by Locke, Laura
“Charmed.” The flat, cold tone sounded less than pleased. “Excuse me, my lady.”
“Of course.” She curtseyed distractedly, then turned to face him. “I'm so pleased you made it!”
“I'm very pleased too, my lady.” He glanced at her, then sideways at Lord Richmond where he retreated across the room. “An odd fellow.”
“He is.” Cornelia sighed. “But what of him? You're here now!”
He beamed. “Thank you, my lady. A rarer welcome I would not wish to have.”
“Oh, Francis.” She blushed. He was looking at her with such warmth that she felt heat creep slowly from her stomach to her throat. She looked at her hands, suddenly flustered.
“Shall we dance?” His voice was hoarse. She nodded.
“Yes. Let's.”
Walking onto the dance floor with Francis, she felt as if all eyes turned their way. He was so handsome! The uniform with its brass buttons and epaulettes was crisp and elegant and it sat well on his broad shoulders. She felt so proud of him.
The music started up, slow and strong and sweet. Cornelia felt each of his fingers press on her waist, and on her other hand, the thumb trailing across her pulse. She looked up into his soft blue eyes and felt her soul soar.
There is no other man for me. No-one who makes me feel like he can.
The dance was a waltz – newly-fashionable from Austria – and a slow one. She felt Francis guide her through the turns gracefully, as if they floated on air. Whatever else he had or had not learned, he knew how to do this particular dance! She felt a little shiver of pride as they glided past the other guests. She felt wonderful.
As they made another circuit, the music slowing to the end of the piece, she happened to glance up. They came to a halt and her eyes came to rest on a figure behind Francis. Lord Richmond. He was staring at them, his face pale. His eyes were twin pools of blackness and even from this distance she could see the anger in his countenance. She shivered.
Why is he angry? What did I do?
Francis bowed and she curtseyed, and they walked slowly off the dance-floor. She felt dreamy, still, as if the special magic of the space they entered when they danced together stayed with her.
All the same, the memory of Lord Richmond's face stayed with her. She shivered. Francis looked worried.
“My dear? Is aught amiss?”
“N...no,” Cornelia stammered. The concerned look on his handsome face moved her deeply. “Just feeling cold, is all.”
“Can I fetch your shawl? Come. Sit down.”
“Thank you.” Cornelia let him guide her to one of the elaborate tapestry-covered seats and sank gratefully onto it, feeling weary. She had traveled for much of the day, and the excitement of the ball, then seeing Francis, was catching up. To say nothing of the disturbing encounter with Alexandra and her brother.
“Can I fetch you some refreshment?”
“No, Francis. Thank you. Just let me sit awhile...” the bright scene with the dancers, the orchestra, the marble floor, all blurred before her tired eyes and she leaned forward, feeling dizzy.
“My lady?” Francis spoke as if from far away. He gripped her shoulder gently.
“It's nothing,” Cornelia whispered and, strangely, with him so close to her, she did feel better. Stronger and more alive. She took a deep breath and sat up.
“You're sure you're not unwell?” Francis asked caringly.
“I'm well,” Cornelia said. She felt a little better. Here, in the quiet corner of the room, with Francis shielding her from everyone around, she felt stronger. She smiled up at him and she saw him draw a deep breath.
“My lady.”
“Yes?”
“You...” he coughed. “May I say how beautiful you look?”
Cornelia let the warmth of that fill her, curling down to her toes. She smiled up at him. “Oh, Francis.”
“I'm so lucky you're here,” he said warmly.
She closed her eyes. She felt so much love for him in that moment that it hurt. “I'm so lucky too.”
She meant it. Their eyes locked and heat flooded her body. She stood and he held out a hand to help her to her feet.
They walked to the edge of the room where, as if by common agreement, in the darkness of the alcove, they kissed. She felt herself melting into his arms and all the dark, confused thoughts vanished.
