Born of Persuasion (18 page)

Those of you who have seen Macy, even from a distance, can well imagine my wonder upon lifting my eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the captivating master who waited in the thickening fog. It was as though a dark angel had swooped in and landed at my feet.

My shock at his appearance was so complete, I stood agog, halfway between the carriage and the ground. Lack of beauty had not played into his decision to withdraw from society. His symmetry was not that of classic proportions, but exotic and dangerous. Black hair, longer than generally accepted, curved over his brow.

The figure he cut was likewise devastating. There was nothing middle-aged or sagging. His frock coat was oxford grey but did not flare out in gathers, as was the style then. Rather it was a revival of an earlier cut, squaring at his ribs before tailoring
into a single coattail, which fell to his knees. His waistcoat was pewter-colored and featured pearly buttons that ended with a silvery cravat amassed about his throat.

During our journey, our carriage had been suffocating, so that by the time of our arrival, I was gloveless and hatless. Heat registered over my cheeks as I realized my bare hand rested in his.

“Chance, I believe you need a formal introduction,” said Lady Foxmore. “Miss Julia Elliston, may I present Mr. Chance Macy.”

His gaze lingered longer than was proper before he bowed.

I opened my mouth, but shyness seized my words.

A hint of a smile dented the corner of his mouth as he finished his study and helped me to the ground. He stepped nearer, pleased. “You know, then?”

“She knows nothing. You’ve been away so long, you forget the effect you have,” Lady Foxmore’s scowling voice said beside me. “Honestly, Chance, if this is some perverted joke on me, cease now. It is sickening to watch. Of all the undeserving people!”

How Mr. Macy would have responded, I know not, for at that moment Mrs. Windham’s voice hallooed him. “Oh, oh, my dear Mr. Macy!”

I turned and caught sight of her stooping in the doorway of the carriage.

She started to alight on her own, then grumbled over her shoulder, “Elizabeth, for heaven’s sake, your foot is on my dress!”

One dark brow arched as Mr. Macy faced Lady Foxmore.

A slow, catlike smile spread over her features. “John’s doing. Certainly not mine. I utterly detest them. She insisted her presence will satisfy prerequisites set for Miss Elliston’s visit.”

An incredulous-seeming Mr. Macy searched for Mr. Greenham and found him a short distance away.

Rain had dampened his hat and oiled coat to a rich brown that matched the circles shadowing his eyes. Whether it was his
mood or the way the shadows pitched his face, he looked like the unhappiest man in England. Behind him, Henry slid from his mount.

“Lord Auburn’s eldest, as well?” Surprise laced Mr. Macy’s voice.

It was at that moment Mrs. Windham managed to free herself. Lifting her skirts, she stumbled from the carriage, nearly stepping in a horse dropping. “I cannot begin to tell you how flattered we are to have been invited! Indeed, we are the envy of our entire neighborhood! You have no idea how greatly you honor us!”

Behind us, Elizabeth’s pale face emerged from the darkened carriage. Sighing, she took the footman’s hand and hopped down.

“Such a trip,” Mrs. Windham panted, fanning herself. “Upon my word, but I am fagged. Such bumping and swaying! I thought we should never arrive.” Over her shoulder she called, “Hurry, Elizabeth, my smelling salts. Mr. Macy, I fear I shall need your arm. I feel faint.”

“Mrs. Windham.” Mr. Macy duly offered his arm, giving Lady Foxmore a bedazed look. “I daresay, we shall have an atmosphere that Eastbourne has not seen in many years.”

“Know,” said Lady Foxmore, “that I am opposed to this in every possible way.”

Mr. Macy gave another beguiling laugh. “And yet here you stand.” To everyone else, he said, “Shall we adjourn inside, then?”

“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Windham hissed, pointing to Mr. Macy’s free arm.

I blushed for Elizabeth’s sake as Mr. Macy gave Lady Foxmore a second incredulous look, but offered his free arm.

“I think, perhaps—” Lady Foxmore clutched my arm and leaned her weight upon me—“I may yet learn to like the
Windhams. And to think that I berated John when he included them.”

Questions pressed upon me as we trudged past two stone lions guarding the estate’s grand entrance. By then, of course, I’d gained an inkling that something bigger was happening behind the scenes, something Mr. Macy and Lady Foxmore took no pains to hide from me in their private snatches of conversation.

