Cora (Virtue & Vice #4)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CORA

“Y ou were supposed to wear the yellow,” Martha hissed the instant Cora passed her wrap to a footman at the Blumford’s ball. “The theme this evening is Spring Florals.”

“Yellow does not suit my complexion, Martha. Pink does, and it is perfectly on point.” Had the woman never seen a pink flower before?

More likely, she just wanted Cora to wear an unflattering color that would demonstrate on her first evening back in Society that she had been chastened by her downfall, yet expensive enough to prove that Wentworth’s was second to none.

At the ball, Cora scanned the room and spotted Honey standing beside a potted fern, wearing an ivory dress with a green ivy tissue overlay. It was a charming ensemble, and her face lit up when she saw Cora. With her usual artlessness, Honey waved.

“Ignore her.” Martha grabbed her elbow and steered her away. Turning, she lifted one finger to indicate that she would come and find her shortly. Honey’s crestfallen expression sent shame washing down Cora’s spine.

“This is not a social event. For you, this is a business meeting. You are Gideon’s helpmeet. You can charm the wives while the husbands talk business. Ask them about their families. Nothing intrusive, of course. Just get them to talk about themselves, and make sure to remember any details that might prove useful.”

Cora nodded. She wanted to be welcome in this world. Curious gazes burned into her from every direction. Remembering the lessons of her one year of finishing school, she held her posture perfectly erect and kept her expression serene. Be a swan, she reminded herself. Never let them see how hard you’re paddling beneath the water.

“Over here is Prince Leopold of Prussia.” Martha led her firmly.

“I remember him.” The prince looked more or less the same as he had more than a decade ago, when he had paid her the kind of ostentatious attention that made Cora faintly uncomfortable. Nothing he had done was wrong, precisely. She had been eager to please and for a time, there had been rumors of a match, but even a prince of no real country would have been an ambitious match for the illegitimate daughter of a duke. Cora had never expected anything to come of it, and predictably, nothing had.

“He is connected to the Queen through the late Prince Consort,” Martha whispered as though she were imparting a great secret instead of common knowledge.

“I am aware.”

“Wentworth’s has been attempting to win his account for years. It’s said he is worth a fortune.” By now, Martha’s voice had dropped so low that Cora could scarcely hear her over the din of conversation. Which, clearly, was the point. One did not discuss such crass matters as money in polite company.

As dreadful as her mother-in-law had been, Cora suddenly had a flash of insight as to why Martha was the way she was. Her family was neither new money nor old, occupying a space in between the flashy Americans that arrived every Season in increasing numbers to snap up titles like they were mere baubles, and the respected upper class that dominated politics. She had made Wentworth’s bank her religion, and she was trying to ensure that Cora treated her life’s mission with the same care that she did.

Drat everything, she should have worn the stupid yellow dress simply to appease the woman. One conciliatory gesture would not have killed her.

Cora resolved to do better with her mother-in-law in the future. For tonight, she did the only thing she could think of to improve their frayed relationship.

“Martha, have you met Lady de Lucey and her daughter Isabelle?”

For once, Cora was grateful for her height. She was able to turn her shorter companion easily. Martha couldn’t pull her away without causing a scene, and they both knew it.

Esther, the dowager countess, bore a striking resemblance to the exquisite girl at her side, Isabelle. Both had the same shade of blue eyes and small noses, similar chins and lips, though the mother was brunette and the daughter’s hair was a lovely shade of blond. The most significant difference between them was the anxious crinkle around the corners of Esther’s eyes, and the deep panic in Isabelle’s.

Cora frowned. Isabelle cringed. Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to imply disapproval. Martha was doing that perfectly well on her own.

“We discussed this, Cora,” she hissed.

“It won’t kill you to be polite,” she countered through clenched teeth. To Isabelle, she offered a warm greeting. “It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Kingston. How are you enjoying the first ball of the season?”

“Well enough,” she mumbled.

“She’s having a lovely time,” said Esther, worriedly. “Aren’t you, Isa?”

“Yes, Mum.”

Isabelle’s gaze latched onto the patterned carpet. She seemed disinclined to further engage unless actively prodded, so Cora took pity and left her alone.

“Miss Cora, is that you?” a too-bright, too-loud voice called out. Turning, she found a plumpish woman in a purple gown that would have been the height of fashion five years earlier straining to get her attention. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How is your brother?”

Cora’s mind blanked. Martha came to her rescue unexpectedly. “We do not need to cultivate the acquaintance of an impoverished baroness.”

“Eliza Wells.” Cora pasted a false smile onto her face, finally putting two and two together. This was the widow who had jilted Eryx quite cruelly. He’d never quite gotten over it, until Annalise. “I am surprised to see you out. My sincerest condolences after your loss.”

The woman looked embarrassed. Technically, purple was within the range of half-mourning clothes considered acceptable for social engagements, but the shade she had chosen was too vibrant for modesty. Moreover, the bodice was cut far too low.

“Thank you. I was wondering whether your brother would be attending this evening? Mr. Wilder and I once shared an affection. I had hoped to reacquaint ourselves.”

“I am afraid he is not attending any social events, as his wife is expecting.”

Eliza paled. “I hadn’t realized he was married. Please convey my congratulations.”

“I shall. Thank you.” Once Eliza had wandered away, looking forlorn, Cora turned to Martha. “I can handle myself. We were friends for a time, and there was nothing to be gained by being publicly rude to her.”

Though she had been tempted. Eliza hadn’t bothered to recall their friendship; she had only asked after Eryx.

Martha cocked her head. “I suppose you did grow up dealing with this set. I ought to trust you more.”

Grew up with this set? Hardly, unless one counted being dragged to archeological sites for the first sixteen years of her life and privately tutored before being shoved into a girls’ finishing school. “More like thrown to the sharks, really.”

Martha actually laughed.

* * *

That evening upon arriving back home, Gideon dropped his coat on the newel post and asked, “Are you still up for that game of billiards?”

“I am, and I have every intention of defeating you.”

He traced one finger down her exposed bosom. “I’d love to watch you try.” He was attuned to every swish of her skirt and the feeling of Cora’s gaze boring between his shoulder blades as they walked to his billiards room. Gideon racked the balls and said, “Ladies first.”

Cora selected her cue stick. “I have been practicing.”

Shadowboxing, if she’d been playing against herself during daylight hours. In the ring, as in billiards, one needed a proper opponent.

“Show me,” he commanded, and she did with an impressive break shot. The first time they played together, when she had been uncertain and learning the basic rules of the game, she had been gorgeous, spread out over his billiards table. Now with a tiny pleat in her forehead and focused concentration on tapping the white ball just so, he couldn’t look away.

Cora sank two balls in quick succession, then said with a wave her hand, “You promised me a story.”

“You haven’t won yet, songbird.”

But he was suddenly worried she might. How had she gotten so much better, and so quickly?

“Tell me anyway,” she said. “I deserve to know the truth.”