Chapter 6
The next day, Cornelia awoke feeling tired and confused. It took her a moment to recall where she was – she half-expected to be at the inn outside London. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The bedroom at the townhouse was small but luxurious and sunlight warmed the while silk wallpaper, giving off a soft glow that soothed her nerves.
That was a most peculiar day.
She slipped out of bed, wincing as her feet struck the carpet. Her dancing-slippers must have pinched her toes, for they were bruised and sore. She recalled the fact that she'd barely sat down, apart from the brief conversation with Francis, the night before at the party. The thought of Francis warmed her heart.
The dear man! He had been so attentive and caring. Anyone would think she was made of precious china, the way he had seen to her every need. And his words played round her head.
You look so beautiful.
She summoned Linton, then sat down at the dressing-table, her mind preoccupied with memories.
“Good morning, milady.”
“Morning, Linton,” Cornelia smiled. Linton stifled a yawn. She looked tired too, and Cornelia felt a little guilty at having summoned her the previous evening for help disrobing. “I trust you slept well.”
“Those carters with their big trundling wagons woke me afore even my usual waking time,” Linton grumbled. “It's unnatural – all these people in one big town like this.” She sniffed, every line of her disapproving.
Cornelia smiled, then hid it so she didn't offend the woman who was now brushing her hair. She was so used to London herself, she hardly thought about it. For someone who had spent her entire life in the countryside, it must be horrid.
“I suppose so,” she said.
“It is, my lady! It is! Why, only yesterday I heard fellers being mugged in the street, and then there was an awful wailing! And all those dogs barking, and the drunkards, and the criers and watchmen and...”
As Linton gave her an account of all the noise in the street, Cornelia found her mind wandering to the ball. To Francis and to the troubling meeting of Lord Richmond and Alexandra.
There is something odd going on. She was in Dorsetshire, I'm sure of it. And why was she so keen for me to meet Richmond, and to talk with him?
She sighed. Just because the pair of them were striking in a room full of more ordinary-looking people – with the exception of the handsome Francis – did not mean there was something wicked about them.
All the same. She shuddered. There was something wicked about Alexandra. Her quiet, tense presence, her pale skin and striking face and those dark, watchful eyes.
“What is it, my lady? Are you cold?”
“No, I'm well, Linton. Just tired. As I'm sure you are, too,” she added with a compassionate glance at the woman's pale, drawn face.
“Can't complain, milady,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I would have slept while you were out, but those dratted carters...pardon me, ma'am,” she added, flushing.
“Not at all. I shall wear the white muslin. And if you could do something simple with my hair? I'll stay here today.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Soon enough Cornelia headed to breakfast. Lucas was there ahead of her. He looked tired after the ball. If he had noticed her dancing with Francis, there was no comment from him. Cornelia was grateful. She felt unsettled enough without his judgment.
“You might visit the park today, Cornelia?” he suggested as they dined. “I'm afraid I'll be at my solicitor's much of the day. The man has all the timing of a bad orchestra. I'd like to have the day to escort you around town, but...” he shrugged. “We have to do our duty.”
>
“Yes,” Cornelia agreed. The thought was depressing. If she had any sense of duty, she chided herself, she would be paying attention to these two – Alexandra and her brother. She wouldn't be dancing attendance on a lieutenant who would never be suitable for her.
“You look unusually subdued, cousin,” Lucas commented worriedly. He reached for the teapot and poured them both more tea.
“I'm just thinking,” she demurred. She considered asking him about Lady Alexandra: who she was, if he knew anything about the family.
He'll want to know why, and then I'll have to tell him about her and then he'll encourage me to pursue matters with them, like Mama would. She decided against it.
“Well, I hope those thoughts extend to what you might like to do this evening. I hear there's a salon at Lady Marckel's. Poetry and things.” He made a face, then grinned. “Can't be too bad.”
Cornelia laughed. “It sounds diverting.” With any luck, Francis will be there and Lady Alexandra won't.
“Capital! I'll accept for both of us. We'll leave at six. Though I must say, having you here is making me more social than I've ever been. You should stay more often.”
