by Laura Locke
She heard the starting cadence and waited, counting, as the dance unfolded. A quadrille was a complex measure, and two groups performed it together, coming toward the center to touch hands, then part and make the elegant figures that wove and shifted and changed on the dance-floor.
“We're managing well,” Richmond whispered to her as they joined hands for one of the parts.
“I can't help thinking it's prettier for watchers than doers...” Cornelia whispered back. He laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand as one of the other dancers gave him a baneful stare.
Cornelia grinned and then bit back her grin, noting Richmond wasn't letting his humor show.
They ended the dance with a deep curtsey and bow, and then glided off the floor with the other dancers.
“My lady,” he said as he stepped round to stand opposite her, “we did so well. This calls for a celebration.”
“It does.” Cornelia smiled up into his handsome face. He bowed.
“If you'll excuse me, I shall fetch some port. For myself, that is. What will you prefer?”
Cornelia considered the options. She rarely drank heavily, if at all, and tonight her nerves were so frayed she would prefer not at all. “A lemon cordial, please, Richmond.”
“As you wish.”
He appeared a few minutes later with the drinks and saluted her.
“To an impeccable dance.”
“An impeccable dance.”
Their glasses clicked and her eyes met his. His own eyes shone and Cornelia felt a slight tremor of anxiousness. He had looked like that at the theater, she recalled. She didn't want a repeat of that.
“My lady,” he whispered. “You do look most elegant.”
“Thank you, Richmond.”
They talked for a while, noting minor things about the different guests – how Lady Althrop had started wearing the fashionable turban, how Lord Sumpter had copied the example of Beau Brummel.
“...a man I admire for his taste, and envy for his capacity to exercise it,” Richmond said eloquently.
Cornelia laughed. “Well said, sir.”
Their eyes met again.
“My lady, do you not find it overly-warm here?”
Cornelia frowned. “Not overmuch. But then, I am lighter-dressed, sir.” she indicated the transparent fabric of her sleeves, while he wore a full velvet jacket and a long-sleeved shirt below.
“True!” he laughed. “Though it seems we have been graced with a summer's evening. We should seize the chance to see a sunset.”
“True,” Cornelia murmured. She could think of no reason not to accompany him out onto the terrace, though the thought did make her uneasy. She let him take her arm and guide her to the French door.
“Ah.” He breathed in fully as they went out. The air was fresh out there, Cornelia noted – fresh and cool and inviting. She had retrieved her shawl from the rack and tied it loosely round her shoulders. Richmond smiled.
“It is a little cold,” Cornelia demurred. “But the air is fresh. And the view, as you say, is beautiful.”
From here, they could see almost to the river, a ribbon of silver so bright in places it was almost white. The sky was bleached green above it, the first stars heavy in the falling dark.
“It is beautiful,” Cornelia murmured. Here, away from it all, she felt herself relax. The beauty of nature fed her soul.
“It is,” Richmond murmured. “So lovely.”
He was close to her and he took her hands. His mouth descended on hers. Cornelia felt her eyes open wide with surprise and then narrow and close again as he devoured her lips.
When he released her, his breath ragged, she brushed the creases from her dress carefully, feeling herself start to shiver. Now, the shame outweighed both the fear and disgust. She had allowed that. She had not tried to stop him. How could she let him do that to her, and why did it feel so wrong?
“My lady,” he murmured. “I hope you can forgive me. I know I said I would never do that again. But I had not expected to face such temptation. I am no good with temptation, you know. No good at all...”
As he went on in that vein, excusing his behavior, Cornelia felt sick. She felt her heart pound and shame rose in her, making her skin crawl. All he could do was ask her forgiveness? What could she say to him to make him stop it? She never wanted to talk of it again, yet he would not stop.
“Richmond,” she said firmly. “I can forgive you. I may find it hard to trust you in future, but...please forget it. It will be forgotten by me.”
He smiled, his face alight with relief.
“Thank you, my Cornelia. Now, let me escort you inside.”
“Yes,” Cornelia whispered, suddenly tired. “Please do. I wish to sit down. I'm weary.”
“Of course, of course. I'm sorry.”
Cornelia let him steer her carefully around the knots of guests, to a chair. There he left her, went to fetch another cordial and gave it to her attentively. Cornelia took it and drank. She wished he would stop saying sorry.
I don't understand how I feel about him, she thought as he went across to answer someone's elaborate greeting from across the hall. I can admire him. I can like him. But I can barely bear him touching me sometimes – especially not like that. Not when he does it without warning.
She shuddered. It was all so different to her and Francis.
But Francis was a deceiver. He never wanted you. He wanted what you represented; and you almost gave it to him.
Cornelia blinked rapidly, then focused on the rest of the ballroom, the lights blurring a little before her unfocused vision.
Soon enough, Alexandra was there, ever-attentive, to draw her into a throng of chatting guests. Cornelia managed to acquit herself well, and surprised herself by knowing some of the allusions. She had always liked Lord Byron's work, and could even quote some passages from Childe Harold.
Alexandra looked impressed, and that pleased her. All the same, she found herself wishing that the evening would end.
