Page 13 of One Perfect Dance
Regina snorted. “They will love you. Just be yourself, Cordelia.”
“Surely, I am not the marriage they planned for their son? You know my mother was a mill owner’s daughter. Perhaps they just want to meet me so they can tell me in person that I am reaching above myself. Perhaps I shall make a stupid mistake and show everyone how unsuited I am to being a marchioness.”
Regina took her friend by both hands. “Listen to me, Cordelia. You are as good as anyone else.” She indicated the ballroom with the tip of her head. “Better than most of those empty-headed idiots who can trace their ancestry back on both sides to some villainous robber who came over with the Conqueror. Your father was born a gentleman, and you were born a lady. You’ve been raised to it, too. You have had the same training as the rest of us in proper etiquette and in managing a house and servants. And you are clever enough to work out what you don’t know and learn it.”
Cordelia still looked doubtful.
Regina took another tack. “You need to think about what will make you happy. Do you want to be a marchioness?”
The glow returned. “I want Paul. Lord Spenhurst, that is. I would prefer he was not in line to become a marquess, but I would rather learn to fit in his world than live in mine without him.” Her eyes turned dreamy, and her smile broadened. “And Regina? He feels the same way.”
Regina pressed down her surge of envy. “That’s your answer, then. You can do this, Cordelia. Remember you are every bit as good as they are. And I suppose your uncle has already advised you that your dowry will be very much appreciated.”
“Paul says he doesn’t care about my dowry,” Cordelia insisted.
Regina, having seen Lord Spenhurst watching Cordelia, thought this was probably true. “Which is excellent,” she said. “You don’t want his title but will get the advantage of passing it on to your children anyway. He doesn’t want your money but will be able to spend it on his estate which, if rumor is true, would benefit from the infusion of cash.”
Cordelia laughed. “Dear Regina, so practical. Thank you, my darling friend. I will write to you to tell you how I get on.”
The following afternoon, Mama and Regina had a garden party to attend. Papa had initially accepted the invitation, but he said he was feeling unwell, and they should go without him.
He looked pale and was mopping sweat from his forehead. “Should we call a doctor, Papa?” Regina asked.
“No, no,” he insisted. “I shall be perfectly well. Something I have eaten disagreed with me.” He put a hand to his chest as if to ease the pain. “You ladies go and enjoy yourselves and be sure to tell me all about it when you return.”
Regina said that she would prefer to stay home, but Mama refused to consider it.
“I’m certain Mr. Paddimore will stay with Lord Kingsley,” she huffed. Regina had no idea why Mama disliked Mr. Paddimore so, but her antipathy was clear. Papa preferred Mr. Paddimore’s company to Mama’s, so perhaps that was the explanation, but Regina could not imagine Mama enjoying the quiet evenings that Papa preferred, and why should he not spend time with his friend when she was out at one social event after another?
According to the gossipmongers, Mr. Paddimore had taken his illegitimate son into his house to raise as his ward. While mildly scandalous, this did not prevent Mr. Paddimore from being received everywhere. However, perhaps Mama’s dislike was rooted in the existence of the little boy and Mr. Paddimore’s refusal to ignore him. Regina thought it was rather admirable of him to give the child his name and his protection.
None of her particular friends were at the garden party, but Miss Wharton’s allies were out in force. Regina wished even more that she had been permitted to stay home with her father.
She wondered where Cordelia was. Had she already left London? How would Lord and Lady Deerhaven receive her?
“Go for a walk, Regina,” Mama said. “I have seen someone I wish to talk to.”
Mama had relaxed a little over the Season, accepting that Regina was not going to run wild when out of sight for a minute or two. Usually, Regina was happy to go off with friends, but with none of them in sight, she asked, “May I not stay with you, Mama?”
“No, dear,” Mama said, firmly. “Run along.”
Regina put up her parasol and strolled down through the garden, nodding to acquaintances. She crossed the lawn at the bottom and strolled back up the path on the other side. She was approaching the house when a footman hurried up to her. “Miss Kingsley?”
“Yes, that is I,” she said.
“A note for you, miss.” He handed over a folded piece of paper and hurried away before she could question him.
It was from Cordelia, her friend’s usual neat copperplate an untidy scrawl that hinted at a perturbed mind.
Regina, I don’t know what to do! It is dreadful. I need your advice, dear friend. I am waiting in a little parlor by the front door—I cannot bear for all those horrid gossipers to see me. Please do not fail me. Cordelia.
Regina didn’t hesitate. She hurried through the house, too anxious to find her mother and let her know where she was going. To the left of the front entrance, a door stood a little ajar. Regina could see a couple of chairs and low table through the gap. This must be it.
She pushed the door wider and was three steps into the room before she realized that Cordelia was not there.
Behind her, the door slammed shut. Regina spun around.
Mr. David Deffew stood there, grinning. “Hello, Miss Kingsley. How good of you to join me.”
