Page 15 of Duke of the Sun (Regency Sky #1)

CHAPTER 14

T he last time Cordelia saw her Aunt from her father’s side, her self-confidence and courage was whittled down to almost nothing. The memories rang through her as she stared out the carriage window, just as a steady rain fell over London. It pattered against the carriage’s rooftop noisily, though Cordelia found it to be rather comforting. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine how Solshire looked in the center of a downpour.

Haunting, she thought, as if the ghosts of the estate were carried in the droplets and set free the moment they hit the ground. A blurry image came to the forefront of her mind: the estate shrouded in a fog, streaks of rain slicing through the world, the colors of the grass and the garden bright and heavy as they soaked in the moisture. Her next painting, perhaps.

“What are you doing?”

Cordelia’s eyes popped open. Directly across from her, Michael watched with a quizzical brow. He dressed in his fine coats, a top hat beside him. The shadows from the falling sun and approaching storm made him look ethereal, like a mysterious figure in a book, the unwarranted hero or the frightening and tempting villain. Cordelia couldn’t put her hand on it, but perhaps he was a mix of them both.

She shook her head. She felt far too romantic during the rain.

Cordelia met his startled gaze. “Hm?”

“You were,” Michael paused, searching for the word but coming up empty handed. He swayed slightly before raising his hand, and dragging it through the air, one finger pointed out like a paintbrush.

“Oh,” Cordelia mused, the embarrassment already clutching onto her. “Solshire in the rain would be a brilliant painting, don’t you think?”

Michael stared at her, his furrowed brow deepening.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “I feel as though I can see the entire world as a painting in my head. I just thought, with the rain, how beautiful Solshire must look. You know it better than I. Is it as alluring in the rain as I believe it to be?”

Michael hesitated as he pulled his gaze away, glancing out the window as the rain grew heavier the further they crept through London.

Ever since their tour through the orangery, things hadn’t returned to how they once were. Cordelia felt plagued by their shared kiss, the remnants of it lingering across her lips no matter how much she scrubbed them. Their time in the carriage was the closest they had been in a few days. Perhaps Michael wished to put more space between them, but his lack of conversation has left Cordelia guessing more than actually knowing. Even then, as she awaited a simple response, her self-confidence began to shrink and disappear.

“It is magnificent in the rain.”

Cordelia watched his face, her lips parting as a surprised exhale left her.

“While one might expect the colors to grow brighter in the rain,” Michael continued, the strength and steadiness in his voice shocking her even further. He kept his eye focused out the window, one hand holding the curtain back. “They are deeper, instead. As if the leaves and the grass and the petals soaked the water up.”

Michael’s brow furrowed tightly together as he continued, his gaze becoming faraway and someplace else than the carriage. “When the rain is strong enough, a stream flows down either side of the estate, pooling around it like a medieval moat. My -”

He stopped, suddenly, his lips snapping shut.

“Your what?” Cordelia asked.

Michael turned to face her with an unreadable expression; blank like an untouched canvas. “Have you painted recently?”

“Have I…” The words trailed off.

He raised a brow. “Have you,” he said again, slower as if she couldn’t understand English, “Painted recently?”

Cordelia looked back out the window. Her annoyance flared as quickly as the rain grew stronger. Michael was an expert at changing the subject and acting like nothing happened in the first place.

Besides, she wasn’t sure if it was a question she’d like to answer truthfully. The last painting she worked on and finished, was the portrait she did of him. It was a secret sort of project, one that she hid away when she needed to do something else. The thought of letting another soul see it or hear about it was too personal, a piece of her she wasn’t ready to be seen. Cordelia pressed her lips together. How would Michael even respond if she told him the truth, that she painted a portrait of him without needing him to pose? From mere memory alone?

She shook her head. Far too personal, indeed.

“I am stuck on a few,” she responded instead.

Michael nodded. “Multiple paintings at once sounds like an unneeded complexity for an already intricate pastime.”

Cordelia shrugged, trying to mask her surprise at his consistent conversation. They hadn’t spoken more than a word to each other since the orangery. The last thing she could do was get her hopes high enough to believe some sort of a relationship could exist between them. Not that she was in a rush to speak to him after finding out that their wedding was a means to be further endowed with money.

“Perhaps,” was all she could manage to say.

Michael’s gaze hung onto her as she looked away. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.

