“Devil take it, what do you want, Anthony?” He had yet to release Cordelia out of sheer possessiveness.
“Well, apparently not the same thing you want, eh, Ambrose?” He winked at Cordelia, who blushed profusely, and then cleared his throat again. “I believe this dance was promised to me.” He held out his hand.
“Yes, of course!” Cordelia’s words were too rushed. “Forgive me, Lord Maddox, I—” She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she firmly grasped his elbow as he led her back inside. Only when they crossed the threshold did Anthony turn around and shake his smug little head in Ambrose’s direction.
Chapter Six
The Rescue
If anyone had told her that her first kiss would be with Hawthorne, she would have laughed and said they were delusional. Instead, as she sat in the carriage across from her aunt and uncle, all she could think of was the incessant buzzing she felt across her lips, a lingering reminder of his lips on hers.
She was more curious than anything. Not necessarily mad. It helped, of course, that he seemed just as shocked as she when they pulled apart. Looking out the window beside her, she relived the memory and wondered if Hawthorne was thinking about it too.
Every little girl dreams of her first kiss, imagines what it will be like when her knight in shining armor storms in on his valiant white horse to rescue her from captivity. Cordelia was no exception. It was the one fantasy she could run to that would occupy her mind for the long hours and years of service she owed to her father’s debtors.
Of course, her knight never came, and the dreams of the little girl who once was slowly faded with time. By the time her aunt and uncle agreed to sponsor her debut, Cordelia no longer clung to unrealistic fantasies. She was the daughter of scandal and of ruined parents. There wasn’t a gentleman among the ton who would see his way clear to rescue her from her state of disgrace.
It was best not to allow her hopes to hang on a single stolen kiss.
But it was nice to feel wanted… even if just for a moment.
****
The weeks of her first Season seemed to fly by. At every event her card was full before she had a chance to find the best corner for concealment. Somehow, however, it seemed that Lord Hawthorne took every waltz on her card, as if the two of them alone owned the dance.
They didn’t discuss the kiss. And she told herself it didn’t matter. He had likely shared innumerable kisses with the ladies of the ton; he would likely share innumerable more, so it wouldn’t do to force the issue with him. Instead, she pushed the matter from her mind and focused on enjoying her moment in the sun, which was certain to end soon enough.
She spent her afternoon receiving would-be suitors and her evenings dancing with them, but none had yet stood apart from the others as one who would be worthy of serious consideration. Not that she saw herself as one with a plethora of options, and their attention would certainly not last beyond this Season, but not one of the gentlemen pursuing her seemed to be any different than the others. Cordelia was uncomfortable with all of them.
Some more than others. Whenever Sir Bryan appeared in her uncle’s drawing room, she was certain she would turn blue and pass out from lack of oxygen before his visit ended. He actually did stand out from the others. But poor hygiene was not an admirable trait, even to a lady who felt she had no options.
With Sir Wilde and Viscount Maddox, Cordelia found herself at complete ease. She could laugh and be herself.
Hawthorne was another matter entirely. With him she was more herself than at any other time in her life. But he was not a suitor, and it was made clear from the beginning that was not his intention. So in spite of her growing affinity for the man, she told her heart to find another before it was too late.
It was that three weeks after experiencing her first kiss, Cordelia found herself at another ton event. True to form she had not been given a single reprieve from the dancing and was exhausted. Lord Saunders had just escorted her back to her aunt and suggested a light refreshment.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia caught sight of Sir Bryan making his way towards her with a purpose set in his features. Her sole escape seemed to be a visit to the ladies’ salon, so excusing herself with a polite curtsy, she spun on her heel and scurried to the only safe refuge she knew.
Gratefully, the room was close by, and she made it inside without incident, breathing a heavy sigh of relief and leaning against the wall with closed eyes. When she opened her eyes again, Cordelia saw a young debutante seated just across the narrow entry to the salon. Her face was downcast and shining with tears.
Cordelia’s heart went out to the young girl. As she took a step forward, the cattish voices of several ladies drifted around the corner. Turning her head towards the sound, Cordelia could hear their conversation without difficulty.
“Did you see her ridiculous gown?”
“Oh, my dear, it is positively dreadful.”
“Who on earth is her modiste? Madame Gypsy?” A skittering of feminine cackles echoed in the salon.
“She certainly didn’t think her wardrobe through. There’s not a self-respecting gentleman in the ton who would dance with her looking like that, let alone give her the time of day.”
Cordelia glanced back at the girl in front of her. The debutante had turned away and was wiping at her eyes, sobbing silently. Cordelia took the seat next to her, offered her a handkerchief from her reticule, and then took her by the hand. With a gentle squeeze and an encouraging smile, Cordelia gave a light toss of her head to indicate they would enter together.
The girl’s deep brown eyes widened in fear. Cordelia smiled again and nodded her head. “It will be fine,” she whispered and coaxed her to follow in spite of her reticence.
As they rounded the corner into the main room of the salon, the conversation abruptly ceased. All the eyes in the room fell upon Cordelia and her companion.
“Good evening, ladies,” Cordelia said. She widened her smile more than usual and met each of the ladies’ gazes in turn. “I have the most wonderful thing to show you.” Her exuberance surprised even her. “This gown! Have you ever seen anything like it?”
The girl who stood beside her stared at her with a look of absolute horror. A surge of concern shot through Cordelia, and she rushed to correct the girl’s assumption. “This is a gown straight out of the most recent designs in Madame Lanchester’s fashion plates! I’ve seen only one like it since I returned from Paris. I cannot believe my good fortune to see another.” A collective gasp seemed to suck the breathable air from the room.