Chapter 14
“Cornelia?” a voice interrupted her reverie. Cornelia blinked. She was standing on the edge of the group of guests, a cordial in her white-gloved hand. She had been so lost in thought she'd barely heard whoever it was. She focused on the person's face slowly.
“Claudia?” she stared. With her red hair done up elegantly, a patterned white silk gown falling stylishly from her shoulders to the high waist, it was Claudia indeed.
“Cornelia!” her friend embraced her warmly. “It feels like ages! Where have you been? I'd hoped to see you at some of the balls, or Almack's, but when I saw you not at all, I thought mayhap you'd returned back home.” she made a sad face.
“Oh, Claudia,” Cornelia hugged her back. “I wouldn't sneak off without saying goodbye to you!”
“Good.”
They both laughed. It was good to see Claudia, even if, Cornelia reflected slowly, she had put her in this predicament in the first place, by knowing Alexandra.
“I've been keeping a lower profile the last few days,” she explained to Claudia. “Attending mainly teas and afternoon things.”
“Oh.” Claudia frowned. “Well, that explains it! There is so much to tell! But first,” she added, looking about, “the most important news.”
“Yes?” Cornelia felt her heart thump in her chest. Whatever it was, it didn't sound unimportant.
“Cornelia? Your friend Francis. He's...just escaped some terrible danger.”
“What?” Cornelia sat down heavily. She felt her sight blur slightly and was surprised by the depth of pain that twisted her heart. I don't care about Francis anymore, she insisted to herself. Why should I care? He's no longer my concern.
“Francis is on a mission. Don't look at me like that, Theodore told me.” Theodore Needham was the officer who was courting Claudia. Fortunately for Claudia, he was also the Baron Whitechapel and not wholly inappropriate for her.
“What did Theodore say?”
“He said,” Claudia frowned. “That
Francis was up to his neck and he was lucky he'd got out alive. He didn't say any more than that. I think he regretted telling me. But I had to tell you – you are my friend.”
Cornelia felt her heart warm at that, even though claws of ice tore it. Francis in danger? Francis embroiled in some kind of dealings? Dear, kindly Francis, who wouldn't know one end of a scheme from the other?
Francis isn't so innocent. You know that now.
Cornelia bit her lip. “I can only hope he is resourceful as I think he is.”
Claudia's brow shot up. “You sound quite cool, Cornelia. Is aught amiss?”
“No,” Cornelia said quietly. She felt as if her heart was being stretched in two – one side wished to distance itself from anything to do with Francis, while the other wanted to spend a whole evening discussing him. She missed so much about him – the way his eyes twinkled, the curve of his lip, the way he stroked his face when he thought. How considering he was, and how uplifting.
I miss him so, so much.
She clenched her fist and made herself think about the other things. The fact that he was a deceiver. That he had been fooling her to try and ride back into society on her coat-tails. The unspeakable past deed.
“Is there anything we can do?” Claudia asked.
“I don't think so,” Cornelia said slowly. “I'm certain Francis can look after himself.”
Claudia looked skeptical, but said nothing. “Well, I had to tell you that first. Theo said that Francis is such a good officer, they all had high hopes of him. Which was why, he said, Francis ends up standing up to his neck in it – his phrasing, not mine – and why he'd likely manage where anyone else might fail.”
And where failure might mean death. Or why did he say he's fortunate to have got out alive. And out where?
“Claudia?”
“Yes?”
“How does he know about this? Did he speak with him? Meet him?” As she asked it, Cornelia tensed, realizing how foolish she was. She should forget he ever existed, not hang on every word of news of him! This was foolishness.
“I don't know if he saw him,” Claudia said slowly, oblivious to her friend's inner battles. “I had the sense that he heard news from someone who had seen him, more.”
“Oh.” Cornelia breathed out slowly. That meant Francis was still wherever he was. Wherever he was up to his neck in it. He was still in danger. “Is he coming back soon?”
Claudia frowned. “I don't know. Theodore didn't say. We could ask him?”
“We could?” Cornelia raised a brow. Had she brought Theodore here? Of all the places! He might be a baron, but most of the people in this particular crowd were titled more substantially. She felt a flare of admiration for Claudia for flying in the face of strict convention.
“He's over there,” Claudia said playfully. “I'll fetch him.”
Cornelia watched her go, feeling as if the room had just fallen on her. How badly in danger was Francis? And how much in love with him was she, that she could still feel such care despite what she had heard of him?
“My lady?” Theodore, pale-hair glowing in the lamplight, thin-faced and handsome, bowed to her.
“Captain Needham.” Cornelia curtseyed to her and he smiled.
“Honored to see you, my lady. Now, you asked about a secret matter?” he raised a brow at Claudia, who flushed.
“She has to know.”
“I understand. Well, I can tell you little, my lady. Other than that the man in question is safe and where he can be expected to be, as of Tuesday morning. I've not had word since. There, that's all I know.” He looked round worriedly, as if half-expecting someone to apprehend him.
Cornelia inclined her head, touched that he took such an apparent risk to ease her own fears. “Thank you, Captain. I understand how risky it was to tell me that. I assure you I shall keep it secret.”
