Page 9 of Duke of the Sun (Regency Sky #1)

CHAPTER 8

D arkenhill Manor was exactly how Cordelia remembered it to be. Despite the old Duke, her temperamental but well-meaning father, passing a few years prior, Duncan Celeston never saw any reason to redecorate. Perhaps it was because he did not have a woman’s vision, or the reassurance of a wife, to help him do so. Either way, Cordelia frowned upon the Manor as she left her carriage, drawing nearer to the ornate front doors.

Before she knocked, the door peeled open, not even letting out a creak.

“Dear me,” the old woman croaked, her wrinkled eyes colored a pale blue growing wide. “If it isn’t the Duchess of Solshire! The prodigal daughter returns!”

Cordelia laughed, a sweet nostalgia filling her chest. “Mrs. Atty,” she cooed, reaching forward to take the woman’s shriveled hands, “My dear housekeeper, you look younger, if that is at all possible.”

Mrs. Atty’s marbled cheeks took on a pinkish hue. “Always the sweet talker, your Grace,” she teased before jumping almost a foot in the air. She raised a shaking hand to her lips. “My deepest apologies, your Grace. I haven’t even invited you in yet!”

“Don’t bother! It’ll give me a reason to turn back around.”

The housekeeper laughed, the sweet bell-chime sound pulling Cordelia back into an entirely different point in her life. Suddenly, she was no more than a bright-eyed and bushy tailed teen, spending hours upon hours outside painting and ignoring her worrywart of a father. She reached, forgetting herself, and cupped a hand around the older woman’s cheek. Mrs. Atty, as if she dismissed any idea of decorum herself, leaned into Cordelia’s hand, crystal colored tears welling up in her eyes.

“You have grown into quite the woman,” Mrs. Atty whispered.

Cordelia smiled sheepishly. “It has only been a year or two since you’ve seen me, Mrs. Atty. How much could I have grown in that time?”

“So very much, your Grace. More than you can imagine.”

And Cordelia supposed she didn't need much convincing after all. The time spent in solitude, learning an estate she never knew, gaining the trust of a house staff that had no intention of seeing her stay be a comfortable one, shaped Cordelia into a strong and well-rounded woman of polite society. Even if she didn’t quite agree with it herself, she knew it to be true.

Mrs. Atty sighed, and pulled her head off Cordelia’s hand, shaking off the misty eyed reverie they both walked into.

“Please, come inside, your Grace,” the housekeeper said, extending a welcoming arm.

Cordelia breathed in, desperate to calm the beating of her nervous heart.

Everything was just as she remembered it to be. Curtains she used to tug and yank as a child remained around the tall windows. Pale white furniture ordained each room, keeping with the pastel theme throughout the Manor. Portraits of family she never knew and ones she knew all too well stared back at her as she trickled further in. A dog, a great big beast with shaggy fur and a long face, sat at the middle of the grand staircase, watching Cordelia with a lazy expression.

“That beast is new,” she mused to no one in particular.

Mrs. Atty sighed as she wobbled beside her. “The wolfhound came with the Dowager Countess.”

Cordelia bristled. The title now associated with her eldest sister, Irene, was one that still took some getting used to. Not the Countess part, of course, but rather the Dowager. She faced the housekeeper. “How is my sister, Mrs. Atty?”

“The Countess remains her pious and gentle self, your Grace,” the housekeeper replied.

“That’s all?”

Mrs. Atty’s greying brow rose. “If you mean to ask if your sister is sad, your Grace, then perhaps that is something you should ask her yourself.”

“You know as much as I that Irene is nowhere near a person who shares their true feelings.”

“It must run in the family, then.”

Cordelia grinned as she looked over her shoulder at the old woman. “I do adore you, Mrs. Atty,” she cooed. “Never once do you shy away from the truth.”

“Well,” Mrs. Atty added under her breath, “Don’t ask me how the Duke feels. I’ll shy away from that truth for as long as I live.”

