mad.
Cordelia turned her glass in her hand. “Poor Harry. Marrying into our family seems to have led him from one coil to another. We had a beastly quarrel about Livia. He accused me of being unfeeling in bringing her to Brussels. I accused him of not caring about her at all. Not that there’s any reason he should be expected to.”
Caro tucked her feet up under her on the sofa and leaned toward Cordelia. “Cordy, you have every right to be—”
“I don’t have a right to be anything.” Cordelia clunked her glass on the table, so hard, drops of brandy splashed onto the polished mahogany. “When it comes to Harry I long ago forfeited the right to anything.”
Caro’s eyes darkened in her thin face. Marriage was a difficult subject with her. “Harry wasn’t—”
“Harry was a fool. But he didn’t deserve what he got when he married me.” Fragments of memory chased through her mind. The candle doused in their alien bedchamber, awkward touches. Uncomfortable silences across engraved silver and gilt-edged wedding china. Bending over a book in the library, her hair brushing his own, a sudden moment of understanding. His gaze following her across the ballroom. Coming home alone from an entertainment and glancing into the library to see him hunched over his books.
She grabbed the brandy glass and tossed down a swallow that burned her throat. “I knew I’d made a mess of my life. I thought Julia had done better.”
“But you knew—”
“That her marriage wasn’t as perfect as it appeared on the surface? Whose is?”
Caro grimaced and hugged her arms across her chest.
Cordelia’s fingers tightened round the glass. “Perhaps the fools are the ones who actually expect fidelity.”
“Cordy, that’s dreadful. You sound like William. My husband was always much more of a cynic than I am.”
Cordelia smiled at her friend, against the memory of scandals and tantrums and hysterical outbursts. “You’re an incurable romantic, Caro. I often think life would be much easier for you if you weren’t.”
“Just because Harry wasn’t—”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Blame my affairs on boredom or lust or the need to provoke. But they aren’t motivated by a search for my one true love.” Except for the beginning, and she wasn’t going to let her mind dwell on her youthful folly now.
Caro wrapped her arms round her knees. “I was in love with William when I married him.”
“I know.” Cordelia reached over and touched her friend’s hand. She had a vivid memory of Caro’s bright face on her wedding day. She’d been trembling when she hugged Cordelia before she climbed in the carriage outside Melbourne House for the wedding journey, but the gaze she had turned on William Lamb had burned with adoration. “You married for much more honest reasons than I did.”
“And Julia?” Caro asked.
Cordelia frowned into her glass. “I told Johnny tonight that I was sure Julia loved him when she married him. But I think that was because I had some mad urge to offer comfort. The truth is I’ve felt I knew Julia less and less in recent years. At first I thought it was the scandal, that she was uncomfortable round me.”
“And so of course you pulled back and spent less time with her to make it less awkward for her.”
“I suppose so. Yes.” Cordelia pushed her fingers into her hair, knocking several hairpins to the floor. “And then suddenly I realized the little sister who used to confide in me was almost a stranger. But it began long before. I remember on their wedding day telling her she was fortunate to have made such a happy match. And she laughed and said we all had to make compromises.”
Caro’s eyes widened. “You think she thought she was compromising in marrying Johnny?”
“I don’t know.” Cordelia saw her sister on her wedding day, fragile and exquisite in figured gauze over white satin, eyes bright, delicate lips curved with ... happiness? Satisfaction? Triumph? “She was certainly
Cordelia turned her glass in her hand. “Poor Harry. Marrying into our family seems to have led him from one coil to another. We had a beastly quarrel about Livia. He accused me of being unfeeling in bringing her to Brussels. I accused him of not caring about her at all. Not that there’s any reason he should be expected to.”
Caro tucked her feet up under her on the sofa and leaned toward Cordelia. “Cordy, you have every right to be—”
“I don’t have a right to be anything.” Cordelia clunked her glass on the table, so hard, drops of brandy splashed onto the polished mahogany. “When it comes to Harry I long ago forfeited the right to anything.”
Caro’s eyes darkened in her thin face. Marriage was a difficult subject with her. “Harry wasn’t—”
“Harry was a fool. But he didn’t deserve what he got when he married me.” Fragments of memory chased through her mind. The candle doused in their alien bedchamber, awkward touches. Uncomfortable silences across engraved silver and gilt-edged wedding china. Bending over a book in the library, her hair brushing his own, a sudden moment of understanding. His gaze following her across the ballroom. Coming home alone from an entertainment and glancing into the library to see him hunched over his books.
She grabbed the brandy glass and tossed down a swallow that burned her throat. “I knew I’d made a mess of my life. I thought Julia had done better.”
“But you knew—”
“That her marriage wasn’t as perfect as it appeared on the surface? Whose is?”
Caro grimaced and hugged her arms across her chest.
Cordelia’s fingers tightened round the glass. “Perhaps the fools are the ones who actually expect fidelity.”
“Cordy, that’s dreadful. You sound like William. My husband was always much more of a cynic than I am.”
Cordelia smiled at her friend, against the memory of scandals and tantrums and hysterical outbursts. “You’re an incurable romantic, Caro. I often think life would be much easier for you if you weren’t.”
“Just because Harry wasn’t—”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Blame my affairs on boredom or lust or the need to provoke. But they aren’t motivated by a search for my one true love.” Except for the beginning, and she wasn’t going to let her mind dwell on her youthful folly now.
Caro wrapped her arms round her knees. “I was in love with William when I married him.”
“I know.” Cordelia reached over and touched her friend’s hand. She had a vivid memory of Caro’s bright face on her wedding day. She’d been trembling when she hugged Cordelia before she climbed in the carriage outside Melbourne House for the wedding journey, but the gaze she had turned on William Lamb had burned with adoration. “You married for much more honest reasons than I did.”
“And Julia?” Caro asked.
Cordelia frowned into her glass. “I told Johnny tonight that I was sure Julia loved him when she married him. But I think that was because I had some mad urge to offer comfort. The truth is I’ve felt I knew Julia less and less in recent years. At first I thought it was the scandal, that she was uncomfortable round me.”
“And so of course you pulled back and spent less time with her to make it less awkward for her.”
“I suppose so. Yes.” Cordelia pushed her fingers into her hair, knocking several hairpins to the floor. “And then suddenly I realized the little sister who used to confide in me was almost a stranger. But it began long before. I remember on their wedding day telling her she was fortunate to have made such a happy match. And she laughed and said we all had to make compromises.”
Caro’s eyes widened. “You think she thought she was compromising in marrying Johnny?”
“I don’t know.” Cordelia saw her sister on her wedding day, fragile and exquisite in figured gauze over white satin, eyes bright, delicate lips curved with ... happiness? Satisfaction? Triumph? “She was certainly
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