I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Chapter 27: Break up

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns of Blackthorn Manor as Cordelia's carriage pulled up the winding driveway. She stepped out, her silk dress rustling softly in the warm breeze, and made her way to the grand entrance. The butler, his face a mask of polite indifference, greeted her and led her to the veranda where Madame Matilda waited.

Cordelia found Matilda seated in her favorite wicker chair, a delicate china teacup balanced precariously in her trembling hands. The older woman's gaze seemed unfocused, staring out at the gardens without really seeing them. As Cordelia approached, Matilda's eyes flickered briefly in recognition before returning to their vacant stare.

Cordelia settled into the comfortable wicker chair across from Matilda. The familiar scent of rose tea wafted between them, a comforting constant in what had become an increasingly uncertain world.

"Matilda, darling, you look a bit peaky today," Cordelia said, her voice laced with carefully concealed concern. "Are you sleeping well? You know how you get when you don't rest properly."

Matilda's gaze, which had been fixed on some distant point in the garden, slowly drifted to Cordelia's face. "Hmm? Oh, yes... sleep. It's been... elusive lately."

Cordelia reached out, patting Matilda's hand gently. "Well, we can't have that, can we? Perhaps a touch of lavender oil on your pillow might help. Works wonders for me when my mind won't quiet down."

She paused, watching as Matilda's attention seemed to waver again. Pushing aside her worry, Cordelia plastered on a bright smile and dove into the topic at hand.

"Now, about this solstice event. I've been brainstorming ideas, and I think we might be able to outdo ourselves this year. What do you say to a masquerade theme?"

Matilda's brow furrowed slightly. "Masquerade? But we've never..."

"Exactly!" Cordelia interrupted, her enthusiasm only partly feigned. "It's time we shook things up a bit, don't you think? Imagine the intrigue, the mystery! Lady Fairfax would be green with envy."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Matilda's face. "She would at that. Remember how sour she looked when we introduced the midsummer night's feast?"

Cordelia laughed, genuinely pleased to see a spark of her old friend. "Oh, how could I forget? Her face was practically a curdled milk impression!"

As their laughter faded, Cordelia pressed on. "So, what do you think? Shall we scandalize the old biddies with masks and mystery?"

Matilda's eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "I... yes, why not? It could be... fun."

"Splendid!" Cordelia clapped her hands together. "Now, we'll need to start planning the decorations. I was thinking of transforming the grand hall into an enchanted forest. Draped fabrics in deep greens and blues, twinkling lights like fireflies..."

As Cordelia rambled on about her grand vision, she kept a watchful eye on Matilda. Her friend's attention seemed to ebb and flow like the tide, sometimes engaging with a nod or a murmured agreement, other times drifting off to that distant place that seemed to call to her more and more lately.

"Matilda, dear," Cordelia said softly, during one of her friend's more present moments. "You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you? If something's troubling you..."

Matilda's eyes snapped to Cordelia's face, a flash of something—fear? Guilt?—crossing her features before they smoothed out again. "Troubling me? No, no... everything's fine. Just tired, as you said."

Cordelia leaned in, her voice gentle but insistent. "Matilda, darling, I can see something's weighing on you. You know I'm always here to listen, no matter what it is. Perhaps if you shared-"

Her words were abruptly cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Lord Blackthorn strode into view, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the veranda. Close on his heels was Gustavo, his personal guard, a man whose very presence seemed to darken the atmosphere.

Lord Blackthorn's face bore a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, a forced pleasantness that sent a chill down Cordelia's spine. Despite her discomfort, she knew her place as a guest and remained silent, offering a polite nod to the master of the house.

"Ah, Lady Cordelia," Lord Blackthorn boomed, his voice carrying a false cheer. "What a pleasure to see you gracing our humble abode. I trust you're enjoying your visit?"

Cordelia noticed how his gaze barely flickered towards Matilda, who had turned her face away, suddenly seeming intensely interested in a nearby rosebush.

"Indeed, my Lord," Cordelia replied, her own smile feeling stiff on her face. "Your hospitality is, as always, beyond compare."

Lord Blackthorn nodded, his attention solely on Cordelia. "Wonderful, wonderful. And how fares your esteemed husband? I heard he's been making quite a stir in the business world lately."

As he spoke, he clasped his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. The very picture of casual interest, yet Cordelia couldn't shake the feeling of underlying tension.

"He is well, thank you for asking," Cordelia responded, her eyes darting between Lord Blackthorn and Matilda, who remained turned away. "His latest venture is proving quite successful."

"Marvelous," Lord Blackthorn said, his smile widening in a way that didn't comfort Cordelia at all. "Well, I shan't keep you ladies from your tête-à-tête any longer. Do enjoy the rest of your visit, Lady Cordelia."

With a cheerful nod that seemed at odds with the atmosphere he had created, Lord Blackthorn turned and walked away, Gustavo following like a menacing shadow.

As their footsteps faded, Cordelia turned back to Matilda, who was still facing away. The transformation in her friend was stark - where moments ago there had been a hint of openness, now there was only a tightly controlled mask of indifference.

"Matilda?" Cordelia ventured softly, reaching out to touch her friend's hand.

Cordelia leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Matilda, darling, what's really going on? I've known you far too long to be fooled by this facade. Is it Lord Blackthorn? Has he-"

Her probing was interrupted by the arrival of Mara, the maid, who glided onto the veranda bearing a tray of freshly squeezed juice. Cordelia fell silent, watching as Mara poured the pale golden liquid into delicate crystal glasses. Matilda's eyes followed the stream of juice, her expression unreadable.

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