An heiress to one of Britain's most impressive fortunes, Cordelia Gardiner has always done what her strict father expects her to, manage the estate, host dinners, mind her manners. After years of adhering to his demanding expectations, however, Cord...
"Drop him over here," Cordelia demanded. Charles lugged his brother across the bedroom so that he was sitting on his bed. Cordelia was trying her hardest not to look at the gash on his head, knowing that she was responsible for it being there. She knew that Malcolm deserved it, but she's never hurt anyone before, especially not like that. Elizabeth had Malcolm by the feet, and she began taking his shoes off. "Elizabeth, what are you doing?" Cordelia hissed, confused as to why her friend was undressing her attacker.
"Delia, don't you want it to look like he put himself in bed? A man doesn't go to shoes in his wingtips," she sighed, as if her reasoning was obvious.
"As disinterested as I am to agree with your friend, she's right, Cordelia," Charles said, taking off Malcolm's jacket, and throwing it onto an armchair in the room. Elizabeth made a face at his remark, which Charles tactfully ignored.
"Okay...but what will we do in the morning? You know, when he wakes up and wonders why there's a gash on his head?" And possibly comes looking for me? Cordelia thought, beginning to lose her nerve about what she's done. Elizabeth put a hand on her friend's shoulder to calm her down, taking a deep breath before her so that she would remember to breathe.
"I'll have my father send him back to Heyworth House, you shouldn't even see him come tomorrow," Charles assured. "The minute father hears about my brothers, erm, discretions this evening, he'll be so embarrassed he'll order Malcolm gone the moment he wakes." Cordelia turned away when Charles began removing Malcolm's breeches, earning a deep chuckle from Charles.
"Well, what about the things that he said?" Cordelia panicked, turning back around now that Charles had dressed his brother. Both Elizabeth and Charles' heads perked up at her words, she'd never told them the things he'd said to her. "He mentioned how we're practically engaged already, that our fathers were already drafting up the legal papers." The words, in all of Cordelia's nervousness, tumbled out like drops of rain from the heavens. She saw the looks of concern on her friends' faces, and a single tear fell down her cheek.
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"Cordelia, your father would never make you marry someone you didn't approve of," Elizabeth assured, though Cordelia's fears weren't necessarily quelled by her friend's kind words.
"Wouldn't he?" She asked, "if it meant more money for him? For the estate?" With that, she sat down on a chair in front of the bed, her head in her hands.
"Not sure if this helps," Charles started from the bed, "but I know my brother better than most, unfortunately. He's not likely to be eager to wed someone who beat him over the head with a, well, a potted plant." Charles said, laughing to himself silently as he tucked his brother under his covers. "Whatever Malcolm remembers, he's not likely to forget."
Upon hearing this, Cordelia breathed a sigh of relieve, grateful to Charles for his guidance in the matter. Charles walked closer to where she was sitting on the chair, a soothing smile on his lips. "Don't worry," he started, "you're not all alone in this." He tucked a fallen piece of hair behind Cordelia's ear, and she tried her best to smile along with him. Even in one of her darkest moments, Charles was there to offer certainty and reassurance, and for that, she was eternally grateful.
///////
The next morning's events coincided precisely with Charles' predictions. Upon hearing of his son's actions on the veranda the night before, Lord Heyworth sent his eldest son homeward before Cordelia could even leave her quarters. At breakfast, much to Cordelia's relief, nobody that knew about the situation spoke on it, and the party was permitted to return to its usual light chit chat and banter.
Days later, Cordelia still hadn't heard anything from Malcolm, and based on her reports from Charles, the eldest Heyworth brother was much too embarrassed to reach out to any member of the Gardiner family for the time being. There was no mention of a marriage between the two from Lord Alfred, and Cordelia was content.
Everything seemed back to normal, except for the continued addition of hers and Lord Alfred's houseguests, and the occasional complaining from Gertrude. It was Gertrude that was in the middle of a story, though Cordelia, in truth, wasn't really invested in the "engrossing" chronicle of her discussion with some reverend from Essex regarding the Old Testament. The party was at the breakfast table, Lord Alfred paying attention to his paper, the Heyworth's feigning amusement at Gertrude's tale while they scoffed down their breakfast, the sooner they finish eating, the sooner they can put an end to Gertrude's horrible storytelling, Cordelia thought, who was busy exchanging smiles and pleasantries with her neighbor at the table, Charles.
The butler had been handing out the post to those at the table, but Cordelia, as usual, hadn't received much besides the latest gossip from Town from friends and family, and her monthly edition of a women's magazine that she occasionally perused when there was no news to be had in the papers. The butler, Mr. Watson, was practically out of the door to fetch more juice for the table when he stopped suddenly, seemingly startling himself.
"My Lady, forgive me," he said, fishing a note from his pocket, all the while keeping an eye on Lord Alfred as he grabbed the letter, "it appears I've forgotten one for you." With that, he practically ran out of the room he was walking so fast, causing Lord Alfred to peer over his paper to see the correspondence that had just been placed in his daughter's hand.
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"My dear," Lord Alfred began, "who is it from?" His face was stern, and Cordelia could see him sternly lock his jaw, as if he already knew the letter's sender. The script on the front was a very shrill cursive, and there was no return address on the back either. Cordelia used her butter knife to pry open the sealed envelope, and quietly read to herself the contents of the letter.
"My Darling-
It is with deep regret that I send you this letter, for I know and understand that it is too little too late. You probably have little interest in speaking to me, let alone seeing me. If this much is true then you may throw this paper away, and never think about it again. If you have any interest in communicating with me, however, then I'll continue. I must see you, as you are mine and I am yours. Meet me at the below address, and you and I shall be reunited at last-the way things should always have been! I look forward to seeing you.
Love,
your mother, Margaret Gardiner
P.S.: Please bring 600 pounds (your father will give it to you) to
1151 Queen Street in Covent Garden."
"I can't believe it!" Cordelia exclaimed excitedly, shaking the hands that held the letter in them. Everyone's heads perked up, and Cordelia stood up, hardly able to stand her excitement. "It's a letter from my mother!"
LordAlfred's whole body tensed, and Cordelia saw his fist tighten around his fork. He looked up at her, his eyes dark as night. "Cordelia, my office, now."
