Chapter 9

Lady Tallaght’ Soiree

Eleven o’clock in the evening

Regent’s Park

“My God these people are so. . . so. . .” Cordelia struggled to find the words that could express how insanely boring the group of ladies and gentlemen waiting to be announced just were. “Its as if they are bread pudding blanketed in a hearty sampling of bland custard.”

“Welcome to London, my dear,” sighed Kathryn.

“But London is supposed to be the capitol, the beacon of culture and light and. . . ” she stopped lest she list anymore adjectives. Instead, she arranged the folds of her gold brocade gown which happened to be as heavy as an elephant but was absolutely stunning what with its fringe and embossed crystal flowers.

It had only just been completed and sent to the house this afternoon. It was perhaps the most extravagant thing she had ever seen. Well, unless, you considered a mummified arm complete with an extravagant cuff.

Kathryn snapped her sea green feather fan shut and patted it lightly against Cordelia’s shoulder as they stood very near the front of the line to be presented into the already buzzing ballroom. “Dear girl, if you wish culture and wit you must visit an entirely different set. The Demi-mondaine. Those are the best of London’s wits. This?” She flicked her fan towards the sea of inbred British, their sheep faces bored in the candlelight. “This is the ton. Anything that was interesting in them was bred out a century ago. I’m only so intriguing because my grandfather married an actress and brought a bit of fresh blood in.” Kathryn’s face softened. “And even I didn’t have a title to my family when I married my darling duke.”

“Then why are we here?” Cordy hissed sotto voce, lifting her skirts with her gloved finger tips as she ascended another long gilded stair leading up to the archway that framed one as they entered the ball.

Kathryn tsked gently. “Don’t you remember? You didn’t wish to stay at home. And while I could take you to a far more scandalous party, given your desire for an annulment, that seemed an unwise proposition.”

Cordelia harrumphed, wondering at her own wisdom. “Ah. Yes.” Perhaps she should have just stayed at home, played cards and drank brandy. Yes, a bottle of brandy would have done her wonders. . . At least for a few hours.

A mischievous grin tilted Kathryn’s lips. “Sometimes these events do have a way of becoming quite fun.”

“Oh?” Coedelia queried. It was fascinating in an anthropological sort of way watching the ton in their mating dance, yet she wouldn’t describe standing in a crowded room with the under educated and overly privileged as quite fun. “Why is that?”

“Because. . . You are about to be introduced as The Duchess of Hunt.”

And just as they reached the top step and Cordelia found herself in a towering doorway overlooking the massive ballroom full to the brim with the ton and a loud booming voice announced, “The Duchess of Darkwell and The Duchess of Hunt.”

As one, the bustling crowd stopped their chatter and swung their collective gaze to Cordelia. All conversation died down to absolutely nothing and even someone in the orchestra managed to hit a strident note in the Viennese waltz, filling the air with less than sugary tones.

The heat of the bodies rushed towards her as did the scent of at least two hundred different perfumes. This was nothing compared to the looks of disbelief, consternation, and outright confusion being thrown in her direction.

Suddenly, Cordy felt she would have rather faced a bevy of tomb robbers armed to the teeth. And yet, she was here by her choice alone.

“Keep your chin up and be yourself. They’ll be at your feet,” Kathryn whispered through a bright smile.

Cordelia forced a matching, bold smile to her lips even as she considered running in Cinderella fashion for her carriage. Why in God’s name hadn’t she given more thought to the fact her reputation was on the verge of black and even if she had been the picture of English wifedom, her sudden appearance as a long forgotten duchess would have caused quite a stir.

Cordy lifted her chin. She’d face these harridans and curmudgeon’s head on. Just as she done in Paris, Naples, and Budapest.

The crowd parted like a veritable Red Sea of feathered, silk draped, and powdered waves. It parted until one woman stood at the end of the separated ton, nothing but polished oak floor between them. A woman with a presence so remarkable even Cordelia felt her innards quake. The older woman, stood, regal, powerful, her white hair in beautiful waves about her remarkable smooth face, given her seeming years. Perfect brows arched over silver eyes and her mouth was pursed in a line of disdain. She grasped an ivory headed walking stick and was gowned entirely in black. Only a diamond tiara sparkled against her intimidating form. She looked as if she ruled every person in the ball and given the way everyone had stepped back for her, she did.

