by Ava Stone
***
Cordie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It would take Rose another five minutes to decide which card she wanted to play in their game of piquet. Her sister-in-law hummed lightly to herself and Cordie wished her headache away. She hadn’t felt right ever since Greg sent his note informing them he couldn’t locate Brendan’s lost letters.
A light scratch sounded at the door, and she sat forward, opening her eyes. “Come.”
Higgins pushed the door open. “Lady Clayworth, you have a guest.”
“A guest?” she echoed, rising from her seat to retrieve the calling card.
The Earl of Ericht glinted off the heavy vellum. Cordie couldn’t help but smile. Haversham. She did owe the marquess a thank you, but perhaps another time. Brendan would be furious if he knew Haversham had visited, using an assumed name, and tried to call on her. “Please tell Lord Ericht I am not in, Higgins.”
“Very well, my lady,” the butler replied, leaving them alone.
As Cordie resumed her seat, Rose regarded her with confusion. “But, Cordie, you are in.”
“Not for Lord Ericht. Besides, I am not feeling up for visitors at the moment, dear.”
Rose sat forward. “But you’ll feel up to seeing the modiste again tomorrow, won’t you?”
For their final fittings. Cordie smiled at her young sister-in-law. Oh, to be free of worry. How she envied the girl in that way. “You know I’d never miss that, Rose. Now I believe it is still your turn.” She pointed to the card on the small table between them.
Rose dropped her hand to the table and stared at Cordie. “Richard says you changed Brendan’s mind. About the wedding.”
“I’m certain your brother would have done the appropriate thing without my help.” Though she was not certain of any such thing. He was quite stubborn and set in his ways, but the decision was made and there was no point in wondering what might have been.
“Thank you,” Rose said with a hushed voice, though there was no one around to hear her. “I love Richard. I do not know what I would do if Brendan had said no.”
Cordie squeezed Rose’s hand. “Well, that didn’t happen. And next week you’ll be married and…”
The room began to spin slightly and Cordie grasped the table to steady herself. Rose rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”
She blinked her eyes, then nodded. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Rose touched Cordie’s brow. “Brendan is worried about you.”
She shook her head. Her husband didn’t need something else on his plate. She wasn’t feeling well, but she’d be fine. There was no use getting him upset over nothing. “Brendan is always worried about something. Let’s not tell him about this little thing, all right?”
Rose frowned at that. “I don’t want to keep a secret from him. He would be very angry with me if he knew.”
Cordie caressed her sister-in-law’s hand. “It’s not really a secret, dear. I’m fine. He has so much on his mind at the moment, I don’t want to add to it. If I’m feeling badly tomorrow, I’ll tell him. I promise.”
“Promise?” Rose asked, gnawing on her bottom lip.
“I do. Now, dear, it is your turn.”
The game dragged on for hours, and Cordie felt herself in danger of dozing off more than once. But when Thomas rushed through the doors of the parlor, gushing over the show at Astley’s with Brendan in his wake, her game of piquet finally came to an end.
***
Damn if his wife didn’t look even paler than she had before he left for the evening. Brendan had enjoyed such a nice time with Thomas, Chet and his boys, but he should have been home with Cordie. What an awful husband he was to have left her in this state.
He rushed Rose and Thomas off to bed, then turned his attention to his wife. She looked tired too, her dark hair down about her shoulders and circles under her eyes. “Time you crawled into bed too, love.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She smiled at him, though he knew it was forced. The image pained his soul.
Brendan slid his arm around her waist and led her up the stairs towards his chamber. Her foot faltered before her own door. “I thought you wanted me to climb into bed.”
He ushered her forward. “I’d like to keep you with me tonight.” So he could keep a close eye on her.
“Brendan,” she chastised. “You snore. I’ll never get a restful sleep.”
He snorted. He most certainly did not snore. At least she’d never complained about it before now. She was doing poorly and trying to keep it from him. That was obvious, and her machinations only made his determination stronger. “Then I’ll stay awake and watch over you.”
