The Aftermath
The absolute arrogance. She didn’t need his help, but even as she told herself that, she scoured the room for the closest indoor plant to hide behind. What was wrong with these people? Why did they have no plants?
The impending tears stung her eyes, and she knew she had only seconds before someone noticed her puffy eyes and scarlet nose. The telltale signs of her broken heart and injured female dignity.
She swallowed back the rising knot in her throat and glanced towards her aunt sitting amongst the matrons. The woman was busy gossiping with her circle. She would not want to leave.
The murky despondence that enveloped her with Ambrose’s rejection had to be set aside. In her mind, Cordelia would have to envision her future without him, force herself to accept the truth and move on. Though the pain stole her breath and burned like a twisting knife in her stomach.
Cordelia bit back a curse. When it really came down to it, she was all alone in this world. Her aunt and uncle were her sponsors, but they had no genuine concern for her situation. The three men who she felt most comfortable to confide in had been toying with her. She was an object to them. The spoils of a bet and that was where it left her. Their bet. Her spoil.
Here she was, right back where she started. In the corner and hiding from the devouring eyes of the ton. Nothing gained but perhaps a bit wiser for the wear.
An excellent reason to be more careful in the future.
Though after this, she feared her only future was that of an old spinster maiden.
Or worse. Sir Bryan.
God have mercy, he spotted her.
A frantic search revealed no quick escape. She would have to speak with the man. In all fairness, he was a kind gentleman. It’s just that she couldn’t breathe when he was near. Swallowing her sensibilities, Cordelia drew a deep breath and awaited his arrival.
“Lady Cordelia, I have been trying to gain an audience with you all evening.” He stepped into the crowd beside her. “You have been highly sought after all night. Have you any space on your card for me?” His warm smile brought her an odd mixture of guilt and comfort. It might not be so bad. She could pray her married life would be blessed with a perpetual head cold.
With a sigh, she lifted her card and scanned it. Anthony’s name was scrawled across the next line. Certainly he wouldn’t be claiming his right after what had just transpired. And if he did have the gall to ask for it, she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of humiliating her further.
“As it happens, Sir Bryan, I do.” She returned his smile and took his offered arm, following him onto the dance floor. She would have to get used to his close proximity if they were to spend the rest of their lives together. May as well learn to breathe the fetid odor now.
“I have been hoping to speak with you,” Sir Bryan whispered as they took their place in the dance, “concerning the lady, Cristina.”
Cordelia’s heart stopped beating for an instant then seemed to drop into the pit of her stomach. Her shock must have registered on her face, because her partner tilted his head in bewilderment. Then muttered on. He spoke of nonsensical things like love and destiny and his chances. Cordelia felt dizzy. A rushing sound filled her head, drowning out what he was saying. She had but one lucid thought: Even Sir Bryan is toying with me.
Then she mourned the loss of her last shred of romantic notion. No knight in shining armor would be coming for her. Not Sir Lancelot, not Sir Bryan and certainly not Ambrose.
Again the tears threatened to expose her vulnerability, and she fought them. Sir Bryan was a kind gentleman, but her tears were not for him. Suppressing the torrent of emotion, she smiled and nodded at all the appropriate places in Sir Bryan’s confession of his intentions towards Lady Cristina.
“It did make things more difficult, however,” he explained, “when you brought her to the attention of the other gentlemen, my lady.” His tone was confusing. Was he irritated with her?
“Pardon, my lord?”
“Surely you knew what you were doing. You have a great pull in this circle, my lady. One nod from you and all the gentlemen surge forward to stake claims on your approval.” He glowered at her as if she had done him some irreparable harm.
“I apologize, Sir Bryan. I had no idea. I sought only to help Lady Cristina. She was crying. They were ripping her to shreds.” How was she to know a small kindness would cause such damage?
He seemed to relax. “No matter now. I shall simply have to work quickly.” His gaze traveled to the outskirts of the room, likely searching for his one true love. The tap on his shoulder startled them both.
