CHAPTER TWELVE“Your mother writes to me that she has made all the arrangements for our return on Saturday,” Cornelia said, looking up at the Duke who was opening his own mail, which had arrived from England just before luncheon.
“I also have a letter from my mother,” he said. “She says that they are decorating the drive at Cotillion, a quite unnecessary gesture.”
“It sounds as if they will be pleased to see us,” Cornelia remarked pleasantly.
He threw down his letters in a mood that was undoubtedly petulant and rising to his feet walked across the room.
“If we are to arrive on Saturday, we must leave on Thursday, the day after tomorrow,” he said. “I suppose we must go back? It is very delightful here.”
“The partridge shooting starts next Monday,” Cornelia answered, “and I do believe th
