Page 32 of Duke of the Sun

“Devils, Mrs. Bellflower, it pleases me all too much.”

The housekeeper covered her mouth from Cordelia's brass use of language.

“I apologize,” she quickly added.

Mrs. Bellflower laughed lightly. “You were shocked, your Grace.”

“I am more than shocked.”

“Did you not know you were such a beautiful creature?”

Cordelia glanced over at her. “I doubt it even still.”

“It saddens me greatly that you do not recall your mother, your Grace,” Mrs. Bellflower suddenly said, the intention behind her words surprising. “I can only imagine what a beauty she must have been, if this is how you look now, your Grace.”

“You flatter me too much.”

“You do not flatter yourself enough,” the housekeeper quickly added. “There won’t be a hint of any rumors at that ball, your Grace, I am quite sure of it.”

Cordelia laughed. “And what makes you so confident?”

“The rest of the Ton will be far too distracted on you to even think of it, your Grace,” Mrs. Bellflower cooed as she crossed the room. “I am sure you were raised on piety and humility, your Grace, as we all are.”

“Of course,” Cordelia replied, immediately turning to put her back to the mirror.

“Well, I believe there are moments the Lord intended for us to look upon our own beauty, and to thank him for the blessings we have so graciously received, your Grace,” Mrs. Bellflower explained. “Recognizing the beauty you put aside all your life won’t make you any less blessed in his eyes. Do you understand what I mean, your Grace?”

Cordelia nodded. “You are a very wise housekeeper, Mrs. Bellflower.”

“Now you flatter me all too much!” The housekeeper gathered up Cordelia’s coat before crossing to the door. “Are you ready, your Grace?”

Cordelia glanced over her shoulder at her reflection once more. In all honesty, she barely recognized herself. There was no hint of the painter, the girl who seldom attended balls unless forced, the girl who was once left behind by her first betrothed, the girl who was left alone once more by her beast of a husband. Everything that made Cordelia herself felt nonexistent. She glanced around the room. Noticed the easels, the blank canvases, the half finished paintings, the sleeping terrier curled up in the corner. All those things reminded her that she was still herself, even if she couldn’t tell.

What if the Duke could not tell? What if he looked upon her painted and gowned with a raised brow? What if he never intended to see her in such a way?

And what if, the worst possibility of them all, the Duke decided he preferred neither version of her?

Cordelia drew in a deep breath. Nevertheless, the ball was still going to happen, and she was still expected to attend. There were rumors to squash, gossip to handle. Her name and her future in London hung in the balance. The sooner it could be rectified, the sooner Cordelia could return to the small things that granted her happiness. She managed to look out the window, the glass roof of the orangery catching the falling rays of light as the sun slipped beyond the horizon.

“I am, Mrs. Bellflower,” she finally said, hoping the smile on her face did not look as truthful as she felt.

The housekeeper beamed. “Come along, your Grace.”

They made their way out of the chambers, and Cordelia followed close to Mrs. Bellflower’s heel. The halls of Solshire’s estate were quiet that evening, most of the staff tucked away elsewhere. There would be no dinner to prepare for the servants to prepare, no drinks to pour or anything else of the sort. Cordelia, for a moment, wished to be one of them, not bound by the words of the Ton and free to do as they pleased.

Mrs. Bellflower stepped aside at the staircase, extending an arm for Cordelia to walk in front of her rather than behind.

As Cordelia stepped forward, the front doors opened wide and letting the smoldering light inwards, her eyes caught on a figure standing at the foot of the stairs. The Duke raised his head to her. His dark hair was pulled back, a few strands escaping to fall across his shrouded eyes. The normal hard line she expected his lips to be in was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he gaped, ever so slightly, just enough for her to notice the difference.

The Duke’s unmistakable gaze clung to her as she took each step, his dark brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Cordelia found herself unable to look away from him in the same fashion, though she blamed it on her confusion to his prolonged attention rather than anything else. She remained on the second to last step for a moment, standing a foot taller than him.

“Your Grace,” the Duke said, his voice gravelly, as though he hadn’t spoken in a long time, “That color suits you.”

Cordelia swallowed. “Thank you, your Grace.” She curtsied, though her eyes peeked up at him, eager to take in his attire now that they were only a few feet away from each other.

The Duke wore a black tailcoat, which she very much expected. Beneath it, however, was a green so dark she almost missed it. Within an instant, Cordelia knew their outfits were coordinated to match, a common thing seen with married couples in the Ton. She looked away, catching a glimpse of the housekeeper coming down the stairs, a knowingly proud smirk spreading across her face.

Cordelia met her husband’s stare. “You look very well.”

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