The exterior of Eastbourne belied its interior. I braced myself to enter a downtrodden hall lit with rushlights and padded with bundles of reeds on the floor. Instead, the massive, pillared hall looked like a relic from the Byzantine Empire. The floors were inlaid with various colors of marble and resembled carpets. A pattern of animals—elephants, deer, and monkeys—all marched in a circle around a tree laden with fruit.

My amazement only grew from there. The hall was at least sixty feet in length with arches between the pillars, and above those a second story of arched pillars supported a third level, which cambered into a cathedral ceiling, where glistening gold-and-blue mosaics competed against frescoes of vengeful angels.

Servants lined the hall, at least sixty in number, all standing in perfect unison.

I gaped, experiencing my first sensation of being amongst the highest sphere. We all know wealth. As we sit to our china tea, it is not difficult to imagine silver, and as we don our serviceable dresses, it is not too far a cry to imagine silks. But it is quite another to be dressed in the best attire you’ve ever owned and still feel little better than the meanest maid. Gone was the dismay I’d experienced with my first glance at Eastbourne. I now felt Lady Foxmore had pulled me up far too swiftly.

Her rasping laugh brought me to my senses. “You always were ostentatious. Good heavens, Chance, what on earth have you done? Tell me, does it only grow worse from here?”

Mr. Macy never glanced at his servants as he dispensed orders. “Randal, find a chamber suitable for Mr. Auburn and give
instructions concerning dinner.” He turned to Rooke. “I need to look at your documents within the hour. Carry them to the library, then house in your usual quarters. John, accompany them.”

Frown lines appeared over Mr. Greenham’s brow as he glanced at me, but then he waved for the gentlemen to follow. Their dripping capes left shimmering trails of water. Mr. Macy waited until they disappeared, then dismissed his staff with a flick of his left hand. His black-and-gold onyx ring caught the light. He turned and nodded at the rest of us. “I shall personally escort you to your rooms.”

His pace left little time for glancing at the wonders surrounding us. Collections of family portraits mingled with elaborately framed watercolors. The polished floors peeking from beneath foreign carpets were inlaid with rare woods. Priceless collections of artifacts and paintings were masterfully arranged. Cabinets contained vases, statues, and ancient-looking treasures. Later I learned Etruscan, Greek, Egyptian, and Roman treasures were numbered amongst them.

To my surprise, Lady Foxmore kept up with Macy’s fast stride, though she dug deeply into my arm.

Stopping before a mahogany door, Mr. Macy unlocked it and handed Mrs. Windham the key. “These two adjoining rooms should suit you and your daughter.”

He swung open the door, revealing a chamber with a bed surrounded by peacock-blue satin panels, stitched with silver crewelwork. The French furniture grouped in the large space appeared costly.

“Such a handsome apartment.” Mrs. Windham stepped over the threshold. “Beyond a doubt, there is not a nicer bedchamber in all of Britain. I am certain of it.”

“You are very kind.” Mr. Macy bowed, releasing Elizabeth. “Now if you’ll both excuse me.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth blushed, then whispered in her mother’s ear.

Mrs. Windham’s eyebrows shot up. She motioned to the remaining door in the passage. “I beg pardon, but is that Julia’s room? I need her key too. My mother always said—”

“No. I’ve arranged different quarters for
Miss Elliston
.”

Elizabeth gave her mother’s arm a violent tug, widening her eyes.

Mrs. Windham licked her lips. “Ah, yes . . . but . . . well, you see, ha-ha, I am Miss Elliston’s chaperone—”

“Nonsense,” Lady Foxmore interjected. “Miss Elliston is under my care. John was quite plain in his terms. She is my charge, and for the record, I care not where Chance places the child, nor what he does with her.”

Mrs. Windham straightened her shoulders. “Nonetheless—”

Arms spread like someone driving a flock of geese, Mr. Macy ushered the Windhams into their chamber. “Yes, yes, your objection is duly noted. On my word, no harm will come to Miss Elliston.”

Mrs. Windham looked ready to protest, but Mr. Macy’s expression must have changed her mind. She turned on me instead. “Such a fuss, Julia, about where your room is.” She shooed me away. “I am certain you’ll find your room suitable enough. I highly doubt Mr. Macy will place you too close to the servants!”

Mr. Macy, with a bow, shut the door. Annoyance flashed over his face as he narrowed his eyes at Lady Foxmore. “Remind me to have a word with John later.”

