Chapter 3 - Tea at Thornwood Manor
Cordelia had imagined many ways her life might become unbearable.
She had not imagined discovering over breakfast that her aunt had apparently arranged to exchange her for a debt.
Sir Percival Vale remained smiling.
That was what Cordelia disliked most.
A cruel man ought to look cruel.
It seemed dishonest for danger to possess excellent teeth.
“What arrangement?” she asked.
Beatrice answered before Percival could.
“A possibility.”
“Then he may discuss it with you.”
Percival chuckled.
“Still sharp.”
“Have we met?”
“Not formally.”
“Then you have no basis for ‘still.’”
“I have heard descriptions.”
Cordelia looked at Beatrice.
“Apparently detailed ones.”
Julian stood near the fireplace, silent now.
His presence changed everything.
Without him, Beatrice might have bullied.
Percival might have charmed.
Cordelia might have wondered whether she had misunderstood.
But Julian was watching the scene with the expression of a man memorizing evidence.
Percival noticed.
“This is a family matter, Ravensworth.”
“Then perhaps you should not have entered announcing arrangements.”
“I did not realize we had an audience.”
“I suspect that is why truth escaped.”
Percival’s smile thinned.
Beatrice stepped between them.
“Enough.”
She turned toward Cordelia.
“We discussed your future.”
“No. You discussed it.”
“I am responsible for this household.”
“You are not responsible for my consent.”
Beatrice’s voice lowered.
“Do you imagine consent pays creditors?”
There it was.
Cordelia felt something inside her become very quiet.
“How much would he forgive?”
Beatrice said nothing.
Cordelia faced Percival.
“How much?”
Percival studied her.
“All of it.”
Three thousand four hundred pounds.
For her.
A strange laugh rose in Cordelia’s throat.
She swallowed it.
“And what would you receive?”
Percival’s eyes moved slowly over her face.
“A wife.”
“No.”
Beatrice inhaled sharply.
“Cordelia.”
“No.”
Percival appeared more intrigued than insulted.
“You have not heard the terms.”
“A man purchasing me with my aunt’s debt is unlikely to improve with details.”
Julian looked down, perhaps hiding a reaction.
Percival stepped closer.
“I could offer comfort.”
“I have survived without it.”
“A home.”
“I have one.”
“For another month, perhaps.”
That struck.
Percival knew it.
Beatrice closed her eyes.
Cordelia’s pulse hammered.
“What does that mean?”
Percival removed a folded document from his pocket.
“The next payment is due in eighteen days.”
Beatrice whispered, “Percival.”
“If unpaid, Thornwood becomes mine.”
Cordelia stared at her aunt.
“Is that true?”
Beatrice did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Cordelia walked toward the window.
Outside, Edmund was running across the wet lawn chasing a wooden hoop.
Eight years old.
No parents.
No property.
No idea adults were deciding where he might sleep next month.
Cordelia’s fear sharpened into anger.
“I need time.”
Percival smiled.
“Of course.”
“How generous.”
“I am not your enemy.”
“No?”
“No. In fact, I may be the only man offering you a sensible future.”
Cordelia looked over her shoulder.
“A sensible future does not usually require foreclosure documents.”
Julian moved away from the fireplace.
“Vale, a word outside.”
Percival laughed.
“You cannot command me in another man’s house.”
“It belongs to a woman.”
His glance toward Cordelia was deliberate.
“Until your paperwork says otherwise.”
For the first time, Percival’s charm vanished.
Julian continued.
“My solicitor will review every instrument attached to Thornwood.”
“You have no standing.”
“I own the adjoining easement named in two of them.”
A flicker of concern crossed Percival’s face.
Small.
But Cordelia saw it.
So did Julian.
Percival recovered.
“Review anything you please.”
“I intend to.”
He tipped his head toward Cordelia.
“Miss Ashworth.”
Then he looked at Beatrice.
“Eighteen days.”
He left.
The moment the front door closed, Cordelia turned.
“How could you?”
Beatrice’s shoulders sagged.
