Born of Persuasion (40 page)

I awoke in a cold sweat on the settee, still tormented by clinging visions of Mama. Reynolds was bending over the grate with his back toward me, holding a poker. I threw my feet over the settee, feeling ill.

“Where’s Macy?”

I must have startled Reynolds, for he bumped his head on the mantel. He rubbed the spot. “In his study.”

I rose on unsteady feet. “Take me to him.”

“It’s not a good time. Besides, he made it very clear he is not—”

“Take me, now. I’m ordering you.” I sniffled back a tear, feeling frantic for comfort.

His stiffened his shoulders and assumed a bland look. “Very well, miss.”

Though we saw no one, the estate pulsated with life. Footsteps echoed through corridors, and light glimmered from various passages. Reynolds ignored them all, holding his candle high as we passed. When we reached the study, he tugged on his waistcoat. “I hope you appreciate this.” He gave the door two sound raps.

“I said no disturbances!” The door flew open. Mr. Macy glared at Reynolds with clenched teeth, then spotted me. “Julia, what in the world?”

“She insisted on being led to you, sir.”

Mr. Macy studied me. “Sweetheart?”

I prayed he’d see my need. If I tried to speak of my nightmares, I’d weep.

He held out an arm, and I threw myself at him. “Reynolds, you may leave. Thank you for bringing her.” He drew me close, and I stifled a sob. He placed a comforting arm around me. “Did I frighten you by checking your room? Forgive me.”

Tears wet his shirt as I burrowed deeper into his chest. “No. I had nightmares about Mama’s murder.”

The sharp crack of glass caused me to jump. Mr. Greenham stood near the fire, observing us. Atop the mantel, brandy sloshed in its tumbler.

“Problem, John?” Mr. Macy stopped stroking my hair and wiped my cheeks.

Mr. Greenham bridled, but like a defiant schoolboy ignoring his tutor, he crossed his arms and refused to answer.

“John, I am in no mood for this.”

Mr. Greenham snapped up his head. “Do not speak to me of moods. You swore! You swore not to do this.”

“And what is that?”

“Nightmares? Really. She’s known you less than a week. We agreed—” his voice rose a pitch—“
we agreed
nothing more than
her current danger. Then Forrester. Have you any idea the condition I found her in the other morning? Do you even care? And now, on top of everything else, a scandal!”

“Ah, so the truth emerges. Do you really think it’s better to allow her to continue believing her mother committed suicide?” Mr. Macy’s iron-sharp tone made my flesh tingle. “If we’re going to tiptoe around frightening her, why not just state her guardian bears a slight grudge? Or better yet, we fear the air in Scotland might disagree with her constitution. That certainly is less alarming.”

Mr. Greenham glared, flexing his jaw.

“Or perhaps you think you’d make a better protector. Is this your bid to take full charge of the situation?”

Darkness filled the hollows of Mr. Greenham’s eyes as they shifted away.

“So I thought.” Mr. Macy crossed the chamber and opened the door. “Unless you’re willing to risk your estate and your family by taking her in and hiding her, do not question my methods. She’s hazarding as much as we are, and I’ll not leave her ignorant of matters.”

Mr. Greenham picked up his glass and smashed it against the wall. Chest heaving, he stormed past us and slammed the door, causing papers on the desk to sail to the floor.

Wide-eyed, I grasped Mr. Macy’s sleeve.

“John and I always have disagreements.” Mr. Macy’s tone was light as he tucked my hair behind my ear. He frowned at the streak of brandy running down the wall. “Though he’ll lament this one if glass embeds itself in your foot. Come, sweetheart, let me return you to your room. I’ll sit with you until you sleep.”

Knowing I’d never sleep after that display, I shook my head.

He gave a rueful chuckle. “Stay, then, if you insist.”

On the couch, he cradled me in his arms. The blaze cast a scarlet hue over the room. In the quivering light, Mr. Macy’s face was half-veiled. He fixed his gaze on the flames in such a
way that I knew his thoughts fell into dark places I was barred from following. Like Mr. Greenham, his ruminations seemed tangled with disturbing thoughts, only Mr. Macy seemed to have mastered them. For his features were determined rather than morose.

Yet I sensed his melancholy as I settled against his chest, for every so often he’d pull me closer and press his face into my hair, though I did not believe he remembered I was present.

It seemed to me that he needed me far more than anyone else ever would. I encircled his neck with my arms, wanting to communicate that he owned my love and his cryptic past didn’t matter, but grew shy when his gaze focused on me.

He nodded as though he read my thoughts. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I shouldn’t even be indulging your night fears.” His eyes centered on the fire, but he gathered me near again.

I closed my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart, until my breathing grew deeper and I surrendered to sleep.

THE INSISTENT CHURRING of a warbler woke me. I turned on my stomach and stretched, catching sight of a note and a small key ring atop the bedside table. I groaned with the realization Mr. Macy must have carried me back to my room and tucked me into bed. I threw off my covers and then opened the draperies. During the night, the storm had passed, leaving a washed landscape. I pushed open the shutters and allowed the breath of morning to clean the room. Taking a seat on the bed, I slid a hatpin under the wax seal.

Darling,

I had planned on spending the day with you. Nonetheless, several things require my attention. To help keep you amused, here are your own keys. I shall join the party at dinner. Know my thoughts remain with you.

Chance

I smiled, reading his name. It was hard to imagine feeling intimate enough to call him Chance, even after we were wed.
Mr. Macy suited him better. I tucked the note in my stationery box, then studied the keys. They were labelled, and along with each of the formal rooms, he’d included a key to the hothouse.