A tense silence settled within the carriage once more. Perhaps if the tour through the orangery never happened, Cordelia would feel more at ease as they neared her Aunt’s home. Pembroke was a lovely estate, one that was half the size of Solshire but surrounded by all the greenery one could imagine. Some of Cordelia’s first paintings were of the landscape around Pembroke, a few still remaining within the estate itself. The fondest memories she had of visiting her Aunt, Patience, were of the paintings she conceived.

“I believe we are near Pembroke,” Michael suddenly said as he peered through the window. He turned to look at her with a raised brow. “Perhaps you might tell me who will be present at this dinner so we might be prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“To be the loving couple that -”

Cordelia waved a hand in the air. She was rather tired of the game they played against the Ton. “Might we have an evening where it is real?”

“What is real?”

She pressed her lips together. “Our companionship. We are companions,” she paused, stress striking her for a moment, “Aren’t we?”

Michael watched with widening eyes. “I suppose.” He nodded, once and shortly. “In the broadest sense of the term.”

Cordelia ignored her displeasure. What was she expecting, anyways? At least she did not need to enter her Aunt’s home unaccompanied. That would’ve been a fate far worse than what she had now.

“Irene, my eldest sibling, will attend,” Cordelia finally said. “Alongside our brother, Duncan. The Earl of Pembroke, William Fitz, and my Aunt, the Countess, Patience Fitz. I believe a distant cousin of mine, James Worsley, arrived in London on some business and is expected to attend. He is staying at Pembroke for the time being.”

Michael nodded slowly.

Listing the names drove a sharp anxiety through Cordelia’s chest. She could barely remember James from her childhood, as he was almost a decade older than her, and was out of the city often. But it was not her distant cousin that drove a wedge through her excitement of seeing family. No, Cordelia remembered the moments in Pembroke far too often, of her Aunt’s sharp tongue and the stinging feeling that always followed.

Cordelia nervously pulled at a loose string on her dress, unknowingly causing some of the ruffles to deflate and fall unattractively down her legs.

“Are you well?”

She glanced at Michael. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You are not normally so fidgety.”

Cordelia did not believe her husband noticed her enough to recognize when she was being unlike herself. “I am quite normal, actually.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she quickly said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Michael hesitated. “Well, family is -”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Cordelia straightened, pulling her hands away from her clothes to stop picking at them. “It is expected to be a fine evening.”

He pressed his lips together. “I’m sure it will be.”

Cordelia never realized how much she wanted a companion by her side until they drew closer and closer to Pembroke. The environment outside grew more familiar the further the carriage went, and the fear in her heart surged to a new height. If only they hadn’t shared the passionate moment in the orangery. Cordelia figured everything would have carried on as they were, unsettled but comfortable.

Now, Cordelia glanced at her husband and could not even imagine what he was thinking. Did he dread attending a dinner party with her family? Was he stuck in a reverie on what his life could have been if he chose another to fulfill his father’s conditions? Or, worst of all, did Michael believe his money was worth far more than what he married?

Cordelia shuddered as the carriage rolled to a slow stop. The drafty cold from the dreary weather sunk into her before they ever left the warm compartment. She only prayed that it wasn’t a sign of what was to come. Perhaps her Aunt had changed, no longer the nitpicking woman who was intent on undermining Cordelia for who she was.

The driver opened the carriage door, a wide umbrella already in hand. The rain noisily fell against the ground and the umbrella, splashing into the carriage and wetting her feet. Michael climbed out first, and reached back within, his face shrouded so much that Cordelia could hardly read his expression. She took his hand, stepping out of the carriage and wrapping her thin shawl further around her shoulders.

Michael held the umbrella as they walked towards the front doors. Pembroke glowed in the distance within the downpour, light managing to show the way from the windows. When they arrived at the front steps, Irene already stood outside, her delicately pale blue dress covered by a deeply dark cloak.

“Irene!” Cordelia exclaimed when she realized it was her sister. “What on earth are you doing? Get inside before you catch a cold!”

She merely waved a hand in the air dismissively before grabbing a hold of Cordelia and giving her a tight squeeze. “I only wished to greet you, sister,” Irene murmured in her ear. “And a little rain never hurt anyone.” Her gaze focused on Michael and she gave him a polite bow. “It is a pleasure, your Grace. I hope you are well.”

Michael merely nodded. “You as well.”

The front doors swung open.

“I thought I heard you.” Duncan stood on the threshold, his lip already pulled down in a displeased frown. “Come inside, won’t you?” He reached to shake Michael’s hand as he entered. “Your Grace,” he said, the pair of them sharing a similarly gruff greeting.

