Thirteen
Devonworth left his wife dancing with Harry and made his way toward the very far reaches of the room where he knew his friends would have a proper scotch waiting for him. He found most balls to be cumbersome events that interfered with accomplishing any real work. He attended them as infrequently as he could, but even he could admit that this one had been necessary. There was no better way to introduce his wife into Society. His mother had impressed upon him the importance of this in the letter she had sent from the comfort of her friend’s lavish country estate in Cornwall, but it was not lost on him that she had not bothered to attend herself. With the exception of Harry, who seemed to go out every damned night of the week spending money they didn’t have, they were not a family of social butterflies.
Even tonight his mind churned with the meetings he had scheduled for the week and the plans for the refurbishment at Timberscombe Park. The architect had found other structural issues, so it had gone beyond a simple roof replacement, which was never simple from the outset when attempting to preserve the historical aesthetic of a several-hundred-year-old property. It was only when talking to Cora that things seemed to settle inside him.
Although something about that particular exchange bothered him. He paused to greet an associate and found himself looking back at her. She thought he’d been insincere with his compliment earlier in the carriage, but she really was stunning tonight. The dress was a work of beauty, and she wore it well. She fairly shone in it with the deep red tone of her hair and pale skin. Her breasts were fuller than he had realized them to be. Her wedding gown and the gown she had worn at the house party had been as modest as the clothing she wore every day.
He smiled as he remembered how she had felt underneath him on the football pitch. He had felt her breasts then, pressing against his chest and under his palm as he’d attempted to clean her up, and then all but forgotten. That woman from the pitch had stared back at him tonight during their waltz. He’d been afraid he’d only imagined her spirit, but she’d come out of hiding.
Harry swirled her into the waiting arms of another man as the lively dance required them to change partners, causing her to move out of sight. Devonworth continued on his way and was still smiling when he reached his friends.
“Dear God, he smiles.” David gave a look of mock horror.
“I told you he needed a good lay.” Prince Edward Singh, a childhood friend from Eton, handed Devonworth a snifter filled nearly to the brim. “Figured you’d need this, but something tells me marriage is agreeing with you.”
“It’s tolerable.” He took a drink while he looked for a hint of her lavender gown through the throng. “Truth be told, hasn’t changed much for me.”
“He hasn’t been fucked,” David clarified to Edward. “He’s still a monk. Right, Dev?”
Devonworth glared at his friend. “Sod off.”
Edward laughed and asked David, “And how would you know?”
“Rumors, the best part of balls,” David answered with a smirk.
“Do you mean to say that there are already rumors about the state of my marriage?”
“I mean to say there are already gossip columns written about the state of your marriage.”
“What?” Devonworth was properly horrified.
“It’s the bloody servants. You can’t trust any of the lot. Always willing to sell a tale to a gossip sheet for the right price.” David tossed back his drink.
The prince nodded his agreement. “There are even bets on when you’ll consummate. The word is you haven’t yet.”
“And why would anyone care if we consummated the bloody thing?”
David shrugged. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed because no one has written a treatise about it and handed it to you to read, but your marriage upset the delicate balance of female sentiment in our fair city.”
Edward let out a bark of laughter. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that the unmarried ones are all green with envy that she”—he gestured toward the dancing couples—“shares your bed, and the married ones are all wondering how long until you stray so they might have a chance. Of course the gossip sheets will find it sensational if you haven’t actually done the deed yet. Got to give the masses what they want.”
Did the entire country have nothing better to do than speculate on what went on in his bed? Had Cora been right about the women watching them? He let his gaze roam as it would through the crowd, taking in each couple and group. It wasn’t long before he locked eyes with a group of young women who had likely made their debuts within the past year or two. They giggled and closed ranks, the ones on this side of the circle giving him their backs.
He cursed under his breath. “What a ridiculous society we are.”
That only made his friends laugh. “Sex makes the world go round,” Edward said.
“Speaking of, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Dove sister to go attend to.” David nodded toward him and began to walk off, no doubt in search of Jenny. His mild obsession with her wasn’t very subtle.
