Born of Persuasion (17 page)

Elizabeth scrambled aboard first. Shadows enhanced her worried expression as she slid across from me. “Henry’s joining us! Can you believe it?”

“The very idea,” Lady Foxmore muttered, “of a Windham using the first name of Lord Auburn’s son. Hold your tongue, Elizabeth, lest you give away far more than you wish to reveal.”

Elizabeth grew scarlet. Before she could gather herself, Mrs. Windham’s bonnet appeared in the door and two hands extended above her anxious face. “Girls, girls, pull me in. The steps have gone missing and the footman appears deaf.”

We reached the Dancing Toad an hour past gloaming. Rain had muddied the roads and hindered our progress. We lost additional time when a servants’ carriage sank in the mire. We arrived bedraggled and famished at the already-bustling inn. Mr. Greenham paid handsomely to see we were attended and given a private sitting room.

While we dined, my attention stayed riveted on my former cronies. Henry, his cheeks still ruddy and his hair dishevelled from the wind, broke propriety by sneaking his arm around the back of Elizabeth’s chair. Bacchus and one of his nymphs
couldn’t have appeared merrier as their laughing whispers competed with the chinks of silverware against porcelain.

I couldn’t hear their banter, but reminders of Edward hung heavy about them. It was in the way Henry’s eyes crinkled as he buried his nose in Elizabeth’s hair to whisper, his crooked smile, his easygoing manner—all Auburn traits, all salt rubbed in wounds.

It grew impossible not to feel my loss. It was there in that dimly lit inn that I first experienced the cost of keeping composure against one’s own best interest and disguising the true desires of one’s heart. Later, I would become an artisan in this role, creating and fulfilling society’s very definition of a lady, in a deadly game which forced me to hide in public, to become the very worst liar—or the very best, I suppose, depending on one’s viewpoint. But this was my first lesson, my first bitter taste.

I watched them silently as the innkeeper’s wife set before us goose roasted with sage and onion, vegetable marrow, and brussels sprouts. I was debating the idea of retiring when Lady Foxmore leaned to my ear and said in a private voice, “You have yet to ask me about our host.”

I dropped Mama’s locket, which I’d been clutching, and faced her. “Ought I?”

She made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “Good heavens! Here I am, planning to introduce you to the most sought-after man in the country, and you haven’t enough sense to make inquiries. Well, since you seem satisfied with your information, tell me what you’ve heard. I’ll correct the errors.”

I tilted my head to show my confusion.

She gave an exasperated sigh. “What does that woman speak of all day? No! No, do not tell. I have no desire to learn. Just tell me what you know of Macy.”

“Macy? You—you mean
Mr.
Macy?”

“Yes, Macy,” she said in a quiet voice. She glanced at Mr. Greenham. “Surely you don’t think the height of my ambition is
to match you with that puddle of gloom? Have you no more faith in me than that, child?”

There was no proper answer.

Amusement twinkled in her eyes before she whispered, “Disappointed?”

“Well, no,” I found myself replying too quickly. “Not at all.”

She laughed loudly, then turned and announced to him in a loud voice, “Poor John. You’re spurned and rejected at every corner. Not even the orphans want you.”

“Eat so you can retire early,” was his reply. “We rise before dawn.”

Chuckling, she returned her attention to me. “Do you truly know nothing about our host?”

“Only that he is your acquaintance.”

“
My
acquaintance?”

I swallowed. “Well, yes.”

Her bitter laugh grated the air. “You greatly misunderstand the nature of our affinity if you think that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fifteen years of being a recluse and what? I bring him an ungrateful toadeater who hasn’t the sense of a gnat.”

“Fifteen years?” I asked, determined to ignore the insult. “Am I to take it, then, that Mr. Macy’s parents kept him from society?”

Her ladyship’s eyes grew hard and small. “I know not whether I should berate or congratulate you for being the stupidest girl in England. In the future, you will make it your duty to learn everything possible—oh, why am I bothering. Just sit there and hold your tongue. Even dolts can accomplish that much.”

As a shy person, it was already a daunting task to join a dinner party, but her ladyship’s harshness scattered my ability to retort.

Elizabeth, however, felt up to the occasion. “Never mind her, dearest. Mr. Macy is Mama’s age and highly unsocial.” Her eyes directed toward her ladyship. “Although not as unsocial as some.”

“He’s not unsocial,” Lady Foxmore snapped. “He’s reclusive. The fancy seized him one night. When he was throwing a ball, no less.” She skewered her goose with a knife. “He refused everyone at the door. It was the scandal of the season. Imagine, leaving the cream of society standing in the snow. Not even I was admitted.”

“Why?” Henry asked. “What happened?”

“It’s no use asking me. Did he ever tell you, John?”

Mr. Greenham’s eyes slid to me, as if inquiring what I made of this conversation, but then retreated to his brooding self.

Her ladyship humphed. “Never mind, I forbid you to speak. In fact, I forbid all of you to speak. I may be forced to travel with this mangy, ragtag circus. However, nothing dictates I must listen to your ignorance.”

“Well, I for one agree with you,” Mrs. Windham said. “I even said to Elizabeth this morning that I thought the horses looked mangy. My exact words, were they not, my dear.”

Elizabeth shut her eyes as Henry quickly buried his mouth in his napkin.

“And I would never dream of speaking after such a day of travelling in disagreeable weather. For goodness’ sake, Julia, hold your tongue and stop pestering her ladyship. In my day, we knew better than to assault our betters. It isn’t likely Mr. Macy would take note of you regardless, even with your new wardrobe.”