Nancy banged on my door, calling my name. I closed the stationery box and locked the lid, considering it strange how some mornings Reynolds let her in and other mornings she knocked.

“Hold on,” I said, trying to locate my key as she kept banging.

“I gat news. Hurry.”

I frowned, doubting I wanted to hear it.

The moment the bolt unlocked, she rushed through the door and nearly toppled me. “He’s gone!”

“Who is?”

“Who does thou think? That manservant. Th’ one who started th’ rumor. Naught one word has been spoken about how thou spends thy nights. In fact, not a one of his servants are even talking.”

“Has Mr. Forrester likewise departed?”

“Nay.” Her nose creased, looking over my wrinkled dress, but she started on the first button. “He’s been up before dawn searching for his servant.”

I stood still, trying to absorb the news, then smiled. What it must have been like for that servant to have wakened to an angry Mr. Macy or Reynolds and been escorted from the grounds in the storm. I shook my arms free of the sleeves and stepped from the dress. I felt no pity for the manservant, nor his master.

“What was Mr. Forrester doing awake before dawn to notice that his servant had left?”

Nancy shrugged and unfurled a petticoat. “Master Henry is leavin’ this morn too. He gats a letter from home. Miss Lizbeth ’tis upset.”

This was news! I pulled the strap of my petticoat over my shoulder, mentally calculating that it was too soon for Henry to have been summoned home because of the escapade involving
the labyrinth. I hoped, for Elizabeth’s sake, it didn’t involve the engagement Mr. Forrester had spoken about my first night here.

I watched Nancy ready my outfit. It was glorious to have her back to her normal chatter. In one night, Mr. Macy had managed to sweep away my ruination. Even Nancy, who knew I’d spent my nights with him, seemed to have dismissed the report with the vanishing of its source.

“Eh, ain’t that a relief.” Nancy poked her head out the door, looking at the empty spot where Reynolds usually stood. She shifted the basket of laundry on her hip, following me into the hall. “He was flitting ’bout th’ house last night, waking servants one by one to gan somewheres. I wouldn’t mind learnin’ what he said to ’em.”

“One should think you’d be glad to have been spared a lecture,” I said.

“Aye, but I can’t help wondering how they managed to stop th’ gossip and all.”

I locked the door and pocketed my key, considering Nancy as she retreated. I’d speak to Mr. Macy about employing her as soon as we were wed.

I found the passages I needed to take, but before reaching the main hall, I spotted Rooke leaning against the wall.

“There you are,” he said. “Are you always late?”

“Are you waiting for me?”

“When Macy returns and finds a rival, I don’t care to have him asking me why I didn’t prevent it.”

It was my turn to act coy. Clasping my hands behind my back, I shrugged as if I thought him melodramatic. “Mr. Macy didn’t appear concerned about it last night.”

Rooke pushed himself upright and unfolded his arms with a smug smile. “So you are spending your nights with him?”

My blush betrayed me before I could deny it.

“I daresay that’s none of your business, Rooke,” Mr. Macy said behind me. His steady arm enclosed my shoulders, and he tugged me against him, pressing his cheek against my head. “Did you find my note, sweetheart?”

Still embarrassed, I nodded.

“Good. I’ll see you at dinner, then.” His tone growled as he addressed Rooke. “I’d better not hear another complaint about your badgering her. Understood?”

Rooke opened his mouth and started to protest but thought better of it and gave a stiff nod.

“Tonight, then.” Mr. Macy kissed my temple, then turned out of sight.

For a half second, we both stood there, then with a triumphant smirk, I left, allowing my skirts to swish around the corner.

When I entered the breakfast room, only two gentlemen were present: Edward and Mr. Greenham. Both stood in greeting, but Edward stepped forward.

Wordlessly, he offered his arm, then waited to see if I’d take it.

I dropped my gaze, touched that despite my treatment of him yesterday, he’d not given up hope. When I accepted his arm, the relief filling his body was unmistakable.

Edward pulled out a chair, placing me between himself and Mr. Greenham, who watched us without displaying emotion.

“Did you sleep well?” Edward set tea and an assortment of foods before me.

I hated the ardor for him that swelled within me. “Very well, thank you.” Then, recalling that Mr. Greenham knew of my nightmares, I added, “Most of the night, anyway.”

“I’m heartened to see someone concerned over Miss Elliston,” Mr. Greenham said in a bored tone, adding cream to his coffee. “I’ve noted that no one else seems to inquire after her well-being. I rather believe you are good for her, Reverend.” He met my eyes with the same bizarre gaze he so often fixed upon me.

Frustrated, I shook my head. I understood so many looks and gestures, but not the meaning behind that pensive gaze.

Edward wrapped his fingers around his cup and leaned back, considering Mr. Greenham. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “Sir, what can you tell me about that Rooke fellow?”

“Rooke?” Mr. Greenham wrinkled his nose with disgust. “What of him?”

Edward frowned. “I don’t know exactly, only he said something to Miss Elliston the other night, and ever since then, her behavior has been—”

“Rooke is no one.” Mr. Greenham’s statement had finality about it. As though the door on all further conversation about Rooke was closed, then locked.

Alarmed, I shifted my gaze to the uneaten novelties spread over the table. Edward knew, I realized. Unlike Elizabeth or Henry, he’d pieced together that something was wrong. Very wrong. And he was mentally trying to work out the mystery.