He had a sneaking suspicion that Lady Cordelia was partial to Lord Harveston. Very partial. He could not account for what had happened to her idea of finding herself a Corinthian, but there it was.
“If Lord Harveston breaks that young lady’s heart, or if he mocks her sudden entry into the world of attaining information, I will…well I do not know what I will do, but it will be very awful.”
“Goodness. That was sudden turn, Mr. Tattleton.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cordelia had solittle time to prepare for departing for the Duchess of Castleton’s house party—primarily the question was, what she would pack to wear. After informing the duchess’ groom that she would attend with Miss Mayton and a maid, that groom had handed over a list of suggested wardrobes.
She would need to be dressed for picnics, riding out, a trip to the local village shops, lawn bowls, dinners, and a ball at the end of it, to name only some of the activities listed.
Amidst sorting through her clothes, which Lynette referred to as a frenzied parade of mind changes, Cordelia did of course think of Lord Harveston.
She thought of Lady Theodora too. She thought of Lord Hamill describing his sister as an intellectual. Then she imagined Lady Theodora and Lord Harveston having an intellectual conversation.
Lady Theodora’s penchant for knowledge had not seemed as if it carried much weight within the family. But how much weight would it carry with Lord Harveston?
How long had he been in that house, in close quarters with knowledgeable Lady Theodora?
Lady Theodora was very terrible to think about. She had everything—an intellectual bent, the highest of connections, she must have an outstanding dowry, and there was every chance that she was pretty. Cordelia supposed she was amusing too!
It seemed very unfair that such a paragon should be just now conversing with Lord Harveston.
Cordelia attempted to soothe herself by remembering that Lord Harveston had brought his personal gardener to Portland Place to repair their garden. Another point that buoyed her was thinking of all the studying she had done since she’d left London.
Did Lady Theodora know anything about the current work being done regarding volcanoes? She rather wondered about that.
For all her fretting and frenzied packing, she, Miss Mayton, and Lynette had been got on their way. The duchess had sent two carriages—one for herself and Miss Mayton and the other for the luggage and Lynette.
They could not, of course, leave Lynette to fend for herself with only hatboxes to keep her company, so she was relocated to their own carriage. Cordelia hoped she did not shock the duchess with such an arrangement, but it would have been too cruel to abandon Lynette alone.
As they drew ever closer to their destination, a new worry presented itself to her thoughts.
“Aunt,” she said, “this must be a very great house. It is the duke’s seat and I have never been inside of such a one. Well, except for Conbatten’s of course, but he is different—he is family.”
“I do not suppose anybody could out-duke Conbatten, dear,” Miss Mayton said, not appearing the least flustered. “Will the Duke of Castleton be bathing at precisely ninety-eight degrees with chilled champagne as Conbatten does? Will he have an absolute madman of a French valet who is always threatening to throw himself into the Thames? Will he have built a special room for the gifts he receives from relatives, that nobody else is permitted to see?”
“I rather doubt it,” Cordelia said. “All those things seem peculiar to Conbatten.”
“Just so,” Miss Mayton said. “If we can manage Conbatten, and we have, then we can manage any other duke with ease. Simply depend upon your good instincts.”
Cordelia was much reassured by these ideas.
“I hope I am not to be lorded over by lady’s maids who think they are better than me, just because they serve a duchess and her daughter,” Lynette said.
Lynette was forever worried about being lorded over. She probably had good reason to chafe under the idea. Miss Mayton’s maid, Fleur, threw round French words that Lynette did not understand, even though there was not a drop of French blood in the maid and her real name was Flora.
Fortunately for Lynette, Fleur/Flora was just this moment attending a sick aunt and so must miss the trip. It was supposed that Lynette would make fine use of the circumstance in future.
Cordelia said, “Lynette, I am certain you can hold your ground without giving offense.”
“I never give offense,” Lynette said, as if the idea was preposterous. “I just won’t be lorded over by some who pretend they can speak French is all.”
The coachman made a turn and it was clear enough that they were on the duke’s land. They stopped at a gatehouse and the coachman had a brief conversation with the man who came out to meet them. This man had obviously been waiting for them. He tipped his cap, mounted his horse, and set off at a gallop to alert the house to their imminent arrival.
The avenue was lined with old oaks and went on for what seemed like two miles at least. On either side, green fields and apple orchards gently rolled off into the distance. Finally, a colossus of a house came into view. It was not so much long as it was tall. Grey stone built into four storeys—a giant surveying its land.
Beyond the house, Cordelia caught sight of a very large and brilliant blue lake.