“Excuse me, Sir Bryan.” It was Anthony. Indignation rose like bile in Cordelia’s throat. “I believe I had spoken for this dance.”
Cordelia stiffened, hoping Sir Bryan wouldn’t give up without a fight. She could see from his demeanor that he was far more absorbed in thoughts of finding Cristina, for he smiled and excused himself, begging forgiveness for the infringement.
Of all the stupid, despicable, rancid-smelling—
“I need some air.” Anthony grasped her hand in his and pulled her along with him towards the side doors, interrupting her thought.
Once outside, Cordelia tried to wriggle her hand free of his grip to no avail. Since she had no desire to cause a scene, she gave up on the effort and tried another approach.
“My lord,” she whispered through clenched teeth as he dragged her hastily down the path into the garden below the balcony. “Might we slow down? My gown… it makes such swift movement… difficult,” she gasped.
Anthony stopped short, sending Cordelia careening forward, tripping over her skirts. His firm grasp kept her from falling and he jerked her backwards to break the inevitable fall, but it threw her off balance again and she crashed into him, knocking Anthony to the ground. He naturally, pulled her down with him.
That was it. The last straw. Cordelia pushed herself to a sitting position and allowed the pent up tears to fall, hiding her face in her hands. She hated to cry, hated the absolute helplessness of it, but the night had been the most wretched of her life, and that warranted a few sobs.
“Oh, Cordelia.” Anthony pulled up beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. About everything. I know it has been a miserable night.” He lifted his handkerchief to her. “Are you injured? From the fall?”
She shook her head, unable to speak without crying.
Anthony stood and offered his hand to lift her to her feet, but once she was standing, his grasp tightened.
Cordelia looked at him through blurry eyes and cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. “Anthony, why are we out here?” she asked with a sniffle, dabbing the handkerchief at her eyes.
“I want to—that is, I believe it would be best—” He exhaled in resignation. “Oh, curse it, Cordelia, I would like to offer for your hand.”
She could feel her eyes widen in surprise and her gaze shot abruptly to his face, scrutinizing him for the joke that was certain to accompany the proposal. That was a proposal. Wasn’t it? From Anthony. Arrogant, egotistical and never serious Anthony. That had to be it. It was a joke. At a time like this?
Pulling her hand free from his hold, she swatted at him and laughed through another sob.
“That isn’t funny, Anthony.”
He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. “I’m serious, Cordelia. But thank you, for the boon to my confidence.”
She sucked in her breath and with it all her mirth. “Oh, Anthony, I’m sorry.”
“Cordelia, I don’t want to see you suffer because of my brother’s cowardice. I have always admired you…”
“You certainly know how to take a girl’s breath away.” A pity proposal. Perfect.
An exasperated groan escaped his throat, and he raked his fingers through his hair to emphasize obvious frustration. He began pacing back and forth with long strides. “I know I’m not saying it just right.” Abruptly, he stopped pacing and faced her, putting his hands on her s
houlders. “Would it be so bad?”
Well, let’s see. A lifetime spent looking at the mirror image of the man she truly loved. Bad? No. It sounded more like the seventh circle of Hell.
“Anthony,” she peered up at him. “I do adore you. You always make me laugh, and I can be myself around you… but I don’t think I could. I mean, you look… you would—”
“Remind you of him?”
With a sigh, she nodded.
“Hmmm… I’d wager a kiss from me would change your mind.” He winked and a hint of mischief twinkled in his eyes. “You know I am the better of the two of us… at many things.”
Her eyes widened as his words sunk in. She swatted at him again with her reticule. “Anthony! Really.” The heat crawled up her neck and into her face, spreading to her ears.
“Now that was a jest… sort of.” His wide grin remained as he took her hand once more. “My proposal stands, my lady. Please. Consider it.”
She would have to consider it. She had no other choice.
As he bowed over her hand to brush a light kiss on her gloved fingers, he added, “Even as simply an alternative to perpetual virginity.”