Cornelia smiled. “Thank you, cousin.”
After he had left, Cornelia found herself at a loose end. She practiced at the pianoforte for an hour, then asked Linton to accompany her to the park.
With its green lawns, soaring conifers and trim paths between the groves and flowers, the park soothed her soul. She and Linton strolled along past families with children, some in the new perambulators, and couples on benches in the sunshine.
“This isn't too bad,” Linton commented with a smile. Cornelia laughed.
“It's better than all those houses and shops.”
“Quite so, milady.”
They stopped to sit on a bench, Cornelia relishing the warmth of the sun. She raised a parasol, nervous of spoiling her complexion, and watched a small girl running after a hoop along the path.
Was I ever that carefree?
All this business of duty was weighing on her mind. In that moment, she longed for the freedom of childhood, and the blameless innocence of it. If Mother knew what I was doing – seeing Francis, talking with him so intimately, kissing – she'd spit. Well, not exactly spit. But the ladylike equivalent. And as for Aunt Adeline...she didn't want to think about what she'd say.
Aunt Adeline would approve of Lord Richmond. He was just the sort of man she would wish for her niece. Anything less would bring disgrace on all of them.
“Do you want to leave?” her maid asked, frowning at her concernedly.
“Not yet,” Cornelia noticed reluctance on the woman's face.
They stayed a while in the sun. Cornelia stretched and put away the parasol, feeling drowsy in the warmth. She stood.
“Shall we go?”
“Very well, milady.”
They walked back. As they did so, Cornelia narrowed her eyes. She was sure she recognized the person ahead. Was it...yes, it was!
“Claudia!”
Her friend waved. “Oh! Cornelia! What a surprise!”
Cornelia looked down at her own plain dress, feeling a stab of inadequacy in front of Claudia's elegant but understated ensemble, which was fine dimity, a pale yellow with little flecks.
“Hello, dear,” she said, kissing her on both cheeks as was fashionable. “It's such a lovely day, I couldn't resist going out.”
“Me too! I also brought a chaperone, but she's busy watching the croquet.” She inclined her head in the direction of a group of people on the lawn. “It's so good to see you! Do you have plans this evening?”
“I plan to attend Lady Marckel's salon.”
“Me too!” Claudia squeezed her hand, excitedly. “It will be diverting. And all the most elegant and fashionable people will be there...” she trailed off, as if that was too exciting to describe.
“Oh,” Cornelia said a little distantly. “That sounds pleasant.”
If all the fashionable people are there, it's likely Francis won't be. He's not part of that faction.
It was a depressing thought.
“You're not unwell?” Claudia asked, frowning.
“No,” Cornelia demurred. “Just a headache. I think I should go home. I'm a bit delicate, after last night.”
“Oh,” Claudia grinned. “I know exactly how you feel. I was so overwrought after the evening that I couldn't sleep until one of the clock! My poor nerves are frayed today.”
They parted shortly after, Cornelia's headache blinding. As she and Linton took the carriage back to the house, Cornelia thought about that. Probably just my weariness, my nerves getting to me. It explained the sense of unease that had suddenly filled her. That, and the thought of a long evening with no Francis to enliven things. A long evening with the cold, arrogant crowd of high-society London.
Lucas arrived in time for afternoon tea and they talked distractedly about the accounts – something Cornelia knew little about, but she let him discuss it, clearly wanting to get it off his chest. Then they retired to dress.
Cornelia chose a dress with a somewhat desultory mindset. She would rather save her new evening-gown – the blue one that suited her best – for a ball Francis was attending.
“I'll wear the green.”
“Very good, madam.”
When the carriage rolled up at Marckel Place, she was even more dismayed. The house was a soaring building in the most fashionable quarter, its own garden behind wrought-iron fencing. She swallowed hard and gripped Lucas' hand as he helped her down from the coach.