Henry’s eyes were all merriment, but Elizabeth met mine with a look that questioned whether I truly understood what I was getting myself into by aligning myself with her ladyship.

I stabbed a roasted brussels sprout, ignoring her. I had little doubt that if she realized Edward had broken our betrothal, her look would have been one of pity.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure which was worse. To be pitied or to have them think I willingly submitted to such treatment.

My pride won.

PEOPLE HAVE ASKED whether I was in ferment during that journey, I suppose because we were travelling to one of Bedfordshire’s most prestigious estates to be entertained by the elusive Mr. Macy.

The simple answer is no.

As our carriage slogged through muddy roads, I had no appreciation of the rarity of my situation. I had no inkling Lady Foxmore was about to accomplish what would one day be hailed as her greatest feat. I was ignorant that I was about to meet the only person in the whole of England brash enough to pit himself against my guardian.

Nor was there anyone to educate me; Mrs. Windham, Henry, and Elizabeth being equally unaware and Mr. Greenham having reverted back to his taciturn self. My only indication that something larger was afoot was the manner in which Lady Foxmore occasionally studied me before shaking her head in disbelief.

Little needs to be said about our second day of travel except that we arrived at dusk. Wet cobblestones reflected our carriage
lanterns as we rattled down the lanes of the town bordering Eastbourne. The streets appeared uninhabited, except for the lights of those retiring for the evening. Past the village, I continued to catch sight of cottages tucked willy-nilly amongst the hollows.

“I recognize those very trees.” Lady Foxmore indicated a line of elms arching against a gloomy sky above the carriage. “We should arrive at Eastbourne any moment. Time stands still. I recognize every landmark.”

I leaned forward with Mrs. Windham and Elizabeth.

“There.” Lady Foxmore pointed out the rain-flecked window.

Below, in the valley, a massive house sprawled in every direction, a patchwork of crumbling architecture. Ivy and creeping plants obscured much of the stonemasonry. Towers and spires, seemingly ready to topple, pierced the darkening sky.

My eyes traced the ancient structure as loathing fluttered through me. That someone lived there seemed impossible. Were it not for the few windows that twinkled amidst the derelict estate, I’d have assumed Eastbourne an uninhabited ruin.

“It must have a hundred rooms.” Elizabeth sounded breathless.

“Over two hundred and fifty.” Lady Foxmore joined me in peering through the window. The lines about her mouth softened as she viewed the estate the way a mother might look upon a favorite child. “It started life as a monastery, but over the centuries the estate has also become an influential house. If I know Macy, I warrant he’s vastly improved it since I laid eyes on it.” She turned in my direction. “Here we shall see whether or not I can raise you from your pitiful state.”

I stared, horror-stricken, thinking her mad if she believed this mass of stones to be an influential great house. It was a devastating moment.

Her ladyship had brought me to a moth-eaten estate—not one of her grand acquaintances, not London, not Bath. For
one wild moment, I feared I’d risked my guardian’s wrath for naught.

A large gate forced the carriage to a halt beneath dripping pines. We waited several minutes before a guard admitted us, then proceeded down a winding lane. As we passed the first section of the house, gargoyles stippled with colored lichen and moss leered from their various perches.

Lady Foxmore inclined near me and in a low voice asked, “Well, what do you make of Eastbourne, child?” Her eyes shone with a softness I did not understand as she gazed up at the rustling ivy.

I measured my voice to hide my thick disappointment. “I wait to see the master.”

She chuckled. “Yes, I’m rather waiting for that myself.”

The percussion of rain ceased under the porte cochere. Mrs. Windham paled as she attempted to revive Elizabeth’s curls.

“No need to worry over her appearance,” Lady Foxmore said in an amused tone. “I’m certain Chance shan’t care how she looks.”

The driver opened the door and Lady Foxmore departed the carriage with a grace and bearing I could only hope to achieve. “Adelia?” A voice just outside the carriage took us by surprise.

I glimpsed her ladyship’s face as she turned in its direction. Her expression was novel. Titillation, loathing, fear, and delight all seemed to coexist. Her hand flew to her chest, but it was impossible to tell whether the action denoted horror or delight.

“There you are,” she said, recovering. Though she sounded shrill, her tone differed, bringing to mind a dog’s last and desperate bark as its master jerks its collar. “Well, at least you’re still sound in body—” her voice grew tart—“though I am convinced madness has seized your mind.”

The most beguiling laugh was followed by an equally bewitching voice. “Do not presume to berate me, Adelia. Take satisfaction that after all these years, you’re seeing your fondest wish for me fulfilled.”

The full tone of the voice enthralled me. Each word was carefully enunciated, calling attention to the man’s good breeding. Despite myself, I felt the delightful sensation of hope spread through me. Perhaps not all was lost.

“And since when,” demanded Lady Foxmore, “was it my fondest wish to see you rendered insane?”

Another hypnotic laugh responded. “Is this not how it is supposed to happen? I thought rationale was always the very first thing to go.”

Lady Foxmore stamped her stick, then stepped away from the carriage. “Well, it certainly fled in this case. Honestly, Chance. Miss Elliston, kindly step down from my carriage so I can make proper introductions.”

I had not anticipated exiting before Mrs. Windham and cast her a guilty glance. The good woman gasped at the slight to her station while Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.

A hand reached into the carriage. Embarrassment burned my cheeks as I gathered my skirts. There was no helping it. I grasped the hand in order to alight.