“I wonder how long that would be,” a deep voice rang through the foyer behind them. Slipping out through the kitchen, Duncan pressed in on them, his head angled down to shroud his naturally handsome gaze with shadows. The corner of his lip twitched between a smile and a disapproving frown. “My sister,” he continued, “What an unexpected surprise.”

“On the contrary,” Cordelia said, watching her brother approach with a raised brow. “Irene very much knew of my visit.” She placed a slender finger on her chin. “How funny. Did she not inform the head of the household? How despicable. Tell me you’ll punish her, brother.”

Duncan did not dare to crack a smile. “I see you are still nothing more than a tease.”

“And I see you are still as tight lipped as the rest of the Celeston men.” She smiled and took a step closer to him. “Can’t you tell me how Irene is faring?”

“If you are here to see her, why don’t you ask for yourself?”

“You know our dear eldest sister,” Cordelia pressed. “She won’t offer me the slightest bit of the truth.”

Duncan raised a brow. “And you assume I would?”

“Does it hurt to ask?”

“Perhaps.”

Cordelia’s shoulders sagged. “ Duncan! ”

“Honestly, Cordelia, ask her yourself,” he muttered, crossing his arms determinedly over his chest. “I have bigger things to ruminate over than our sister’s inability to share her feelings. I thought you’d at least understand that now, as a married woman with a title.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Duncan shook his head. “Dear sister,” he muttered, “There isn’t a lady in London’s aristocratic society who’d dare to reveal her true feelings. Not when there is marriage, and more specifically, a fortune at stake.”

Cordelia blinked, entirely lost. “Once again,” she snapped, “What does that have to do with our sister’s well-being?”

“Forget it,” Duncan mumbled, his brow crooked and annoyed. “She rests in the drawing room. Follow the damned hound,” he gestured to the great beast who rose from the stairs. “He knows the way.”

Duncan stormed off in the opposite direction, whipping around a corner without another word.

Cordelia flipped around to the housekeeper. “Is it just me, or is my brother a bigger hard-head than usual?”

“I wouldn’t know such a thing, your Grace.”

She raised a brow and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“The Duke has had quite a bit on his shoulders over these few years, especially with the return of the Countess,” Mrs. Atty finally said in a lowered voice. “I thought her grief and mourning would affect him, but it seems to be something else weighing on the Duke’s mind. Not that he is ever as inclined to share it.”

Cordelia scoffed. “Must run in the family. Does Irene truly grieve?”

“My dear,” Mrs. Atty cooed, extending an arm towards the wolfhound, who truly seemed to be waiting on Cordelia by that point, “I believe it would be best for you to see and ask her for yourself. You are sisters, after all.”

After letting out a burdened sigh, Cordelia left the housekeeper in the foyer, and followed the wolfhound up the stairs. The beast barely gave her any attention, merely walked at a lazy pace around the corners and through the halls.

For a reason Cordelia could not explain, her nerves amounted to an unexpected height as she drew closer and closer to her sister. Grief was not something their family had yet to experience, but the untimely death of a newly wedded husband? Cordelia shook her head as she walked, slowing her pace so as to not pass the wolfhound. Even for a woman as strong and gracious as Irene, it felt like a burden no person could manage well on their own.

Cordelia received a letter from Irene the day before, after learning about how her husband decided they would attend a ball as a united pair. The look on her husband’s face still haunted her, clinging to the back of her mind like a forgotten dream. Even then, as she walked towards her sister, a tension grew in the center of her chest, a sort of tightness she would have once considered to be a sign of sickness. Now, Cordelia suspected, it had to be some sort of nerve. It had to be.

The wolfhound used his long snout to push a door open fully and slipped inside without barely letting out a sound. Cordelia eagerly followed, and stepped into the brightly lit parlour after the gentle beast.

