Page 40 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

C ordelia lifted her hand to knock again though the motion felt almost ceremonial, as if she were announcing her presence to a world that no longer felt entirely hers.

When the door swung open, Matilda’s eyes widened, taking in the small suitcase and the disheveled dignity with which Cordelia held herself.

“Cordelia! Did the Duke throw you out?!” Matilda’s voice was half alarm, half disbelief.

Cordelia shook her head quickly, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips.

“What? No, no, no. I chose to leave myself.” She stepped inside, letting the warmth of Matilda’s parlor wrap around her. The familiar scent of fresh linens and faint lavender brought a bittersweet comfort.

Matilda closed the door behind her, taking Cordelia by the shoulders. “But why, then? Why so suddenly? What happened?”

Cordelia sank into a chair, the suitcase forgotten at her feet.

She told her friend everything: the confrontation with Lord Vernon, her mother’s betrayal, and the cold, polite distance Mason now kept.

Her voice trembled at times though she tried to keep it steady, each word heavy with the weight of her heartbreak.

Matilda’s face softened, but her hands fidgeted helplessly, unsure how to offer comfort. “I… I wish I could do something to help,” she murmured.

Cordelia shook her head gently. “It’s enough just to be here with a friend. That… that is all I need for now.” She allowed herself a small sigh, the tight tension in her chest loosening just slightly.

Matilda nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Then that is exactly what you shall have. You are safe here, and I am not going anywhere.”

Cordelia leaned back in the chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I’m so tired of fighting for what’s mine,” she admitted, her voice low, almost a whisper.

“Sometimes… sometimes I think it would be easier just to give Vernon the money. Let him have it, and maybe he would leave me and Mason alone.”

Matilda’s eyes widened in shock. “No, no! We don’t give villains what they want, Cordelia! That’s exactly what they hope for. We fight them, no matter how exhausting it is.”

Cordelia shook her head slowly, a tired smile ghosting her lips.

“But I am so tired, Matilda. Every day it’s a battle, and now…

” Her voice faltered for a moment, the weight of her emotions pressing down.

“I thought Mason would be the one. I thought… I thought we would end up together, despite everything.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the carpet.

“But instead… instead of keeping me close, he has pushed me away. He reminded me of our agreement, of the convenience of it all.”

Matilda knelt beside her, placing a firm hand over hers.

“Cordelia, listen to me. The Duke may think he’s protecting you or following some sense of duty, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.

You are not alone in this; whatever he says or does, he cannot undo what he feels.

Give him time to sort everything out, even to sort himself out. ”

Cordelia drew a shaky breath, letting the words wash over her. She wanted to believe them, to believe in the possibility of Mason’s love, but the ache in her chest was heavy, a constant reminder of the chasm he had created between them.

“I want to believe that,” she whispered, “I truly do… but my heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.”

Matilda’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Then we hold onto what we can. We fight, and we don’t give in to villains or despair. You are stronger than you think, Cordelia. And the Duke… he will see it, eventually. He must.”

Cordelia’s gaze drifted toward the window where a vase of flowers caught the afternoon light.

“Oh, how lovely these are,” she murmured, stepping closer. The blooms were bright and cheerful, a splash of color against the muted tones of the parlor.

Matilda rolled her eyes dramatically. “Those? From the Duke’s cousin, the Duke of Harrow,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Cordelia chuckled, a soft, teasing sound. “Is something happening there after that dance?” she asked, the corners of her mouth lifting.

Matilda gasped, nearly spilling her tea.

“Absolutely not!” she said, shaking her head.

“I think he just likes mocking me, and the flowers are exactly that. He keeps giving me these… these empty compliments, as if I’m supposed to swoon just because he says my eyes are the color of the summer sky. Oh, please!”

Cordelia laughed louder this time, the sound carrying warmth through the room. Matilda grinned, emboldened by her friend’s amusement, and continued.

“Honestly, it’s ridiculous. I stammer because you know how I am when I’m annoyed, and he just smirks, thinking he’s charming the daylights out of me. And me, here, pretending I don’t notice how absurd it all is while he probably thinks he’s utterly irresistible.”

Cordelia’s laughter bubbled out freely now, and she felt lighter, the tension in her chest easing just a little. Matilda’s self-mocking humor was doing exactly what she intended: distracting Cordelia from her own worries and giving her a momentary reprieve from the heaviness of her thoughts.

“You make quite the picture, Matilda,” Cordelia said between giggles. “A damsel tormented by an insufferable rake.”