“Brendan!”
He opened his door and directed her inside. “This room faces the west. The sun won’t wake you in the morning.”
“My room faces west as well,” she grumbled under her breath, though he caught it. “My nightrail.”
“I’ve played your maid before, Cordie. Now stop being difficult.” He pulled the bell-pull, unbuttoned her gown, and when a maid scratched at the door, he asked the girl to bring the countess’ nightrail and wrapper to him.
In no time he had her dressed and tucked into his bed. He refused to let her protruding lower lip make him feel guilty. Something wasn’t right with her and he’d shadow her every move until Doctor Watts put his mind at ease on the morrow.
Brendan shed his own clothes and slid under the counterpane with this wife, pulling her into the cocoon of his arms. “There, isn’t that better?” he whispered beside her ear.
She interlaced her fingers with his and took a deep breath. “You make it very difficult for me to remain put-out with you, you know.”
“That is the plan.” He kissed her hair and closed his eyes, breathing in her sweet lilac scent. “Try to sleep, love. You look very tired.”
“Hmm,” she agreed. “And Rose has me running all over Town tomorrow.”
Brendan shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow, Cordie. Not unless Doctor Watts says it’s all right.”
She gasped and turned in his arms. “You sent for Doctor Watts? But Brendan, I’m fine, I’m—”
“Staying in bed until the doctor says otherwise.”
***
Brendan paced his parlor for what felt like an eternity. How long was Doctor Watts going to stay with his wife? It must be bad. The man was very busy. He wouldn’t stay to simply chat.
Rose pouted in the corner that her trip to the modiste was postponed, though Brendan ignored his sister’s childlike behavior. She could fall on the floor and pound with her fists like a toddler for all the good it would do her.
What was keeping the bloody doctor? He was just about to stomp from the room to find out when Doctor Watts appeared in the doorway. The old man smiled warmly, which didn’t put Brendan at ease in the least. He rushed forward. “Well, out with it. What’s wrong with her?”
“Congratulations, my lord. There is nothing to worry about. Lady Clayworth is in perfect health—”
“She’s not in perfect health. I know my wife, sir.” He’d always had the utmost respect for Watts. Apparently that was misplaced.
“You didn’t allow me to finish, my lord. The countess is in perfect health for an expectant mother. She’ll need her rest, of course, and she’ll need to eat well, even if she doesn’t feel like it. But all in all she is quite healthy indeed. Now I would suggest—”
The air whooshed out of Brendan. He didn’t hear the last of the doctor’s instructions as he raced down the hallway, up the stairs, and into his chamber. Cordie lay against the pillows, her pretty dark hair fanned out beside her. A radiant smile graced her lips.
He stopped in the doorway like a fool, simply gaping at her.
“He told you?” she prompted, her emerald eyes dancing.
Brendan rushed forward and plopped on the bed beside her. “Did you know? Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been going out of my mind—”
“I didn’t know,”
she assured him. “I thought it was all from the worry and—”
“No more secrets, ever.” He kissed her cheek. “I want to know what’s happening all the time. Don’t spare my feelings, love. I need to know that you’re comfortable and safe and—”
“I promise,” she said softly.
Brendan placed his hand across her belly, staring at her in wonder. His child. Their child was there and growing. He’d never felt such elation.
He’d never had so much to lose before.
~ 38 ~
Cordie stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her dark hair was half swept up and adorned with a slender silver cord and diamond hairpins. Her new silver gown shimmered and clung to every curve, much more daring than the virginal dresses she’d been forced to wear for years. She remembered coveting Livvie’s new, stylish wardrobe months ago, and now wondered how much longer her new gowns would fit her.
She rested her hand against her flat belly and smiled. “You know, little one, by the time I’m able to wear these new dresses again they’ll be out of fashion.” Not that she was complaining. The idea of holding Brendan’s child in her arms made her heart sing.
