victoria hinshaw

Cordelia's Corinthian

      If Miss Cordelia Bransford were to have the happiest summer of her life, she would have to prove herself smarter than a pheasant hen. She closed the copy of Aesop's Fables but kept her finger tucked in at "The Fox and the Pheasants." She leaned her head back against the soft squabs of the gently rocking coach and smiled to herself. How well the moral of the ancient tale applied to her situation. The poor pheasants worried so much about the danger from a fox lurking below their perch that they fell off, right into his jaws. Like those pheasants, if Corey let her fears about the future dominate her thinking, she was likely to fall prey to every form of misery her fertile imagination could concoct.

      That she could not allow!

      Corey intended to begin the most blissful time of her life when she arrived at her cousin Elaine's estate, perhaps her very last carefree summer. Her need to find a paid position next autumn, money to be able to send her parents to Bath, the fate of her feckless brother - all these things she pledged to leave behind her and simply luxuriate in the opulent comforts of Lodesham Hall. Time enough to fret later. For now, having a wonderful summer in Dorset must eclipse her concerns about the future. Her cousin's letters were filled with descriptions of the verdant park and its half-tame deer herd, the sparkling river and its feeder streams that flooded the water meadows in the spring, the bountiful orchards and fertile kitchen gardens, and best of all, the luxuriant flower gardens with more than forty varieties of roses - a paradise Corey longed to explore. On warm afternoons, she and Elaine would sit amongst the blossoms reading to each other or counting butterflies. What utter bliss.

      Corey's pleasure should have begun with this journey, if she had been able to keep her mind off her problems. Three days ago, the Earl of Lodesham's grand traveling coach arrived at the vicarage in Mitton Moorby. The entire village was astonished by the fine team of four matched bays and postilions in striking livery adorned with gold braid and long, waving feathers. The earl even sent along Fanny, one of his wife's maids, to attend Corey at the coaching inns each evening along the journey from Yorkshire to Dorset. Fanny was an efficient woman who spoke only when spoken to; her silence had left many, many hours of quiet during which Corey could not stop her thoughts from rambling.

      To prevent more unhappy contemplation of her future, Corey tried to read. At first, she had trouble in the rocking coach, but when the roads improved and she became more accustomed to the movement, she found she enjoyed perusing the little volume she purchased as a gift for Elaine's children. She imagined herself sitting in a sunny nursery, perhaps some afternoon next week, reading a story to the sweet little cherubs.

      Now, on the final leg of her journey, Corey took Aesop's advice, stifling her worries and allowing her anticipation to build. She recalled Elaine's enthusiastic descriptions of the idyllic countryside and gazed out at the pale green leaves of early springtime arching over the quiet lanes that led from Dorchester to Lodesham Hall.

      When they turned in between ornate iron gates next to a lodge house, Corey tried to catch a glimpse of the house, but there was nothing to be seen but sweeping green lawns and an orderly line of trees bordering the long, curving drive. She lowered the coach window, oblivious to the cool wind, eager for her first view of the grand Palladian mansion described in five years' worth of letters from her cousin. When the gray stone edifice came into view, Corey gave a little sigh of admiration. The tall-columned portico was every bit as imposing as the Prince Regent's Carlton House in London.

       At the foot of the shallow stairs leading to the ornate iron door, Corey remembered to wait for the footman before she climbed down from the coach. Once on the ground, she gazed up at the coffered ceiling of the porch, so far above her that the gilding of the design was barely visible.

      "Miss Bransford? I bid you welcome to Lodesham Hall." An austere butler in funereal black spoke from the top step, his enhanced height dwarfing her. He perfectly matched the solemn dignity of the imposing pillars.

      She fingered the threadbare cuffs of her green pelisse and felt his eyes appraise her little rabbit fur muff. What must he think of her shabby appearance?

      "Thank you." The words almost stuck in her throat.

      Leaving the baggage to Fanny and the footmen, the butler indicated the door with a minimal bow. "Please come in. I am Oakley, the earl's butler."

