Page 29 of Duke of the Sun

“Never mind it,” Cordelia said instead.

“I took to going through your ball gowns, your Grace, since you have an event steadily approaching.”

Cordelia frowned. Somehow, during the trip back, she had completely forgotten about the ball and everything a Season in London required. “Very well,” she muttered. “I assume there was something acceptable for the occasion.”

“More than acceptable, your Grace,” she replied. “You own so many delightful pieces, I am surprised you hadn’t taken to them much sooner.”

“Balls are not my preferred way to spend my time.”

Mrs. Bellflower laughed. “Why not, your Grace? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” Cordelia replied. “Some days, I believe the life of an aristocrat was meant for someone entirely different than me. I do not care to waltz around a room listening to the gossip and rumors the Ton decides to spread on any given evening.”

“Perhaps it would be a more exciting turn of events to spread gossip around yourself, your Grace.”

Cordelia glanced over at her with wide eyes. “Mrs. Bellflower,” she mused, “What a shocking thing to suggest.”

“The rumors spread about you and the Duke have reached even our ears, your Grace.”

Cordelia sighed. “They are foolish, aren’t they?”

“But still widely believed,” the housekeeper continued. “The Duke would not have returned if he didn’t have a sort of question about them. If they are that easy to be created, your Grace, what’s to say you can’t use this ball to reshape how the Ton thinks of you? However you might please?”

“My, my,” Cordelia teased with a growing smile, “Who knew you were such a gossip, Mrs. Bellflower?”

The housekeeper laughed, a delicate pink hue taking over her wrinkled cheeks. “I wouldn’t call myself a gossip, your Grace, but rather someone who understands how the Ton flows and ebbs. It is only food for thought, your Grace. You may take it as you wish.”

Cordelia’s smile widened even further. The housekeeper suggested to do gossiping of her own, some that could rid Solshire of the dreadfully foolish rumors that threatened to tarnish the Duke’s well rounded name for generations to come. While she had no interest in rectifying the things the Ton wished to believe, she found a sort of playfulness in Mrs. Bellflower’s suggestion. Why shouldn’t Cordelia have a bit of fun herself, in a time when she couldn’t imagine finding the slightest bit of pleasure in a ball?

As they pressed further into the foyer, Cordelia noticed an aching in her calves, one that shot down to her sore feet. Nothing a bout of warm water and a relaxing hour couldn’t fix. “It has been quite a long day of travel, Mrs. Bellflower,” Cordelia said. “Might you send a maid to prepare a bath for me?”

The housekeeper bowed her head. “Would you like to use your newly renovated bathroom, your Grace?”

Cordelia nodded. “It has been a successful addition to the estate, hasn’t it?” The words of her husband came rushing back to her, his consistent apprehension towards her renovations not hesitating to cling to her confidence. “Despite the work and cost.”

“I would say so, your Grace,” Mrs. Bellflower said. “The maids are very grateful to not have to lug the bathtub to and from any rooms.”

“I am glad.”

“The most important one to please is yourself, your Grace. As long as you approve of the addition, I do not see any qualms about it.”

“I cannot approve it enough,” Cordelia joked, letting out a light laugh. “The window the bathtub is placed in front of is the most relaxing spot in the entire estate. I could have a glass of wine in there, if I was so pleased.”

Mrs. Bellflower smiled. “And your art, your Grace? Have you brought it there with you?”

“I never thought of it,” Cordelia replied as they walked leisurely towards her chambers. “Though, it would be quite a shame to get water on a canvas, wouldn’t it?”

The housekeeper laughed. “You are the painter, your Grace.”

At her chambers, Mrs. Bellflower gave Cordelia a slight bow. “I will fetch the maids now, your Grace, to prepare you for a bath.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bellflower.”

The housekeeper scurried down the hall, gathering her skirts in one hand as she slipped around the corner. Cordelia passed into her room, walking past the series of canvases she had poised on her easels already. Her work, lately, consisted primarily of landscapes around the estate. She worked on a painting of the orangery, though she paused till the construction on it was entirely finished. Another consisted of the front of the estate, the lake and family mausoleum peeking out on either side. The last remained blank, a project she wanted to begin but had yet to decide on a subject.

Cordelia took a seat at the edge of her bed, peeling off her gloves and kicking her shoes haphazardly across the floor. All the while she stared at the white canvas, her mind suddenly fixated on something to fill it with. Her head tilted. An image came to mind, one that brought a heated blush to her cheeks at the exact same time.

Cordelia was not one to paint portraits. They were time consuming and required the subject to sit in the ideal position for long, grueling hours. Cordelia had her own portrait done as a child, and the time she spent stuck in an uncomfortable chair while a pinched looking man sketched her onto his canvas was not a fond memory. And yet, as she rose from the bed, drawing nearer to the canvas, Cordelia raised her finger, tracing the lines and shapes in her head across the page.

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