Intrigue and Infatuation

Chapter 4

Two black carriages trundled up the gravel drive, casting a pall over the brilliant fall day as they progressed to the front of the house. Cordelia stood beside the window of her bedchamber, careful to stay out of sight while Mrs. Grace Parsons, her housekeeper, tightened
her stays.
"Must they arrive so soon after the funeral? Are we not to have a week's reprieve before they come to appraise their new estate, Grace?" Her grandfather's grave was still freshly turned in the plot beside the old stone parish, a mound of earth awaiting its headstone between the resting places of his wife and of Cordelia's mother and father.
Her former nanny gave a mighty tug to the stays and knotted the strings. "I know. His Grace would have turned them away, but..." She went quiet as she retrieved the black bombazine silk dress from where she'd laid it out on the bed. Her choked swallow was audible from across the room. "You're the mistress of the house no matter what the law says. You may not be able to turn them away, but you can play the gracious hostess. Let your kindness shame your enemies, my dear."
A frequent refrain from Mrs. Parsons, one that wasn't echoed by her grandfather, but a good host she would be. Cordelia didn't want to think of her family as enemies, but there was no better way to describe the enmity between her grandfather and his brother's descendants. If only for the sake of Glenfall House, her lifelong home, she would stay in the new Duke of Glenfall's good graces.
Cordelia ducked inside the gown and when she emerged, a familiar sight sent a pang of grief through her stomach. The bouquet of flowers on her bedside table looked on the edge of wilting. She had changed the water almost daily to keep the lovely blooms alive — the last of the late summer blooms and a few roses from the hothouse on the estate grounds — deep red roses that her grandfather had propagated to match the distinctive rusty hue of her hair — the last bouquet her grandfather would ever pick for her. Tears threatened to spill over her lashes.
"No. No. Don't start that!" Grace chided gently as she buttoned the dress closed.
"It's the flowers," Cordelia choked. "I — I can't watch them wilt."
"I can take them to the cellar and have them dried for you."
Grace retrieved the vase while Cordelia slipped dangling jet earrings through her ears. She tilted her chin up to hold back the tears and returned to the window.
Two men alighted from the first carriage and went to help the women descend from the second. The first was an elderly woman: Mrs. Rowley, the late Duke of Glenfall's widowed sister-in-law. Her daughter-in-law followed, Mrs. Charlotte Rowley. Charlotte's considering gaze swept the house, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursed in a frown. Her daughter Miss Ruth Rowley, was handed out last, her head of soft blonde curls instantly recognizable.
A cold wind of the coming winter caught their dark traveling cloaks and made them look like a wake of vultures sweeping down to feed on a carcass as they hurried to the door.
"Where should I tell Mr. Parsons to put them?" Grace asked from the doorway. "The Library?"
"No," Cordelia interjected. The library was usually where they met with visitors, however, it was also Cordelia's sanctuary where she and her grandfather had spent most of their time in each other's company. She didn't like the thought of her cousins trampling the memories that still lingered there. "No. The green sitting room."
A smile spread across Grace's lips. It was rare that guests were made to wait in that room. Portraits of the third duke and duchess of Glenfall hung on opposite ends of the room and cast their imperious gazes over anyone in their presence, making the room thoroughly unwelcoming.
"Certainly," Grace said. "And I'll have Mr. Parsons tell our guests that you will be down shortly, but take as long as you need."
"I will."
Grace closed the door behind her and Cordelia fussed with the ribbon at her waist. The seconds ticked by, but with nothing more to do, she plodded slowly towards the stairs. She had never moved with so little hurry to attend to guests, but when she finally made it to the sitting room she stopped outside the doors.
It was considerably rude to eavesdrop, but her current guests had earned the discourtesy.
"—Why, when I visited Glenfall House as a young girl I was most impressed by the grandeur of its rooms. It's such a shame to see all the silk walls and fine trimmings replaced by such minimal decor," Mrs. Rowley proclaimed for anyone passing in the hall to overhear.
"Grandmama, they've spared no expense updating the decor of the house." Cordelia shuddered at the deep, velvety voice of her cousin, Andrew Rowley. "I assure you cousin Cordelia has chosen a scheme in the height of fashion." Her skin crawled at the way the rake said her name — like he knew she was listening at the door.
A barking laugh traveled into the hall. "I dare say she has saved you the trouble of having to redecorate the rooms yourself." This was surely Ruth.
"Indeed, but one must wonder how much money the chit wasted recovering perfectly serviceable cushions." Yes, this was Andrew's younger brother, Francis, judging by the nasally-toned disdain in his voice.
Cordelia couldn't decide which of the three siblings she disliked the most: Andrew who had always stolen the ribbon from her braid, Francis who had left toads in her bed, or Ruth who had insisted the freckles on her face were dirt stains from digging in the garden with her grandfather.