Devonworth felt the right and proper thing to do was talk his friend out of his lecherous designs on his wife’s sister. “David, I cannot countenance that. As my sister by law, she should be off-limits.”
“We don’t deal in shoulds, you and I. We deal only in what can actually be accomplished.” With that he disappeared into the crowd.
“Let him go.” Edward laid a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll only get a dance out of her in this crush.”
Edward was right. Jenny was in no danger from David’s attention in the crowded ballroom. Cora’s distinctive gown caught the light, drawing his eyes to her. He followed her with his gaze as she danced before he was conscious of doing so. The way the fabric clung to her breasts had him wanting to know the weight of them in his hands. His palms itched to caress her. All this talk of consummating the marriage had turned his thoughts in that direction, and he couldn’t turn them away. Edward continued talking, something about mineral rights in Northumberland, but Devonworth could only nod vaguely as his eyes followed his wife.
He was coming to suspect that what had seemed like a perfectly reasonable term in their verbal marriage contract would become a bloody nuisance. He wanted his own wife.
The dance with Harry was followed by one with Lord Leigh and then his brother, Mr. Thorne. By then, Cora was feeling much more confident, comforted by the support of the familiar faces, so the rest of the evening passed in a blur. It was some time later when she found herself in need of a break from dancing.
The last she had seen of her sisters, they had been talking with Viscount Mainwaring, but that was long ago. She hunted the perimeter of the room hoping to find them. Several people gave her cursory nods and greetings, but no one seemed interested in talking with her. A few of them gave her looks she could only describe as knowing, but whatever it was they knew, she couldn’t fathom. Not finding her sisters, she moved to an open window to drag in a breath of much-needed outside air. The room inside was stuffy and hot from so many bodies.
“Surely, you jest!” A woman’s slightly inebriated voice rose over the din of the crowd, and her companions dissolved into laughter. It sounded like they were just on the other side of the potted palm next to the window.
Cora frowned, but leaned forward toward the open window and tried to focus on how good the cool air felt against her face. She managed for a moment or two until the inebriated woman said, “Have you seen her?”
“Seen her? We met her,” a man answered. He sounded as if he were on the upper side of middle-aged.
“Peculiar little accent, that one,” the second woman, presumably his wife, answered.
Cora didn’t know if they were talking about her, Fanny, or her sisters. There was no doubt in her mind it was one of them. She said a silent prayer that her mother had behaved and hadn’t started talking in one of her accents.
“What was she like?” the first woman asked.
“How am I to know? She was a quiet, mousy little thing,” the second woman answered.
They weren’t discussing Fanny, then.
“Mousy? Yes, she did appear to have a certain charm about her.” The man’s smirk could be heard in the inflection of his words.
There was a round of chuckling. Cora was certain they meant her now and struggled to place their voices. She had been too terrified to offer much more than the most basic of greetings when Devonworth had introduced her around. The couple could have been almost anyone she had met that night.
“I am surprised,” the first woman added, a thoughtful tone in her voice. “I suppose I imagined Devonworth with someone more like Lady Sofia.”
The second woman lowered her voice, but it was still loud enough to carry to Cora. “Have you seen the middle sister? That one could be a match for Lady Sofia.”
The other woman agreed, and Cora hardly had the chance to feel the sting before the man broke in, “Ladies, it’s a financial arrangement. ‘Cash for class’ and all that.”
They all laughed as if he were so very clever. The phrase was a familiar one that the press had created to refer to the marriages between American heiresses and the aristocracy. It was classism at its finest, even as she admitted that some families were so desperate to rise in Society that it was applicable. It wasn’t why she had married, however. She had simply wanted her rightful inheritance.
“Cash for class,” his wife repeated before sighing in near despair. “Oh, I suppose that family will be at all the events now, won’t they?”
Cora drew herself up to put in an appearance on the other side of the potted palm when the first woman added, “It would seem so. Although they say the marriage hasn’t been consummated, so perhaps it will be annulled in short order.”
“Where have you heard that?” the wife asked.
“Everyone is saying Devonworth hasn’t bothered to bed her,” came the answer.
People were talking about their marriage bed? Why would anyone care about that?