An involuntary blast of laughter forced its way through her throat, and when she tried to fight it, the result was a resounding snort. Which in turn, set them both to laughing. Cordelia fell against Anthony’s chest in hysterics. He wrapped his arms around her and shared in her amusement.
That is where they stood when Ambrose’s deep voice broke through, obliterating their momentary delight.
“I see you didn’t waste any time.”
Cordelia jolted and stepped away from Anthony. Ambrose’s eyes appeared to be on fire. His jaw clenched, and his fists tensed at his sides. He lifted his right hand and extended his finger towards his brother. Through his gritted teeth, Ambrose hissed, “Pistols. Tomorrow.” Then he spun on his heel and stormed into the darkness.
Chapter Nine
And now back to
The Duel…
“Do your worst?” Anthony repeated. Ambrose was drunk enough to realize he wasn’t quite sure on his feet. He leaned heavily on Wilde as he managed to look his brother straight in the eye.
“I believe that’s what I said, is it not Wilde?” He leaned against his friend who acted as his crutch.
“Right,” Wilde agreed, shaking his head towards the floor.
“Ah, yes. It’s settled. Shall we be off then? To the duel?” Ambrose lifted his arm in the air and took a shaky step but tripped over his feet, nearly landing him on the next table. “Apologies. It seems I’ve had too much to drink.”
“You can’t be serious. You cannot do this—look at him!” Wilde gave Ambrose a small shove, causing the lush to stumble again.
Anthony shrugged. “The way I see it, he won’t even feel the bullet as it tears through his drunken body.”
Wilde swore. “Both of you are completely mad, and I refuse to have any part of this! You started the bet, Anthony, so finish it, preferably without killing your other half.”
Ambrose took the opportunity at hand to nod his head in agreement, as it was suddenly throbbing. The profound idea he had the night before of numbing the pain through strong drink now seemed the stupidest notion he had ever entertained. Well, that and refusing to tell Cordelia how he felt.
Unfortunately, Ambrose knew himself to be the type of drunk that blurted out his feelings. He wasn’t, to his dismay, the type of man who became aggressive and fine-tuned in battle when so deep in his cups. No, instead he felt the sudden urge to march down to Cordelia’s townhome and propose marriage whilst singing love songs on her doorstep and quoting Byron.
“I love her,” he blurted, though his words slurred and his tongue felt thick and sluggish. “And because of that love I’ll defend her honor. It will be a cold day in Hell before I allow my brother to marry the one woman I can’t live without!”
“Poetic,” Anthony grumbled.
“He’s foxed,” Wilde argued.
“It was quite a nice speech for being so drunk,” the proprietor chimed in. It was then that Ambrose noticed every man in the room was privy to their conversation.
“Shall we?” He motioned towards the door, partially because he needed their aid in order to escape without falling on his face.
Anthony cursed and helped Wilde carry him out. Ambrose’s legs felt like lead, and by the time they reached the doors to the outside his head felt like it might roll right off his shoulders. Morning sunlight broke through the door as Wilde pushed it open.
Ambrose cursed, wanting nothing more than to shake his fist at the sky and pray for darkness. His headache went from bad to worse as they traveled to his townhome.
Three hours later, he was feeling much more sober thanks to Wilde’s special concoction, which had Ambrose never wanting to see another tomato again.
“I believe he’s ready,” Wilde announced, pouncing into his bedroom and opening the curtains.
“I despise you.” Ambrose threw the blankets over his head.
“I saved your good-for-nothing life!” Wilde yelled.
Anthony strolled in. “So, is the drunk alive?”
“Barely,” Ambrose groaned. His brain slowly came into focus—the drinking all night, the finally wanting his fate to be sealed with his brother ending his life, and his misery of losing Cordelia.
“Cordelia,” he said. “I have to see her.”
“That’s the spirit.” Anthony laughed. “Shall I ring for your valet?”