      "Thank you, Oakley." Why had her store of words dried up as unexpectedly as her mouth and lips?

      He waved her into the foyer, closing the door behind them. "The countess is resting. I will have Mrs. Newsome take you to her." With that he disappeared behind the wide staircase leading to the first floor.

      Corey stared about her at the immense hall, its cold magnificence making her shiver. She crossed the black-and-white marble squares of the floor to a tall pier glass. It stood above a pink marble slab supported on the backs of winged beasts of some exotic variety. She gazed into the mirror, perturbed at the image facing her. Wind-reddened cheeks and a tangle of brown hair sticking out of her bonnet gave her a thoroughly rumpled mien, worsened by her blush of humiliation at how little she conformed to the character of Elaine's distinguished residence. Nor would any of the gowns she brought improve the situation. Sad to say, the newest and best item in her wardrobe could not hold a candle to her surroundings. Any hope she had of disguising her status as Elaine's poorest relation was thoroughly dashed.

      In a matter of moments, Mrs. Newsome bustled into the room. Her broad, cheerful face lifted Corey's spirits.

      "This way, miss." Her black skirts swishing, the housekeeper started up the stairs. "My poor lamb is lying down."

      Poor lamb? Whatever did the woman mean?

      Corey followed the plump figure past the formal rooms of the first floor up another flight of stairs to the bedchambers. Mrs. Newsome opened the third door and nodded Corey into a dimly lit boudoir.

      When her eyes grew accustomed to the faint light, Corey hastened to a chair near the daybed where Elaine lay covered by a light rug, her eyes closed.

      Corey sat a moment, unwilling to speak and risk waking Elaine.

      But Elaine slowly opened her eyes. "Corey, dearest, how kind of you to come." To Corey's surprise, Elaine gave a series of little sobs.

      "Why, Elaine, you are weeping." Corey knelt beside the bed and hugged Elaine to her. "Whatever is the matter?"

      "Oh, I am sadly distraught. It is really nothing. Perry says I should be the happiest of women, but I do not agree. I can hardly bring myself to stand."

      Corey released her and knelt beside the daybed. "But why? Are you ill?"

      The tears trailed down Elaine's cheeks. "Quite the contrary. I am increasing again. Little Lawrence is still with the wet nurse, not nearly weaned."

      "Your sensibilities are too refined, darling Elly. Perry is correct. You should be elated, not indulging in tears."

      "But think of it. Four children in five years of marriage. I am tired."

      "Of course you are, dearest. You are quite right in keeping to your bed." Corey glanced around the room. Even in the dimness, the elegance of the gold furniture, the supple softness of the thick carpet, the rose shade masking the lamp -- all coalesced as a retreat of remarkable comfort.

      But Elaine was anything but comfortable, grasping at Corey's hand. "I am especially glad you came, cousin dear. You see, our head nurse left last week, called away to her own mother's bedside. What could I say? Of course I had to let her go."

      "Of course." Corey nodded in sympathy.

      "Now there is no one to tend the children, except that imbecilic nursery maid who is barely able to keep the bedding clean. And I am not up to interviewing anyone for the post. I pray you will not mind checking on the children from time to time."

      "I will be happy to see to them." Corey's quick response came without showing the hesitation she felt. "But I know very little of caring for children."

      "I am sure you will be more than capable. Oh, my darling Corey, I shall make it up to you. When I feel better, I promise we will have a happy time together. Now, go get settled and come back to me later. I will have Bess bring the children to meet you then."

      Corey hugged Elaine. "My dear, I only hope you soon improve, for your own sake. Do not worry about me."

      Mrs. Newsome directed Corey to a large and airy room with

      walls covered in pale blue watered silk. A blue counterpane heavily embroidered with white roses and green leaves covered the wide bed beneath a canopy of white ruffles. Corey turned to exclaim to Mrs. Newsome of the beauty of the bedchamber, but swallowed her words when she saw the troubled expression on the housekeeper's face.

      "Is there something wrong, Mrs. Newsome?"