“You’ll be just a few months younger than Livvie’s babe. I’m sure you’ll be the best of friends. I do wish the Kelfield’s were closer. We could experience all of this together.” Just like she and Livvie had done everything else.
She sighed. Brendan would never agree to a trip to Hampshire now. Tomorrow morning, they’d head back for Derbyshire. Rose’s wedding would be a week later. After that, she and Brendan would spend her confinement at Bayhurst Court. She wanted that, of course, she just wished that Livvie could be part of it.
“Breathtaking,” Brendan said from the doorway.
Cordie spun on her heel, grinning at her husband. “Flatterer.”
He crossed the room and slid his arms around her waist. “If you’re not feeling up to this, we’ll stay home.”
She laughed. “You just finished telling me that I was breathtaking.”
“You are.”
“I may never get the chance to wear this gown again.”
“Well,” he began, rolling his eyes, “heaven forbid I stand in the way of fashion.”
“Besides,” she told him, “I don’t think it would be at all wise to ignore an invitation from Lady Astwick.”
“Hannah will understand.”
“The dowager will not.”
He sighed and she knew he’d given in.
***
They just had to get through this miserable soiree, and then they could return to Derbyshire. It’s just one night, Brendan kept saying to himself. He scoffed when he saw the line of carriages in front of Astwick’s large Mayfair home. This was not a soiree, it was something on a much grander scale than that. It wasn’t even the damn season.
He grumbled under his breath, but stopped when Cordie squeezed his hand. “We’ll just stay long enough to see and be seen,” he said.
Cordie laughed. “For heaven’s sake, Brendan. I won’t break. Who knows when we’ll return? Enjoy the evening.”
Their coach stopped in front of the mansion. The footman opened the door and lowered the steps before Brendan climbed out into the night air. He held out his hand and helped his wife to the ground, then led her up the stone steps.
They managed to navigate the swarm of people until they reached the ballroom, where their names were intoned, “The Earl and Countess of Clayworth.”
It seemed as though all in attendance took the same collective intake of air as Brendan led his wife over the threshold. In no time, the dowager Marchioness of Astwick was upon them. “My darling Cordelia Clayworth!” the old woman gushed. “You are positively glowing.” Then she linked her arm with Cordie’s and said to Brendan, “You may go visit with my son.”
He’d been dismissed, and it was never wise to argue with the woman. Brendan bowed. “Wonderful to see you again, my lady.”
Her eyes actually twinkled. “It’s wonderful to see you, my boy. Happiness looks good on you, Brendan.”
“Thank you, madam.”
“Now go on, so that I can talk to your beautiful bride.”
Without another word, the dowager directed Cordie away from him and Brendan found himself alone in a sea of familiar strangers. Then a hamhock of a hand smacked him on the back and he turned to see Chet’s light green eyes regarding him. “Come along and help me test my newest collection of whiskey.”
Brendan grinned at his friend. “Collection?”
***
“I am so glad you came to your senses, Cordelia,” the dowager marchioness said to her as they strolled the ballroom.
“Came to my senses?” Cordie echoed, noticing that not one person looked at her with condemnation. They’d managed to somehow avoid censure.
“A man like Brendan Reese only comes along once in a lifetime.”
Cordie couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. “Of that I am well aware. I can’t thank you enough, Lady Astwick, for smoothing things over with society. You are a blessing.”
The old woman laughed. “You are the only one who thinks so, my dear.” Then she stopped in her tracks. “That son of mine,” she grumbled. “Does he truly intend to escape my soiree?”
Cordie’s eyes flashed towards the door to find Lord Astwick and Brendan’s disappearing forms. “I’m certain—”
“I’m certain that he’s mistaken,” the dowager growled. “Don’t disappear on me, Cordelia.”