“Good, my lady.” He beamed at her. It lit his thin face and pale hawk's eyes and Cornelia could see why Claudia was involved enough to risk flouting everyone to bring him with her. Not only was he handsome in a rakish kind of way, but he was also wise, and kind. She liked him.
“Thank you, Theo.” Claudia said fondly. “Now, I suppose I should catch up on the more tedious gossip with my friend here, and let you return to your military machinations.”
Theo grinned at her and Cornelia felt her throat tighten as she saw the way the two looked at each other. That was love. What she felt for Richmond, she was beginning to realize, was not love. It was sorrow, and need, and a desire to help. Not love.
I looked that way at Francis, and he at me.
Cornelia shook herself, focusing on her friend, who stood before her now, flushed and happy.
“Well, that takes care of that. Now we can have a really good silly conversation. Have you seen Lady Elston's shoes?”
Cornelia giggled as her friend launched into the silly fripperies of London society, discussing the latest fashions and dissecting them, talking about recent parties and who wore what, dropping gossip about the local leaders of fashion.
By the end of that, Cornelia was laughing as freely as if she had no cares in the world. Both of them were flushed and giggling, feeling distinctly silly and playful.
It's good, Cornelia thought warmly, to have a friend.
And Claudia was the daughter of a duke, she reminded herself, and sister to another duke. She was as high-profile a person as anyone here, but she could be playful and funny and silly sometimes. And she could fall in love with a captain in the cavalry.
“You're so brave, Claudia,” she murmured.
Her friend frowned at her, one delicate auburn eyebrow cocked. “Brave?”
“Yes,” Cornelia sighed. “You don't give way to...to all of this.” she gestured at the dance-floor with its elegant, circling guests, the people standing in little knots discussing poetry. “You just do as you please.”
“Well, you know a secret?” Claudia whispered.
“No?” Cornelia asked, leaning in.
“The only people that lot pay any heed are the people who pay no heed to them.”
Cornelia felt her eyes widen, and then narrow as she realized Claudia was right. All the trend-setters: Brummel, Byron, Lady Hamilton...none of them played by these rules. They all did exactly as suited them, and the rest just hoped it would suit them too.
Cornelia giggled. “Thank you, my friend.”
“Don't thank me,” Claudia said firmly. “You helped me when I needed it most.”
“I did?” Cornelia frowned, completely at a loss.
“Yes,” Claudia said. “When you and Pauline visited. You gave me the courage to...to be who I always was.”
Cornelia smiled at her friend, blinking rapidly to stop tears falling. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That's easily the nicest thing anyone's said.”
Claudia colored pink. “Nonsense, Cornelia.” she flapped a hand at her playfully. “But all the same, I had to say that. Yes, I learned to turn my back on that lot, and not care a whit for what they think of me. But you first helped me to do that. And I don't forget. You are a dear, Cornelia. Just as you are.”
Cornelia felt a lump form in her throat. After a week of being broken down at every turn by Alexandra and, to a lesser extent, her brother, she had lost all faith in who she was. Now, she was starting to remember who she had always been, and to get her faith back.
“Thank you, Claudia,” she whispered.
“Don't mention it. Now, I'm off to fetch some cordial for us. Don't move 'til I get back. We haven't finished talking about those new ostrich plumes yet.”
Cornelia giggled. “I take that as an order.”
“Do that.”
Cornelia smiled affectionately as her friend glided between the knots of guests to fetch the cordial. She felt warm inside, as if her heart was slowly thawing out.
Why, she realized with a little shock, did I choose to believe Alexandra so completely?
Wasn't it just possible that there was some other explanation fo
r Francis' story? After all, he was not chased out of town, as she had thought, but really on some secret mission that almost cost him his life.
How could I not have even asked how she knew about that?
It felt as if her eyes had been blindfolded and someone had taken the bandage off. She could finally see again. And one of the things she could see was Francis and how she felt about him. The other thing she was beginning to see again was herself.
Chapter 15
Once one has seen something, Cornelia thought as she looked out over the garden at Northend Place, it is impossible not to see it. She couldn't forget that Lady Alexandra had led her astray.
The day was bright and sunny, and the irises and roses in the flowerbeds were in exquisite bloom. Everything down there was magnificent. Cornelia felt tired and old, despite being only twenty years of age.
I never thought people could be like this.
Cornelia always trusted everyone before now. Now, watching Richmond walking briskly up the path, she realized some people had their own reasons for lying.
I wish I could find out what those reasons were. That would help matters, help her understand.
Until then, all she could do was wait, and stay just that little more cautious.
“My lady?” It was Richmond. He had come up through the house to join her on the terrace. She turned and smiled wanly at him.
“Hello, Richmond. A lovely day, yes?”
“Most lovely, my lady. Which was what made me think: should not we go to the park, to best enjoy it? Our gardens are nice, but cramped compared to those. It would be diverting.”
“Yes, do that, Richmond.” A voice called airily from the drawing-room. Scales and notes poured out on the still warm air. Lady Alexandra was practicing at the piano inside.
“You do not wish to attend the park as well, Alexandra dear?”
“No, Richmond,” her voice came back. “I'm otherwise engaged. I'm so out of practice it's just shameful.”
