Page 59 of Cora
“Do not order Us about like a child,” she snapped. Two minutes ago, she had been delighted by the young men of Eton’s attentions. Now, she was being herded about like a lost sheep surrounded by an entire pack of sheepdogs. No one was in charge.
“Your Highness, I must insist you get into the carriage?—”
“Insist all you wish. I give orders, not you. Find Hawke. Figure out who attempted to shoot me this time. What is it, the sixth attempt?”
“Eighth, actually.”
Victoria hated nothing more than men whoactually-ed her about details of her own life. She flopped down onto the carriage seat and tugged her skirt straight.
“A couple of the Eton boys have caught the shooter. His name is Roderick Maclean. They’re beating him with umbrellas until the officials can make a proper arrest.” The man made a circling motion beside his ear. “Appears to be a nutter. Says he sent you poetry.”
“Who doesn’t send Us poetry?” Victoria could not resist a very un-queen-like eye roll. “We should get nothing useful done if We read all the dreck mailed to Buckingham Palace. Just find Hawke. We were fortunate that this attempt upon Our life was as unsuccessful as the last several, but all it takes is one, and he is supposed to be protecting Us. Where is he?”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
CORA
Still floating from her lazy morning with Gideon, Cora was brought rudely down to earth when Martha Wentworth arrived for an early afternoon visit.
“We are planning an event,” she informed Cora with a scathing sidelong glance. Cora wasn’t one to be embarrassed easily, but heat flashed over her skin. She was still in her dressing gown with a thick silk robe over it.
“You shall wear the fawn brocade,” Mrs. Wentworth was saying. “Are you paying attention?”
Cora snapped out of her reverie. “The fawn looks terrible on me. Why not the blue?”
“Blue is showy.” She sniffed. “Blue is the color of women who desire attention. Men’s attention, in particular.”
Countess Oreste often wore blue. It suited her icy beauty—black hair, blue eyes, and creamy skin. Her mother-in-law wanted her to dull her shine, not sparkle the way Belladonna did. Whether Martha intended it as a slight against the missing countess, or not, Cora wasn’t entirely sure. Despite having only just resolved not to engage in tests of wills with her mother-in-law over trivial things like clothing, Cora found herself doing precisely that.
For clothing was not trivial. What and where one chose to wear spoke volumes about one’s position in Society. Martha wanted her to follow her lead and be good enough to be respected but not outshine titled ladies.
Cora wanted to shine.
“Blue suits me. It is the color of purity and fidelity.” Which meant she had no right to wear it any more than she had to the white wedding dress she had so dreaded. She poured tea, set down the pot and raised her dish to her lips, blowing on it to cool it before taking a sip. Martha’s unsmiling face crinkled at the corners. “Gideon likes it when I wear colors.”
“The Queen, however, will not.”
“Queen Victoria has greater things to think about. The attempt upon her life yesterday, for example.”
“The Queen thinks of money when she looks at one of us. We cannot afford to stand out, should she make an appearance at tonight’s event.”
Insight flashed into her mind like the flare of a match. “Hence your request that I wear a gold dress, the color of money and wealth?”
Martha nodded. “Finally, you begin to understand.”
She should apologize for not wearing it. The words “I’m sorry” were on the tip of her tongue when Martha interrupted her, and they died on her lips.
“The point of marriage is the production of children,” she said acerbically with a pointed glance at Cora’s stomach. “The point of children is to pass on accumulated wealth.”
“How dreary.” Cora set down her tea cup. “No wonder so many families are unhappy. All obligation and no love is no way to live.”
“Do not speak to me of love,” her mother-in-law snapped. “Love is for fools. Money cements connections. Children carry those connections forward. What does romantic love matter in the face of worthy self-sacrifice?”
Titi came over and pawed at her skirt. Cora patted her lap. The little animal jumped up.
“Love is the only thing that makes life worth living, Martha.” She bussed a kiss between Titi’s ears.
“Animals are not children.” The woman’s lip curled at the way Titania settled beneath Cora’s gentle strokes. “I never took you, of all people, for a romantic. The one advantage was that you were a practical sort. Or so I thought.”
