by Ava Stone
A knock interrupted her thoughts, and Cordie stepped away from the armoire. “Come in,” she called as brightly as she was able.
Phoebe quickly stepped inside and spun to face Cordie, anguish marring her pretty features. “I am so sorry, Cordie. I-I…Well, I’m the biggest fool there is.”
Though she currently agreed with her friend, it wouldn’t help to stay angry at Phoebe. She shook her head and feigned the sweetest smile she could manage. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.”
Her friend’s face fell even more. “Don’t pretend. I heard her. I heard the things she said, and then you didn’t come to dinner…”
“I’m not really hungry.”
Phoebe threw her arms around Cordie. Pain radiated through her body and she couldn’t help but suck in a steadying breath. Phoebe jumped back quickly. “Good heavens! Are you hurt too?”
“It’s not that bad,” Cordie answered. Over the years she’d been subjected to her mother’s punishments more often than she’d like, but this latest bout was the worst ever. However there was no reason for Phoebe to know that. There was no reason for anyone to know.
Her friend’s face scrunched up as if she was going to cry. “I’ll have Millie take a look at you.”
“Please don’t.” All she needed was for everyone at Malvern Hall to learn of this.
“Cordie, if I hadn’t opened my mouth you wouldn’t… Well, you’re obviously in pain. Millie won’t tell a soul. And she’s real good with ointments and such… If you need that.”
It would be nice to sit down. She nodded her head once, mortified that anyone knew what had happened to her.
***
Phoebe easily found Millie, a maid, in the dressing room off her grandmother’s suite of rooms, sorting through stockings. The maid greeted her with a smile and tucked a grey curl under her cap. “Miss Greywood, you look like you’ve gotten into to some sort of trouble again.”
Truly, she generally was in some sort of trouble whenever she sought Millie out. A scrape here, a scratch there. A ripped seam here, a torn flounce there. She didn’t enjoy being accident prone, but since she was, she’d had no choice but to stay in Millie’s good graces. This was the first time she didn’t need Millie’s expertise for herself. An image of Cordie’s pain-stricken face flashed in her mind, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over her.
“Millie, I need your help and your silence.”
The maid frowned at her, punching her hands to her hips. “What sort of trouble are you in, Missie? And if it has anything to do with that Wilkins boy, you better tell me right now.”
Warmth rushed up Phoebe’s cheeks. How could Millie think that? “Of course not! Heavens, Millie, is that your opinion of me?”
The old woman sighed, then shook her head. “You certainly wouldn’t be the first woman to make foolish choices because of a man. Most of us have done so one time or another. But that particular trouble isn’t something I could help with. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Phoebe replied in an appalled whisper. “My friend, Miss Avery, has been hurt. No one can know, but I need you to look at her.”
“Hurt?”
“I haven’t seen the injury myself. I came right to fetch you.”
“What were the two of you up to that no one can know?” the old woman asked suspiciously.
Phoebe’s face heated up again. Millie was generally much easier to deal with. “We weren’t up to anything. I think her mother hurt her. Will you please come look at her?”
Millie frowned, but nodded her head.
Once inside Cordie’s room, Millie took immediate control. She barely greeted Cordie, before she unbuttoned her dress and pulled it over her head in one fluid move. Phoebe took the gown and draped it over a chintz chair. When she heard the maid’s gasp, Phoebe spun around. She couldn’t quite believe what she saw. Cordie’s entire back and bottom was raw and red. There were even some spots with dried blood.
“Oh, my!” Phoebe stared in shock.
“Miss Greywood, find one of Miss Avery’s nightrails. Help her get it on. I’ll be back,” the maid ordered softly.
“Please,” Cordie begged.
The maid held up her hand. “I know. I won’t tell anyone.”
As Millie left, she briefly met Phoebe’s eyes, and she knew she’d done the right thing in going for the maid. Phoebe found a soft silk nightrail in the armoire and turned back to Cordie. Silent tears were streaming down her friend’s face, and Phoebe’s heart ached at the sight. Cordie was always composed—the most confident and self assured of all her friends.