Pembroke was delicately warm on the inside, smelling of sweet madeira wine and a dinner roast being carved. The foyer was quiet, though a few voices were carried through from the nearest parlour. Cordelia breathed it in, desperate to calm her racing heart before the evening truly began.

“Aunt Patience is over here,” Irene said, gesturing towards the parlour. “I know she is looking forward to seeing you.”

Cordelia bit back a bitter laugh. “Truly?”

“Well, you’ve been the talk of the town,” Duncan replied instead, his sarcasm hardly evident from the lack of a smile on his handsome face. “The pair of you.”

Michael raised a brow. “I believe any rumors spread by the Ton have been put to rest recently.”

“Our Aunt is a different story,” Duncan said.

“Different how?”

Duncan glanced at his sisters silently.

“She is merely a gossip herself,” Irene finished for him, her arm tucked around Cordelia’s. “Perhaps not an outrightly harmful thing, but an unpleasant habit altogether.”

“I assume this means she has heard the rumors surrounding my husband and I,” Cordelia said in a quiet voice. “Is that right?”

Irene pressed her lips together and nodded.

“Very well.” Cordelia straightened herself and ran her hands over her dress, the finest piece she owned.

While she expected it to be enough to satisfy her Aunt’s prestigious tastes, she was quickly becoming aware of the conversation that was bound to take place. Instantly, Cordelia was brought back to her youth, when her Aunt would circle her like a caged animal, picking out every flaw and mistake she ever made.

“Shall we?” Cordelia asked.

Irene pulled her arm away, giving the space for Michael to stand alongside her. He strode forward, his hand hovering before taking Cordelia’s, like any married couple might do. Cordelia, ignoring the flare of unease that swirled in her stomach at her husband’s closeness, held her chin up as they walked into the parlour.

“Finally!”

Aunt Patience rose from a long sofa, her delicately brown hair pulled into a neat bun at the back of her head. A green dress fell down her shoulders, brilliantly shimmering jewelry around her neck and hanging from her ears. As she watched the married couple stride towards her, the Earl of Pembroke stood alongside her, his expression kind and unaware of the tension lying around him. On the loveseat beside them, Cordelia’s cousin James stood, streaks of grey now beginning to appear within his dark hair.

Aunt Patience had the same starkness Cordelia’s father’s face once had. There were sharp, angular points in the woman’s face, casting shadows across her chest and neck. A crooked brow, always raised and always judgemental, was Aunt Patience’s trademark, even if she didn’t believe it to be. Cordelia remembered it from her childhood, and felt flashed backwards a decade at seeing it then. She glanced up at Michael, but his expression remained unchanged: stoic and calm.

Cordelia repeated a familiar mantra in her head: calm and collected.

“I thought we lost you to the rain, dear,” Aunt Patience cooed as she went to greet Cordelia. Her hands immediately went for Cordelia’s face, one long finger hooking around her chin as if she was a fish to be caught. Aunt Patience turned and twisted her face every which way, getting a look from every angle possible. “My, my,” she drawled, that brow raising even higher, “What a woman young Cordelia has grown into!”

Holding back her pleasure, Cordelia tried to remind herself that the compliments were always followed by the polite insults. “Good evening, Aunt,” Cordelia said. “Uncle, I pray your business has been well.” She turned her attention to her cousin. “And James! What a pleasure to see you again. I am ashamed to admit I cannot recall our last acquaintance.”

James chuckled, one hand over his round belly. “Seeing you were no taller than my hip the last we saw each other, I would be surprised if you did!”

“Our cousin has had spectacular business in Portsmouth, sister,” Irene blurted as she rounded the couch. “Perhaps he might disclose the talk with your husband.”

Cordelia was about to turn her attention towards James and Michael, but Aunt Patience had other plans. Cordelia was more than aware of her sister’s quick thinking, in the efforts to distract the Countess from focusing too much on the Ton’s gossiping. If it was that simple, Cordelia wouldn’t have dreaded the party at all. But just as she opened her mouth to ask James about his business, Aunt Patience snatched onto her wrist once more.

“Now, now,” she drawled, “Don’t think you’d get away that easily, Cordelia! I’ve had plenty of time to question the other Celeston siblings, but when was the last time we saw each other?” Aunt Patience looked over her shoulder to her husband. “It couldn’t have been for my dear brother’s funeral. I very much remember Cordelia’s absence!”

