Chapter 7 - A Dance No One Was Supposed to Notice
For three terrible seconds Cordelia believed Julian was dead.
He hit the floor.
Beatrice screamed.
The masked intruder fled through the broken window.
Cordelia dropped beside Julian.
“Julian.”
No answer.
Her hands shook as she searched his coat.
Then his eyes opened.
“Ow.”
Cordelia nearly collapsed.
“You are alive.”
“I had hoped so.”
Blood stained his shoulder.
“The ball struck you.”
“Grazed.”
“You fell.”
“I found the floor unexpectedly persuasive.”
“Do not joke.”
His face was pale.
“I am not especially amused.”
Cordelia pressed cloth against the wound.
Julian hissed.
“You are hurting me.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because dead men do not complain.”
His mouth twitched.
Despite everything, Cordelia wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously.
She chose neither.
The intruder escaped.
The stable fire was controlled.
The documents survived.
Westcott brought them immediately to a secure vault at Ravensworth.
Julian’s wound proved shallow.
The physician ordered rest.
Julian ignored him by noon.
Three days later, London society learned two things.
The Duke of Ravensworth had injured his shoulder in a “riding accident.”
And an unknown young woman had been staying at his country estate.
The second piece of gossip traveled faster.
Lady Celeste Harcourt arrived before luncheon.
Celeste had pale blond hair, flawless posture and the relaxed confidence of a woman who had never wondered whether her dress could survive another winter.
She was also, Cordelia learned within minutes, the woman society expected Julian to marry.
“I have known Julian since childhood,” Celeste said pleasantly.
Cordelia continued arranging correspondence.
“How fortunate.”
“His mother and mine were very close.”
“I see.”
“Everyone assumed eventually…”
She let the sentence disappear.
Cordelia placed another letter into a folder.
“Society appears unusually invested in His Grace’s eventual activities.”
Celeste smiled.
“You dislike gossip.”
“I dislike people pretending curiosity is concern.”
That earned a genuine laugh.
“I understand why he likes you.”
Cordelia’s hand stopped.
“His Grace employs me.”
“Julian has employed many people. He does not argue with all of them at breakfast.”
Cordelia turned.
“You seem remarkably comfortable discussing him.”
“I nearly married his brother.”
Cordelia blinked.
Celeste’s smile faded.
“Alexander died at Waterloo.”
“I am sorry.”
“So was Julian.”
The room changed.
“He never mentioned a brother.”
“He rarely does.”
Celeste walked toward the window.
“After Alexander died, Julian inherited the title. Before that, he expected freedom.”
“And after?”
“Duty.”
Cordelia understood more than she wanted.
Aunt Beatrice controlled through fear.
Julian controlled through responsibility.
Different cages.
Similar bars.
Celeste looked at Cordelia.
“There is a ball tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“You should attend.”
“I am not invited.”
“You live here.”
“I work here.”
“Then attend while working very beautifully.”
Cordelia laughed.
“I own nothing appropriate.”
Celeste smiled.
“That problem I can solve.”
Cordelia refused three dresses before Celeste became irritated.
“It is clothing, not a declaration of war.”
“It costs more than Thornwood’s roof.”
“You are borrowing it.”
“I dislike borrowing.”
“Yes. Julian mentioned that.”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes.
“How often do the two of you discuss me?”
“Often enough that I came prepared.”
She held up a silver-blue gown.
Cordelia stared.
“No.”
“Put it on.”
“No.”
An hour later, Cordelia wore it.
The gown was simple by fashionable standards.
On Cordelia it looked devastating.
The blue made her eyes seem darker.
Her auburn hair was pinned loosely with tiny silver combs.
For the first time in years, she looked at a mirror and did not see poverty first.
That frightened her.
Edmund entered.
His mouth dropped open.
“You look rich.”
Cordelia laughed.
“Thank you, I think.”
“Are you marrying the Duke?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Finch said people dress like that when someone important looks at them.”
“Mrs. Finch said no such thing.”
Edmund considered.
“No.”
“Edmund.”
“I made it up.”
At the ball, Julian saw Cordelia from across the room.
He stopped mid-conversation.
Celeste noticed.
So did everyone else.
Cordelia immediately regretted attending.
Julian approached.
His injured arm rested in a sling beneath his formal coat.
“You came.”
“I live upstairs.”
“To the ballroom.”
“Lady Celeste threatened me.”
“Effective woman.”
He looked at her.
Too long.
Cordelia’s pulse changed.
“You are staring.”
“I know.”
“That is impolite.”
“I am discovering I do not care.”
“Your social training has deteriorated.”
“Apparently.”
Music began.
Julian extended his good hand.
“Dance with me.”
The room seemed to quiet despite continuing conversation.
Cordelia saw what this meant.
A Duke did not casually dance with an impoverished woman living beneath his roof.
Not when gossip already existed.
“No.”
Julian’s expression barely changed.
“Because you dislike dancing?”
“Because half this room is watching.”
“All the more reason to provide them something accurate to discuss.”
“That is the worst argument I have heard from you.”
“Yet?”
She almost smiled.
Then she placed her hand in his.
The dance began.
Julian moved carefully because of his shoulder.
Cordelia was rusty.
Neither cared.
“You never told me about Alexander,” she said.
His face closed.
“Celeste.”
“She thought I should understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why you behave as though duty is a religion.”
Julian looked beyond her.
“My brother was better at being liked.”
“An impressive talent.”
“He was better at everything.”
“I doubt that.”
“You did not know him.”
“I know you.”
Julian’s gaze returned.
“Do you?”
“Somewhat.”
“And what have you concluded?”
“That you are arrogant.”
“Expected.”
“Controlling when frightened.”
He stiffened.
“Uncomfortably observant.”
“And kinder than you wish anyone to notice.”
His grip tightened slightly.
Cordelia continued.
“You use responsibility to avoid wanting anything for yourself.”
Julian stopped dancing.
Other couples moved around them.
“Cordelia.”
“What?”
“Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“See me.”
The words were quiet.
She forgot the ballroom.
Forgot the watching faces.
For one impossible moment there was only the man from the rain and the woman who had sent him away.
Then applause erupted as the dance ended.
They separated.
A footman approached Julian carrying a letter.
“Urgent, Your Grace.”
Julian opened it.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He handed the paper to Cordelia.
It was from Vale.
Miss Ashworth has until noon tomorrow.
Accept my proposal, and Thornwood’s debt disappears.
Refuse, and I file foreclosure immediately.
Cordelia’s happiness vanished.
Julian looked at her.
“He is forcing the issue because he knows we found the journal.”
“What do we do?”
“We fight.”
“With what?”
“The documents.”
“Will they stop foreclosure tomorrow?”
Julian did not answer.
That was enough.
Cordelia looked across the ballroom at Edmund laughing beside Mrs. Finch.
Then at the beautiful borrowed dress.
The warm house.
The world she did not belong to.
“If I marry him,” she whispered, “Edmund keeps Thornwood.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“You are not marrying Vale.”
“You do not decide.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“But before you sacrifice yourself, you should know there may be another way.”
“What way?”
Julian stared at her.
May you like
Then said the one thing Cordelia had not expected.
“Marry me instead.”