She rushed forward, holding out the nightrail. “Let me help you.”
Wordlessly, Cordie nodded and together they slid the soft material over her head and down her battered body. Once that chore was done, Phoebe felt completely helpless. There was nothing for her to do, and she didn’t want to gape at her friend.
“Mother said everyone expects Lord Clayworth to offer for you.”
“It’s possible,” Cordie whispered. “I’m sorry, Phoebe, I know you’d decided to set your cap for him. I promise I didn’t encourage him.”
That Cordie could be worried about hurting her feelings when she was in so much pain herself, Phoebe couldn’t believe. She waved her off. “I don’t even know the man. But I thought you didn’t like him. I thought you couldn’t even abide him.”
Cordie sighed. “I don’t know what I think anymore, Phoeb. My heart says one thing and my mind says something else.”
“Tell me,” Phoebe pleaded. Talking was better than the silence that made her remember her friend’s injuries.
Cordie looked forlorn. “My heart says Clayworth. He kissed me, and I felt like his soul touched mine. I know that sounds foolish.”
“No. It sounds heavenly.” Phoebe couldn’t even imagine how that would feel, but the words were lovely. “So, it’s Clayworth, then.” If a man made her feel like that, it wouldn’t be a contest.
Cordie shook her head. “As women we’re so ruled by our hearts, and I think we end up getting hurt because of it, making foolish mistakes. We should think with our heads. Make wise decisions. My head says Haversham.”
Phoebe softly giggled. “You do realize that sounds ridiculous.”
She was glad when Cordie smiled back. “He’s a scoundrel, Phoebe. He doesn’t care what anyone says, what anyone thinks. He does whatever he wants. He’s like Kelfield. Can you imagine the duke keeping Livvie prisoner? Or not letting her do what she wanted?”
“No.” Kelfield was besotted with Livvie. Anyone who saw them knew that. Phoebe wasn’t so certain it was because he was a scoundrel, though. It could just be that he was so in love with her. But then, maybe Cordie was right. Maybe it was because she was a woman and thought with her heart that she believed the romantic version.
Millie returned that moment, carrying a pitcher of water and a satchel of supplies. “All right, Miss Avery, lay on your stomach. This will sting a bit.”
***
Cordie slept better than she’d expected. Of course, Millie had given her a sleeping drought which helped immensely. She was stiff and sore, but after bathing, she felt much better. When her maid, Bessie, came in for her, Cordie was already dressed. The fewer people who knew of her injuries the better. Not that Bessie would be surprised, but Cordie wanted a little privacy.
She found her way downstairs and stopped a footman for directions to the breakfast room.
“Miss, you follow this hall, and—”
“I’ll show her,” interrupted a voice Cordie could have gone the rest of her life without hearing again.
She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at Captain Gabriel Seaton, handsome as ever in his blue naval regimentals. His light brown eyes assessed her and he nodded in greeting. “Cordelia.”
Cordie hadn’t seen him since she’d broken off their engagement and his presence here was most surprising. “Captain,” she answered stiffly. It would have been nice to know he was h
ere.
The captain offered her his arm, which she grudgingly took, not seeing a way around the situation. “I am surprised to see you here.”
He sighed. “As I was surprised to find myself seated next to your mother at dinner last night. Are you feeling better this morning?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He directed her down a long corridor, before making a turn. “I have missed you,” he said softly as they continued.
She couldn’t say the same, not even to be polite. Escaping life as his wife had been a lucky stroke. “Aren’t naval captains supposed to be at sea?” she asked amiably. At one time he’d promised to take her with him on his voyages. While that fate would remove her from her current predicament, it would only be trading one jailer for another. There was also the fact that Clayworth’s kiss made her forget every single one the captain had ever given her.
“I’ve come at the Admiralty’s request. Commander Greywood has retired, but his advice is still in demand.”
She nodded at the explanation, wishing he’d come to visit the commander at another time.
“I’m certain you’ve now seen the error of your loyalties.”
