Born of Persuasion (34 page)

Who, I wondered, would believe the precariousness of my situation? Like as naught, Mrs. Windham would think me brainsick if I suddenly declared my guardian murderous and that I had become engaged to the most elusive bachelor in England for protection.

Betrothal, I realized, offered no sanctuary. Only marriage did.

That day I also absorbed the true meaning of
alone
. What I did not understand then was that it is the plight of every human, part of the curse, though most seem blithely unaware. I remained with our party. I occupied a chair in the corner of the drawing room. I looked over my book, a silent observer, watching while the others bantered and played cards—there
were genuine smiles and comradery, while I only felt the pull of emptiness.

That night, the past haunted me.

In a dream, I revisited arriving home after Mama’s burial, dragging my heavy skirts over the threshold. Once more I stood with numb indifference and watched as mud, caked to the hem of my skirt, fell in clumps and blended with rainwater. With tingling familiarity, I dreamed of Sarah’s wizened face peeking around the corner, of her pointing with hands raw from scrubbing to the drawing room, declaring the vicar was here.

I knew my lines, for this was a dream and I’d once played my part. But now, as I tugged at the knot of my bonnet with chilled fingers, I wanted to wake. Anger shrieked. Why should I listen to him rant about my coming damnation for a second time?

It was Reynolds’s voice that recalled me to the land of the living.

“Miss Elliston.” A hand tapped my shoulder. “Miss Elliston.”

I woke with a start, surprised to find I was crying.

Reynolds leaned over me, the light of his candle casting a strange sheen over his face. “I beg your pardon, miss. Only there’s . . . a situation.”

I stared, too dazed to answer. Then as I shut my eyes, the genuine pieces of my day fell into place. Macy and Greenham’s departure, listlessly following the party from room to room, my inability to eat, the endless hours of whist.

“The time?” My stomach revolted from fatigue as I sat up.

“You retired an hour ago,” Reynolds said. “I am truly sorry to wake you, only there’s a gentleman at the gate.”

I waited.

With the patience of a nursemaid teaching a toddler, he gave a bow. “What shall I do with him?”

“Do?”

“Yes. Mr. Macy placed you in charge of Eastbourne during his absence. He informed me of your felicitous tidings this morning.”

“I’m in charge?” This news sobered me. “What would you normally do?”

“Set the dogs on the rascal, only he insists Mr. Greenham invited him.”

“Who is it?”

Reynolds patted his vest, then withdrew a rain-spotted, cheap grade of card. I knew even before I touched it. With warbling emotions, I turned over the card and stared at Edward’s name, caught between guilt and joy.

“Do you recognize the name, then?”

I clutched the card to my chest, uncertain whether to laugh or cry at Reynolds’s question. My voice came out unsteady. “Yes. He . . . he’s a very dear friend. Have a room prepared. I’ll greet him.” I stood, but my head spun.

Reynolds caught my arm. “Might I suggest you remain abed? Perhaps you’d rather greet him in the morning?”

I shook my head, picturing Edward standing in the pelting rain refusing to leave the gate. Any other sensible person would go to the inn and send a letter up in the morning. But not Edward. “No. I’ll greet him tonight.”

With a glint of surprise, Reynolds bowed and left.

Alone, I slid from the bed and quickly donned my dress, then looked in the mirror. An apparition greeted me. When I’d climbed into bed, I’d allowed the pent-up fears over Mr. Macy’s departure to vent in the form of tears. My eyes were puffy, encircled in dark shadows. A wrinkled dress framed the macabre appearance. My throat tightened at the thought of Edward seeing me like this, but there wasn’t anything to be done.

Taking a candle from a wall sconce, I hastened toward the entrance of Eastbourne. Compared to my bedchamber, the air was frigid. Here reason finally settled. I touched the places
where Mr. Macy’s kisses and hands had wandered—my temples, the hollow of my neck and collarbone. My sudden rush of emotion over Edward’s arrival was madness, I realized. I was engaged to another man.

I leaned against a cold pillar, biting my nails, imagining what Edward would say if he knew about the manner in which I had become engaged to Mr. Macy. The tender way in which Edward asked for my hand had been nothing like the scene in the greenhouse. It had been gloaming when Edward came up the hill near Am Meer and joined me where I sat reading under the ancient oak. At eighteen, he seemed so grown, so handsome. Carmine oak leaves were adrift in the air as he approached. One caught in his curls, which I plucked as he knelt beside me. How marvelous I thought it that a member of the peerage should look upon me with such love in his eyes.

I bit my nail so hard it drew blood, forcing my attention back to Eastbourne. I slid that hand behind my back. Why, I wondered, did that memory surface right now?

“Marry me.”

Edward’s words, neither command nor question, had been husky with emotion.

I shut my eyes and laid my cheek against the icy pillar as I recalled the chaste kiss we had shared. It brought to mind how very dissimilar Mr. Macy’s touch was. The very nature of that hunger was different. The desire that welled from within was base and carnal. The forbidden ebbed and flowed at the merest shimmer of Mr. Macy’s touch. He summoned an appetite that could never be sated, and he alone commanded every unchaste desire within me. I welcomed him.

But Edward . . . I frowned, disliking the strange bemingling of emotions. What was it I sought from him? He had blotted himself from my story—so why was I here and waiting in the middle of the night for him? And why did I ache so much?

I rubbed the nape of my neck, realizing how much matters were complicated by Edward’s arrival.

As the jingle of harnesses and the thumping of hooves approached, I rose from my thoughts as one awakens from the watery layers of slumber and hugged my arms tight against myself.