Cordelia’s heart pounded not with appreciation for her power but with the growing realization that she bore a striking though very female resemblance to her husband the duke. It couldn’t be his mother. . . Oh no. . . This had to be the Dowager Duchess of Hunt. The dowager of legend who ruled the ton with an iron fist.

The old harridan strode forward, her face so full of hauteur, it barely seemed possible that all that power exuded from one woman. Surprisingly tall, the dowager glared down at her with eyes as unyielding as the winter Atlantic sea. Without giving precedence to the two present Duchesses, she spoke first, “Kathryn, introduce me.”

Kathryn’s lips twitched with barely contained amusement, apparently undaunted by the older woman. “Your Grace, may I present you to Cordelia, The Duchess of Hunt.”

Cordelia sank into a curtsy suddenly concerned she might just keep sinking down through the floor until she was buried at least six feet beneath the town home, for certainly the dowager’s eyes could kill.

“My dear duchess,” the dowager drawled. “How interesting to meet you at last.”

Cordelia rose form her curtsy and managed her most winning smile, one that had just enough edge to convince the recipient she was no fool. “Yes, it is a shame that circumstances have prevented my establishment in London sooner.”

The dowager leaned on her cane. “Yes. It was thought it best you remain with your family until. . .”

“Until your grandson cared to collect me?”

The entire crowd was leaning in, straining to hear them.

The dowager’s lips quirked ever so slightly, as if she were trying to suppress a sudden grin. She coughed then pointed to the hall with her cane. “Shall we converse over a glass of punch?”

What else could she do but acquiesce? Making outright enemies with such a powerful woman would be a mistake. And so, she followed the dowager away from the probing gazes of the ton and into the slightly shadowed hall.

Taking the lead, the dowager remained silent until they she stepped out onto a balcony. It occurred to Cordelia that she didn’t have to follow, but she was far too curious to see what the bastion of London society had to say.

Large gold torches had been placed all along the limestone stairs which led down into the dark garden. A chill in the air gave promise to the coming fall. Cordelia resisted the urge to hug herself. She’d never get used to the damp. But she wasn’t about to let the dowager think she was a weakling.

Truly, Cordelia wanted to loath the old woman, but infuriatingly she found she couldn’t. There was something about her. The woman had no doubt fought tooth and nail to achieve her position of power, and whilst Cordy didn’t have the greatest of respect for the nobility, she did admire ladies who didn’t faint at a bit of battle.

It was on the tip of Cordelia’s tongue to demand how she could have condoned Jack’s complete neglect of her or at least his inability to set her free. “I wish you had arranged to meet me some years ago,” she said instead.

The dowager pursed her lips, a calculating glint to her gaze. “For years, I was relieved you were in some far off backwater. I never forgave my son for gambling Jack’s life away and to a Basingstoke. Your family is notorious for stepping out of line.”

She tripped slightly on the granite stones, but the old girl slipped her hand into the crook of Cordelia’s arm.

A gesture that Cordelia had no idea what to make of. “That was rather insulting, Your Grace. My family isn’t exactly ditch water.”

The dowager stared for a moment than laughed, a slightly dry but delighted sound. “You astonish me. You’re nothing like your mother.”

That stopped Cordelia. “You knew her?”

“Oh yes. Beautiful. Intelligent. She had everything but she acted like an Italian what with all her passion. I was always stunned your studious father withstood ten years with her let alone ten days.”

It was so odd, hearing this perfect stranger describe her parents in such a frighteningly accurate way. Her parents had loved each other, but two more different people there couldn’t have been. “So, you were expecting someone like her?”

“Harrumph.” The dowager thumped her cane. “The scandal sheets certainly do you no service. They make you sound as scandalous as she, but now I wonder. . . You seem a prickly piece for dancing from bed to bed.” The older woman sighed. “You don’t do you. You’re just a bit odd.”

“Odd,” Cordelia echoed.

“Yes. Don’t do things the way these sheep think they should be done. You take charge, meet men on their own terms. Men who don’t understand that kind of woman will insist she’s a succubus.”

