Eight
Not caring if Victor had been shown the door or if he was still in the house, Cordelia nearly ran up the stairs and down the hall to her room. She flung the door open, then slammed it closed hard enough to rattle a picture frame that was hanging on the wall.
Cordelia wasn’t sure exactly why she was so mad at Victor. It wasn’t as if they were keeping company, and she had no claim to him. Finding him with Patricia shouldn’t have affected her as much as it had, and yet when she’d seen his face in the conservatory she hadn’t been able to feel anything other than anger. If she was honest with herself, she was also feeling a hint of betrayal.
When they were dancing, and when he’d complimented her piano playing, Cordelia had felt like she was the only woman in the world. His presence had felt intimate in a way, and his words still warmed her in spite of everything. She supposed it was preposterous for her to think that he had some sort of feelings for her, after all, they’d only really spoken to one another twice.
Almost as irritated with herself for her presumption as she was with his romantic overtures toward her servant, Cordelia threw her sheet music on the dressing table, where it promptly slithered onto the floor in even further disarray than it had been the first time she picked it up. Cordelia was on the verge of uttering at least one of the swear words she’d heard when the cook didn’t know she was listening, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Cordelia said, kneeling down to pick up her sheet music. She wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Richmond opened the door and came in, her thin lips pursed. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Richmond.”
“I heard you banging around up here, Cordelia,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re becoming as tiresome as Bridget was when she threw one of her tantrums.”
“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” Cordelia said petulantly, keeping her eyes on her music. When Mrs. Richmond, ever the mistress of decorum, called her by her first name rather than her title she knew she was in for a lecture.
“Is that so? Well, what else would you call stomping up the stairs and slamming the door hard enough that the servants in the kitchen could hear? I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard it out in the stable. Am I correct to assume you threw your music on the floor as well?” Cordelia didn’t deny it, which she knew Mrs. Richmond would take as a confirmation. The old woman put her hands on her hips. “Would you like to tell me what’s gotten into you today?”
“Not particularly,” Cordelia replied, standing up and tapping the sheets of music on the dressing table to straighten them.
“Young lady,” Mrs. Richmond began, and Cordelia pressed a hand to her forehead and grimaced.
“Please, Mrs. Richmond, not today. I’ve got a headache.” Cordelia rather felt that she used this excuse too many times lately but it never failed to make people leave her alone.
“Again? I’m beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t call the doctor. Shall I send Patricia up with a cool cloth for your forehead?”
“No thank you,” Cordelia said. She didn’t much want to look at Patricia at the moment. “I would appreciate some help loosening my dress, though.”
“I’ll send Marian along,” Mrs. Richmond said. She departed without saying another word about Cordelia’s behavior, and the younger woman smiled. There was nothing that would make her leave faster than suggesting she do a lady’s maid’s work.
Figuring she didn’t have much time until Marian came in to care for her affected headache, Cordelia went to the window and looked out. She fully expected for Victor to already have left the estate, but she couldn’t help hoping for a glimpse of him.
When she’d found him listening to her play piano, all she could see was his hand up Patricia’s skirt but there was something about him that drew her. She looked over the garden and the stables, searching for his head of tousled black hair among the greenery.
“Pardon me, milady,” a voice said from the other side of the door, and Cordelia released a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.
“Come in, Marian.” The door opened and a woman in a deep gray, modestly cut dress came in. She was holding a basin in her hand, with a small face towel over her arm.
“Are you not feeling well, Lady Whittemore?” Cordelia sighed heavily and went to her bed.
“I’ve got a headache. I’d like to lie down for a bit if you’d be so good as to help me with my dress.” She turned away from Marian and let her unbutton the back of her dress while she thought about Victor.
He’s nothing more than a shameless flirt, Cordelia told herself. I daresay he’d say anything to any woman if he thought he could get into her bed. Just as she was thinking this, her mind chose that moment to wonder if it would be such a bad thing to get into bed with him. It’s not as if I’m the only one in the house who would be breaking my marriage vows.
“Did you want me to help you off with the whole thing?” Marian’s words snapped her out of her thoughts and she found herself blushing, as if the girl could have heard what she was thinking.
“No, just open the buttons,” she said. “I think I shall wear it to dinner as well.”
“Are you sure?” Cordelia knew she was more concerned with what Mrs. Richmond might say to her letting her mistress go down to eat wearing clothes she’d laid on the bed in, but Cordelia didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
“Yes. I’m just going to have a short rest.” Cordelia stepped out of her shoes, thinking how much nicer it was to wear shoes that didn’t require Marian to do up the buttons every time she wanted to take them off. Mrs. Richmond didn’t approve, but she was far past the age where she cared what her former governess thought.
“As you wish.” Marian went to the window and pulled the heavy curtains closed, and the room became as dark as if it was nighttime outside instead of mid-afternoon.
“Here’s a bell,” Marian said, setting a tiny silver bell on the nightstand as Cordelia laid on the bed. “I’ll just be down the hall ironing. If you need anything at all, ring it and I’ll come right away.” She dipped the cloth in the cold water, wrung it out, then draped it over Cordelia’s forehead.
“Thank you,” Cordelia said. She waited until she heard the door close before she pulled the cloth off her face and sat up. She slid off the bed and went back to the window just in time to see Victor riding away from the estate. She watched him longingly, allowing herself the momentary luxury of imagining what it would feel like to have his hand under her skirt. As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she wanted to see him even more.
A small knock on the door brought her back to her bedroom and she hurried back to the bed and laid down with the cloth on her forehead.
“Yes?”
“Cordelia, dear, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Arthur said, putting his head in the door. “Marian told me you weren’t feeling well again.”
“It’s just a bit of a headache,” Cordelia said. “I’m sure I’ll be all right with a bit of rest.” She smiled over at her husband. One bit of good had come out of his affairs, she supposed. If it wasn’t for his needing help sorting out his father’s will, she might have never met Victor.
“I really think we ought to call in the doctor.” Arthur shook his head and produced a small bottle from his pocket. “Until then, you should try taking some of this.” He handed her the bottle and she frowned at it. “I took the liberty of picking it up when I was in town.”
“Austen’s Headache Syrup,” Cordelia read. She turned the bottle over. “I suppose I could try it. If it works I don’t see the need to call the doctor.”
“Darling, I really think---”
“I really do want to close my eyes for a moment,” Cordelia said, setting the bottle on her nightstand. “I’ll ring for Marian and have her bring a teaspoon and take some.”
“She’s in the sewing room, I believe. I’ll ask her on my way downstairs.” He went to Cordelia’s side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She frowned.
“Are you going out?”
“I’m afraid so,” Arthur replied. “It seems the last rain we had finally did the roof of the stable in. It’s barely hanging on and I’d like to get someone in to repair it before it falls in on the horses.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Cordelia put her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. A moment later she felt something cool on her forehead again and opened her eyes. Arthur was standing over her with a look of concern on her face, and it took her a moment to realize that he’d refreshed her cloth. “Thank you, Arthur.”
“I’ll be back in time for tea.” He closed the door as softly behind him as possible and Cordelia sighed. She’d been so busy being angry at Arthur for his indiscretions that she’d forgotten that he might have some genuine fondness for her. She’d had feelings for him too; maybe not as strong as the feelings Birdie had for her husband but until she’d walked in on him with another man she had enough affection for him that she was willing to make love to him. It was all so confusing and Cordelia hardly had a moment to begin to sort things out when there was another knock on the door.
“Come in,” she said to Marian. The young woman came in holding a spoon and Cordelia knew she wasn’t getting out of taking it. “All right,” she said, sitting up. “Let’s get this over with.”