      "It's Lady Lodesham, miss. All of us 're troubled. We're hoping you'll do her good. She's sadly downcast, cries for hours. And little Henry and Gina, they see their mama crying and they don't understand. Sometimes they be downright naughty 'n poor Bess, she don't do well with 'em. Maggie, the best maid in the house is the only one who makes 'em mind. And I can hardly spare her, what with company here, and if her ladyship knew, she would not approve of Maggie tending the little ones. I hope you, being kin, can smooth things, miss."

      Corey listened with growing chagrin. "I shall do my best, Mrs. Newsome. "But I . . ."

      "Oh, Miss Bransford, it really wasn't my place to say all that. I 'pologize. It's just I feel so sorry for the countess and those little mites. And no one to go visit that poor little Lawrence in the village. It ain't right."

      Corey forced a smile. "Now do not worry. We will sort out everything and even get Lady Lodesham back on her feet."

      "Thank you, miss. I hoped you'd be a good influence. Her ladyship needs a friend."

      As Mrs. Newsome left, Fanny came in and curtsied. "I will unpack your things now, miss."

      Corey stopped herself from sending the maid away. In the last few nights, Fanny had seen enough of her linen to know its quality was not exactly up to the present setting. "Thank you, Fanny."

      Corey walked to the window and pushed aside the sheer drapery. She would not mind tending Elaine's little son and daughter now and then, though she had no experience whatsoever beyond watching children in the care of other people. Besides reading to them, what did people do with children? She remembered playing with her dolls when she was little, but other than her own, childhood was a mystery.

      In mere moments, Fanny finished placing Corey's things in the clothes press, then gathered several gowns over her arm. "I'll press these and hang them back here in an hour, Miss."

      "I appreciate that, Fanny."

      The maid curtsied again and left the room, closing the door behind her.

       Corey gazed outside at the smooth green expanse of grass in the park. Elaine's melancholy seemed a knotty obstacle to Corey's idyllic summer. The long, invigorating walks Corey envisioned with Elaine now seemed more likely to be taken at the pace of a two-year-old.

      The blows had Matt reeling.

      "Enough?" His opponent's voice was raspy and deep.

      "No. Keep on." Captain Lord Matthew Allerton's breath came in short spurts. His balance was entirely off, his leg nearly buckling. He threw a punch but felt only the wind whistle past his arm.

      Instantly he felt a jab to his jaw, a fist in his stomach. He tried to swing again and succeeded only in losing the last of his equilibrium. His leg collapsed beneath him and he thrust out an arm to break his fall.

      But strong arms grabbed at him and kept him upright.

      "How long?" he gasped.

      "Seven minutes, milord."

      "Confound it, Joseph. Not nearly enough."

      Joe helped him to a bench outside the sparring ring. "Naw. But better."

      Matt drew a deep, shuddering breath. None of Joe's taps had been hard enough to bruise, but his leg was simply too weak to keep him on his feet.

      "Sadly, time has expired. I no longer can put them off. We meet today to set our departure date."

      "Yer best bet is to throw a quick series, left, right down low, left agin. Finish 'em in three, four minutes flat."

      Matt wished he were capable of taking care of his old friends so neatly. "It is not as though they are weaklings or missing techniques. But your help has been invaluable, Joseph."

      "Any time, milord." He saluted and joined another group of men across the room.

      Matt listened to his breaths grow calmer. He was entirely disappointed in himself. By God, I have to win. And I cannot sit out any phase of the competition, not without an explanation.

       He wiped the sweat from his face. His leg throbbed from his toes to his hip as if his wound stretched the distance instead of being centered in the muscle of his thigh just above his knee. Why did the pain and weakness continue a year after the battle? At this rate, he would be a grizzled old man before he conquered his limp. He could never tolerate being an invalid. He must regain every degree of his strength. Otherwise, who was he?

      Matt gritted his teeth and massaged his thigh, willing the soreness away. His confounded infirmity did not bode well for success at Perry's gathering, the reunion of the Quorn Quartet's Corinthian competitions. Matt hoped the four old friends, comrades since their childhood, would enjoy each other's company as much as they had before Perry's marriage. They had met informally, but this would be a full-fledged resumption of what had been annual contests, the first since they had abducted Perry from his honeymoon and held him for almost an entire day and night before returning him to his bride.

