Page 3 of Weave me a Rope
The angel had a name.Cordelia.It was as lovely as she was. Unexpected and strong. Pretty, too. Cordelia raised her eyebrows at his searching look. “Come along, Lord Spenhurst. Get us safely to a place where we can dry Lady Daphne off, and then, if you would be so kind, I will send you to find Miss Faversham, Lady Daphne’s companion.”
His father the marquess would never stand for being sent off on an errand like a footman. Spen found it rather endearing. Hisangel of mercy was certainly not going to lie down and let him—or anyone else—walk all over her.
*
For Cordelia Miltonand her aunt, the evening was finished. Aunt Eliza was inclined to grieve over their early departure, but relief was Cordelia’s main emotion as she sat in their carriage considering the events of another evening foray into the black heart of London society.
Aunt Eliza had been delighted with the invitation to Lady Corven’s ball, but it was clear from the first moment they saw their hostess that Cordelia’s uncle had pulled strings to get them there. Uncle Josh was known not only for his wealth but also for his relentless search for information and other ways of gaining advantage. He was willing to use these ruthlessly, both in business and in seeing his brother’s child established. It did not make her welcome. Lady Corven’s demeanor said as clearly as words that she might be forced to have the merchant’s niece and his sister in her house, but she did not have to like it.
Cordelia was used to the contempt of those who considered their pristine family trees made them more worthy than an upstart merchant and his niece, however overeducated for her class she might be.
Uncle Josh had promised his mother on her deathbed that her granddaughter would marry into the gentry. Gran Milton had begun with a barrow in the square of a market town in Kent and worked tirelessly to establish a small chain of haberdasheries, which in turn became the foundation for Uncle Josh’s commercial empire.
Gran had wed her own daughter to a country gentleman. He and Aunt Eliza had never had children, but Aunt Eliza had fond memories of Mr. Walters. When she was widowed, though herhusband had made sure to provide well for her after his death, she returned to live with Uncle Joshua because he and Gran were raising their deceased brother’s daughter, and Gran was getting old.
Gran was proud of Aunt Eliza’s match, but she wanted even better for Cordelia.
Fortunately, Gran had also made Uncle Josh promise her only grandchild could choose her own husband. So far, Cordelia had not met anyone with whom she could bear to spend the rest of her life. Some of the ladies and gentlemen she met were not unpleasant. Perhaps some of them were even nice. Even so, Cordelia was inclined to think they were civil to her because her uncle could buy and sell them, and they knew it.
As much as she did not wish to disappoint Uncle Josh, marriage was for life. Her life. Cordelia was skeptical about the benefits of a love match, having seen marriages fade. But at the very least, she wanted to respect her husband and have his respect in return.
This evening, she had escaped to the garden from the heat of the ballroom—both the oppressive warmth of too many bodies in too small a space and the emotional scalding administered by many of the other guests. The retreat had been a response to one arrogant man who had announced, without preamble, that he was willing to marry her, for he could always refuse to acknowledge her uncle, and her own flaws were not bad enough to outweigh the size of her dowry.
No doubt she would find it funny in the morning.
She thanked him for his condescension and told him her answer was no, and then left while he was still gaping. The other option had been to take some action that would upset her hostess and embarrass her dear but ineffectual chaperone. Such as tipping her ratafia (that ghastly liquid) down the ornate waistcoat of the prat.
Cordelia had intended a short stroll, and then a dive back into the fray. She and her aunt had been enjoying the cool breeze and the night scents of the garden when they had heard the hateful tones of her most ardent persecutor in full torment mode, followed by a scream and then a splash.
She had known Miss Wharton was at the center of whatever happened before she recognized that the person sitting sobbing in the pool was Lady Daphne Ashburton. She was a sweet person with the body of a woman and the understanding of a child—a little timorous mouse to Miss Wharton’s cat.
Like a mouse, Lady Daphne liked to creep into corners in the hope of being unnoticed. Since Cordelia was also relegated to the corners by virtue of her tainted bloodlines, they had met several times.