"And that's why you're going to be in charge of a church parish and not a duchy," Mrs. Charlotte Rowley replied to Andrew. If Cordelia hadn't known her better, she might have thought it a compliment, but there was a subtle note of mockery beneath the women's strange overly-practiced upper-class accent.
On second thought, Cordelia didn't want to hear any more of what they might say about her behind her back. She forced her lips into a weak smile and stepped into view.
Five heads turned to appraise her and her black ensemble. Only the men were dressed in black as dark waistcoats were the usual fashion of choice for gentleman. Mrs. Rowley wore shiny emerald green with a black armband. Mrs. Charlotte Rowley and Ruth had pinned matching black cockades to their bonnets — it looked an afterthought added for the appearances of mourning only as they wore pale blue and yellow gowns respectively. Their dark cloaks had already been taken away by the footmen.
"You know you don't have to dress in full mourning for a grandfather," Ruth proclaimed in lieu of a greeting from her seat close to the hearth.
Cordelia ignored it. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Rowley. Mrs. Charlotte Rowley. Cousin Andrew. Francis. Ruth." She curtsied to their matriarch and nodded her head in greeting to the rest. "I hope your journey from London was smooth."
"Don't think of us when you have lost your dear grandfather so recently." Andrew swept across the room with confident strides. He picked up Cordelia's hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His hand lingered too long around hers, enough that she had to tug it away and resist the urge to wipe away the kiss. She fisted her hands in her skirts as Francis approached, but he didn't deign to reach for her hand.
"I'm sorry for your loss, cousin," he said.
Cordelia didn't understand how someone a head shorter than her could make her feel like he was looking down his nose at her.
Francis retreated to prop himself on the back of the sofa where his mother and sister remained seated.
Cordelia felt the lump form in her throat again as she observed the gathering of the Other Rowleys who would soon take charge of Glenfall House. She swallowed the ache. "I've had the staff prepare your rooms in the west wing." As far away from the family wing on the garden side of the sprawling house as possible, she didn't add.
"Your hospitality during these difficult times is greatly appreciated," Andrew replied for the family.
Even if he was an unscrupulous cad who would soon have the power to turn her out of his home on a moment's notice, he at least had the decency to be polite about her change in circumstances.
"The staff should have your trunks in your rooms, if they aren't unpacked already, they will at least be there so you can ready for dinner. My grandfather's solicitor will arrive soon and will join our party. Afterwards, he will read His Grace's will." Cordelia crossed to the bell pull and rang for servants to escort the other Rowleys to their rooms.
With all the pleasantries out of the way, conversation turned to the usual banalities enjoyed by her relatives. Cordelia sat in a chair opposite Ruth and her mother. Her fingers worried a loose thread on her skirt and she turned her gaze to the floor as Mrs. Charlotte Rowley and Ruth shared the latest London gossip as if to flaunt their grand and numerous connections among the ton's most elevated circles. Cordelia knew many of names — many whose ballrooms she'd graced during her first two seasons.
Servants soon arrived and the family filed out to find their way to their rooms. Andrew alone bid her goodbye until dinner. When they had all disappeared, Cordelia turned to the third duchess who looked down at her from the mantle. Even her cold gaze felt welcoming compared the reception she'd just received from her distant relations. She looked down her nose at Cordelia, a challenge in her gaze as if to say are you just going to let these upstarts and social climbers invade Glenfall House?
"What choice do I have?" Cordelia asked Her Grace. She turned to the painting of the third duke. Instead of an imperious frown, his eyes seemed to be filled with a challenge. Never surrender. Protect Glenfall, he seemed to command, dressed in his military regalia with his sword on his hip. Cordelia almost forgot the third duke was also a prince, but the title Duke of Glenfall superseded even the title of prince. A title that would now go to her cousin Andrew.
Perhaps she should have married any of the number of fine young gentleman who had wanted to court her during her first season. If she had married a couple years ago, she may have already sired the next Duke of Glenfall, but she'd stubbornly wanted to wait for someone to stir her heart. Her grandfather had been all too generous to indulge the fantasy and had even encouraged her pickiness.
What would he think now if he knew how little time they'd had left? Cordelia straightened and wiped a stray tear from her chin. It was no use dwelling on regrets when she owed it to her grandfather to protect the estate and carry on his legacy. She hoped his solicitor would have good news — Algernon Rowley had likely thought to make some requests for how his heirs would manage the estate when he renewed the entail.
To his friends, he was considered a visionary when it came to managing an estate. He implemented all the latest farming research and more, intent on keeping ahead of the times rather than falling out of touch with it. To his critics, he was considered an eccentric without regard for tradition.
Cordelia took a deep breath to steady herself. Yes, after the death of his son, Arthur, and with no male descendants, Algernon Rowley would have thought of something to protect Glenfall. The man was always prepared for anything. Anything but his heart to stop beating.