      The memory brought on a grin. What a devil of a fuss there had been! The new Countess of Lodesham had indulged in impressive hysterics.

      He stood and the sharpness of the pain jerked him back to his dilemma. How could he compete with the others when his leg hardly held him up after a few rounds? But he would not give in, not to the pain, not to the other men. He would compete, and he would win! Whether the competition was with rod and reel, with fists, on horseback, at bow and arrow or billiards, Matt would not allow himself to drop out for any reason whatsoever. That was final!

      Constant exercise to strengthen his leg, that was what he needed to continue. Daily walks, just as Gentleman Jackson himself had suggested last week. Given the Quartet's penchant for late-night cards and wine, he should be able to rise early and slip away alone, never allowing them to find out the extent of his weakness. His pride had suffered quite enough in the past year. He would endure no more.

      Forcing himself to walk without favoring his shaky leg, he found his valet and donned his street clothes.

      In less than an hour, he joined Cedric and Alfred at the club for luncheon.

      Cedric was adamant. "I say we leave tomorrow while the weather is fine. This time of year, the rain can last for days at a time."

      Matt grinned to himself. Cedric, the Honorable Mr. Cedric Williamson, was the overeducated, under-used younger son of an earl. He had shunned the military and refused the Church, leaving himself few options to augment his quarterly allowance. He had a lively mind and too much time on his hands, a combination that made him a rollicking good companion for fun but perhaps a bit unreliable in a predicament, which is where he often found himself.

      Alfred Collingwood shook his head slowly. "I think we m-might arrive a week too early for the h-hatching of the mayflies. The prime season b-begins in a fortnight."

      Matt agreed. "I would prefer to wait until next week myself."No need to say why, but every single day made him stronger. Seven more would be a big help.

      Cedric drew a letter from his jacket. "Look here, in Perry's letter. He says he will expect us about the fifth."

      Alfred took the letter from Cedric, unfolded it, and squinted at the handwriting. "So he does. About the f-fifth." He took a pinch of snuff and sneezed discreetly. "I can be ready to leave tomorrow. How about you, Matt?"

      Matt hunted for a reason to postpone their departure in the lines of Perry's letter. "As he says, the hatching season is unpredictable, dependent on proper moisture and a few sunny days. Why should we rush to leave town so early?"

      Cedric slapped his hand on the table, making their wine glasses jump. "Exactly because those demmed insects are unreliable. Give 'em one hot day and they might begin to pop."

      "After our c-cold winter, don't the water have to warm up a little?"

      Cedric waved Alfred's words away as if they were nothing at all. "The mayflies don't care about the cold. They reproduce regardless of temperature!"

      "And how d-do you know that, old man?"

      Matt could not help breaking into honest laughter. "Three grown men, arguing about the life cycle of mayflies. It begs comprehension!"

      Alfred joined in the merriment. "I believe the creatures live less than t-twenty-four hours. Imagine cramming the essence of existence into s-such a brief period."

      "But would you know the difference if you were a mayfly, Alfred?" Matt blotted an amused tear from the corner of his eye.

      Cedric looked vexed. "It is not really the blasted fly we care about. It is the trout. They certainly know when those flies hatch."

      Matt laughed even harder. "Of course it is the trout, Cedric. But the trout's behavior is entirely dependent on those insects. And that puts us in the same boat, scheduling our lives around the birth of baby mayflies."

      "Well, it is demmed important, is it not? If we arrive after all the flies are eaten, the fish will not have any appetite and our competition will be ruined for another year. So I say, let us go tomorrow."

      Alfred nodded in agreement. "I d-defer to the flies, the fish, and the carnal appetites of both. I will be ready tomorrow at whatever hour you say, Cedric, though I b-beg you to take pity on those such as I, who cannot rise before eleven."

