“I’m sure they’ll be adorable.” Cornelia laughed. “My own little Minnie is mostly Jack Russell but she has a secret ingredient no-one is quite sure of—Lhasa Apso perhaps, or a dash of Shih Tzu. Her tail has the most wonderful curl.”
“Oh yes, you brought your dog.” Lady Studborne clapped her hands. “You must bring her down to meet everyone. Hercules will flirt dreadfully, of course, and make Binky jealous, but I’m sure they’ll work it out.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the crackle of the fire, the soft breathing of the dogs and the occasional thump of tail.
At last, Lady Studborne spoke again. “I’ve been wanting to say, my brother had a difficult time growing up, returning to Texas without my mother and I. As to what passed between him and my father, I can only guess.”
“Families can be difficult.” Cornelia frowned. “That is to say, having no choice, we’re obliged to make the best of things. Even where we’re better off without someone, we don’t stop loving them, or missing them when they’re gone.”
“Very true.” Lady Studborne darted another smile Cornelia’s way, then looked down, chasing some crumbs around her plate.
“I hope you won’t think me interfering.” The duchess cleared her throat. “Whatever is between you and my brother, I’m sure it will unfold just as it should, but I’ll be wishing most ardently for you to find true happiness together. It’s frightening, I know, to say how we feel, to open ourselves to the possibility of caring for another person so deeply, of needing them—but l’ve learned that love is worth the risk. I almost lost my chance, years ago. If I hadn’t told Benedict how much I loved him, I’d have regretted it forever.”
Cornelia found her eyes were pricking.
True love?
Of course, in her secret heart she yearned for someone who would love her so ardently that nothing else would matter; for someone she could admire, respect and love in return. But, to wish for such things was inviting disappointment. She’d yet to meet a man capable of giving himself to her in that way. Oswald hadn’t even tried.
There was no doubt in her mind. She’d rather be alone than tied to someone who cared nothing for her feelings.
Ethan wasn’t the worst sort, she sensed, but he’d made himself plain. He cared more for spiting his father than for anything else. There would never be a ‘happy ever after’ for him, however hard his sister wished it.
The thought made Cornelia terribly sad. Her own circumstances were beyond her control but Ethan had chosen his, and she doubted any woman would change how he viewed the world.
If she played the role he’d invented for her, pretending to care for him, pretending a future he had no intention of ever making real, she’d be deceiving Rosamund.
And deceiving yourself, whispered a small voice.
She ought to come clean.
But, the duchess was smiling again, telling her about the gifts she’d purchased for her staff, asking if Cornelia would help in wrapping them, and looking so very pleased that she was there.
She couldn’t spoil this. She didn’t want to.
Mr. Ethan Burnell was never going to be hers; was never going to be any woman’s. But, perhaps, Rosamund might become Cornelia’s friend.
And then the dogs were tail-wagging, barking and bounding across the room again, because Aunt Blanche and Aunt Eustacia had made it down at last—and all other thoughts were put aside during the happy reunion.
Chapter 7
A few hours later…
Everyone was gathered in the drawing room prior to luncheon, to partake of an apéritif.
Blanche and Eustacia, having shared an enjoyable catch-up with Lady Studborne, were in high spirits (helped along by having ogled young Carruthers as he secured the duchess’ festive festoons).
Cornelia, meanwhile, was feeling overwhelmed. Her hair was refusing to remain neatly pinned, Minnie’s claw had snagged a thread near the hem of her gown, and she feared a spot was attempting to erupt just above her left ear.
Lord and Lady Studborne were exceedingly welcoming but Cornelia felt the penetrating, and highly curious, scrutiny of her fellow guests who were, no doubt, speculating on why she and her aunts had been invited.
So far, Burnell was noticeably absent though, Cornelia supposed, he would surely make the effort to join them, if for no other purpose than the alleviation of hunger.
“Oh look!” Blanche nudged Eustacia. “I’d recognize that nose anywhere. It’s Myrtle Mivvetsump, as married the Marquess of Pippsbury the same year we made our curtsey to the Queen.”
Eustacia drew out her spectacles. “So it is! She always was fond of peach taffeta, and those must be her daughters; one doesn’t see eyebrows like those in the general way of things. Everyone said Pippsbury only married her for the sake of her father’s sardine empire, but twelve children are rarely begotten through duty alone. Although, with the first eleven being girls, I suppose they had to keep going until an heir made an appearance.”
“I hear she went into five years of full mourning after his passing. Rather hard on her youngest girls. What with one thing and another, they’re getting a bit long in the tooth for husband-hunting.”
Cornelia fought to arrange her face in an attitude of composure. “Be quiet, both of you! Someone will hear.”
Blanche merely helped herself to a glass of madeira from a passing salver, and passed another to Eustacia. “Nonsense, darling. They’re far too engrossed in saying similar things about us—if not far worse.”
Cornelia could hardly argue; it was what she found most discomforting—the knowledge of being whispered about, of being pitied and, inevitably, judged. For this reason, she’d spent years avoiding the theatre, the opera and all such public entertainments. She hadn’t attended a house party since…well, since Oswald’s death—and she recalled nothing about that occasion with fondness.
“Myrtle used to be a good sort but Pippsbury’s title made her far too hoity-toity,” Eustacia sipped at her drink. “If she’s here to bag our American friend for one of her offspring then the rumours of the marquess gambling away most of their fortune must be true. Of course, young Ethan has other things to recommend him besides money. As sister-in-law to the duke, his wife will be assured connection to the most illustrious circles.”
“Which would certainly help those other poor Pippsbury girls.” Blanche drained her glass and looked wistfully into its bottom.
Lady Pippsbury chose that moment to cast her eyes their way. With the bearing of a steamship launching majestic upon the seas, she glided towards them.
“My dear Miss Everlys, what a surprise.” The marchioness’s eyes flicked briefly to Cornelia. ”And your niece.” She smiled with mock sweetness. ”Looking fetching in brown.”
She drew her daughters forward. “May I introduce, Penelope, Portia, Persephone and Paulina—just returned from Paris.” Lady Pippsbury fluttered her fingers airily. “We always order our spring wardrobe from Atelier Pointilleux; nothing in London can compare.”
The young women, dressed in various shades of a rather dazzling green, dipped respectful curtsies to the elderly Miss Everlys.