If the Earl of Yarverton, Lady Daphne’s father, had to cast the poor girl on the non-existent mercies of Society, the least he could have done was provide her with more effective protection than a governess-turned-companion. Not that Miss Faversham didn’t try, but those whose instincts tended toward cruelty were not deterred by the opinion of a servant.
Perhaps the Earl of Spenhurst might achieve more. If hedidspeak to Lady Corven, and if Lady Corvendidtake any notice, perhaps other hostesses might realize Miss Wharton and her friends, and others like them, needed to be curbed.
Cordelia had her doubts that any of them would do a thing. Yes, these attacks concerned one of their own, a titled lady. But Lady Daphne embarrassed them. The fashionable world was nervous around those who were not like them. Uncle Josh said they demanded outward perfection of body and mind because they were so twisted in their characters and their morals, and the more rotten they were under the masks they wore, the more they rejected those whose infirmities frightened them by remindingthem of their own. Which begged the question of why he was so determined she should join their ranks.
Still, Lord Spenhurst seemed sincere enough. Cordelia had been unsettled by her meeting with the elusive earl. Society had been buzzing with the news his father intended the young man to choose a bride this Season. It was, all agreed, unlikely he would look outside of the daughters of dukes, marquesses, or earls for candidates. Those who qualified were jostling for position.
The earl had been playing least in sight. Rumor had it he was reluctant to obey his father’s edict, but whether that was merely a guess because he had not arrived in London in time for the first entertainments of the Season, Cordelia did not know.
In fact, this was the first time his and Cordelia’s paths had crossed, and he was not what she expected. She had imagined an arrogant young man sure of his own consequence and disdainful of anyone whose birth did not match his high standards. The young lord had certainly sounded arrogant when he instructed the three hellcats to leave the property, but from then on, he was nothing but pleasant and helpful. He was also kind to Lady Daphne, which was a mark in his favor.
Why was she thinking about Lord Spenhurst? He was so far above her touch he might be the moon, and she was no moth to flutter hopelessly in his direction. He was unlikely to as much as acknowledge Cordelia when next they met, and the highest sticklers would praise him for it. After all, the pair of them had not been properly introduced. He had every excuse for ignoring her existence.
And Cordelia would not care if he did. What was the Earl of Spenhurst to her, even if her stomach did flutter when he’d bowed over her hand after they introduced themselves to one another. Actually, the flutter had started earlier, when she’d brushed by him on the path. It had only gotten worse as hisfingers touched hers when he gave her his coat to put around Lady Daphne.
Cordelia was an innocent, but she was not a fool. She had felt such flutters before. She had met other attractive men: a dancing teacher at her school, a handsome clerk in her uncle’s London offices, a young officer who had danced with her at a local assembly in a town where she was on holiday.
A flutter, a heightened sense of awareness, a pleasant exchange of smiles, and they’d gone their separate ways. Two of them had proved a disappointment on further acquaintance, and no doubt the young officer would also have failed to live up to expectations, had she ever seen him again.
But after Lord Spenhurst found Miss Faversham and had seen her and Lady Daphne on their way, he’d offered Cordelia his arm to escort her to her coach and the flutters increased. And then he’d bowed over her hand. She had removed her wet gloves, so his lips touched her skin, sending a quiver all the way up her arm and down her torso into what had become a veritable storm of butterflies.
So, yes, she found Lord Spenhurst attractive, but there was nothing notable about that. He was tall, slender, and well-dressed. He had the straight carriage expected of a gentleman. In the better light of the terrace, she could see that his eyes were blue and his hair a light brown. His face was symmetrical and therefore pleasing, though what attracted her most was the warmth and concern in his expression. He spoke kindly to poor Lady Daphne and with respect to Cordelia.
The world was full of good-looking men who carried themselves well and spoke pleasantly. He was not for her, and she would soon forget him.