“Brilliant. But perhaps you can ring outside the door.”
It was exactly four hours, thirty minutes, and twenty-eight seconds later that Ambrose found himself on the front steps of Cordelia’s townhome.
His palms hadn’t sweated this much since his first kiss with the servant girl on his family estates. He was one and four at that time, and his voice squeaked when the kiss ended.
“Bloody, bloody, hel—lo!” he finished, saving himself from cursing in front of the butler, who was now staring him down with an impassive eye.
“Lord Hawthorne to see Lady Cordelia.” He handed over his card and waited. The butler allowed him entry. His mouth went dry as his brain ran over all the possible things that could go horribly wrong.
Suffice it to say, he was not at all confident when Cordelia strolled into the room with a grip on her dress like a vice. He wondered if she envisioned strangling him like she was her dress.
“Cordelia.” It felt good to say her name, but stringing words into complete sentences didn’t seem possible at the moment. He could do nothing but stare, allowing his gaze to fully appreciate the woman in front of him.
“My lord. You aren’t dead.” Was it him, or did she sound disappointed?
“Are you terribly upset that I still live and breathe?”
Cordelia looked away, her lower lip quivering. “That’s a horrid thing to say, and you know it.”
“It seems I’ve been saying lots of horrid things lately.”
She swallowed, still looking away. Her silence hung on him like a millstone around his neck, and he struggled to continue. “I came to speak with you about something of great importance.”
“Oh?” Cordelia looked at him. “And what is that, Ambrose?”
He sighed. “There is the matter of my heart.”
Cordelia looked away again. “Well?”
Apparently she wanted him to get on with it. “You see. My heart, it seems, is lost.”
“I’m sure you can locate it if you search hard enough, my lord.”
Ouch.
“Therein lies the problem, Cordelia. One cannot go in search of something one never truly had in the first place.” He knelt in front of her and took a delicate hand into his possession. “I believe you can help me. You were the first to hold it, as well as the last. However, I am not here to retrieve it, but to offer you a humble apology for being so careless with yours.”
“Mine?” her voice shook. Her gaze captured his.
“Yes. You see, I
practically threw my heart at you, asking—nay, begging for yours in return, and when you gave me your most precious possession, I spurned it at the first opportunity. And for that I will always be sorry. So I ask you keep my heart for the pain I’ve caused yours. I love you, Cordelia. I wish that were enough to keep you, but I see you for the woman you are. A woman who deserves a man who will nurture and provide for her, who will protect her when people slander her, a man who will—”
“Oh, stop already!” Cordelia pulled Ambrose to his feet and before he could protest, kissed him full on the mouth. “I love you… I love you.” She kissed his lips and neck, and Ambrose found he wasn’t quite in the mood to control himself either. And considering he had such a close brush with death earlier in the day, it wasn’t quite fair to point fingers. Frankly, his sluggish mind conjured up the idea that he was still somewhat foxed.
Never one to turn down an opportunity, he picked her up in his arms and laid her across the couch, covering her body with his own. Drinking in the taste of the woman he didn’t think would ever forgive him for his stupidity.
“We will be discovered,” Cordelia said between kisses and sighs.
“Oh, I hope so.” He bit her lower lip and opened her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers.
“Heavens!” Lady Trowbridge gasped at the spectacle in front of her. Ambrose could only smile smugly as Cordelia blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Yes,” Ambrose helped himself off the girl he was accosting and nodded. “We shall be married immediately.”
Lady Trowbridge opened her mouth to speak, but before anything was uttered, her eyes rolled back, and she hit the floor. Ambrose did have half a mind to catch her but was too stunned and amused, and as he realized earlier, still somewhat drunk.
“Will you?” he whispered, kissing Cordelia’s cheek.
“It appears I have no choice.” She giggled.
Ambrose grinned. “Yes, well, compromising you was plan B, just so you know. I’m not as heroic as I seem.”
“And plan C?” she asked.
Waltzing With the Wallflower Page 6