Page 23 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)
Chapter Twenty-One
S everal mornings later, Cordelia sat quietly in the parlor, a book resting open on her lap. The past few days had been a whirlwind of decisions made and plans laid out, and now, the flurry of preparations was settling into a gentler rhythm.
The Dowager appeared in the doorway, her face bright with a secret delight. “Cordelia, my dear, come with me. I have a surprise for you.”
Cordelia glanced up, feeling her curiosity stirring. “A surprise? What kind of surprise?”
“Well, it would not be a very good surprise if I told you,” the Dowager replied with a twinkle. “Now come; no dawdling.”
Together, they crossed the hall and made their way to the west wing, which was a quieter part of the house, often left to shadows and dust. Cordelia followed, wondering all the while what awaited her.
The Dowager paused before a heavy door, its paint faded and edges worn. “This,” she said softly, “is where I keep things that belonged to my late husband. The things that remind me of him.”
Cordelia hesitated, uncertain what to say.
“In life,” the Dowager continued, “there are many ways to fight for happiness. Some wrestle with the past, some seek to forget it. But my happiness…” She smiled faintly, eyes shining. “It has always been Mason.”
The words settled between them, a quiet offering of trust and hope. Cordelia felt a warmth rise in her chest, touched by the strength beneath the softness.
The Dowager opened the door, revealing an old chamber cloaked in dust and silence. “Come,” she beckoned, “I want to share this with you.”
They stepped into the chamber together. It was dim, lit only by the soft morning light filtering through a high window, dust motes dancing in the beams. Cordelia’s eyes took in the scene which was a collection of treasures gathered with care and reverence.
Sturdy trunks, their leather cracked and worn, were stacked neatly against the far wall.
Delicate jewelry boxes, some open to reveal velvet-lined interiors, held glittering strands of pearls and intricate brooches that had surely once graced a lady’s gown.
Faded paintings leaned against the walls, faces gazing out with quiet dignity.
An ornate writing desk bore letters tied with faded ribbons, their secrets long kept.
There were silver candelabras, a finely carved clock whose hands had long ceased to move, and a collection of well-loved books bound in leather and gold leaf.
Cordelia moved slowly through the room, fingertips brushing lightly over a wooden box etched with floral designs. The treasures spoke of a life lived with care and passion yet shadowed by loss. She could almost hear the whispers of laughter and conversation that had once filled this space.
The Dowager watched her quietly, a gentle smile touching her lips. “Each of these holds a story,” she said softly. “Some happy, some painful, but all a part of the life I shared with him.”
Cordelia nodded, speechless. The room felt sacred, a sanctuary of memory and endurance. She felt honored to be invited into this hidden world, to share in the tenderness that still lingered here, despite everything.
The Dowager moved with a quiet purpose to an ancient trunk nestled in the corner of the chamber. The leather was cracked and softened by time, its brass clasps dull but sturdy. With gentle hands, she unlatched it and lifted the lid, revealing a treasure within.
Cordelia’s breath caught as the Dowager drew forth the most exquisite wedding gown she had ever seen.
The fabric shimmered softly in the pale light, ivory silk embroidered with delicate silver threads that caught the eye like whispers of moonlight.
The bodice was finely stitched, adorned with tiny pearls that seemed to dance with every fold.
The skirt fell in graceful waves, light and flowing as if it might float on air.
“It belonged to me,” the Dowager told her in a voice that was tender yet steady. “I would like you to wear it for your wedding, to be happier in your marriage with Mason than I was with his father.”
A sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed Cordelia. She blinked back tears that pricked at her lashes, feeling the weight of the Dowager’s kindness and the sorrow beneath it. They began to roll freely down her cheeks.
The Dowager stepped closer, brushing a gentle hand against Cordelia’s arm. “No, no, no tears,” she said softly, “unless they are tears of joy.”
Cordelia lifted her gaze, meeting the warmth in the Dowager’s eyes. A small smile curved her lips. “They are.”
With care, the Dowager pressed the gown to Cordelia’s hands.
Together, they moved toward an old looking glass, its frame ornate with curling vines of gold leaf, dulled by age but still magnificent.
Cordelia let the fabric fall around her shoulders, feeling the cool silk settle against her skin.
As she looked into the glass, she saw not just a bride but a woman on the cusp of something uncertain and new.
The Dowager smiled, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “Look at you, my dear. If that isn’t the happiest, most beautiful bride, I don’t know what is.”
Cordelia met her gaze, but they weren’t alone in the reflection. Another pair of eyes was watching them, and now, she locked with them as well.
Mason had heard the faint murmur of voices and scraping of furniture from the west wing, and curiosity drew him to investigate. As he approached the old chamber, the door stood slightly ajar.
He paused in the doorway, caught by a scene both tender and unexpected. His mother, with a gentle smile, was draping an exquisite gown over Cordelia’s slender shoulders, a gown that shimmered with delicate embroidery and whispered of forgotten elegance.
Mason’s breath caught. He could not tear his eyes away from Cordelia. She stood there, framed by the light and the ancient room, utterly mesmerizing. The soft fabric caressed her like a promise, but it was her quiet strength and the pale flush coloring her cheeks that held him spellbound.
His mother glanced up and caught his reflection in the old looking glass. With a mischievous twinkle, she quickly lifted the gown, folding it away as if to hide a secret.
“Bad luck, you know,” she chided playfully. “A gentleman must never see his bride in her gown before the wedding day.”
Cordelia’s cheeks deepened in color, and Mason felt an unfamiliar warmth pool in his chest.
“You will be utterly enchanted by how beautiful she will be on the day,” his mother said with a knowing smile.
Mason’s eyes never left Cordelia. “She is already the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
The words slipped out softly, and the room seemed to hold its breath. Cordelia turned toward him, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. She offered a shy, grateful smile.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Mason cleared his throat, forcing a lightness into his voice he did not truly feel.
“Well, all right then,” he said, casting glances all around. “I see you are not intruders trying to steal riches from my home, so I shall leave you to it.”
His mother’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she smiled warmly. “A wise decision, my dear boy.”
Cordelia’s blush deepened, and a soft laugh escaped her lips. The sound was like music, so delicate and bright, and Mason felt the corners of his own mouth lift in spite of himself.
He turned on his heel, eager to spare them further embarrassment and perhaps to spare himself the danger of looking at her too long. The corridor beyond the chamber stretched before him, quiet and familiar yet somehow colder than before.
As he moved swiftly down the hall, the echo of his footsteps sounded like a drumbeat in his chest. He cursed himself silently for having come, for seeing her like that in his mother’s gown, vulnerable and breathtaking, when he knew full well this marriage was a fragile arrangement, not the joining of hearts he longed for.
A true marriage, he reminded himself bitterly, was not what Cordelia sought.
She desired freedom, independence, a life lived on her own terms. And yet, here he was, haunted by the image of her, soft silk against pale skin, eyes bright with something unspoken, and the stubborn hope that perhaps, in time, their marriage might become something more.
He clenched his fists, fighting the tug of emotion that threatened to undo him.
It is folly, he told himself. A distraction from the duty that lies before me.
But even as he silenced the thought, a part of him lingered back in that dusty chamber where Cordelia stood framed by sunlight and the promise of what might be.
For all his resolve, Mason knew that the true challenge was yet to come, and it was not in securing her safety or her fortune but in winning the heart of the woman behind those pale blue eyes.
And somehow, that thought was far more daunting than any battle he had yet faced.