The parlour was a round room, with tall windows framing one side and bookcases lined with leather-bound volumes on the other side. Plush seats and a long sofa were in the center of the room, a table in between them. A tray carrying a baby blue tea set glimmered at the table, one cup set aside and steaming. Upon the sofa, with needlepoint resting on her lap, was Irene. The wolfhound clobbered up to her, resting his long head beside her, looking up with wide doe-eyes, the slightest bit of a whimper filling the air.

“Dear sister,” Cordelia said from the doorway. “Once, you told me of a certain beast with a rather worried tone. Look at you now! Carrying ‘round a beast of your own.”

Irene looked over her shoulder, a wide smile beaming across her beautifully porcelain skin. “How dare I,” she teased. “If it worries you any, know that Tiberius is the gentlest giant I have had the pleasure of knowing.”

“Tiberius,” Cordelia repeated, catching the dog’s attention for a second. “I don’t recall you being an animal lover, Irene.”

“I suppose I never was,” she replied. “But circumstances are bound to change, aren’t they?”

Cordelia crossed the room, taking a seat across from her sister. Immediately, her eyes dragged down Irene’s clothes, barely recognizing her sweet sister when she wore nothing but black in mourning.

“Do not worry, Cordelia,” Irene suddenly said. The smile never once left her lips.

“Who said anything about worrying?”

“No one, but your face is full of it.”

Cordelia leaned back in her seat. There wasn’t a thing she could get past her sister, no matter what. The details of her recent move back into Darkenhill Manor were foggy to Cordelia, but the look in her sister’s eyes told her that she shouldn’t dare to ask. “I was glad to see your letter,” she said instead.

Irene raised a slender brow as she dragged her hand over the wolfhound’s snout. “Really?” she asked.

Cordelia scoffed. “Do you believe I am not happy to see a promised correspondence from my oldest and only sister?”

“Don’t tease, Cordelia,” she mumbled. “You and I both know that my letters were bound to go unnoticed by you. What has changed?”

She looked away, glancing out the window as a familiar flock of geese drifted by overhead. Immediately, Cordelia shook her head, disappointed that she didn’t even consider bringing a canvas with her. The weather was perfect for a scenic painting, even if it was a time consuming venture.

“I suppose I needed to speak with someone,” Cordelia replied.

Irene chuckled. “Have you grown bored of your solitude finally?”

“You cannot tease about my solitude any longer,” she snapped. “The day you visited, and we were told of my husband’s arrival. Do you recall it?”

“Of course.”

“He decided to remain at Solshire.”

Irene sat up, the sudden movement startling Tiberius. The wolfhound let out a grumble deep within his throat before lowering to the floor, his long face draping across Irene’s feet. “You don’t say!” she mused. “Truly? The Duke lives at the estate with you?”

“He has for the past few days,” Cordelia replied. “And insists upon remaining till the rumors the Ton so carelessly spread about no longer taint his name.”

“Can you blame him?”

“I can, actually.”

Irene frowned. “Cordelia,” she said in a warning voice, “His family has been a prominent one for generations. I am more surprised he waited this long to rectify it.”

“A few rumors spread by aristocratic Lords and Ladies who have too much time on their hands is no reason to flip an entire life upside down.”

“Are you telling me that you truly preferred your solitude? Truly ?”

Cordelia leaned her chin against her gloved palm, spread out along the back of her chair. Her gaze was fixated on a portrait beside the window. It was of their mother, a woman Cordelia seldom remembered. She was far too young when she passed to hold onto her memory enough, but missed her all the same. If her mother was here, could the questions and qualms she had with the Duke come along easier, solved in a much quicker fashion? The question hung in the air above Cordelia’s head like a daunting storm cloud.

“It was not such a terrible thing,” Cordelia mumbled. “Though his presence…”

“What about his presence?”

Cordelia glanced at her sister’s suddenly interested face. She pouted at her. “Is quite grueling, Irene,” she said instead, earning a very weighted sigh. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I went through to have some assistance with my orangery. I was forced to handle my workers alone, and -”

“Workers?” Irene repeated. “You handled men alone? Unchaperoned?”