      Matt decided any further resistance would be futile. "If you all insist, I, too, shall be ready tomorrow."

      Late in the afternoon, when Corey returned to Elaine's boudoir, she found her cousin sitting at the dressing table having her maid brush her long, dark hair.

      "You seem to feel better, Elaine."

      "Yes, a little. I slept for a while, then kept the toast down."

      Corey stood beside her and their gaze met in the mirror. "I am glad to see you out of bed."

      "I intend to go down for dinner. Perry likes me to make the effort, even if I retire immediately afterwards."

      "I understand." Corey looked at herself beside Elaine. Aside from her much lighter hair color, their faces had many features in common -- the wide mouth, apple cheeks, and bright blue eyes. As children, they were often taken for twins instead of cousins, their close resemblance attributed to their common grandmother, the Countess of Aylmer. Though the girls knew her only as an elderly lady, she was one of those women about whom everyone said, She was a celebrated beauty in her day.

      Elaine frowned at their reflection. "I see that we still look much alike, except that you have a tiny waist and your bosom does not sag. Compared to you, I look like a hag."

      "Stop that nonsense, Elaine. You look lovely and just as you should, a contented countess with a fine family."

      Elaine pushed her maid away and moved out of view of the mirror. "Yes, I know I should have not a complaint in the world. But you have not yet met the children."

      She turned to the maid, who was straightening the brushes on the dressing table. "Please have Bess bring the children in. And tell her to be sure they are on their best behavior." Elaine turned to Corey and waved her to a seat. "Tell me of your parents. Are they well?"

      "Oh, yes. But, Father is dreading the autumn when he must turn over his flock to another vicar."

      "So he is not looking forward to a quiet retirement?"

      "Not at all. Mother would like to go to Bath to live, take him away from watching the new man change things at All Saints Church to his own ways."

      "I see her viewpoint."

      "As do I, but it all depends on money. Bath would be ideal for both of them, but they still send every penny they can spare to my brother."

      "Georgie is still not able to stand on his own?"

      "We all hope he will soon find his calling, but it seems he suffers one disaster after another. None of his endeavors so far has yielded him a sufficient income."

      "Would you go to Bath with your parents?"

      Corey decided not to tell Elaine about her plan to find a position so she could help her mother and father. How could Elly, living in this palace, understand what it meant to have no money and very little hope to earn more than a pittance? "I do not know. I am mulling the alternatives." That was certainly true, she thought.

      Even through the closed door, Corey could hear a piercing shriek from the corridor, followed by loud sobs.

      Elaine's face grew grim, her lips tight. "That foolish Bess cannot handle Henry and Gina. She is an impossibly hopeless ninny."

      The door opened and two tear-stained faces peeked around it, wailing, "Mama, Mama."

      "Wipe your eyes immediately, Henry." The edge to Elaine's voice surprised Corey. "You should be ashamed at crying. You are four years of age! And we have a guest."

      The child sniffled and rubbed at his nose. His lower lip stuck out and he frowned. "I am sorry, Mama."

      "That is much better, Henry. And Gina, I expect you to wipe your eyes and stop that gruesome howling."

      Gina plopped herself down on the carpet and continued to weep. The little girl's face was red, her cheeks stained with watery streaks. Her big blue eyes made Corey want to kiss the tears away.

      Elaine sounded as though she was on the edge of a tantrum herself. "Bess, whatever have you been doing with them? What is going on in that nursery?"

      Bess, an awkward girl of no more than seventeen, opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to change her mind. She stared at the floor.

      Elaine's frown deepened. "Do something about that girl. I cannot abide that noise."

      Bess took a step toward Gina, who looked up and sobbed louder, tearing the ribbon out of her hair and throwing it on the floor.

      "Georgina!" Elaine looked as if she was about to cry herself.

      Corey stepped over to the child and crouched beside her, smoothing her hair off her forehead. "Shh, dear. You will give Mama the headache."

       Gina seemed surprised someone had come to her. She stopped crying for a few seconds, then continued but in a much quieter way.

