Nine

Icalled him by the wrong name!” The words tore out of Cora as soon as she was safely ensconced inside the bedchamber that had been designated for her to use before the wedding breakfast. Her sisters had accompanied her upstairs.

“You did what?” Eliza looked horrified, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Jenny giggled but quickly pressed her lips together to smother the sound.

“I don’t know how it happened.” Cora blindly felt her way to the settee before the window that faced out over the street. She was vaguely aware of the lavish trappings of the room: white moldings, an expansive Oriental rug, crimson textiles, and a fireplace that was so tall she could have walked into it. Any other time she might have looked around in awe, but she was too busy cringing against her own stupidity.

“What happened precisely?” Jenny asked, coming over to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t smiling now, but there was a suspicious twinkle in her eye that indicated she was enjoying this far too much.

“He referred to me as Miss Dove, which we both realized is ridiculous since we are married now, so then he called me Cora. I”—even thinking about it made her face flame—“for reasons I don’t completely understand, called him Leonidas.”

Jenny let out a shout of laughter before she could slap her hand over her mouth. Eliza shook her head in sympathy, but even she was smiling now.

“You did this. You put that name in my head,” she accused Jenny.

This only made her sister laugh harder. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think you would actually call him that.”

Cora held her head in her hands, her anger taking flight as quickly as it had come on. It wasn’t really her sister’s fault. Cora had been the one to say the wrong name. She was so discombobulated by this whole wedding day that she didn’t know which end was up. “He’s going to think he married a complete fool.”

“He won’t think that.” Eliza was quick to comfort her. She sat down on the settee beside her, gently brushing the skirts of Cora’s wedding gown aside. “If anything, he’ll believe you were nervous. Besides, he thinks you’re beautiful. Doesn’t he?” She looked up at Jenny for support. Their sister nodded in eager agreement, so she turned her attention back to Cora. “We watched him closely during the wedding. He seemed quite taken with you.”

“It’s true. His face lit up when he first saw you.” Jenny perched on the chair adjacent to the settee in the small sitting area and took Cora’s hand. “I’m certain he doesn’t think you’re a fool. You barely know each other. Things like this happen.”

For the millionth time that day, Cora wondered if she had made a mistake. She had married a stranger. He could take her home tonight and do whatever he wanted to her and no one would or could intervene. But what use were thoughts like that? The deed was done now.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because she caught her sisters giving each other a concerned look. She felt worse for causing them even a second of distress. This had been her idea, after all. “We did share a laugh together about it,” she said to smooth things over, although that didn’t preclude him from thinking her a fool. “I don’t think he’s taken with me. It’s a business transaction, but thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

“It might be a transactional marriage, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t appreciate your beauty in that gown. You look stunning.” Jenny smiled at her and brushed the veil back from her face. The sides had fallen forward.

Cora gave her sister a genuine smile. She had thought she looked pretty in the mirror at Camille’s townhome that morning. It didn’t matter in the least to their marriage, since they had decided to keep it a marriage in name only, but she liked the idea of him being attracted to her. She had been too nervous to notice much of anything at the church, but the very thought of him looking upon her in appreciation made her stomach swirl with a pleasant sensation.

“Come, let’s do something about that veil. You don’t want to have to keep pushing it out of your face all day.” Jenny grasped her hand and led her to the vanity in the corner of the room. Cora took a seat, and her sister set about removing the hairpins and arranging her hair.

“Speaking of handsome men and their interests, did anyone notice how Lord David couldn’t keep his eyes off Jenny?” Eliza teased.

Her sisters had stood as her bridesmaids, while Lord David and Devonworth’s brother had stood with him.

“I did notice that,” Cora said, happy to have the focus off of her. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention. There was always her mother or one of her sisters to attend to. Through the mirror, she watched Jenny roll her eyes.

“I would not consider Lord David even if he did offer for me, which he hasn’t yet and isn’t likely to. Camille said he’s shown no interest in marriage,” Jenny said.

“Why wouldn’t you consider him?” Eliza asked, leaning against the window jamb.

“Because he only wants to bed me. Even if he did propose marriage to get that, he’d be in some other woman’s bed before the week was out.”

“And that would bother you?” It wasn’t something that Cora had allowed herself to think about, but there was no denying that something twisted painfully inside her when she thought of Devonworth—she couldn’t even think of him as Leo with her mortification still fresh—with another woman. She had no claim to him besides their paper marriage, so it didn’t make sense and wasn’t particularly fair. He might have a mistress, for all she knew. God, please don’t let him have a mistress.

“Yes . . .” Jenny hesitated and added, “I don’t know that I can go through with a transactional marriage. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think I want more. I want a true marriage . . . whatever that means.”

