Terror gripped her, and her gloves grew moist with her perspiration.
The stares. The mocking glares and a full dance card. Her living nightmare. Everyone would be looking at her.
The music ended not a moment too soon and the earl escorted Cordelia back to her aunt and bowed low, kissing her fingers once more.
Just beyond the matrons, the debutantes whispered. Cordelia could hear her name. Why would he dance with Lady Cordelia? Isn’t she the indentured servant? She closed her eyes against the fire creeping up her neck again.
“And why wouldn’t the Earl of Hawthorne dance with the most interesting woman in the room?” Another man’s deep voice broke past the whispers. Cordelia turned to see who had spoken.
The mirror image of the man she danced with stood beside Lady Trowbridge. Viscount Maddox took her hand and kissed it. She stared at him with wide eyes, and then he winked at her.
What a forward display! Had he no idea people were watching them?
“Shall we, my lady?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her back onto the dance floor before she had a chance to protest.
“And I will take the next dance, my lady,” the third man of their party shouted after them.
The night continued in that same fashion until its conclusion. Cordelia had never danced so much, and never with the same man a second time. What was happening to her? Everyone watched her, but she hardly had time to think about them. As her uncle helped her into their carriage at the end of the evening, her feet ached and her back screamed for rest.
Settling into the seat, Cordelia closed her eyes and thought, Truly all of London has turned on its ear.
Chapter 3
The Terms
Ambrose found he couldn’t stop whistling as he made his way towards the rented townhouse where Lady Cordelia resided. The previous night could not have gone better. He had half a mind to congratulate his brother on his sheer genius. Ambrose hadn’t felt this excited about a Season in years, and that included the time Wilde announced he was going to marry the first woman he laid eyes on. Unfortunately, that woman had been a mature ninety years old.
As he approached the regal mansion, Ambrose exhaled in relief. He wasn’t certain he could rely on the rumors that although Lady Cordelia’s parents had no money, the aunt and uncle were quite well off.
He took the steps two at a time and clanged the knocker three times. The butler answered, tray in hand. Ambrose threw his hat onto the empty silver surface. “Lord Hawthorne to see Lord Trowbridge. Is he available?”
The butler narrowed his eyes, and then opened the door wider, allowing Ambrose entry. He was led into the salon where a maid promptly brought tea. She too gave him a skeptical look, as if he were on display at the museum. Ignoring the help, he leaned back on the sofa and waited.
Within minutes Lord Trowbridge swept into the room. He was a tall man, dignified in his appearance. An afternoon jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Brown hair thinned on his head and combed neatly to the side. An even darker mustache curled above his lips, giving him the look of a man not to be crossed.
It was of no consequence. Ambrose was used to dealing with peers from all walks of life. They still put on their breeches one leg at a time. All, he concluded, were human and easily dealt with. He just needed to placate the man’s sense of self-importance.
“Lord Trowbridge. It is an honor that you would take time for a meeting.” The first step was always to compliment one’s opponent, make them relax.
Trowbridge smiled, the muscles in his body seemed to loosen, especially those around his jawline.
“A lovelier home I haven’t seen in ages. If the state of it is any indication of the rest of your estates, it seems the rest of us could learn a great deal from you about keeping things in impeccable condition.” Ambrose smiled and leaned back, one hand facing up on his lap while the other rested against the sofa mimicking a look of vulnerability. He then turned his head to the side and waited.
“My lord,” Trowbridge started nearly jumping over his words. “The honor is mine! For truly, I have heard a great deal about you but never had the opportunity, nay, the great fortune of meeting your acquaintance. Tell me, what can I do for you?”
Music to his ears. “So good of you to ask, my lord. You see, it has come to my attention that your niece has made her debut this Season.”
Trowbridge tensed and gripped the side of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “Yes, well, you see… her parents were, or that is, they are…”
Ambrose waved his hand flippantly in the air. “I am well aware of Lady Cordelia’s situation, Trowbridge. It is because of the...” He searched for the correct word. “Magical meeting we had last night that I am now sitting in your home.”
“Oh?” Trowbridge leaned forward in interest, his gaze clearly taking in the ramifications of what Ambrose was communicating.
“Yes. Though I am aware it isn’t necessary for me to spout off all of her many accomplishments. It seems Lady Cordelia and I would be a brilliant match. I wanted to make my intentions known. I wish to court her.”
At that announcement, Trowbridge spat out the tea and began coughing. Motionless, Ambrose merely watched as the man’s face took on a purplish hue before Lady Trowbridge burst into the room.
“You wish to court Lady Cordelia?” Lady Trowbridge asked, smiling and patting her husband on the back. “So sorry, my lord. My husband has coughing fits often.” She nudged him with her elbow as he nodded emphatically.
“Happens,” cough, cough, “all the time,” cough, “my lord.”
If only Ambrose would have bet money on the Earl and Countess’s response. He could have easily taken more money from his brother.
“My apologies. Perhaps another time would be better.” Ambrose rose.
“No!” they said in unison.
Lady Trowbridge tittered, “Ah, my lord. I am so very sorry. It has been an odd afternoon. Did I hear you correctly before? You truly wish to court Cordelia?”
Ambrose held their gazes for a few seconds before answering. “With all my heart. She wouldn’t happen to be available for callers, would she? I know many men have probably expressed similar interest—”
“No!” Lady Trowbridge yelled again. This time she placed her hand against her heaving bosom. “That is to say… I mean, yes. There has been much, er, interest.”
The earl began choking all over again.
“Is she otherwise engaged?” Ambrose ignored the horrifying sound coming from the earl’s throat, wanting more than anything for their uncomfortable display of shock to be done with.