      Corey whispered to her. "Mama wants to see you smile, Gina."

      Gina shook her head, tossing her curls back and forth. "No."

      Corey realized that Elaine, Henry, and Bess were all staring at her, waiting for her to quiet Gina. Gina herself peered at Corey from under her drooping curls all the while she continued to sniffle.

      Corey stood and extended her hand. "Come sit on my lap, Gina, and we will dry your eyes."

      Corey took a chair near Elaine and held out the handkerchief Bess gave her. Slowly, still giving little sobs, much like those in which Elaine had indulged earlier, Gina edged closer until she sat at Corey's feet. Still looking skeptical, the little girl put up her arms.

      Corey reached down and scooped her up, hugging her close. "Now, there, is that not better?"

      Gina blew her nose on a corner of the hankie.

      Elaine delicately touched her eyes with a lacy square. "You see, Corey? I knew you had a special touch with children."

      Corey caressed Gina's silky curls. How could one not want to hug an adorable child like this?

      "Be careful, Corey. You will get your dress all wet."

      Indeed, Gina's tears had stained the front of Corey's simple pale blue gown. "I am sure it will dry. A few tears cannot hurt this muslin."

      "I hope not." Elaine beckoned to Henry. Still wearing a glower, the boy inched over to his mama, who put her arm around him. "Henry, this is my cousin, Miss Bransford. Give her a proper bow."

      Henry, still frowning, bent from the waist, a reasonable approximation of a bow.

      "Now say, 'I am happy to make your acquaintance, cousin.'"

      He mumbled the words without taking his eyes from the carpet.

      Elaine looked about to reprimand the boy for a less than stellar performance.

      Corey could not help grinning. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Henry. I hope you will call me Corey."

      "What do you say, Henry?" Elaine seemed determined to make the boy into a pattern card of respectability.

      "Thank you, Corey." Henry raised his eyes, though he still looked hostile.

      Corey cradled Gina in her arms. "And Gina, my dear, I am very happy to know you, too."

      Blessedly, Elaine did not demand the child make a curtsy. "Now you may sit on the windowseat, Henry."

      The boy followed directions while Bess edged into the corner, trying her best to look invisible.

      Corey rocked a little in her chair, and felt Gina's breaths on her chest. The child was quieting at last. "I think we shall all have a lovely time this summer. I am looking forward to having you show me around, Henry. And Gina, if you have a doll, we might sew her a new dress." She could feel the child nodding her head.

      Elaine gave a deep sigh. "You do know how much I appreciate your help, Cordelia. You are an angel. How I would cope with my condition, and with these wretched men arriving, I could not bear it without your help."

      Corey rocked slowly. "What men are arriving?"

      "Those old friends of Perry's, the ones they used to call the Quorn Quartet. You remember them, those despicable ruffians who . . . well, one hopes they have matured a bit."

      Corey's heart thumped so hard she feared it would frighten Gina. "You do not mean Cedric Williamson and Lord Matthew Allerton? Please say they will not be here?" Of all the men in the entire realm, these were the two Corey least wanted to see, much less spend the summer with.

      "Exactly. Cedric, Matt, and Alfred Collingwood. Certainly you remember . . ."

      "Remember? How could I forget? Cedric almost proposed marriage to me. Luckily, I diverted him before he . . ."

      "Of course! I had forgotten. Oh, Corey, I am sorry I forgot. I was so wrapped up in my betrothal to Perry then that I hardly paid any attention to your romance."

      Corey could hardly catch her breath. "No, Elaine, it was not a romance, really. I think Cedric got carried away by Perry's happiness, but there was never a true romance."

      Elaine brightened. "Then perhaps I should see if I could rekindle - "

      "Good heavens, no! I could not bear it. Truthfully, I never liked Cedric much at all. He was far too silly and brash."

      His friend Matt was quite another story. But Corey dared not let Elaine know that. She might get even more ideas in her head.

      First, Elaine's pregnancy. Then, the children to care for. Now, meeting up with the Quorn Quartet again. Could anything more happen to ruin her idyllic summer?