Page 91 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“I know so,” the countess said. “You’ve been married only a few weeks. You have years ahead of you, and I envy you, just starting out on your journey.”

The countess was right.

Cordelia smiled and picked up her teacup again, then froze as a voice called out, hailing the arrival of the final guests.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ffortescue, and Sir Iain Leaney!”

Cordelia gripped her teacup to temper the tremors in her body as the final guests arrived—a dark-haired couple accompanied by the man whose name had clawed at her soul ever since she’d read it on Georgiana’s guest list.

With a scraping of chairs against paving slabs, the gentlemen stood while James and Georgiana approached the newcomers.

Cordelia rose and followed.

“My dear Mr. and Mrs. Ffortescue,” Georgiana said, before she gave a sideways glance at Sir Iain, her cheeks turning pink, “we expected you much earlier. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

“Sadly not, m’dear,” Sir Iain said, bowing over Georgiana’s hand, which he took and kissed. “My deuced driver, ignorant fool that he is, almost overturned my carriage. It was only by the very good fortune of these fine folk encountering me that I survived the journey intact.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Georgiana said, her voice deepening as she curled her fingers around his hand. “I trust all is well now? Mr. Ffortescue, I can only thank the Almighty for the good fortune of your being on hand to effect a rescue.”

Sir George Marlow and his son approached, the elder gentleman extending his hand while the younger fixed his gaze on Sir Iain, a mixture of envy and despair in his eyes.

“What’s all this, Leaney?” Sir George said.

“Nothing of consequence,” Sir Iain replied. “But I’ll ensure my driver is thrashed when I return. Damned fool. Oh, begging your pardon, Miss Georgiana, for cursing.”

“Oh, I quite understand, Sir Iain,” Georgiana said, a little breathless. “I’m only glad that you’re safe and well. I believe you know everyone here, except my sister-in-law?”

“Ah, Bedford’s new bride about whom all of London is gossiping,” Sir Iain said. “Bedford, you’re a deuced sly fellow. None of us expected you to thread your head through the parson’s noose so quickly. Miss Peabody is most put out—the foolish chit had quite set her cap at you and was heartbroken when you did not attend Lady Tissingham’s ball.”

Then he turned to Cordelia and their gazes met. She caught her breath, her stomach clenching in fear, but saw no recognition in his pale eyes.

He curled his lips into a smile. “You’re to be forgiven, Bedford, for abandoning Miss Peabody in favor of such a delightful creature. As delectable as a flower, I might add.”

Cordelia’s heart skittered. Had he recognized her?

But he merely took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She suppressed a shudder.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Bedford.”

“Likewise.”

“How charming you are, m’dear.”

“I think tea is in order, do not you, Sir Iain?” Georgiana said. “You must be in need of some after such a journey.”

He offered his arm, and Georgiana took it and steered him toward the tea things, where a footman stood waiting.

“Damned fool,” Mr. Ffortescue muttered. “He overtook us on the road, yelling at his driver to make haste. I said to my Sophie that one of his wheels was not balanced properly, did I not, my love? Some young men are prone to folly. But that was never a failing of yours was it, my boy?” he said, turning to James. “Always a sensible fellow, and I can see that you have extended your good sense into your choice of wife.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Ffortescue,” Cordelia said. “But I must ask: Is the poor coachman abandoned on the road?”

“No, my dear,” Mr. Ffortescue said. “Sir Iain is a little prone to exaggeration. His carriage was only caught in a rut, and with the help of my own man, we managed to pull it out and he finished his journey here, albeit at a more sensible pace. But that wheel will need to be seen to as soon as possible.”

“There’s a wheelwright in the village, is there not, James?” Cordelia said. “Perhaps Charles could send for him.”

“That is surely Sir Iain’s business, my dear,” James said.

“I’d hate for the coachman to bear the brunt of the blame for something that’s not his fault.”