Cordelia gulped. Her father passed on while she was living in solitude at Solshire. Even if she wanted to attend, she couldn’t imagine leaving the estate and attending any sort of event without her husband in tow. The explanation she would be expected to give was hardly something she had ever done in the past. What could she have possibly said?

Right as she opened her mouth to speak, Michael stepped forward with a slight bow.

“You’ll have to forgive me, my Lady,” he said in a deep voice. “Unfortunately, my wife’s and I’s nuptials carried on far longer than what is socially appropriate.”

Aunt Patience didn’t bother to hide the surprise from her face. “How lucky our dear Cordelia must be,” she said.

“Lucky, Aunt?” Cordelia asked in a quiet voice, not that she was entirely certain she wished to hear it.

“Why,” she began with a shrug, “You were pulled from a great scandal that could have affected the entire family, only to have been saved by a Duke. Doesn’t that sound lucky to you?”

Cordelia lowered her head. Michael’s stare hung onto the side of her face. She could feel it from the heat alone, a rush of embarrassment beginning to claw its way through her body.

Aunt Patience turned, still discussing Cordelia’s life without outrightly addressing her. “And don’t get me started on all the dreadful rumors the Ton has been gawking on about,” she snapped. “Every place I dare to go in London was always met with a ‘have you heard from the Duchess? Have you heard of what happened next?’” Aunt Patience met Cordelia’s gaze, both of her brows raised at a crooked angle. “‘Have you heard who was seen entering her abode next?’”

Cordelia pressed her lips together. While the rumors had been as settled as they could’ve been from their attendance at the Season’s latest ball, Cordelia never once stopped to consider how many reparations needed within her own family. Her eyes desperately glanced around the room. Irene and Duncan looked helpless, though she never expected them to truly speak against their Aunt. While the Celeston siblings went on to be rather bound to each other, the rest of the family kept their expected distance.

She should not have planned on receiving anything else from her Aunt’s family.

“Aunt Patience,” Cordelia began, desperate to change the conversation, “You would be greatly impressed to see my orangery. Work has just finished, and I -”

“Tell me, Cordelia,” Aunt Patience interjected as she retook her seat, “Do you still paint?”

She gulped. “Yes, Aunt.”

“What else?”

Cordelia hesitated. “Else, Aunt?”

“Embroidery, the pianoforte,” Aunt Patience explained with a wave of her hand. “Singing, writing. Tell me something else of importance you have managed to take on since we last spoke.” Shaking her head, she turned to eye her husband. “Long before dear Irene reached Cordelia’s age, she had already mastered all that is expected from a respectably raised woman.” Aunt Patience faced her once more, her brow raised. “Well, Cordelia? What else?”

Cordelia stuttered over her words as she struggled to find the right thing to say. What else was there? She liked to call herself an expert at landscape paintings, and recently trudged through mastering portraits, but that wasn’t at all what her Aunt wanted to hear. When was the last time Cordelia dared to try embroidery, to read one of the books stowed away in Solshire? Each question came up empty, no response adequate enough to satisfy her Aunt.

Everything Cordelia worried about in regards to the dinner party quickly closed in on her.

“As I mentioned before,” Cordelia began in a small voice, “I believe you might be greatly impressed with what I have done to the estate in Solshire. The orangery is beyond what -”

Aunt Patience suddenly rose from her seat when the sound of a servants’ quiet footsteps entered the parlour. “Has dinner been served?” she blurted, entirely cutting Cordelia off from what she was saying.

The servant bowed her head. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Splendid!” Aunt Patience waved with an exaggerated grandiose. “Let us move to the dining hall, shall we?”

Unaware of the tension radiating from Cordelia, Aunt Patience trickled out of the room absentmindedly, already talking about something new. The Earl followed close behind her, with James trailing them next. Irene passed by Cordelia with a small smile, her hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. Duncan did the same on her opposite arm, though his frown never dared to turn.

A hand appeared in front of her.

“Shall we?”

Cordelia glanced up to see Michael standing in front of her, his hand waiting. She breathed deeply before taking his hand, and allowed him to steer the pair of them towards the dining hall. While she already felt herself being whittled to something very small and timid, Cordelia remembered as they passed over the threshold that it had hardly even begun yet. She pushed a smile across her face, the mantra repeating feverishly in the back of her mind.

Calm and collected.

Calm and collected.

Calm, and whatever else I can possibly be.