They had almost nothing to go by. Their own mother had never remarried after Mr. Dove, who had died so long ago that Cora wasn’t certain if her faint memories of him were real or inspired by the small daguerreotype her mother kept of him. Cora didn’t know for sure but suspected that marriage had been transactional as well. Fanny’s selection of friends had been mostly theater folk and spiritualists who floated in and out of their house intermittently based on when their travels brought them to the city. Some of them were married, of course, but she had never seen the home life side of those marriages. As their neighborhood had fallen into decline, their mother had kept them inside more, and most families they had known as children moved away. The widows left behind in their crumbling houses had spoken fondly of their husbands, but that was no model for marriage.

“But that might mean you’ll lose your inheritance,” Eliza said.

“It’s true,” Cora added. “Mr. Hathaway made it very clear that he wanted us away from New York. He won’t agree to just anyone.”

Jenny shrugged and shoved one of the hairpins back into Cora’s hair a little too harshly. She winced but her sister didn’t notice. “I’ve had my doubts about marriage now anyway. I want to sing, and no husband will allow that. Maybe I won’t get married for years.”

They were all silent for a moment as Jenny worked on her hair. She was arranging the veil to trail out from beneath the curls pinned on Cora’s head and flow down her back. She took some of the orange blossoms from her own hair and tucked them into Cora’s.

“You could arrange a marriage . . . followed by a divorce,” Cora said.

Eliza looked shocked, as did Jenny until she said, “Is that what you’ve done? Arranged for a divorce?”

“I mentioned it. Devonworth is considering it.”

“You didn’t!” Eliza’s eyes were wide again. Cora couldn’t tell if she was simply surprised or outraged.

Cora turned to face them both. “Why shouldn’t we? Mr. Hathaway made his stipulations for his own benefit. He didn’t make them because he cared about us. He could have given us our inheritance outright, or at least upon our marriage to any man we chose, as I’m certain his mother intended, if he cared at all. He wanted us gone, and he figured we would be out of his way over here in England. I don’t care if this makes me a social pariah. I wasn’t particularly social to begin with.” At least this way she would eventually have control of her own finances, which meant control of her own life.

Silence took over the room, heavy and cloying. A clattering outside finally broke through. Eliza glanced out the window and said, “We should get downstairs. Guests are arriving.”

Cora stood and peeked out to see a stream of carriages coming down the lane, waiting their turn to discharge their passengers. The guests would all be Devonworth’s acquaintances. None of the people they knew from home would be able to afford the trip across the Atlantic or even be welcomed if they did. She couldn’t imagine the Kowalskis, who owned the butcher shop back home, stopping in to wish her well, even though the wife had invited her in for a chat on several occasions. Aside from her small family, she was alone here now.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Eliza went over to answer it. Camille smiled and stepped into the room. “Are you ready? Guests are arriving,” she told Cora.

Maybe she wasn’t alone after all. Camille had been nice to her, as had the Crenshaw sisters. Her life was simply changing, and she needed some time to figure out this new part of it.

“I’m ready.”

The three of them followed Camille and found Devonworth waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Looking at him still took her breath away. He held up his hand for her, and she took comfort in his warm, strong grasp. He had given her no reason to distrust him, and despite her earlier fears and embarrassment, she would try not to.

He took in her hair, which was revealed more now with the veil pinned behind, before his gaze settled on her face. Her sisters were right. Now that she wasn’t too anxious to notice, she did see approval in his eyes.

“Shall we go meet our guests?” His voice was smooth and rich, settling the nerves inside her.

She nodded, nearly overcome with the gratitude she suddenly felt toward him. He would stand by her and lend her strength.

And that’s what he did. He led her to the drawing room, where several new people already waited. They stopped to greet each one, and he introduced her as his wife. By the third one, she had rediscovered her voice and managed to speak loudly enough the man didn’t have to lean forward to hear her. Then her husband took her to the end of the room where they were to stand for the rest of the party.

An endless stream of people came to meet her and congratulate him. A buffet had been set up, and footmen moved through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne. It wasn’t as terrible as Cora had anticipated, and she eventually found her smile. The whole thing seemed more subdued than the American Society weddings she had read about. Those celebrations were always capped off by lavish balls. Here it was more dignified, less celebratory, as if it were any other gathering. Aside from the occasional ribald comment a few men made to her husband with a titter, it might have been. The guests didn’t even eat their cake at the breakfast. They took their slices home in white boxes wrapped in blue ribbon.

A few hours later, Devonworth was showing her around her new home in Mayfair. The house was a beautiful Georgian-era home with a brick facade and matching dormer windows and a short wrought iron fence around the front. It was very stately and elegant, and the inside was no different.

The entry was paneled in rosewood with a marble floor. As they moved through the rooms on the main floor, Cora could tell that meticulous detail had been paid to the decor.

“Did your mother decorate?” she asked.

“Some, but generally it’s only been added to over the years.”

