Page 44 of Cora
Isabelle needed all the help she could get. She hadn’t met her sister-in-law’s sister-in-law more than a few times, but it required little insight to discern that Isabelle Kingston was undeniably an odd duck, deeply uncomfortable in large groups, although she managed well enough in smaller groups of people whom she knew well. She and Rosalyn had become fast friends, despite the genuinely awkward way they had met. Esther, the dowager Countess de Lucey, had been working with Isabelle for months to help acclimate her to her new role as an aristocratic lady. Annalise had told her all of this, but she still worried about how Isabelle would fare once the Season got underway.
Annalise didn’t need any more worries to contend with, in her condition. While the bank was finally stable and she seemed content enough in her inconveniently located little cottage with Eryx, there was still a massive ongoing construction project on their mansion. Even if they could afford it, the expense alarmed her. Besides, Annalise was a natural worrier. She couldn’t help but take on other people’s worries as her own.
If Cora could spare her this concern, she was determined to do so.
“I see greater upside to cultivating a friendship with the dowager countess than in alienating her, Martha. Don’t you agree?”
Martha’s lips pursed. “If you were already established in Society, and your regrettable parentage forgotten, then I would agree that a countess’ friendship is worth courting. However, you are not established in Society. You remain a pariah, your lamentable origins are on everyone’s lips, and not a single soul has forgotten your unfortunate performance at the Pindell’s debutante soiree. Every single person is waiting with bated breath to see whether you make another mistake. You cannot afford to risk helping that young woman, no matter how deserving you believe her to be.”
“Maybe they’re waiting to see how I impress them.” She smiled with sharklike sweetness. Martha rolled her eyes.
“We will see you at the Blumford’s ball Season opening ball this evening,” Martha informed her. “Wear the saffron and gold gown with the bow on the back.”
Cora loathed that gown. The bow’s placement on her bottom might be the height of fashion, but it did her figure no favors. The color turned her skin sallow and her hair dull. Gold tissue was a beautiful fabric wasted on hideous design.
Martha wanted to stage-manage every aspect of her public conduct and appearance, but Cora did not have to accede to her wishes.
“Will Gideon be there?” Cora had the temerity to ask. Martha had left the luncheon table and was sorting through a stack of invitations. Ivory parchment whispered soothingly. Martha’s only response was a quirked eyebrow.
“You’re asking me?”
Cora merely waited, a technique she had used on her brothers, with middling results.
“You are his wife.” Martha set aside the letters. “I don’t ask you to keep track of my husband’s activities, now do I?”
Stung, Cora summoned a footman and slipped Titania’s jumper over her little head. The older woman sighed. “I confess you were not the daughter-in-law I would have chosen for Gideon. I could have tolerated you for Reggie.”
“Yes, you have said as much.” Cora stood up and headed for the door. Martha followed her. “How is Reggie?”
“Well enough. Considering his circumstances.”
The poor man. Trapped in a wheeled chair and subject to the whims of a mother like Martha.
“We haven’t finished discussing your Season,” Martha protested. “And another thing—you will make this your final visit to Miss Caldwell. You cannot be friends with a spinster so firmly on the shelf, with a loose tongue and not a thought in her head. You must think of the impact of your actions and your associations upon Wentworth’s, Cora. It is your duty to your family, now.”
“I beg to differ. I explained that I have appointments. You might have done me the courtesy of inquiring whether I had time for this discussion before barging into my home and expecting me to be instantly available to you for the entire afternoon.”
“This is why you weren’t my first choice for Gideon. Nor even my last,” Mrs. Wentworth fumed. “You do not listen to any counsel except your own. You are heedless of the opinions of others, obstinate in the face of criticism, and too stubborn to admit fault. Wentworth’s cannot afford your arrogance!”
Cora had heard that conflation between a business and personal identity before. From Eryx. Brusquely, while knowing she was proving her greatest critic right, Cora thrust her arms through the sleeves of her mantle and closed the frog fastenings. In truly poor taste, she shoved her hands deep inside the pockets. It was a habit she had picked up from her brother, who had been rather sullen about being sent off to school.
“I will never understand what prompted Gideon to make marrying me a condition of saving my brother’s bank, but I am glad that he did. He is a difficult man, but then, I am not an easy woman. As you have observed.”
Mrs. Wentworth puffed with pride.
“My son is a good man. An honest man. Scrupulous in his dealings.”
Cora couldn’t argue. Gideon had been kind to her, and she had not expected kindness. She was certain Martha would say she did not deserve it, so she sidestepped the issue.
“I am not interested in making another mistake this Season. I do not wish to outshine anyone.” Let the debutantes have the spotlight. She no longer cared. “All I want to do is blend in as much as possible.”
“You are not the kind of woman who can go unnoticed, Cora.”
“I am painfully conscious of that fact.” She was nervous about the role she had been asked to play, like a ballerina who had fallen during a performance and more than a decade later had been granted a second chance at the stage.
Mrs. Wentworth heaved a sigh and glanced away. “We must work with what we have.”
Good lord, this woman could not be pleased. “On that happy note, I must take my leave.”
