn’t have affected her as much as it had, and yet when she’d seen his face in the conservatory she hadn’t been able to feel anything other than anger. If she was honest with herself, she was also feeling a hint of betrayal.
When they were dancing, and when he’d complimented her piano playing, Cordelia had felt like she was the only woman in the world. His presence had felt intimate in a way, and his words still warmed her in spite of everything. She supposed it was preposterous for her to think that he had some sort of feelings for her, after all, they’d only really spoken to one another twice.
Almost as irritated with herself for her presumption as she was with his romantic overtures toward her servant, Cordelia threw her sheet music on the dressing table, where it promptly slithered onto the floor in even further disarray than it had been the first time she picked it up. Cordelia was on the verge of uttering at least one of the swear words she’d heard when the cook didn’t know she was listening, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Cordelia said, kneeling down to pick up her sheet music. She wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Richmond opened the door and came in, her thin lips pursed. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Richmond.”
“I heard you banging around up here, Cordelia,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re becoming as tiresome as Bridget was when she threw one of her tantrums.”
“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” Cordelia said petulantly, keeping her eyes on her music. When Mrs. Richmond, ever the mistress of decorum, called her by her first name rather than her title she knew she was in for a lecture.
“Is that so? Well, what else would you call stomping up the stairs and slamming the door hard enough that the servants in the kitchen could hear? I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard it out in the stable. Am I correct to assume you threw your music on the floor as well?” Cordelia didn’t deny it, which she knew Mrs. Richmond would take as a confirmation. The old woman put her hands on her hips. “Would you like to tell me what’s gotten into you today?”
“Not particularly,” Cordelia replied, standing up and tapping the sheets of music on the dressing table to straighten them.
“Young lady,” Mrs. Richmond began, and Cordelia pressed a hand to her forehead and grimaced.
“Please, Mrs. Richmond, not today. I’ve got a headache.” Cordelia rather felt that she used this excuse too many times lately but it never failed to make people leave her alone.
“Again? I’m beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t call the doctor. Shall I send Patricia up with a cool cloth for your forehead?”
“No thank you,” Cordelia said. She didn’t much want to look at Patricia at the moment. “I would appreciate some help loosening my dress, though.”
“I’ll send Marian along,” Mrs. Richmond said. She departed without saying another word about Cordelia’s behavior, and the younger woman smiled. There was nothing that would make her leave faster than suggesting she do a lady’s maid’s work.
Figuring she didn’t have much time until Marian came in to care for her affected headache, Cordelia went to the window and looked out. She fully expected for Victor to already have left the estate, but she couldn’t help hoping for a glimpse of him.
When she’d found him listening to her play piano, all she could see was his hand up Patricia’s skirt but there was something about him that drew her. She looked over the garden and the stables, searching for his head of tousled black hair among the greenery.
“Pardon me, milady,” a voice said from the other side of the door, and Cordelia released a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.
“Come in, Marian.” The door opened and a woman in a deep gray, modestly cut dress came in. She was holding a basin in her hand, with a small face towel over her arm.
“Are you not feeling well, Lady Whittemore?” Cordelia sighed heavily and went to her bed.
“I’ve got a headache. I’d like to lie down for a bit if you’d be so good as to help me with my dress.” She turned away from Marian and let her unbutton the back of her dress while she thought about Victor.
He’s nothing more than a shameless flirt, Cordelia told herself. I daresay he’d say anything to any woman if he thought he could get into her bed. Just as she was thinking this, her mind chose that moment to wonder if it would be such a bad thing to get into bed with him. It’s not as if I’m the only one in the house who would be breaking my marriage vows.
“Did you want me to help you off with the whole thing?” Marian’s words snapped her out of her thoughts and she found herself blushing, as if the girl could have heard what she was thinking.
“No, just open the buttons,” she said. “I think I shall wear it to dinner as well.”
“Are you sure?” Cordelia knew she was more concerned with what Mrs. Richmond might say to her letting her mistress go down to eat wearing clothes she’d laid on the bed in, but Cordelia didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
“Yes. I’m just going to have a short rest.” Cordelia stepped out of her shoes, thinking how much nicer it was to wear shoes that didn’t require Marian to do up the buttons every time she wanted to take them off. Mrs. Richmond didn’t approve, but she was far past the age where she cared what her former governess thought.
“As you wish.” Marian went to the window and pulled the heavy curtains closed, and the room became as dark as if it was nighttime outside instead of mid-afternoon.
“Here’s a bell,” Marian said, setting a tiny silver bell on the nightstand as Cordelia laid on the bed. “I’ll just be down the hall ironing. If you need anything at all, ring it and I’ll come right away.” She dipped the cloth in the cold water, wrung it out, then draped it over Cordelia’s forehead.
“Thank you,” Cordelia said. She waited until she heard the door close before she pulled the cloth off her face and sat up. She slid off the bed and went back to the window just in time to see Victor riding away from the estate. She watched him longingly, allowing herself the momentary luxury of imagining what it would feel like to have his hand under her skirt. As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she wanted to see him even more.
A small knock on the door brought her back to her bedroom and she hurried back to the bed and laid down with the cloth on her forehead.
“Yes?”
“Cordelia, dear, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Arthur said, putting his head in the door. “Marian told me you weren’t feeling well again.”
“It’s just a bit of a headache,” Cordelia said.
“I’m sure I’ll be all right with a bit of rest.” She smiled over at her husband. One bit of good had come out of his affairs, she supposed. If it wasn’t for his needing help sorting out his father’s will, she might have never met Victor.
“I really think we ought to call in the doctor.” Arthur shook his head and produced a small bottle from his pocket. “Until then, you should try taking some of this.” He handed her the bottle and she frowned at it. “I took the liberty of picking it up when I was in town.”
“Austen’s Headache Syrup,” Cordelia read. She turned the bottle over. “I suppose I could try it. If it works I don’t see the need to call the doctor.”
“Darling, I really think---”
“I really do want to close my eyes for a moment,” Cordelia said, setting the bottle on her nightstand. “I’ll ring for Marian and have her bring a teaspoon and take some.”
“She’s in the sewing room, I believe. I’ll ask her on my way downstairs.” He went to Cordelia’s side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She frowned.
“Are you going out?”
“I’m afraid so,” Arthur replied. “It seems the last rain we had finally did the roof of the stable in. It’s barely hanging on and I’d like to get someone in to repair it before it falls in on the horses.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Cordelia put her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. A moment later she felt something cool on her forehead again and opened her eyes. Arthur was standing over her with a look of concern on her face, and it took her a moment to realize that he’d refreshed her cloth. “Thank you, Arthur.”
“I’ll be back in time for tea.” He closed the door as softly behind him as possible and Cordelia sighed. She’d been so busy being angry at Arthur for his indiscretions that she’d forgotten that he might have some genuine fondness for her. She’d had feelings for him too; maybe not as strong as the feelings Birdie had for her husband but until she’d walked in on him with another man she had enough affection for him that she was willing to make love to him. It was all so confusing and Cordelia hardly had a moment to begin to sort things out when there was another knock on the door.
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