“I am a married woman, Irene.”

“A Duchess,” she snapped. “Who acts alongside her husband, not without him.” Irene shook her head like a disappointed mother, burdened with undisciplined children. “Won’t you refrain from being so confrontational with him?”

“Who on earth said I was being confrontational?”

“As I have said plenty of times before: I know you, Cordelia.”

She rolled her eyes like a petulant adolescent. “He decides to start things with me, Irene, not the other way around.”

“Really?”

“Is that truly so hard to believe?”

“As a matter of fact -”

“Irene!”

Her sister let out a laugh. “When did you become so defensive, Cordelia?” Irene’s brow rose, a knowing smirk beginning to spread across her thin lips. “If I knew any better, I’d say something else sits heavily on your mind.”

Cordelia glanced at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Irene shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Sister,” she warned, leaning forward and catching the attention of Tiberius, “There is nothing else weighing on my mind, other than my husband who has finally decided to be my husband sent word that we might attend a ball later this week.”

Irene’s eyes widened. “A ball?”

“I know,” Cordelia muttered. “Isn’t it ridiculous? I haven’t attended one in -”

“That is spectacular, Cordelia!” Irene blurted, clapping her hands as if she could no longer contain her excitement. “It has already been a marvelous Season. I am very pleased you’ll have a chance to experience it as a married Lady.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes again. “I am in no way looking forward to the event, Irene.”

“Don’t tell me you argued with the Duke about it.”

“Well,” she mused, falling back against the sofa once more, “I suppose he did not give me much of a chance.” Her mind wandered, lingering in the reverie of the Duke’s heavy stare holding onto her across from the breakfast table. That same feeling returned: the tightness in her chest, the increased hammering of her heart. Cordelia waved a hand in front of her, as if the memory was a pesky bug. “Perhaps I will voice my concern the moment I return to Solshire.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Cordelia,” Irene snapped, “Don’t do such a thing.”

“Why not?”

Irene sighed. “I told you before. The Duke is a beastly thing.”

“You seemed very excited for me a moment ago!”

“When left uncontested, I believe it to be a great opportunity,” she argued. “Despite the Ton’s whispers only being rumors, haven’t you considered what would happen if they weren’t?”

Cordelia shrugged. “No.”

“Rumors or not, the Duke of Solshire was known as a beast before you were ever wed. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Why should it?”

Irene rose from her seat, quickly rounding the table to lounge on the sofa beside her. Without a moment to lose, Tiberius followed, resting his head across Irene’s lap with a loud sigh. His wide, brown eyes stared up at Cordelia.

“Perhaps,” Irene began, her voice soft, “You might consider allowing yourself to be afraid of the Duke.”

Cordelia leaned away from her sister. “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“How are we supposed to know what he might do if pushed too far?”

“You can’t believe everything the Ton whispers, Irene.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “But they are not blind. To ignore it would be ignorant.” She reached, grasping a hold of Cordelia’s hand tightly. “I only want you safe and content, Cordelia. Is that so wrong of me?”

Cordelia watched her sister with narrowed eyes. The words nestled deep in her mind, bringing an unexpected irritation to the forefront of her thoughts. What was there to be offended about? Cordelia knew as much as any other that the Duke was a well known beast, a man with tendencies not entirely approved of by the Ton. At the same time, Cordelia knew she was just the same. The Ton never once looked upon her in the way they looked at Irene or Duncan. Cordelia was as much of an outsider as the Duke.

Looking away, Cordelia sought to shove the thoughts out of her mind. Defending the Duke? The exact man who drove her up the wall, who embarrassed her in front of her workers and never once appreciated the amount of work she did on his dated home?

Not an ounce of her feelings made sense, and she had no intention of ruminating over them any further.

“The Duke is nothing more than a challenge,” Cordelia said instead. “Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?”