Cordie looked up at him. “I beg your pardon.”
A disbelieving smile curled his lip. “I mean, she’s now raising his bastard daughter. No gently bred woman would agree to such a thing. Your loyalties are misplaced in her, Cordelia.”
He was talking about Livvie? She hadn’t known that fact. It was shocking. “Are we speaking about the Duchess of Kelfield?” She hoped Livvie was all right. Did Kelfield expect that of her?
“Who else?” he scoffed angrily. “You broke our engagement due to my lack of support for her situation.”
Cordie drew herself up to her full height and released her hold on his arm. “We were never technically engaged. And I ended our association due to your lack of support for me.”
He looked at her, hurt in his eyes. “I never saw this side of you before.”
“Then aren’t you fortunate to have escaped?” She then stalked down the corridor, ignoring the soreness in her back.
“Cordelia!” he called after her. “You don’t know the way.”
“I’m certain I can find my own way.” The words meant much more than he would ever know.
~ 11 ~
Cordie followed the soft sounds of a harpsichord until she stumbled across Phoebe in the music room. Her friend’s eyes were closed as she focused on plucking the strings of her instrument. Cordie must have made a noise, because Phoebe’s eyes flew open and she smiled brightly. “Oh, you’re up? Millie thought you might be out for a while.”
As her friend rose from her seat, Cordie smiled nervously, the events of the night before embarrassing her all over again. She cleared her throat. “I ran into Captain Seaton before breakfast.”
Phoebe winced. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you last night…” Her voice trailed off. Then she frowned. “Are you all right?”
Cordie nodded her head firmly. “Nearly perfect.” She didn’t want to talk about what Phoebe had witnessed. No one knew about her mother’s punishments, not even Livvie, and she hoped to keep it that way.
“So,” Phoebe said, as she carefully linked her arm with Cordie’s, “you’ve decided on Haversham?”
She supposed she had. He was the logical choice, after all. “Yes.” Even as she said the word, her heart ached.
“Well,” Phoebe began, “I thought about that quite a bit last night. How much do you know about the marquess?”
Now Cordie felt foolish. What did she know about the marquess? She knew about the scandals he’d been involved in over the years. She knew that he was wickedly handsome. She knew he was a friend of Kelfield’s, which was quite important. “Not much I suppose.”
Phoebe nearly bounced on her toes. “Excellent. Follow me.”
Her friend excitedly towed her back upstairs, to the family’s wing and into Phoebe’s set of rooms. Books were scattered across the bed as well as foolscap with jotted notes. Cordie followed Phoebe’s lead and sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s all this?”
“We’ll get to that. But first, I do have two unmarried uncles. Both are younger than Haversham. You could be my Aunt Cordelia.”
Cordie couldn’t help but grin. That was the second time someone referred to the marquess as old. How old was he? “Are either of them scoundrels?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Only Uncle Simon has ever been referred to as such, and he’s already married.”
“I’m afraid I can’t consider either of them then.”
Phoebe heaved a sigh. “Well, it was worth a try.”
Then a thought occurred to Cordie. She really should test her theory. “Your Aunt, the one who married the scoundrel…”
“Aunt Liberty?”
Cordie nodded. “Is she happy with him?”
“Ecstatic, especially since he’s retired from the navy.”
That was good news. “And is he ever controlling or demanding with her?”
Phoebe fell back on the bed with peals of laughter. “I’d like to see him try.”
Relief washed over Cordie. She was on the right path. Her resolve strengthened, she picked up a piece of foolscap with splotchy writing. “What’s this?”
Oh!” Phoebe shot back up and snatched the foolscap from Cordie’s hands. “You’re going out of order. Now I did a lot of research on Haversham last night. I thought if you’re dead set on him, that you should know as much as possible.”
It was a fairly good idea, actually. Cordie positioned herself on the bed, ready to learn.
“He was born in ’77. An only child. His family seat is in eastern Yorkshire outside Driffield. He attended Eton, started at Oxford, but didn’t complete his studies.”
