Page 70 of Duke of the Sun

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Bellflower said in a quiet voice, pulling Cordelia out of her reverie.

“Hm?”

The housekeeper had laid the dresses along the bed while Cordelia was lost in her thoughts, and had returned to the closest to retrieve something else. Resting in her arms was the portrait Cordelia had done of Michael, the likeness striking her suddenly, as if he had been within the room the entire time. But then she noticed her familiar handiwork, and pushed herself off the windowsill.

“My painting,” she murmured, tracing her fingertip along the striking line of his jaw.

“Perhapsnowmight be the time to deliver this to His Grace.”

Cordelia’s brow furrowed. “Of that, Mrs. Bellflower, I am unsure.”

“Why?” Mrs. Bellflower lowered the painting to take a look at it herself, a smile immediately slipping across her face. “It is too lovely to be left in the dark of the closest, your Grace.”

“Do you not find it odd?”

“What, your Grace?”

Cordelia sighed. “To present Michael with a gift such as this.” She shook her head. “Who’s to say he would like the piece, anyhow? Has he shown an affinity for art before?”

Mrs. Bellflower let a smirk begin to crawl across her face, looking rather proud of what she was about to say. “Perhaps he hasn’t,” she replied, “But he has shown an affinity foryou, hasn’t he, your Grace?”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. Had Michael truly expressed an interest in Cordelia, one that she had failed to recognize? No, she told herself. He disappeared for years, but… He was swayed by her in the end. The original intention of his arrival to Solshire seemed to trickle away, leaving only a more personal reason for his stay at the estate. Perhaps he remained for her, and her alone. Cordelia reached for the painting, holding it close to her chest.

“Answer me honestly, Mrs. Bellflower.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

“Would he,” her voice trailed off, embarrassment she was not used to feeling threatening to climb up her throat. She inhaled deeply, calming the rush of butterflies that swarmed through her stomach once more. “Would he like it?”

Mrs. Bellflower’s aged face softened. “I truly believe so, your Grace. But,” she paused, gesturing towards the dresses she had already laid out, “You might never know until you see him.”

With a newfound burst of energy, Cordelia placed the painting aside and began to get dressed for the day. Each passing minute meant another second closer to seeing Michael. She chose a baby blue dress for that day, one that was light and simple but fit her extraordinarily well. In the past, she might’ve scoffed and huffed at the idea of dressing for another person, with the intention of impressing them towards her favor. And yet, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, noticing how flushed her cheeks were, Cordelia couldn’t imagine doing anything else than that.

“Shall you bring the portrait with you, your Grace?”

Cordelia shook her head as she walked to the door. “Perhaps you might bring it along with you,” she said. “Later, once we have spoken.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

Gathering up herself, Cordelia left her bedroom behind, making her way down towards the dining room. The closer she went, the more excited she became, her prospects looking brighter than they ever had before. A brighter future stared back at her, one that could be life long and as gratifying as she yearned for it to be. A few members of staff were trickling out of the room when she came upon it, slipping around them and over the threshold.

The room was full of morning light. Breakfast filled the round table, freshly squeezed orange juice already set at her spot. Cordelia’s smile was as bright as the sun as she laid her eyes upon Michael. He sat at his regular spot at the table, his plate pushed aside as he diligently wrote a letter. The sound of his quill scratching against the papers filled the air as she inched closer.

“Good morning, Michael,” Cordelia finally said, straightening out her skirts at the same time.

Lifting his head, Michael’s dark eyes found hers instantly. A frown was already on his lips, and it tugged further down the longer he stared. “Good morning,” he said. “Please, take a seat.” He gestured at the chair across from him, as though she was nothing more than a guest.

Cordelia, feeling slightly stunted by his cold demeanor, kept the smile on her face as she did as he said. Her eyes lingered on the papers he worked on, but the angle was too obscured by the plates of food and his glass. Curiosity nipped at her, but she remained quiet, her eyes holding onto him eagerly.

“You have played your part well.”

Cordelia’s brow rose. “My part?”

“In our efforts to diminish the rumors surrounding our names.” Michael finally set his quill down, letting his serious stare land on her heavily. “As far as I am concerned, the Ton’s gossip no longer linger on the events following our sudden marriage.”

“T-That is very well,” she replied in a quiet voice. There was something about his look, something about his very air that drove an unpleasant feeling into Cordelia’s stomach. The adrenaline and excitement she once felt became ill suited and sickening. She kept one hand over her stomach while pushing the plate of food away with the other.

If there was anything she was still sure of, it was a need for honesty. No matter what he planned on saying next, Cordelia knew what it was that she wanted to say, and could hardly go another day with the truth trapped within her heart. There was more that she wanted, a future that required him to remain by her side, beyond the Season.

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