She could tell. Antiques collected over the decades took up every room with only one or two pieces looking modern. It wasn’t cozy, but neither was it austere. It lingered in some in-between place. It was beautiful, but she already found herself missing Stonebridge Cottage with its overstuffed chairs and soft pillows.

“Let me show you to your room,” Devonworth said with a stiff sort of formality.

She suspected he fell back on that when things became awkward, as they certainly were now. Aside from the butler, an elderly man named Edgecomb, she hadn’t seen any servants and suspected they had been sent into hiding to be brought out to meet her later. The place was as quiet as a church. Her room was at the end of the hall facing the small garden at the back of the house. The room was sparsely furnished but well-appointed with a four-poster mahogany bed, side tables, an armoire, and a writing desk. It was decorated in shades of coral and forest green. Not precisely her taste, but it would do.

As if he read her mind, he said, “It’s yours to do with as you please. I have accounts at the shops if you want to change anything.”

“No, I’m certain this is fine.”

He shook his head, stopping her. “I want you to be comfortable, Cora. The room hasn’t been used in years. My mother moved into the dower house as soon as she could, taking most of her furniture with her. This has all been collected from other rooms.” He indicated the furniture.

“If you’re certain.”

He smiled and walked to stand before her. His lips were almost indecently shaped, full and soft and putting her in mind of how they might feel, but she forced those thoughts away. She wasn’t meant to notice things like that, especially here in her bedroom where she most definitely would not find out how soft they were. “I am. This may not be the marriage you dreamed of, but I want you to be happy. Please . . . make this your home.”

She nodded because words were not possible. She didn’t understand all the things she was feeling to even begin to sort through them.

“Ah yes, here it is,” he said as he spied a sheet of paper on the writing desk. Retrieving it, he glanced over the missive briefly and handed it to her. “I opened an account in your name at my bank with your portion of the funds. It will be yours to take . . . afterward.”

After their marriage, he meant. Something about that made her feel sad, but she didn’t take the time to examine the feeling too closely.

The sheet listed her account details and the available balance. Everything was exactly as they had discussed. Only, his name was on it as well because, as a woman, especially a married woman, she wasn’t allowed to have any funds in only her name. She read and reread the words, hardly able to believe that what had begun as a shot in the dark had finally come to fruition. She was married to a nobleman and well on her way to financial independence.

With this money, she’d be able to support her sisters and her mother if needed. They would not be at the mercy of any man ever again. Well, except for Devonworth, who was technically the owner of the account.

“Thank you.” She could only whisper the words; they were too precious to say out loud.

She wanted to kiss the paper, but a brief knock at the door interrupted them.

“This is Polly,” he said as if he hadn’t handed Cora the key to her future a mere moment ago.

The girl gave a quick curtsy. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She had her hair in braids tied up around her head and wore a nondescript black dress with an apron. “She’s a chambermaid and has graciously agreed to act as your lady’s maid until we hire you one, haven’t you, Polly?”

“Yes, milord.” She didn’t look at him, but Cora didn’t see fear in the girl’s face. A blush stained her cheeks, making Cora suspect the girl was as taken by Devonworth as she was.

“I interviewed a few this week and hired one already.” At his questioning look, she added, “Camille and the Crenshaw sisters support a local charity, the London Home for Young Women?” She wasn’t certain if he’d heard of it.

“Ah yes, the home for unwed mothers.”

“They sent over a few women who were interested in the position.”

He nodded in approval, and a rush of pleasure warmed her. She had been a little concerned he wouldn’t welcome someone into his home from that sort of background, which is why she had hired her before moving into his house.

They weren’t all mothers at the home. Many women and girls came to them from troubled circumstances, and the home provided shelter while helping them acquire skills to better their circumstances.

“Eugenie Monroe will start tomorrow.”

“Good, I’ll tell Edgecomb to look for her.” Silence overtook them for a moment before he turned toward the other door in the room and said, “My room is through here, our shared bathing chamber. I’ll leave you to change and rest unless there is something else you need?”

“I’ve already unloaded milady’s trunks and sent them to the attic,” Polly offered.

“Good work, Polly,” he said.

Cora shook her head to indicate that she didn’t need anything further. She wasn’t capable of doing more because she was still reeling from the fact that someone had referred to her as milady. As inexplicable as it sounded, she was a lady now. A countess.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said to Cora and hurried out of the room.

Polly murmured something and retrieved Cora’s rose-colored dressing gown from the armoire. It was strange to see a garment so familiar to her in this unfamiliar place. Before she could think better of it, she hurried to the connecting door and locked it. Polly didn’t appear startled. She simply said, “Shall I help you change, milady?”

“Yes, thank you.” Cora’s voice was soft but audible. The girl hurried forward and started unlacing the fastenings on the back of her gown.

It was as if she had woken up this morning as one person and now had become someone else. She supposed she had. She was Lady Devonworth now. If only she knew what that meant.