Men’s voices yelled instructions outside as someone threw open the front door. Edward entered with a sober, even grim look.

Heartache pierced me as he paused in the doorway, taking in the hall, which did not gleam as it had upon my arrival. Rain made his boots and coat slick, as well as tightening his curls, something he hated. I felt a rush of affection as I recalled the rare occasions on which he’d grudgingly allowed me to extend one curl with my index finger so I could watch it re-form.

I chuckled, recalling the day Henry had called him goldilocks, and in a fit of temper, Edward tackled his brother, causing them both to fall into the creek.

Edward’s head jerked in my direction and he squinted into the dark. “Julia?”

Not trusting my voice, I stepped forward. No twist of fate could have been crueller than that moment, for the man who met my gaze was my Edward—not the vicar I’d met in the Windham drawing room or at his parents’ dinner—but my Edward, matured and beautiful.

Seeing him was so unexpected I couldn’t speak.

He ran his gaze over my features, resting longest on my eyes.

“What . . . ?” I had to swallow the lump in my throat as I pulled my arms tighter against my stomach. “What are you doing here?”

Goodwill marked his features. His eyes were filled with expectation. His apology, his love, his chagrin were all wrapped in that hopeful smile.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said in a low voice. “I couldn’t live with
myself if you went away and I never saw you again. I couldn’t live with that.”

Speech was impossible.

He gently tugged me a step closer to him and touched his forehead to mine. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Juls, but I swear, we’ll find a solution. All right? I swear on my life.”

Tears formed, which I did my best to contain. This I had not envisioned.

With a caring expression, he pulled back and studied my features. “I don’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again. But please, I beg you, talk this out with me. I think we’ve both been operating under an enormous misunderstanding.” He shook his head. “I think—no, I am certain—Henry and Elizabeth only compounded it. I am so sorry, Juls. So sorry.”

Pulling my shawl tighter, I gazed up at Edward, undergoing a thawing sensation—only I refused its balm. He’d ended our engagement and now I was betrothed to another man. How could I begin to explain this to him, to untangle this mess?

Worse still, I felt like a blind fool. How could I have thought for even a moment he wouldn’t come? Even Henry and Elizabeth knew this moment was coming.

How could I have not?

Behind me, Reynolds cleared his throat, then stepped into view. I tore my gaze from Edward, feeling heat flush up my cheeks.

“The gentleman’s key.” Reynolds’s lips pressed into a white line as he extended it to me. His face was hooded by the dark, giving the impression he had sockets instead of eyes.

My fingers fumbled, and the key landed on the floor with a loud brattle.

“Here.” I retrieved it, then pressed it into Edward’s hand. “I—I . . . I should warn you, our host is very particular about keys. He—he . . .”

Edward’s hand fisted around the key as his eyes slid to Reynolds.

“You are to keep it with you at all times,” Reynolds finished with a clipped tone. “No one is to possess it except yourself.”

Edward stared down Reynolds for a full half minute before finally giving the valet his back. Edward removed his coat and draped it over me. His lingering warmth soothed, but his hand was tense as it clamped my shoulder. “Juls, allow me to greet Mr. Macy, then let me escort you to your bedchamber.”

With Edward’s back to him, Reynolds shot me an accusatory look.

My hands felt so numb I could scarcely fold my fingers. “You can’t. He left.”

Edward frowned, looking puzzled. “All right then, which way to your room?”

I weakly gestured to the passage and we started toward it. Edward stiffened when the sharp click of Reynolds’s shoes sounded behind us. None of us spoke as we passed through the various corridors of the estate. When we passed the archway, however, Edward paused long enough to brush the walls with his fingertips, afterwards rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. At my chamber door, he exhaled, looking at the empty hall.

“Are the Windhams up there?” He climbed up two steps of the murky stairwell. “You’re not alone in this section of the house, are you?”

“No one is permitted on those stairs.” Reynolds’s tone was fierce, stopping Edward’s progress, though he continued to peer up the narrow stairs.

“Fine, but I want Miss Elliston moved.”

“You may take up the matter with Mr. Macy when he returns.”

“I would—” Edward slid off the step, wiping his hands—“but this part of the house is damp, and I fear she’s ailing.”

“I am not in the habit of moving guests without permission. I assure you, her room is not damp.”

“Yes, it is exceedingly comfortable.” I laid my hand over Edward’s arm, then to cover the gesture, quickly removed his coat and offered it back. “I assure you.”

Edward took his coat, still eyeing the stairwell. “Do you not sense it, then? Let me take you to the Windhams. I’m certain Elizabeth would let you sleep with her.”

I shook my head, certain that by morning Henry would have filled him in on my doings. “No, I shouldn’t fancy that. Besides, she kicks in her sleep. Really, my room is fine.”

Edward seemed to debate internally a moment, then pressed my hand in his. “All right, sleep well.” And lowering his voice, “Tomorrow let’s finally talk about our predicament.”

“Allow me to show you to your room, sir.” The anger in Reynolds’s voice was dim compared to the fury in his eyes.

As they retreated, I placed my palm on the door handle, glad Edward hadn’t insisted on seeing my room. I waited until they disappeared, then unlocked my door. Before the hearth, I sank into one of the chairs and tried to collect my thoughts.

Our predicament,
I thought.

Edward had no idea. Feeling a headache forming, I rubbed my temples, wondering if that meant that Edward still considered us betrothed. Why that thought gave me the mad desire to cry, I no longer cared to explore.

Yet something that was a cross between a sob and a laugh escaped in disbelief that Edward, my Edward, had come—now that it was too late.