“How do you know all this?” Cordie gaped at Phoebe. She’d never considered her friend to be this organized. She always seemed the silliest of the bunch.
“Oh, I just went through Debrett’s last night, and I talked a little with Matthew. He’s been to some of those clubs and gaming hells Haversham frequents. I couldn’t get him to tell me a lot, but I did get some useful information from him.”
Cordie gasped. Did Matthew Greywood know what they were up to? “You didn’t tell him—”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Please. He was with Clayworth when you and Haversham snuck off. He’s worried about you falling in with the wrong sort, by the way. So, that’s what I told him I was doing—gathering information on the marquess to make you see straight. Men deny it, but they gossip just as much as we do.”
Relieved, Cordie took a steadying breath. It appeared Phoebe’d thought of everything. “What did he say?”
Well, the marquess is most definitely a rake, along the same order as Kelfield—but then we knew that. He was married for quite a while until his wife passed away three years ago. It was apparently a loveless marriage as the marchioness never left Yorkshire, and Haversham rarely left London. They have one child, a daughter – Lady Callista, who is, according to Debrett’s, seven years old. So no male heir, at least not a legitimate one, and that’s something you could use to your advantage.”
No gently bred woman would agree to such a thing. The captain’s words echoed in her mind. “Phoebe, do you know what’s happening to Livvie?”
At once her friend looked panicked. “No, what?”
Cordie shook her head. “Someone mentioned that Kelfield has a daughter and Livvie is acting as the child’s mother.”
Phoebe took a breath, the smile returned to her face. “Oh, that. Mother is scandalized over it, not that she can say so out loud. My cousins Kurt and Kitty were born on the wrong side of the blanket, and since they live here and my grandparents dote on them, Mother has to bite her tongue.”
“So, it’s true?” Cordie couldn’t imagine Livvie having to experience such an ordeal.
Phoebe shrugged. “Such are the perils of marrying a scoundrel. If you want a saint, Clayworth’s your man.”
&n
bsp; Clayworth. His name made her heart beat faster. Cordie shook her head. It was best not to think of him. It would only make this harder. “What else?”
“Something terrible, but I’m not sure what it was.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Phoebe frowned. “I’m not sure. Matthew said that the marquess did something truly terrible years ago. He said it was never spoken about, but that everyone knows it, or everyone does who was around at the time. Since my brother’s your age, none of his friends know what it is either.”
How terrible must it be to not even be spoken of? Cordie stared towards the window, trying to think of the worst thing possible anyone could do. Had he killed someone? What was worse than that? “Someone must know. I certainly can’t ask my mother.”
“Nor mine,” Phoebe replied with a sigh. “She’d think I’d set my cap for him.”
Cordie sat up straight. “What about one of your uncles? The commander must know.”
Phoebe paled instantly. “Uncle Simon. That would be worse than asking my mother.”
But someone must know. Someone she could trust to tell her the truth, no matter how awful.
Lady Staveley.
The answer made her smile. Lady Staveley was the most trustworthy person of her acquaintance. As soon as she returned to London, she’d find some way to speak with the viscountess and find out what awful thing the Marquess of Haversham had done.
***
Marc left Mrs. Palmer’s establishment with a frown. The girl who’d entertained him wore the cheapest of perfume, and now he smelled of the awful stuff. He might not have cared if she’d satisfied him, but she hadn’t. She was more concerned with his coin that his cock. Perhaps he was just losing his interest in this sort of thing. No one would ever have believed that.
His coachman pulled open his door, and Marc barely met the man’s eyes. “Mrs. Lassiter’s.”
“Of course, my lord.”
As he settled against the leather squabs, he realized what he’d known for some time. This predicament he was in was all Cordelia Avery’s fault. She looked at him with her passion-filled, green eyes, making him nearly lose all control. She was full of life, spirited, stunning, but best of all—ready to be seduced. A lethal combination. Ever since he’d met her, he’d been obsessed with having her. No one since had satisfied his cravings.
