Percival had been outraged at how Dora was being treated. The fellow involved must be forced to marry her. That was, until he heard who the fellow was.
Dora’s harsh punishments were caused byhisfather. The baron was the father of the unborn child.
And then even worse, the poor young woman’s heart was broken. She was in love with his father and could not understand how he could throw her out.
Percival could not understand it either.
That was the night he’d stopped using the stairs. Instead, he’d thrown himself into his studies. They were the ideal way to avoid thinking about what he’d heard. They were a reliable excuse to avoid even looking at his father or doing the sporting things the baron liked to do. Mostly, it was an ideal way to stick to the facts and keep feelings at arm’s length.
He never did find out what had happened to Dora, though when he’d inherited the barony, he’d hired a firm to track her down. All that could be discovered was that she’d first gone to relatives in York and then married and moved away.
Now here was Lady Cordelia, talking about the human heart as if it were nothing at all to fear.
She was either incredibly naïve and did not know the things he knew, or she was not naïve and she knew things he did not know.
To consider that she might know something he did not was very unsettling. He knew feelings and human behavior were a weak spot. How could they not be when he’d been determined to avoid them? He’d surrounded himself with the sort of intellectuals who would not delve into those topics either, so it had not often been brought to his notice.
He would attend Lady Hightower’s musical evening this night. He dared not skip it, not after her hair-raising letter regarding his manners. He presumed Lady Cordelia would be there, showcasing whatever musical talent she’d managed to acquire.
Would she speak more about the human heart?
He was not certain whether he wished it or did not.
Chapter Twelve
Lady Hightower’s drawingroom was filling up. Cordelia had been well briefed by her elder sisters on what was required on such a night. Play something and make it not too long, the audience always appreciated a short piece.
Cordelia was not at all intimidated by the prospect. She played perfectly adequately. She was not, of course, her sister Rosalind, and so a travel through the world of music was out of reach. But that would not be expected.
Lady Hightower had asked her outright if she played in Rosalind’s style and seemed strangely reassured when she could not claim the skill.
Cordelia’s thoughts on other topics were, as they seemed always to be these days, in a bit of a jumble. Mr. Jeffries, the Corinthian returning from America, was expected to attend. She could only wonder if she would feel a spark upon viewing him.
Darden said he was a jolly fellow and well-liked. Her brother was a good judge of character, so that was promising.
But then, there was Lord Harveston. Why would that fellow never leave her thoughts?
As they had talked at Lady Rawley’s house, he had seemed so…genuine. Very naturally, she must feel a little sorry for him having to admit to knowing so little of matters of the heart. The poor gentleman had not even known the signs of love!
And then, of course, it had been amusing to watch him take in Lady Rawley’s ideas about the sword fight and Lady Agatha’s wish to see blood flying everywhere.
All Cordelia could think of was that she would not like to be in the first row of the production, lest those persons leave with red-stained clothes on account of Lady Agatha’s enthusiasm.
“Lady Cordelia, Miss Mayton,” Lady Hightower said, “I would have you know Miss Bretherton.”
Cordelia curtsied to the young woman.
“Miss Bretherton’s father is a bishop,” Lady Hightower went on, “and I must say there is something to the education of women brought up by clergy. She isexceedinglywell read, a thing one does not often come across these days.”
Cordelia smiled, but felt herself a little resentful of Miss Bretherton’s excessive reading. It was almost as if Lady Hightower had spied her in her father’s library, attempting to understand Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas and getting nowhere with it.
“I am sure I do not deserve such accolades,” Miss Bretherton said meekly.
“Well, who can tell?” Miss Mayton said.
Miss Bretherton looked very surprised to hear it. Cordelia suppressed a giggle—her aunt could suddenly say a thing that threw a person off on occasion.
“Ah, look who we have here, Lord Harveston,” Lady Hightower said.
