A Sense of Propriety

Chapter 29

Cordelia still felt the anger flowing throughout her entire being as she sat by her tapestry table later that day. Her thoughts rolled and tumbled in her mind like a tempest sea, and her movements were less than gentle with the needle as she worked.

The nerve of that Marquis! How dare he show his face after so many months, claiming to love her when she knew that he had chased after another woman to Italy? What kind of a fool did he take her for?

Though she hated to admit it, his addressment to several of her offenses had her questioning her facts. Had her aunt told him that they were traveling to Italy? It is possible, very much so, that he could have been lying to her about that. He must have remembered that she had been present in the room when his mother had pushed the subject of the Duke's daughter.

Unfortunately, she was not able to question her aunt on the matter, as she and the Topham's had decided to go to town for the afternoon on a call to a mutual friend. She had passed them on their way, and she knew that the Countess must have noticed her soured expression. If only she knew what had caused it.

And then he spoke about a letter . . .

Cordelia was on her feet in an instant and left the drawing room promptly in search of her maid. She was not certain why she believed him on the topic, but his words left no doubt in her mind that they had once been very close.

She should have noticed it before. Martha, until very recently, had always defended him in her own quiet way, since servants could not state what they thought so openly at least when in the vicinity of their employer. But when they were younger when he had . . . defended Cordelia from his father, she noticed the pride shining through in Martha's old eyes.

Her attention snapped back into focus when she caught sight of a familiar face walking in her direction down the main hallway of the house, carrying a vase of flowers.

"Martha!" she called, and the old woman paused in placing the vase on one of the side tables as she turned to look at her. "Did the Marquis of Midrake ever give you a letter the day we left London?"

The vase fell to the table with a loud thud, and she scrambled for a rag hidden somewhere in her dress to dab at the drops of water that spilled. Her face had paled, which only caused Cordelia's expression to harden.

"Did you?" she asked, her voice a hint lower.

Martha swallowed nervously and slowly nodded. "Yes, I did."

"And you did not give it to me."

The old woman flinched and withdrew from the table, wringing the rag between her knobbly fingers. "After how he had treated you . . . I said to him that writing a letter was the manner of a coward. He said that I must do what I feel is best."

"And you thought it best not to give personal correspondence to your employer's niece?"

Martha lowered her gaze in submission but said not another word.

With a harsh exhale, Cordelia glanced at the gardens beyond the window for a brief moment before returning her attention to her maid. "Do you still have it?"

Martha raised her eyes and then nodded. "Yes."

"I would like to have it, please."

Her grey eyebrows dipped into a concerned frown. "Are you certain?"

"It does not mean I will read it. I might just throw it in the fire. Nevertheless, I wish to have it."

Martha nodded once more. "As you wish, Miss Cordelia. I shall bring it to you post haste."

Cordelia acknowledged her words with a soft hum before she turned and made her way back to the drawing room. She was thoroughly annoyed upon realizing that she had kept such correspondence away from her, but it coincided with what the Marquis had said.