Page 88 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“Mrs. Case will show you to your chambers, Sir George,” Georgiana said, gesturing toward the waiting housekeeper. “You’re in the room on the east wing, with Mr. Marlow in an adjacent chamber.”

“Are we in the same room as before?” Lady Marlow said. “Wonderful! The aspect from that side of the house is delightful in the morning. Wait until you see it, Leonard—you’ll not have seen anything more beautiful.”

“No, Mother,” the young man said, his gaze on Georgiana. “Very beautiful indeed.”

“I’ve always said to Sir George that you make an excellent hostess, Miss Georgiana.”

Lady Marlow continued to extol the virtues of Georgiana with her son nodding, his color deepening even further, to the point where his cheeks were almost rendered scarlet, though Georgiana barely gave him a glance.

Cordelia’s own cheeks warmed at the stark reminder of her inadequacy compared to James’s sister. Would she ever learn how to be a viscountess?

Perhaps not. Ladies of rank were born, not made—or married into.

I cannot do this.

She retreated toward the main entrance as the second carriage drew to a halt while the footmen were unloading the trunks from the first. Margaret had the right idea, having concealed herself in the gardens somewhere to avoid the social niceties.

“I-I don’t know if—” she began, but Georgiana interrupted.

“Stay, Cordelia,” she said. “There’s nothing to fear—particularly not from Earl and Countess Stiles.”

Cordelia stared at her. She’d never heard such cordiality from her sister-in-law, though perhaps it was for the sake of appearance than any sisterly affection.

“Are you certain?” she said.

“The countess was not born into the aristocracy,” Georgiana replied. “She, of all our guests, should understand your discomfort.”

Are you attempting to assuage my fears, Georgiana, or shine a light on my humble origins?

Cordelia forced a smile as the carriage door opened and Earl Stiles stepped out. Would he recognize her, even though she’d never stood before him awaiting judgment? Those deep-set, dark-brown eyes of his had always seemed to take in every detail, and commit them to memory to be used when required.

He turned his gaze on her, and she caught her breath as his brow furrowed.

“Earl Stiles,” Georgiana said, moving to greet him, “welcome. Might I introduce my brother’s wife?”

The earl’s expression intensified.

“Viscountess Bedford,” he said, his deep voice resonating in Cordelia’s bones. He turned toward the carriage and his brooding intensity lightened.

A statuesque woman stepped out of the carriage. Dressed in a brilliant blue gown, her hair the color of ripe chestnuts, and eyes the shade of emeralds, she was the most beautiful creature Cordelia had ever seen.

“Frederica my love,” the earl said, “this is Viscountess Bedford.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Viscountess.” The woman offered her hand, and Cordelia stared at it.

“Oh, I…” Cordelia glanced at her husband. He’d not said anything about ladies shaking hands. Weren’t they supposed to curtsy to one another?

A noise that sounded like a low growl rumbled in the earl’s throat as he glared at Cordelia. But the countess ignored it and stepped forward to embrace her.

“Forgive me, my dear, for being so forward. But I, of all women, understand how tedious it is to greet guests when hosting a house party, especially one’s first. Sometimes a degree of informality is preferred over social nicety, do you not think?”

The countess’s eyes gleamed with natural warmth, and Cordelia relaxed in her embrace.

“Frederica, I think—” the earl began, but the countess laughed.

“You think too much, Hawthorne darling. You’re not in the courtroom now.”

The earl fixed his gaze on Cordelia, and her skin tightened with apprehension at the recognition in his eyes.