Irene sighed, pulling her hand back. “I suppose not, dear sister.”

“There is one thing that rests heavily on my mind.”

“What would that be?”

Cordelia looked over at her sister. “Why do you suppose the Duke agreed to marry me in the first place?”

“Well,” Irene mused, “I don’t quite know.”

“What would give a beastly Duke reason to marry a recently ruined Lady?”

Irene lifted her shoulders. “Father never explained it.”

“Truly?”

“Can you see him telling me such a thing?”

Cordelia pressed her lips together. “Perhaps Duncan would know.”

“Why should it matter?” Irene asked. “You are married now. The reasons can’t change that fact.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“Do not ruminate over things that are out of your bounds.”

Cordelia sighed. It wasn’t like she expected Irene to answer the question, but voicing it brought a new interest in the Duke’s past to Cordelia’s mind. Ever since the wedding, she had been more than intrigued with her husband’s past, and why the Ton knew him to be a beastly and wild sort of creature. But the reasons behind their marriage were unbeknownst to her. Did the Duke face his own sort of scrutiny that required a wife?

“Enough of this,” Irene suddenly said. “Let us talk about the ball.”

“Whatever for?”

“What dress shall you wear?”

Before Cordelia could come up with some sort of lie to please her sister’s eager expression, the door to the parlour opened, and Duncan slipped inside, a few books held beneath his arm.

“I don’t believe I heard correctly,” he said. “Is Cordelia attending a ball ?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “You find the oddest times to gain a sense of humor, dear brother.”

Duncan raised a bushy brow. “There is no humor in my question, only doubt. The sister I know would never willingly attend a ball, not without being forced.”

“Well, I do have a husband now.”

Duncan crossed the room, sliding the books he held back in their spots upon the aging bookcases. Despite the teasing tint to his voice, Duncan never once dropped the serious frown that seemed to permanently rest across his lips. “Who knew that was all it would take?”

“I believe you knew that very well.”

“Not when I heard he hadn’t lived with you for two years,” Duncan quickly said, eyeing Cordelia skeptically. “Don’t get me wrong, sister. I was not surprised the Duke decided to reside elsewhere. You have that charming effect.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I cannot believe you are still unwed. With that charm, every available Lady in the Ton should be following you around like Irene’s delightful wolfhound.”

“Do you even own a dress for a ball?”

“How long must you insult your youngest sister?”

Irene cleared her throat. “The both of you,” she muttered with a tired shake of her head. “Rather ridiculous how you two tease each other. An outsider might believe we despise one another.”

“Heavens, no,” Cordelia mused, watching her brother with a growing smirk.

Duncan pressed his lips together. “Don’t worry, Irene. Soon her newfound - excuse me, old - husband might talk some respectable sense into our sister sooner rather than later.”

Cordelia couldn’t stop the laugh from blurting out into the room, loudly and boldly. Tiberius jolted, just as surprised as the rest of them to the sound. She grinned as her brother uncomfortably left the room. His seriousness always outweighed his teasing, even though he did it just as easily as she did.

“You two,” Irene said again, her head shaking like a tired mother.

“Are your most beloved treasures.”

Irene looked over at her, the smile she wore growing more and more heavy with a deep sadness Cordelia was unable to understand. “Truly,” she whispered. “You are.”

Scooting across the sofa to get closer to her sister, Cordelia leaned her head against Irene’s shoulder, the scratchy fabric of her mourning clothes sitting uncomfortably on her cheek. She gladly took the uncomfort, soaking in her sister’s presence as much as she could. There, sitting beside her, Cordelia felt as though she were a child again, lounging in the sun and daydreaming about the next painting she wished to craft.

Soon, before she knew it, Cordelia would return to Solshire and reenter the life she found herself living in. In a voice neither of them could hardly hear, Cordelia let out a whisper to Darkenhill Manor, and every creature within.

“I miss you.”