Cordelia blinked. Where was the loathing that Gemma had insisted was present? “Your Grace, I was led to believe you found me quite wanting.”

The dowager drew in a deep breath then pulled her hand back and placed it on her cane, leaning a good bit of her weight on the sturdy stick. “There is much against you. Frankly, when I heard you’d come to town, I’d every intention of giving you the cut direct and sending you packing, but I did a little investigating of my own and my man brought back enough facts from your exploits to leave me with the impression that you are a most capable woman. . . And therefore, just the thing for my grandson. You will make an excellent Hunt Duchess. . . With my guidance, of course.”

Cordelia felt a wave of sudden longing. Longing to belong. And by god, the dowager duchess of Hunt could see she belonged. But no. “Your Grace, I’m here for an annulment. “

The dowager sniffed. “I know. What preposterous idea. How could you possibly not wish to be a duchess?”

Cordelia’s lips twitched. “I admit it is most unusual. But I’d far prefer to dig about the dirt uncovering the past.”

“My dear girl, there is enough dirt in England for several lifetimes. You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” Cordy said firmly, refusing to give fresh life to a growing fantasy that her husband had actually wanted her for his wife. A true marriage. The kind she’d read in foolish tales. “I was examined this morning. And the papers are to be submitted.”

“Examined?”

Cordelia drew in a fortifying breath wondering how the dowager duchess would receive such news. “I was confirmed a virgin this morning by Sir Dillon.”

“A court physician?” the duke echoed, his bold features relaxing for a single moment into astonishment. “A virgin?”

She bit back a grin and said soberly, “Yes.”

The dowager was silent for several moments, her face unreadable before she said simply yet unquestionably, “You will come home with me this evening and your things shall be sent for in the morning. You are an Eversleigh after all and I shall vouchsafe your honor if you insist on this annulment nonsense.”

“Will you be my jailor, Your Grace?”

She let out a deep laugh. “Why ever would you say such a thing? I am a reasonable old woman.”

Reasonable? Reasonable as mad old King Lear.

“Now, you can continue to stay with Kathryn, but if you stay with me, it will go much further in keeping you out of the papers. Staying with your family cannot be seen as scandalous. Staying with Kathryn? It will only flame the gossip.”

Was this absolute madness? But she could see the dowager’s point. The less scandal about her, the faster she could have her annulment and the more seriously she would be taken when raising funds for her work. It wasn’t ideal, but perhaps it was best. “I will agree to this because I wish my annulment expedited and I assume with your assistance that will be the case.”

“If that’s what you truly wish, but I reserve the right to attempt to persuade you. Too many years have been wasted and Jack. . .” her face softened. “Jack cannot depend on me forever. He will need a strong woman to be his duchess.”

The genuine tenderness in the older woman’s voice stunned Cordy. Perhaps the old harridan really did have a few feeling bones in her body. And so, she couldn’t resist asking “Did you ever consider that this situation was your fault.”

Her brows rose. “My fault?”

“If you had sent for me when my father died—

“I was not the duke when your father died, Cordelia. And the one person with more power than me was my son. He didn’t wish you here and there was nothing I could do to either divert the marriage or ensure your safety. If you suffered, for that I am sorry. But if you wish to rail against the previous duke’s actions, you must take it up against him.”

“But he is dead,” Cordy exclaimed with a uncommon measure of exasperation.

“That doesn’t stop me. Now, let us go.” With that, the dowager duchess, paraded her out through the back halls of the Tallaght town house and out to her waiting footman.

“I need to see, Kathryn. All right, you may do so. But I am expecting you at my carriage within a quarter of an hour. If I’m to assist you, I will do so immediately.”

Cordelia gave a tight nod and started back towards the ball.

“Your Grace,” the dowager duchess called, her voice deeper than before, “Do not think to change your mind. I could make you regret it.” With that the older woman turned and strode off toward the foyer with a remarkable dexterity given her cane.

The wind whipped slightly, a damp edge to the night air. She glanced to Her Grace and couldn’t help but wonder if she simply should have stayed in Egypt forever. A married woman, true, but at least then she never would have been crossed by an Eversleigh.