That was all she could take. She couldn’t stand here and listen to them discuss her private life. Cora pulled her shoulders back and held her chin slightly higher than was strictly necessary and looked right at the group as she revealed herself. She recognized the man and his wife as a couple she had met earlier. She had forgotten his rank, but Bolingrave was his name. He was a stout little man with a pointy face and hard eyes who served in Lords with Devonworth. Her introduction to him had been somewhat reserved, leading her to believe they were not friends.
“Lord and Lady Bolingrave,” she acknowledged them.
His wife paled, but he nodded back unfazed. “Lady Devonworth.”
Cora gave a tilt of her head in acknowledgment of the third person and made her way through the crowd. They devolved into furious whispering behind her.
She didn’t really care about them and their mean-spirited gossip. She did, however, care about whoever this Lady Sofia was. Could that be the name of his mysterious mistress? Had she been someone he had cared about at one time and possibly still did? She needed to know, but didn’t know who to ask. Thankfully, she came upon her sisters in lively discussion with a group of young women. She joined them and managed to smile and reply appropriately, but she grabbed them both and pulled them away at the first opportunity.
“Let’s visit the retiring room. I need to talk to you both,” Cora said.
“Are you enjoying yourself? Isn’t it such a fun party?” Eliza asked as they walked, her eyes alight with joy.
Cora agreed and made benign observations about the ball until they were inside the room. It was some sort of salon made over with several privacy screens and conversation areas. A few women lounged about chatting. Cora nodded to them and then drew her sisters to a far corner. “Have either of you met a woman named Lady Sofia tonight?”
“No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?” inquired Jenny.
Eliza looked around as if the woman named Sofia might have been courteous enough to follow them into the room. She quickly told them what she had overheard, minus the unpleasantness about herself. “I wonder if she is someone important to him.”
Jenny smiled coyly. “Do you mean important as in a very close childhood friend or something more?”
Cora shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume something more.”
“Why do you care? I thought you said the marriage was in name only.”
“I don’t care. I’m merely curious,” Cora clarified. “Devonworth is intriguing to me, and I find myself wanting to know more about him.”
“Hmm . . .” The sound coming from Jenny was a bit skeptical.
“Do you . . .” Eliza lowered her already lowered voice. “Do you suppose he has kept a mistress?” The last word was more shape than sound.
Cora debated how much to tell them, but quickly realized it hardly mattered. They knew her marriage wasn’t a love match. “I suspect so. He came in late a few nights ago, and he was disheveled and smelling of perfume. I think he had been to see a woman. Now I wonder if it was this Sofia person.”
“And you’re fine with him keeping a woman?” Jenny asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“Why wouldn’t I be? We aren’t pretending to be in love. You are the one who seems to be particularly bothered by infidelity. I already told you it doesn’t matter how handsome he is because we won’t have that sort of relationship. I do not love him.” She didn’t know why she felt so defensive about this. Perhaps it was because she liked him more than she thought she would, but she didn’t want to go explaining that to her sisters. Her relationship with Devonworth was already becoming more complicated than she had intended.
Jenny frowned and Eliza took over the interrogation. “But doesn’t it feel like a betrayal?”
It shouldn’t, but it did . . . more than she was prepared to admit.
Jenny noted her hesitation and jumped to the wrong conclusion. “It does, which means you’ve consummated the marriage!”
She spoke the last several words so loudly the other women in the room looked over. Eliza and Cora both shushed her.
“No, we haven’t,” Cora whispered.
Jenny had the nerve to look disappointed. “I suppose the gossip sheets were right for once.”
“It’s in the gossip sheets?” It was one thing to have people talking, but to have ink devoted to the topic was even worse. “You’ve read about this?”
They both shrugged with guilty expressions on their faces.
Cora brought a hand to her temple. It didn’t matter. What they did or didn’t do in their marriage was between them. When they separated or divorced it would cause a bigger sensation than this, so she might as well get used to it.
“Let’s get back to the party. If either of you happen to meet Lady Sofia, please let me know?”
They both agreed and all made their way back out to the ball. Even though she knew it shouldn’t matter, Cora couldn’t help but look for a woman named Sofia the rest of the evening.