In a nearby passage, he unlocked a door that revealed a chamber as ancient as Queen Elizabeth’s reign. A huge bed with thick posts and a canopy sat amidst Jacobean furniture.

“Your room, Adelia.”

She stepped to the threshold and took her time examining the space. Whether she approved or not was difficult to tell by her odd expression. “You do realize,” she said, finishing her inspection, “I am quite your enemy now.”

“Are you, indeed?” was Mr. Macy’s amused reply.

Her earbobs swung as she addressed him. “I am in earnest, Chance, for I did not think you serious until this exact moment. You must know I am completely against this.”

His eyes danced briefly to me. “Are you? Why?”

Lady Foxmore fully turned. “Shall I truly spell out my objections, here and now?” She gestured toward me. “Look at her. She’s as ungainly and as unprepared for this as a newborn colt, Chance. Honestly, if you want my advice—”

“Do not pit yourself against me, Adelia. You will lose.”

A brief narrowing of his eyes was all it took. Lady Foxmore stopped midspeech, though she looked none too pleased. I fidgeted, feeling little better than a servant being spoken about while she tends the fire.

Lady Foxmore lifted her petite stature to its full height. “Expect no mercy, then, from me.”

He laughed in his mesmerizing way. “I never do, my dear. I never do. Now if you’ll excuse me, my last guest still requires attention.”

I met her ladyship’s gaze, to plead silently that she not leave me alone with our host.

Lady Foxmore limped into her room, looked over her shoulder, and gave Mr. Macy such a baleful stare that my every hair stood on end. The door clapped shut.

The next few seconds were pure agony as I tugged on my sleeves and looked at the crack of light shining beneath her ladyship’s door. Inside, the sound of her cane retreated toward the back of the room.

I fixed my gaze on the thin ribbon of light, overly aware of my windblown hair and scarlet cheeks. Mr. Macy stood motionless.

How long we remained as such, I cannot say, but to me it felt endless. Eventually, my senses attuned to the distant echo of rain and the footfall of servants running in the main hall. The scents of beeswax and soaplees were borne aloft on the cold draft.

Yet despite this, I felt the presence of Mr. Macy more than anything else. No air stirred near him; no scent carried from his body; he made no sound. Yet were I blind, I would have known he was there. The air fairly scintillated with his presence.

Feeling wretched at my shyness, I finally dared a peek.

No one wore pride like Mr. Macy. Ebony-colored eyes sparkled with delight. If such a thing is possible, he looked as charmed by my shyness as he was with my victory over it.

“Undoubtedly,” he said in a soft voice, “you have many questions for me. I give you my word, we shall discuss this arrangement at length. Only now, as you’ve just arrived, it is not the proper time. Come, allow me to take you to your chambers.”

I took him as meaning to soften my discomfort by being frank; however, I did not know what “arrangement” he spoke about. Stunned, I stared at him.

His brows scrunched for a fraction of a second, but then all at once he seemed to grasp something. With a look of irritation, he turned toward Lady Foxmore’s closed door. “She wasn’t in jest,” he said softly.

He rubbed this thumb over his forehead, for a moment looking lost, but then he chuckled and placed his hand on his hip. “She neglected to inform you, didn’t she?”

I folded my arms, drawing them close. When I spoke, I wished I hadn’t, for it sounded weak. “Sir?”

He grew very still. “And you’re frightened besides.”

At first, I thought him angry, for his jaw tightened and he averted his eyes, but then as he reposed himself, I thought him hurt. “And why wouldn’t you be,” he asked more to himself, then swore under his breath. “What would I think, were I in your position?”

By this time the heavy wetness of my clothing combined with escalating emotions was taking its toll. I shivered, pulling the damp wool of my cape tighter.

He offered me his hand. “Come.”

I have been much criticized for what followed next, the point being belabored that had I possessed more moral fiber, I would have refused to be led through a crumbling estate without a chaperone—especially as I had two on hand.

To my critics let me respond that I am not at fault for the disgrace that claimed so many over the next year. That storm already loomed on the horizon. I was little more than a wayfarer caught in the torrent without an umbrella.

As our footsteps rang through one long corridor after another, my mind reviewed the strange banter between Lady Foxmore and our host. To avoid looking at him, I pretended to study the master paintings that lined every wall. Soon bright plaster halls, lit from suspended lamps, turned into narrow stone passages. Lancet windows became smaller and were set in deeper recesses.