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CHAPTER15

“When she barely reached my hip,” the Countess, Patience, was in the middle of retelling, “Irene already sang greater than Angelica Catalani. Half as beautiful, too!”

A ripple of polite, but rather uncomfortable, laughter spread over the dining table. The first course had been served, and Michael could barely find the stomach to indulge as the tension grew to become practically palpable. Only the residents of Pembroke, the Countess and her husband, the Earl, divulged in their meals like it was any other day. The cousin visiting on business hardly paid attention to the conversation, too busy scarfing down his soup than paying his family any mind.

Catalani was a name he recognized. A famous Italian opera singer who blessed London with a few performances during her height of fame. Michael glanced in Irene’s direction. The eldest Celeston housed a bright pink hue to her cheeks as her Aunt continued boasting about her past achievements. Michael could see the resemblance between the opera singer and Irene, though he hardly doubted it had anything to do with her success in London. The Countess, on the other hand, had an obviously different belief.

“Irene would sing to my guests during our parties,” the Countess recounted with a glass of wine in hand. “All the guests had a tear at the ready whenever she played. Oh, they cried and cried to me afterwards about her beauty, and I could only say -”

“Auntie,” Irene politely interjected, her voice barely raised. She gave the Countess a sweet smile, a slight tilt in her head. “Let us not talk about me so much! There are so many more tales to fill the dinner table, aren’t there?”

“My niece,” the Countess cooed, reaching over to run her fingers across Irene’s curved cheek, “So pure, so humble. I always said that vanity causes imperfections, haven’t I? Haven’t I, William?”

The Earl lifted his head out of his soup bowl and ran a cloth across his lips. “Yes, my dear,” he said. “Yes.”

The Countess turned, looking rather proud of herself. “As I was saying,” she continued, ignoring Irene’s cautious pleading. “After they cried, the guests demanded to know how a girl could be so beautiful, insideandout. I could only say: ‘Gentlemen, she is simply cut from the Celeston cloth. Breeding, my friends. Perfect breeding.’” She laughed sharply. “Isn’t that right, William?”

Once again, the Earl turned as if he heard her for the first time, not at all involved in the conversation. “Yes, my love,” he said for a second time. “Of course.”

“Have you been singing lately, Cordelia?”

Across the table, Michael’s wife visibly gulped. She smiled, tilting her head in the same fashion Irene did a moment before. Cordelia shook her head, careful not to let the content expression on her face slip away.

“No, Aunt,” Cordelia replied. “I don’t believe I was ever any good at it.”

The Countess sighed. “Though, we paid for the finest tutors, didn't we?”

“As a matter of fact,” the Earl piped up, leaning back against his seat at the head of the table, “I ran into the old woman a fortnight ago!”

Michael glanced over to watch his wife wince slightly. It was hard to believe, at first, that the stubborn woman he had grown to know over the past few weeks sank at the feet of a simple Countess. But, the longer he heard her Aunt’s shrill voice and the unflinching need to insult someone, Michael understood it well enough.

The more surprising bit, however, was Cordelia’s restraint. He did not know her to be someone who stepped down from a fight, who was afraid to say whatever it was she truly meant. Each time he combatted her, tried to show he was the authority in their relationship, Cordelia responded in the exact opposite way. There wasn’t fear, not recognition, not submission. She merely made herself look taller, raised her chin up higher. Michael did not believe there was a fearful bone in her small body.

But then, suddenly, Michael felt as though he didn’t know Cordelia at all.

“Mrs. Brimley?” Cordelia asked. “You saw Mrs. Brimley?”

“Well, she still teaches in London!” The Earl smirked in the same way his wife did. “The poor woman recounted her short time tutoring Cordelia. I almost felt inclined to offer her some more pay!”

Laughter ensued across the table. Even the cousin, James, who I thought to be a mindless fool too focused on eating to dare butter a word, joined in on the phone. Irene eyed her sister solemnly, her lips pressed tightly together. Beside her, Duncan stared at the Countess and the Earl, a displeased frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Despite the clear discomfort, not one of them said a word. Michael glanced around the table, his gaze lastly landing on Cordelia. She was acting in the oddest way.

“Irene,” the Countess began, “I remember when Mrs. Brimley decided you didn’t even need a lesson. Don’t you remember that? How much she swooned over your naturally sweet voice?”

Irene watched her sister. “Iremember when Mrs. Brimley came into the drawing room one day to find atoadin her tea.”

Cordelia’s face lit up. “How could I have forgotten?”

Even Duncan, the hard lined Duke who never dared crack a smile, let recognition pass over his face. He leaned against his hand, his gaze flicking between his siblings.

Michael forced himself not to bristle as he watched their interaction. One thing he never had the pleasure of knowing was a familial bond. The passing of his mother was more than just a nurturing woman’s absence from his life. The late Duke stepped back in his position as a father, becoming a hardened warden-like figure instead. Suddenly, everything else in London was more important than having Michael as a son. To watch the Celeston siblings lean on one another through the simplest of actions was a shocking realization to what Michael never had. The faintest idea of having it with Cordelia touched him, and he quickly lurched away from the idea.

No,he thought to himself.Do not be absurd.

Cordelia turned, suddenly facing him. “Our music tutor happened to be rather strict, Michael,” she began, her voice higher with excitement. “You know how children are! Well, Irene had the brightest idea of - “

“Me?” Irene shook her head. “Don’t pin it on me! Duncan -”

Duncan raised his hands defensively. “I was a good child, if you could believe it, Michael.”