Page 60 of Duke of the Sun

“Well,” Cordelia mumbled sheepishly, “I couldn’t possibly -”

“Might I tell you of my late husband, your Grace?”

Cordelia glanced at the housekeeper curiously. “I-I suppose you may, Mrs. Bellflower.”

“Many years ago, when you were still bound to your mother’s bosom, Mr. Bellflower and I had a delightful cottage on the outskirts of London.” A wistful and pleased look took over the older woman’s face as she told her tale. “It wasn’t much at all, but it was ours. I gardened all year long while he made a living as a carpenter. And, despite everything that managed to come our way, we were happy.”

Cordelia leaned against one of the bedposts, unable to take her eyes away from Mrs. Bellflower, even when her face began to grow somber.

“My husband’s final days felt nothing at all like a person’s final days,” she continued. “Everything was as it should’ve been, and not a thing happened to have been out of place. And yet, when the moment came, and his life was returned to God, I could hardly remember the last time I told him I loved him.”

“Oh, Mrs. Bellflower,” Cordelia cooed as the housekeeper began to cry. “What a dreadful and sorrowful thing.”

“It is not his death that haunts me, your Grace, but rather the inability to know if he knew I loved him when the time came for us to part ways,” Mrs. Bellflower murmured. “That is what I fear for you. While it is not in the extreme of my late husband, it is still a dreadful problem all the same.”

“I cannot imagine saying such a thing without knowing the Duke feels the same.”

“How would you ever know if you don’t try?”

Cordelia hesitated. “H-How do I know it is the right way forward? I am terribly embarrassed, Mrs. Bellflower, for my childish need to impress him by what dress I wear. And when I realize it was all for not - what happens then? When he still leaves at the end of the day?”

Mrs. Bellflower sighed, returning to running her hands across the series of dresses. “I cannot tell you the answer, your Grace, for it lies within you, and only you. Love is about taking a leap of faith into the unknown. You will never know until you try.”

Cordelia turned to look over the dresses. Perhaps she had been mistaken about her own feelings, and what she felt now, was merely a kindness she believed Michael deserved. Cordelia strode forward, stepping into the closet where she kept all of her heart supplies. Canvases she worked on previously but didn’t have the determination to finish were stored alongside the paints and brushes. The projects she was working on remained out within the room, standing upright on easels and waiting to be finished.

Cordelia dug through the closet till she procured a recently finished painting. Stepping back into the light, Cordelia placed it open an easel, and stepped backwards to take it all in.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Bellflower breathed from behind her, “That’s -”

“Michael.”

The painting was a stunning replication of the Duke, entirely done from memory. Cordelia avoided sleep for far too long the previous night in order to finish it. Now that the paint had all dried, the painting had a new sort of look to it, one that was entirely more permanent. The portrait captured Michael’s intensive stare, his jutting brow, his shrouded eyes. A delicate shadow rested across his jawline, the classic black coat it wore pulled up around his neck. Cordelia reached, the tips of her fingers tracing along the grooves of his face.

Even then, with only a painting of him in front of her, Cordelia felt short of breath at the sight of him. She began to imagine a life where Michael remained by her side, and they continued their days out in Solshire together. Perhaps he might help her in the gardens or lounge while she painted in the orangery. They would attend London’s social season side by side, or chose to ignore it all together. The future she imagined teased her forward, as if the portrait had been Michael himself.

Cordelia pulled her gaze away. Perhaps the feelings she had were not a fluke after all. After everything, Cordelia finally realized the truth she wished to bury deep within the confines of her heart. She had undeniable and unavoidable feelings for Michael, and the thought of him turning away from her once more drove a fear into her chest unlike never before. As long as she did not give him the impression of doing something reckless, he wouldn’t feel inclined to leave. If she showed him how much she wished for his presence, perhaps Michael could admit his own feelings.

“Mrs. Bellflower,” Cordelia began, slowly looking towards the housekeeper, “I -” She paused when she realized the woman had tears streaming relentlessly down her cheeks. Cordelia twisted to face her, reaching out to swipe her finger across the housekeeper’s face. “Whatever is the matter, Mrs. Bellflower?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a work of art sobeautifulthat it manages to bring you to tears?”

“Why, yes,” Cordelia replied. “Though I can hardly believe that you cry over one ofmypaintings.”

Mrs. Bellflower’s shoulders raised. “How could I possibly not? The likeness is practically fiction. I hadn’t even realized the Duke had been posing for you, your Grace.”

A blush burnt across Cordelia’s cheeks. “He hasn’t the foggiest idea I have done this painting, Mrs. Bellflower.”

“That’s impossible!” The housekeeper shook her head. “You couldn’t have completed this from memory alone, could you?”

Cordelia shrugged, fiddling with her hair sheepishly. “I hardly believed it myself,” she murmured. “I usually have some sort of focus when I paint, but this portrait came rather naturally.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Is that odd, Mrs. Bellflower?”

“I would have to say so, your Grace,” she said. “Though I mean it in the most complimentary way possible. This is an extraordinary gift, your Grace! I do believe you managed to capture the Duke in a way we haven’t seen in quite a long time.”

“Really?” Cordelia’s curiosity caused her to lean towards the housekeeper. “And in what way would that be?”

Mrs. Bellflower smiled widely. “Content, your Grace.”

Cordelia faced the portrait once more. She couldn’t see a smile on Michael’s face, no matter which way she leaned or stood. Though, the housekeeper would know him better than she, so Cordelia decided against arguing.

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