“And yet,” Matilda replied, rolling her eyes again, “I endure it all for the sake of keeping my dignity intact… and for your amusement, apparently. But it does seem to work, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Cordelia beamed, grateful for her friend’s company in such a dark moment.

As soon as Mason stepped into Mr. Greely’s office, the man’s voice greeted him.

“I’ve been trying to reach you, Your Grace,” Greely said without preamble, looking up from a stack of papers.

“I haven’t been reading my letters,” Mason admitted.

Greely gave a sharp nod and pushed a folder across the desk toward him.

“I found something among the documents the Duchess left in my care. There are correspondence, legal contracts, and personal papers that definitively show her parentage. Lord Vernon has no claim to her inheritance. It belongs solely to Duchess Cordelia and no one else.”

Mason blinked, absorbing the weight of Greely’s words. His heart, which had been heavy with worry, skipped a beat.

“And there’s more,” Greely continued, leaning forward.

“I’ve traced Vernon’s dealings. He’s been in contact with some very unsavory characters, unscrupulous lawyers, some men who deal in forgery and blackmail.

If we gather sufficient evidence, I believe we can ensure he spends significant time in prison, effectively removing him as a threat to your wife. ”

Mason’s jaw tightened. He could hardly believe it.

Relief mingled with disbelief. Cordelia’s position, her safety, the injustice of her mother’s betrayal, all of it suddenly seemed salvageable.

Yet, the thought of what Vernon had done, the depths he would sink to, made Mason’s hand tighten into a fist.

“Greely,” Mason said, voice firm but controlled, “we will find everything, won’t we? Everything that proves him unfit to touch so much as a shilling of her fortune?”

Greely met his gaze evenly. “We will. And once we do, Your Grace, Vernon will have no power over her nor over you. He’ll be dealt with swiftly, and thoroughly.”

Mason leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he picked up one of the papers Greely had set before him. “I need details, Greely. How solid is this evidence? I need to be absolutely certain before I move against Vernon.”

Greely nodded, placing his hands on the desk.

“Every letter, every contract, every record in this folder points unequivocally to the Duchess’ legitimacy.

The documents she left with me, letters from her father, estate papers, baptismal records, leave no room for Vernon to maneuver.

He is simply not entitled to a single farthing. ”

“And how did you discover all this so quickly?” Mason asked, still skeptical. “I’ve been buried in letters for weeks and hadn’t noticed a hint of this.”

Greely allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

“I went through everything in her possession immediately when she left the documents. It was methodical, cross-referencing with parish records, the legal archives, and some private correspondence I had received in confidence over the years. Vernon, in his arrogance, left traces of his schemes. Once I had the papers in hand, the inconsistencies in his story became glaringly obvious.”

Mason exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and incredulity flooding him. “So, it’s all here. Proof, undeniable proof. And you’re confident this will hold up against him?”

“I am, Your Grace,” Greely replied firmly. “Vernon will find no allies in this, not when confronted with the truth. If he attempts to press his claims, he will be exposed, and the law will act decisively.”

Mason leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes as the weight of the day settled on him. He couldn’t quite believe that everything had been sorted out. Greely’s words echoed in his mind.

“You have nothing to worry about, Your Grace,” Greely said, his tone reassuring. “Your wife’s inheritance is secure. You both can live the rest of your lives in peace, happily ever after, if that is your wish.”

Mason let out a short laugh, one part disbelief, one part longing.

The idea of a true, untroubled life with Cordelia made his chest ache with hope, but he pushed it down.

She would be happy on her own. She had her inheritance, her independence, her freedom.

She didn’t need him to keep her safe from Vernon anymore.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the memory of her sadness, the quiet heartbreak he had glimpsed when he reminded her of their arrangement when she had gone to Matilda’s.

She had chosen distance over closeness, and in that moment, he had felt both relief and despair.

He didn’t know what to believe anymore: whether she truly wanted freedom or whether she had simply convinced herself she did.

Greely’s voice pulled him from the spiraling thoughts. “Are you all right, Your Grace?”

Mason straightened abruptly, forcing a grin. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He stood, smoothing the front of his coat, feeling the familiar surge of determination. “I have pressing matters to attend to.”

He left the office, Greely’s assurances ringing in his ears, and stepped into the crisp air. The carriage waited, horses stamping impatiently. As he climbed in, Mason’s mind raced ahead, planning his next move.

He would speak with Cordelia. He would tell her the truth of his feelings. And if she still wanted only the arrangement, he would honor it, but he would try. He would not let fear or propriety silence him this time.

As the carriage rolled through the streets toward her refuge, Mason felt the pulse of determination in his veins. This time, he would leave no word unspoken.