For one instant she looked old rather than formidable.
Then pride returned.
“I kept this house alive.”
“You forged my name.”
“I protected you.”
“From what?”
“Reality.”
Cordelia laughed bitterly.
“My reality appears to be considerably worse because of your protection.”
“You think I wanted this?”
“I think you decided I was cheaper than losing the furniture.”
Beatrice slapped her.
The sound cracked through the room.
Julian moved immediately.
Cordelia lifted one hand.
“Do not.”
He stopped.
Cordelia touched her cheek.
Beatrice stared at her own hand as though shocked by it.
Cordelia’s eyes filled.
She refused to blink.
“I will not marry him.”
“Then Edmund loses his home.”
Low blow.
Perfectly aimed.
Cordelia flinched.
Beatrice saw it.
“You promised Marian.”
“Do not use her.”
“You promised that child security.”
“I promised love.”
“Love does not put a roof over his head.”
Cordelia looked toward the lawn.
Edmund had stopped playing.
He was staring through the window.
He had seen the slap.
Cordelia’s heart broke.
She walked out.
Edmund ran toward her.
“Mama Cordy?”
She knelt.
“I am all right.”
“She hit you.”
“Adults sometimes behave badly when frightened.”
“Are we leaving?”
Cordelia looked back at the house.
Julian stood in the doorway.
He had followed.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Where?”
“I do not know yet.”
Edmund wrapped his arms around her neck.
Cordelia held him.
Behind her, Julian said quietly, “You have somewhere.”
She turned.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That sounded remarkably like disagreement.”
“It was.”
“I do not require rescue, Your Grace.”
“I was going to offer employment.”
That surprised her.
“What?”
“My estate library contains six generations of badly organized correspondence. My secretary has threatened resignation twice.”
Cordelia stared.
“You know nothing about my abilities.”
“I know you can read.”
“A demanding qualification.”
“I also know you understood the debt figures faster than Mrs. Ashworth wished you to.”
“What exactly are you offering?”
“Six weeks cataloguing estate papers. Salary included. Rooms for you and the boy.”
Edmund immediately whispered, “Does your house have sugar?”
Julian looked solemn.
“Scandalous amounts.”
Cordelia nearly smiled.
Nearly.
“No charity?”
“No.”
“No hidden obligation?”
“No.”
“No expectation that gratitude changes the nature of our acquaintance?”
Julian’s gaze held hers.
“None.”
“How much?”
He told her.
Cordelia blinked.
“That is too much.”
“It is what competent work costs.”
“You do not know whether I am competent.”
“I am willing to gamble.”
She studied him.
Rich.
Powerful.
Dangerous for precisely those reasons.
But the offer was real work.
Money she could earn.
A roof Edmund could not be threatened out of.
“Six weeks,” she said.
“Six weeks.”
“I remain free to leave.”
“Whenever you wish.”
“Then I accept.”
Behind them, Beatrice stood in the doorway.
Her face had turned white.
“No.”
Cordelia looked at her.
“No?”
“You cannot go to Ravensworth House.”
“Why?”
Beatrice gripped her cane.
For the first time, her anger sounded almost like panic.
“Because there are things in that house you must never find.”
Cordelia became still.
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
“What things?”
Beatrice looked from one to the other.
Then she realized she had said too much.
“Nothing.”
Cordelia rose slowly.
“Aunt.”
“Forget it.”
“You just told me there is something at Ravensworth House connected to me.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You did.”
Beatrice turned away.
Cordelia watched her retreat into the dark hall.
Six weeks of work had suddenly become something else.
Across from her, Julian seemed to reach the same conclusion.
He lowered his voice.
“I believe, Miss Ashworth, our disorganized library has become more interesting.”
Cordelia looked down at Edmund’s hand inside hers.
Eighteen days until Thornwood could be taken.
A debt carrying her forged name.
A marriage bargain she had never accepted.
And now a secret hidden somewhere inside the Duke’s house.
May you like
She had spent years believing poverty was the worst thing her family had left her.
She was beginning to suspect she had been wrong.
