Page 56 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“Hurry, Cori!” Emelia cried, bursting into the room. “The Countess of Bloomfield has called upon Mama!”

Cordelia shot upright in bed. “Viscount Templeton’s mother?”

“Yes!” Emelia all but bounced on her heels. “Aunt says you are to make yourself presentable and come to the morning room at once.”

Emelia rang the bell to summon a maid while Cordelia moved automatically, her thoughts racing. Why would the countess be here? They had never before received a caller of such exalted rank. Not once. She completed her morning toilette with quiet, practiced efficiency and dressed quickly in a pale-yellow day gown, chosen more for its quiet cheer than any desire to draw notice. Her hair was arranged in an artful chignon, neat and restrained. Only when she was satisfied that nothing was amiss did she follow Emelia downstairs.

Outside the morning room, Cordelia paused, drew a steadying breath, knocked, and entered. Her mother sat opposite a woman of striking beauty who had reached full bloom without surrendering a trace of elegance. The Countess of Bloomfield wore a gown of dove-gray silk, exquisite in its simplicity, with delicate embroidery adorning the cuffs. A tea trolley stood beside her, fine porcelain resting upon polished silver, while steam curled from the cup she held with effortless poise.

At the sound of the door opening, the countess lifted her gaze. It passed briefly over Cordelia before settling upon Emelia, her expression composed and impossible to decipher.

“My lady,” Cordelia’s mother said quickly, “may I present my daughter, Miss Cordelia Maubry, and my niece, Miss Emelia Harcourt.”

They curtsied at once.

The countess inclined her head. “How very lovely you are, Miss Maubry,” she said, still looking directly at Emelia. “I understand why my son is enchanted.”

“Oh...” Her mother flushed deeply. “Forgive me, my lady. That is my niece, Miss Emelia Harcourt.”

The countess turned then, her attention settling fully upon Cordelia. Surprise flickered across her features, subtle but unmistakable. Mortification swept through Cordelia. Irrationally, she feared she would be found lacking. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself fiercely. She had no interest in the countess’s son.

Still, she lifted her chin. The countess arched a brow, the gesture uncannily reminiscent of the viscount, and a small, knowing smile touched her lips.

“It is a delight to meet you both,” she said smoothly. “You are each very lovely young ladies. Please, join us.”

Emelia beamed at once. Cordelia crossed to the sofa and took her seat, folding her hands carefully in her lap, determined not to betray the nervousness fluttering within her. The countess sipped her tea, studying her over the rim of the delicate porcelain cup with quiet deliberation.

Then, to Cordelia’s astonishment, she set the cup aside.

“Miss Maubry,” the countess said, her tone courteous but unmistakably purposeful, “might I have a private word with you?”

Cordelia’s heart lurched. “I... yes, my lady.”

Her mother and cousin withdrew at once, courtesy and unabashed curiosity evident in their expressions as they left the morning room.

The countess regarded her steadily. “I believe you have already guessed why I am here.”

“I... forgive me, your ladyship, but I have not.”

The countess inclined her head. “My son has returned home every morning for the past several days to break his fast with us. That alone is remarkable. More remarkable still, he escorted Jane and me to a society ball last evening.” Her mouth curved faintly. “George finds such occasions alarmingly tedious. I suspect he attended in the hope that you might be present. When it became evident that you were not, he danced only with his sister, much to the disappointment of a great many hopeful young ladies.”

Cordelia stared at her, startled by such frankness. “I... we are not often invited to society events,” she admitted quietly, wincing at her own candor. Her father’s barony simply did not carry the consequence required to secure frequent invitations.

“This morning,” the countess continued, “I questioned my son about you. He had previously mentioned you as a friend.”

Cordelia’s pulse quickened. She braced herself for censure.

“My son has never spoken of a lady to his family before,” the countess said. “Certainly not with the astonishment and wonder I have seen in his eyes these past days.”

“I... I beg your pardon?” Cordelia whispered, her chest aching. It was the very last thing she had expected to hear.

“I believe my son had begun to fall in love with you,” the countess said calmly. “Because rejection is entirely unfamiliar to him, he has retreated into a cold reserve these past several days. He would not answer my questions, so I resolved to bring them to you instead.”

Emotion crashed through Cordelia like a rising tide. In love? Incredulity rushed through her. “I assure you, my lady, Lord Templeton is not in love with me.”

“No,” the countess agreed gently. “Not yet. He was only at the very beginning of it. Bewildered. Uncertain. My son has never loved a woman before. You are the only lady with whom he has chosen to dance since he first began attending the frivolities of the Season. There is a reason for that, and it must not be dismissed lightly.”

Heat burned behind Cordelia’s eyes. “The very night Viscount Templeton danced with me, your ladyship, I came upon him in a secluded part of the gardens with another woman in his arms. A married woman. In a most compromising position.”