Born of Persuasion (36 page)

I ducked my head. “Then why didn’t you send word?”

“I wanted to do this in person. When I returned I found you had left with her ladyship. I kept thinking how you said that it was your mother who kept you away from Am Meer. All those years I thought you stopped visiting because I became a vicar. Did you even know?”

I kicked a pebble on the walk. “I had no idea you’d taken orders.”

“When did you first learn of it?”

“That morning you called.”

He gave a disbelieving laugh—one touched with annoyance, yet mingled with relief. “Well, that explains your look of fury. No wonder you acted so . . . And here I thought . . .” He trailed off, apparently deciding against telling me that part.

For several minutes only the rustle of leaves filled the air.

“When you stopped visiting Am Meer, I kept hoping you’d forgive me for changing our plans. So all that time, you still considered us betrothed? Did you not wonder at my long silence?”

Bewildered, I met his gaze, realizing he had not been the one to send those coded messages that had been tucked into the letters that came from Am Meer.

Shrieks of Elizabeth’s laughter carried through the gloaming, followed by Henry’s shouts.

I shut my eyes, seeing the full picture. Not only had Henry and Elizabeth hidden Edward’s ordination from me, but they themselves had added those snippets to Elizabeth’s letters. No wonder I received so many oak leaves. Edward would have been more original.

My vision blurred as I realized how much we’d lost over a simple misunderstanding. I have found that those who try to shield us from the truth, regardless of the reason, end up doing the greatest harm. Truth alone sets you free, not lies and omissions.

Edward’s brows drew together with a look of concern, and I realized I had not yet answered his question. I tightened my shawl. “There was no silence. Henry and Elizabeth must have taken it upon themselves to make it look like you were sending mementos.”

Tendons rose along Edward’s neck as he jerked his head in the direction of their voices. I saw his Adam’s apple rise above his cravat as he swallowed to control his anger. But when he returned to me, pain lined his face.

“So when you arrived at Am Meer,” he finally said, “you were still of the mind-set we were engaged, while I thought you despised me, but were visiting because your mother had died and you had nowhere else to go.”

“You could have come by and spoken with me.”

“I was trying to make matters easier for you by staying clear of Am Meer.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then, when you wrote and spoke of your grief and asked if I would consent to join you when you dined with her ladyship . . .” His cheek dimpled. “I couldn’t sleep or eat for two days, I was so excited. I had a chance to redeem myself, to explain.”

I folded my arms yet closer to my body, saying nothing, feeling every imaginable emotion. No reaction, I thought, was my best choice. Yet despite my decision, I felt a rushing desire to cry. That same thawing feeling I felt the night Nancy polished my shoes returned, only in far greater measure—like a great sheet of ice shifting on a lake, its rifle shot shattering the calm winter silence, riving apart the shores. I’d survived my father’s drunken rages, Mama’s death, and months of bone-chilling isolation by mentally clinging to the happy ending I believed I’d have with Edward. Until that moment, I’d shunned the worst of my heartache—needing to survive.

But now the pain suddenly rose up, seizing me. It was safe to cry. It had been real.

My devastation and sorrow were perhaps most acute at that moment. For until then, I scoffed at those who claimed they were conflicted in love. Secretly, I judged them as being shallow or trite. Furthermore, I deemed them woefully mistaken. It wasn’t possible, I thought, for anyone who’d found her Edward to be in such a dilemma. The fact that one was torn meant she’d not found her true soul mate.

Yet here I was, caught in just such a way. While my feelings for Mr. Macy were still burgeoning, I was betrothed to him—and I didn’t regret it. In a matter of days, he’d gained entrance to the
same level and position in my heart that Edward had held for so many years.

“I’m here now,” Edward said after a few minutes of walking. “I’d like to make amends and start anew. I have been puzzling over our dilemma of faith. Do I have your promise you’ll hear me out until the very end?”

I frowned. Church and my lack of religious beliefs were about to enter our conversation. “You know I will. When have I ever not?”