The marchioness dropped Cordie’s arm and started after her wayward son, and Cordie bit back a smile. The man was nothing like his mother at all. She had no idea how the two were related. Of course, she was nothing like her mother either, whom Cordie was glad to note that she did not see in attendance.
“There you are,” came a deep voice from behind her, one Cordie knew well. “I worried I might never see you again.”
She looked over her shoulder into the light blue eyes of the Marquess of Haversham. He was still dangerously handsome, though he seemed different somehow, in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint. More stoic, perhaps. “Lord Haversham.” She smiled at him. “I cannot believe that Lady Astwick invited you.”
He winked at her. “I’ve never let that stop me before.”
“I am so glad to see you, my lord.” She owed him so much.
“What happened to Marc?” he asked huskily.
“There are so many answers to that, I don’t even know where to begin.” She laughed.
“Will you dance with me?” His eyes focused on her with such intensity, she had to look away towards the couples on the dance floor.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Lord Haversham.”
He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “And since when are you appropriate, angel?”
Cordie turned to face him. She owed him at least that. “I suppose since I became the Countess of Clayworth.”
Haversham winced at her words. “Indeed? So has his priggish demeanor rubbed off, then?”
She wanted to swat him across the chest, but that wouldn’t be at all proper, not with half the eyes of the ton on her. “That’s not a terribly complimentary thing to say about my husband.”
“He can hang,” Haversham growled, causing her to gasp. “I think I made a mistake letting you go, Cordie. Ever since you left—”
“Don’t.” She frowned at him, meeting his icy eyes. How dare he say such a thing? “Don’t say another word. And don’t come to visit me as Lord Ericht or as yourself. I won’t see you.”
He rubbed his brow. “So you’re happy, then?”
“Ecstatically.”
Haversham nodded. “When you’re not ecstatically happy anymore, send me a note. I’ll be waiting.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she whispered. “You’ll be very disappointed, my lord.”
He smiled sadly. “I already am, angel.”
At that moment, Lord Brookfield approached them and Cordie sucked in an anxious breath. Russ
ell’s words about the viscount echoed in her ears. Opium eater. The thought made her cringe. She slid her arm through Haversham’s and smiled up at him. “You don’t owe me a thing, but please don’t leave.”
His eyes shot to the penniless viscount and his features hardened. “Brookfield,” he said dangerously.
The viscount jumped at the sound of his name. “Ah, Haversham, I didn’t see you there.”
“Don’t know how you could possibly miss me. I do hope you haven’t come to bother Lady Clayworth.”
Brookfield’s dark eyes raked across Cordie, and icy chills raced down her spine. “I just wanted to offer my felicitations.”
“Then offer them to her husband. He’s the fortunate one.” Haversham steered Cordie away from the viscount, onto the dance floor, joining the already waltzing couples.
“I shouldn’t be dancing with you,” she said, looking at his neckcloth for fear of what she’d find in his eyes.
“I just saved you from Brookfield. I’d say a dance is the least you can offer me in return.”
He was right, of course. “He makes me uncomfortable,” she admitted. “Thank you for taking me away from him.”
Haversham scoffed. “It wasn’t Brookfield I’d hoped to take you from, angel.”
Finally she raised her eyes to meet his. “I am sorry, but I do love my husband. That won’t ever change.”
He sighed and looked above her head. “Clayworth’s face is an interesting shade of purple.” Cordie tried to glance over her shoulder, but Haversham led her in a turn towards the other side of the room. “He’ll have you back soon enough. This is my dance.”
***
Without a doubt, Brendan was going to kill Marcus Gray. The question was did he dare do so with so many witnesses looking on? And would any of them care?
How dare the man whisk Cordie out onto the dance floor? And why the devil did she go with him? He kept his eyes trained on his wife’s form, but every moment she was in that cur’s clutches, Brendan’s anger mounted even higher.
He started to move towards the pair, but Chet’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Don’t make a scene. It’s what he wants.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Brendan growled.