“Grim looking place, isn't it?” he commented. She nodded. “Cheer up, cousin,” he added, patting her hand before he released it. “They won't bite us.”
I'm not sure. She felt intimidated. All that stone and marble screamed old wealth and attendant snobbery. She slipped in under the stone archway, curtseying politely to the hostess, who smiled.
“Ah! Lucas! Your cousin from the country. Welcome, both of you.”
Cornelia closed her eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. Did the woman have to say that? The barb went deep, since she already felt out of her depth.
She looked round for Lucas as she descended into the hall, but he was talking gravely to an older man with a white mustache. She caught something about investments and drifted off, knowing Lucas was busy.
Mayhap I can find Claudia. A friendly face would be welcome.
She glanced around the room shyly. Black-clad gentlemen stood with pale-dressed ladies, all in the latest fashions. Ostrich plumes were everywhere, and turbans. The dresses were diaphanous and in the latest Romanesque fashion, severe and elegant.
“Did you read the latest from Shelley?”
“Scandalous.”
“Yes, but delicious scandal, was it not?”
Polite laughter.
“I find his stanzas so moving,” a woman said with a gentle wave of her hand. She had big dreamy eyes and an expressive face. “The crispness of his meter, the intensity of the word-choice.”
“The man has such a strong influence of Virgil, what say you?”
“Do you see an influence? I myself liken him to the works of the mystic poets, like St. John of the Cross...”
Cornelia stopped listening. I feel so out of place. In all this, Cornelia felt like what the hostess called her: a country bumpkin.
She walked across the marble floor feeling miserable. Stopped at the edge of the terrace. The night was beyond the doors, cool and dark and inviting. If she just went out, she would escape all this, blend with the night and disappear. Out there, she wasn't a country mouse. She could be whatever she wanted to be. She was about to slip out when a voice stopped her.
“Ah! My dear Cornelia!”
It was her.
“My lady.” She turned resignedly, to face the speaker. She was dressed in purple this evening, a rich, deep color like nightshade flowers. Her black eyes danced.
“Ah! Cornelia! You look charming this evening! So quaint. Like a c
ottage rose.”
Did she have to comment on her appearance? I know I'm unsophisticated! She almost shouted it at her. She bit her lip to keep the shamed tears in.
“It's pleasant to see you again,” she said politely. She could hear how strained she sounded and wished she didn't. But there was nothing much she could do to alter it.
“My brother was most put out yesterday,” Alexandra said, rolling her eyes theatrically.
“Oh?” Cornelia frowned. “Why, my lady?” Her heart pounded inside her. She hadn't imagined that, then; that odd expression!
“He wished to dance again with you,” Alexandra said lightly. “And when he couldn't, well,” she lifted her shoulder in a dismissive shrug.
“Well?” Cornelia frowned, wanting to know what happened next. Alexandra chuckled.
“You look so charming with that little frown! But really, you should do something about that hairstyle...it makes you look so babyish.”
“Babyish?” Cornelia felt her cheeks grow hot with shame. She didn't know how much more of this she could take! She stood, knowing her lip trembled and knowing she was about to cry and make things worse.
“Oh! There, now. I vexed you. I am sorry.” The velvet was back in her voice, beguiling as darkness. She reached out and touched her hand. Cornelia jerked back.
“Oh, don't be vexed,” Alexandra said softly. “I was only meaning to help you out. You could do so much with your appearance. You're very pretty, you know, under all that. My brother thought so.”
“He did?” Cornelia stared at her. After all that, she found it hard to believe anyone would think her pretty. She felt like the plainest, most unsophisticated person on earth.
“He did. And I would love to help you.”
“Help me?” Cornelia frowned.
“A little tuition, some new dresses...well, you'd be the belle of the ball!” she clasped her hands, as if envisioning greatness. “A spot of rouge, a better hairstyle...well! I can tell you, the gentlemen would all notice. It would make Richmond wild!” she giggled.
Despite herself, Cornelia was intrigued. “Would you do this?”
