Chapter 16 - The Drawing Room Reckoning
Lady Augusta Wexley considered hierarchy a natural law.
Dukes belonged with daughters of dukes.
Poor women belonged somewhere she did not need to see them.
Cordelia had encountered her twice.
That was enough.
Unfortunately, Lady Augusta arrived at Ravensworth carrying six pieces of luggage and the determination of an invading army.
Celeste warned Cordelia.
“She intends to arrange Julian’s future.”
“How generous.”
“Her daughter is nineteen.”
“Julian is thirty-two.”
“Lady Augusta considers arithmetic vulgar.”
Cordelia planned to avoid her.
Lady Augusta made avoidance impossible.
At luncheon, she asked whether Cordelia had enjoyed “temporary employment.”
At tea, she complimented the “courage” required to attend society after “such unusual circumstances.”
Cordelia smiled through both.
Beatrice did not.
By evening, her temper was visible from across the drawing room.
The confrontation began when Lady Augusta mentioned Edmund.
“So admirable,” she said loudly, “that His Grace permits the boy here.”
Cordelia placed down her cup.
“Permits?”
“A household must be generous toward dependents.”
Edmund heard.
Cordelia saw his face change.
Before she could answer, Beatrice stood.
“Lady Augusta.”
Everyone turned.
Beatrice wore dark blue embroidered silk, sapphire jewelry and an expression Cordelia recognized from childhood.
Danger.
“Yes?” Augusta asked.
“You have mistaken kindness for weakness.”
Augusta blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Granted. Now leave the child alone.”
Edmund moved closer to Cordelia.
Augusta laughed.
“Surely there is no shame in acknowledging realities. Miss Ashworth’s circumstances were known throughout Gloucestershire.”
“Were.”
“And money acquired unexpectedly does not create breeding.”
Cordelia felt Edmund grab her hand.
Beatrice stepped forward.
Her finger lifted.
For one strange instant, the room resembled hundreds of old arguments at Thornwood.
Only this time Beatrice was not pointing at Cordelia.
She was defending her.
“You know nothing about breeding,” Beatrice said, “if you believe cruelty performed in silk becomes refinement.”
Lady Augusta turned red.
“You dare—”
“I have spent fourteen years telling my niece she should be ashamed of surviving without money.”
Cordelia stared.
Beatrice’s voice shook.
“I told her that dependence made her lesser. That marriage was the price of security. That gratitude required obedience.”
The room had gone silent.
Beatrice looked at Cordelia.
“I was wrong.”
Cordelia’s throat tightened.
Lady Augusta looked uncomfortable.
“This hardly seems appropriate—”
“No,” Beatrice snapped. “Appropriate was the weapon women like us used whenever truth threatened comfort.”
Edmund pressed against Cordelia’s side.
She placed an arm around him.
Then another voice came from the open doorway.
“I believe Mrs. Ashworth has said enough.”
Julian entered wearing a black evening coat.
He had heard the last part.
His gaze settled on Lady Augusta.
She immediately changed posture.
“Your Grace.”
“Lady Augusta.”
“I fear there has been misunderstanding.”
“I understood perfectly.”
Cordelia watched him walk toward them.
Lady Augusta forced a laugh.
“I only observed that Miss Ashworth’s background is unconventional.”
Julian stopped beside Cordelia.
“Yes.”
“And that marriage into your position requires certain considerations.”
“Yes.”
Lady Augusta brightened slightly.
Then Julian continued.
“The first consideration being whether I love the woman.”
Cordelia stopped breathing.
Lady Augusta stared.
Julian looked at Cordelia.
He did not kneel.
Did not produce a ring.
Did not turn the moment into a performance.
He simply spoke.
“I do.”
The entire room seemed to disappear.
Cordelia whispered, “Julian.”
He continued.
“The second consideration is whether she would still choose me if my title vanished tomorrow.”
His mouth curved.
“I remain uncertain.”
“You would be extremely irritating without a title.”
“Exactly.”
A few guests laughed.
Julian looked back at Lady Augusta.
“Miss Ashworth was honest with me before she knew who I was. That already places her above most people who have entered this drawing room.”
Lady Augusta stiffened.
Julian’s voice remained calm.
“If anyone should feel shame, it is not Cordelia.”
He looked toward Beatrice.
“Nor Edmund.”
Then back to Augusta.
“It is those who measure a human being by what may be extracted from them.”
Lady Augusta left before supper.
Nobody attempted to stop her.
Later, Cordelia stood alone on the terrace.
Beatrice joined her.
“I embarrassed you.”
“Deeply.”
“I am sorry.”
Cordelia smiled faintly.
“Thank you.”
“For apologizing?”
“For saying it.”
Beatrice looked toward the garden.
“I should have said it years ago.”
“Yes.”
Another honest silence.
“Do you love him?” Beatrice asked.
Cordelia looked through the windows.
Julian was kneeling beside Edmund, attempting to repair a toy wheel.
“Yes.”
“Then marry him.”
Cordelia raised an eyebrow.
Beatrice sighed.
“Forgive me. Habit.”
Cordelia laughed.
“I might.”
Beatrice smiled.
“Might?”
“I am enjoying his uncertainty.”
“Cruel girl.”
“I learned from family.”
Beatrice actually laughed.
Later that night, Julian found Cordelia beside the library fire.
“Were you waiting?”
“No.”
“For me?”
“No.”
“You are reading upside down.”
Cordelia looked at the book.
It was upside down.
“Coincidence.”
Julian sat opposite her.
“I meant what I said.”
“I know.”
“I did not intend to say it publicly.”
“I know.”
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Terrifying.”
Cordelia closed the book.
“Ask me something.”
His breathing changed.
“What?”
“Anything.”
Julian understood.
He stood.
Walked toward her.
Stopped.
“Will you walk with me tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
A smile.
“Will you help me reorganize the northern tenants’ contracts?”
“Yes.”
“Will you argue with me when I deserve it?”
“Frequently.”
“Will you stay in my life even if you never marry me?”
Cordelia’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Julian swallowed.
Then finally:
“Will you marry me?”
Cordelia made him wait.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“Ask properly.”
He stared.
“I just did.”
“You are a Duke. Surely someone taught you technique.”
Julian laughed.
Then he knelt.
Cordelia’s laughter disappeared.
He held no ring.
Only her hand.
“Cordelia Ashworth, I cannot promise never to make mistakes.”
“A realistic opening.”
“I can promise to ask rather than assume.”
“Better.”
“To listen even when I dislike the answer.”
“Difficult.”
“Extremely.”
“To stand beside you rather than in front of you.”
Cordelia cried.
“And to love Edmund as family for as long as he allows me.”
Her composure broke completely.
Julian looked suddenly nervous.
“Well?”
Cordelia wiped her face.
“Yes.”
Julian exhaled.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He stood and kissed her.
Then Edmund shouted from the doorway.
“I KNEW IT!”
Cordelia jumped.
Julian laughed.
Edmund ran toward them.
“Does this mean I can call him Papa?”
Julian stopped.
The boy looked suddenly uncertain.
Cordelia’s heart squeezed.
Julian knelt.
“You may call me anything you like.”
Edmund thought.
“Papa is shorter than Your Grace.”
“An excellent practical argument.”
Edmund hugged him.
Cordelia wrapped both of them in her arms.
May you like
For the first time, family did not feel like a debt.
It felt like a choice.