Despite the seriousness of our situation, his eyes crinkled with mirth. “Oh, I don’t know. I seem to recall a few conversations you left rather abruptly.”

I shifted my arm, which was tucked beneath his.

Grinning, he looked askance at me. “Now that I think of it, I ought to require a promise that you’ll not pitch an apple at my head if my idea doesn’t suit you.”

Suddenly, it was just us again, and I gave an odd-sounding laugh, the kind that relieves stress. I buried my face against his shoulder, giggling at the horrible memory. I’d only meant to demonstrate how frustrated I was with his teasing. I’d no intention of actually hitting him. The apple, however, intended otherwise. It struck him square in the eye. He had cursed, kicking a nearby tree. From above, a second apple fell atop his head with a sickening thud. While Henry and Elizabeth roared with laughter, I’d turned and fled.

“Are you finished yet?” Edward asked with mock annoyance as my giggles continued.

My own merriment sounded strange to my ears. It had been ages since I’d laughed, yet my laughter was contaminated.

Edward must have noticed its tremulous tones, for he stopped and drew me into his arms. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I recall your apologizing for that yet. I walked around with an eye swollen shut for nearly a fortnight, unable to give a satisfactory reason for it.”

I allowed myself to be pulled close. As my forehead came to rest against the starched white collar fastened about his neck, tears wet my cheeks. There was room for both. I still fit. While the clerical mark wasn’t comfortable, but stiff and unyielding, I could tolerate it.

Looking up proved to be my undoing. The weak light made his face appear hale and darkened his flaxen curls. The rapture of his gaze caught my breath. How was it, I wondered, that I had become engaged to Mr. Macy?

Without thought, against all rationale, I rose on my tiptoes, tilting my lips to Edward’s.

No other invitation was needed. He cupped my face with rough, calloused hands and kissed my forehead, cheeks, and eyes. I buried my fingers in his hair, allowing his hands to slide to my waist.

In such moments, there is only a sensation of falling, a sense of warmth. There is only eternity, stretching in both directions.

It was Edward who broke the embrace, his body tense as he disentangled from my arms.

Panting, I followed the direction of his gaze.

Rooke and Mr. Forrester observed us a short distance away. Their hard eyes glittered.

Mr. Forrester opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, Rooke gripped his arm, and with a low oath, nodded toward Eastbourne. With a violent shake of his arm, Mr. Forrester threw off Rooke, but trudged toward the estate. Twice, he looked over his shoulder and sent stabbing looks of hatred at me.

As Rooke retreated, I covered my mouth. My knees felt so weak, they started to buckle.

“Never mind them,” Edward said, supporting my elbow. “They have no knowledge of our betrothal. However, if that tall one looks back one more time, I shall take it upon myself to teach him manners.”

CONDENSATION CLUNG to my gown as we entered Eastbourne. My steps felt weighted as we shed the gloom of night.
No Catherine Howard,
I thought, condemning myself as I eyed the shining marble. Yet here I had acted just as foolish, without even Lady Rochford to blame.

My hands were so clammy, I couldn’t manage the simple clasp on Mrs. Windham’s shawl.

“Here.” Edward stepped before me and unhooked the shawl. It snagged on his calloused palm as he slid it from my shoulders. I must have looked as shaken as I felt, for he then wrapped his warm hands around mine. “There’s no need to feel guilty because of those two.”

“Might I remind you of the time?” Reynolds’s crisp tone preceded his stepping out from a shadowed corner.

I was so startled, I jumped. Feeling like a child caught with her finger in the sugar bowl, I faced him, feeling my face flush.

Reynolds’s blue eyes met mine with a glint of disapproval, but I detected no sign that he’d heard the worst yet. “As it stands, there’s scarcely enough time to dress before dinner.”

Flustered, I moved my hands behind my back, but Edward placed a hand on my shoulder and drew me to him, then handed Reynolds my shawl. “I am poor and have no need to pretend otherwise. What say you, Julia? Shall we go as we are?”

I forced a smile, praying Reynolds would understand.

His silver brows rose. “If it is your whim, Miss Elliston, to dine as a pauper, it is none of my business. If I may be excused.”

Inside the dining room, hundreds of candles flickered within the sparkling chandeliers. Their light spilled onto the table below so that its snowy linens were the color of honey. Mr. Macy had remembered that I read the language of flowers, for bridal roses and lilacs were tucked inside a bed of holly amassed on the center of the table. The fragrance of spiced wine filled the air, and I turned and found one of the sideboards held thick crystal goblets surrounding a steaming pitcher.

I detached myself from Edward. It was clear to me what was happening. Despite what Reynolds had witnessed, he was still following Mr. Macy’s instruction—to oversee my stay, to woo his future bride. Even from a distance, Mr. Macy was tending my needs, pampering me, and sending notes with hidden messages, while I trampled on his grace and kindness.

The sharp crack of Lady Foxmore’s walking stick ended my brooding. Ostrich feathers bobbed from her headdress as she entered. She studied us a moment, then declared, “Well, boy, you’ve managed better than I thought. Had I wagered money, I’d have predicted you would have waned, not our Miss Elliston.”

Edward bowed, acknowledging her statement but not taking the bait to ask why.

I tightened my fist over my stomach, trying to look indifferent, though I knew I failed.

Lady Foxmore eyed me, giving a low chuckle, then hobbled into the room. To my astonishment, Edward did not offer to assist her, but rather crossed his hands behind his back, making it clear he would not be of service.

“When you were a boy, Edward,” she rasped, struggling to walk, “you climbed the highest tree in my orchard and fell when the bough couldn’t support your weight. I had hoped you’d learned your lesson in picking the wrong apple.”

“That was Henry.”

Lady Foxmore pulled herself up to her full height. “Then learn from your brother. I have a personal investment in the child. I’ll not tolerate your interference. Am I clear?”

Edward turned toward her with a smile. “Henry claimed it the best apple he’d ever eaten, worth breaking a leg over as well.”

Lady Foxmore gave a raspy laugh as she returned to hobbling toward the table. “And you were fool enough to believe him?”

Edward bowed. “I believe anything snatched from your care is a deed well done.”

The challenging looks they exchanged went far deeper than my situation.

Their animosity was thick.

Whatever it was that Edward silently accused her of, it changed her disposition. No longer did her eyes sparkle. Rather she became venomous. Leaning on her walking stick, she hobbled to the table.

Mrs. Windham crashed into the room, nearly upsetting the drink tray. Her gaze darted about the room. “Where’s Elizabeth?” Her voice quavered.

Edward looked to me, but I shook my head. I’d not seen them after their escapade in the leaves.

Edward gave a slight cough. “We last saw them by the labyrinth.”

Lady Foxmore rubbed her forehead. “Tell me your brother did not take her in.”

“The labyrinth?” Mrs. Windham fluttered to the window, though the maze lay on the other side of the house.

“Come, sit.” Edward ushered her from the window. “Henry shall tend her.”

“Yes, I daresay he shall.” Lady Foxmore’s rings glittered in the candlelight as she placed her hands on the table. “Your parents best hope they find their way out before dawn, lest Edith demand an engagement.”

Mrs. Windham perked her head. “Is it a very complex maze?”

“I know not,” Edward said.

“You are my witness.” Mrs. Windham fluttered her lace at him. “See how my hand trembles.” She exhibited her hand and purposefully shook it. “You may be called on to testify if they do not come out soon.”

“Yes, yes, come on.” Edward urged her to the table.

Mr. Forrester and Rooke entered together; neither looked particularly pleased. Mr. Forrester sneered, catching sight of me, then went straight to Edward and grabbed his arm. “Sit with me. I need to talk to you.”

Edward frowned at his lack of manners, but after a second, acquiesced. I watched, helpless, as they took seats together. Eyeing me with displeasure, Rooke took the empty chair next to me.