Born of Persuasion (45 page)

“Rooke,” Mr. Macy said, “tell Reynolds to have our guests packed and sent home within the hour. As soon as everyone has safely left, tell John to fetch the magistrate.”

No servant entered the chamber after the commotion began, so Mr. Macy’s lavish second course remained on the table. For what felt like an eternity I watched as the candle on the sideboard dripped to a waxen mound. By the time someone returned, the fire had burned to ash, leaving the air chilled.

A man entered with a stack of handwritten papers, which he gave to my guardian, who moved near the wall sconce. In the dim light, he squinted. I leaned as far as my lacings allowed, catching a glimpse of Mr. Macy. He stood between captors but gave me a slight nod that I did not return. My fear had played itself out, leaving me numb.

My guardian noticed. “Sit up straight, and act like a young lady.” His eyes constricted. “Why aren’t you in mourning for your mother? When did you discard it?”

I cringed.

“When I ask a question, you answer me.”

Edward gave a dark chuckle, rubbing his forehead at the thought of anyone handling me, before answering for me. “She stopped wearing it about a week ago.”

“You’re her vicar? You allowed it?”

Edward accused me with his stare. “She knew of my disapproval.”

Mr. Greenham slipped into the room that moment with a man whose shirt hung open at the top, revealing a flabby chest, and whose red boots didn’t match his attire. He blinked at Mr. Macy, then rubbed his eyes. “’Ere now, what’s happening?”

My guardian finished glaring at Edward, then stood with a
scowl. “There’s been a marriage. She’s been stolen from her legal guardian and forced to wed.”

“Lord Pierson?” The sleepy stupor left the man’s expression and he fumbled with his mismatched trouser buttons. He turned toward me, tucking in his shirt. “That so, miss?”

I denied it with a shake of my head.

“I’m the one who called you, Harry,” Mr. Macy said. “These men have forced their way into my home, and as you can see, are holding my wife and me captive.”

“You married Mr. Macy?” The amazement in the magistrate’s voice washed me with fear. He shook out a purple handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Blimey.”

Mr. Macy gestured to the men holding him hostage and the magistrate recovered.

“This is Mr. Macy’s residence, isn’t it? You can’t hold a man hostage in his own home. Release him.”

“Thank you, my good man.” Mr. Macy rubbed his arms where he’d been held.

“No one leaves this room without my permission.” My guardian spoke while keeping his attention on the papers.

“I fear you’re not going to find this as cut-and-dried as you hope, Roy.” Mr. Macy strolled to his drink table and poured an amber drink, which he handed to the magistrate. “Scotch is your preference, I believe. For the record, no force was involved. That ravishing creature you see there came to my home under the protection of a mutual friend. She married me for protection from Lord Pierson. I also would like to defame the notion that he’s her legal guardian. After the death of her mother, he forged papers and illegally assumed that role.”

My guardian stumbled backwards, as if he’d suffered a blow.

Mr. Macy lifted his glass. “In the future, pay more attention to whom you hire to forge documents.”

I buried my trembling hands in my skirt, knowing my face looked wry.

To my surprise, Edward rose and took a protective stance behind me.

Mr. Macy also looked over and frowned. “John, take my wife from the room. There’s no reason she needs to be subjected to any more of this.”

“She remains,” my guardian replied, still flipping through papers.

Mr. Macy and my guardian resumed arguing, but I could no longer distinguish the words. My stays felt so tight I wondered if I were going to faint.

“Miss Elliston?” Mr. Greenham’s kind voice penetrated through the mist.

I focused and found his face near mine. Dully, I nodded.

“Sir!” Mr. Greenham trapped my hand between his. “I’m taking her outside to recover. Look at her pallor.”

“Take her.” The magistrate waved us away before anyone else could speak. “It will give me time to straighten things out here.”

“Come. Fresh air will help.” Mr. Greenham hoisted me to my feet and looked at Edward. “You as well. We need to talk.”

Mr. Macy nodded his gratitude as we passed and mouthed,
Take her to her chamber.

Mr. Greenham’s boots rang in the entrance hall as the doors clanged shut. Keeping a hand on my shoulder, he studied the space with fierceness.

“Well, sir?” Edward asked.

“Outside.” Mr. Greenham prodded me toward the front door.

I stepped into the dark night, grateful for the strong winds that revived me. A chalky smell promised rain, and piling clouds obscured the moon. Resting against a stone lion, I drew drafts of night air into my lungs. Here, at least I could think. While Mr. Greenham studied the sky, Edward removed his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

“Edward—” I touched his hand and he recoiled.

“Do not speak to me.”

Mr. Greenham tapped me. “Miss Elliston.”

“She’s Mrs. Macy.”

Ignoring Edward, Mr. Greenham signalled me to follow him. “Walk me to the stables.”

In comparison to the tempest brewing inside the house, the coming storm felt serene. Desperate for answers, I descended the stairs and tried to keep pace with Mr. Greenham, who took them two at a time. “Is that man . . . my father?” I asked.

“He is,” Mr. Greenham said.

Few value just how fragile a person’s psyche is. All those pieces, both the good and bad, the values, the lessons, the beliefs that construct us—they’re all woven into the fabric of our being. Once you start pulling out the first thread, the entire person is in danger of unravelling.

So it was that night. Instead of asking how such a thing was possible, my mind rejected further questions in that direction. I concentrated on my highest concern. “Is he dangerous?”

Mr. Greenham leaned against the wind, steering us toward the stable. Before he opened the door, he peered into the darkened grounds and whistled to someone, receiving a whistle back. Then, opening the top half of the door, he said, “Have Night Owl saddled with enough rations for a week and funds for six months.”

“Sir?” The groom shot a doubtful look toward the house.

“That’s a direct order.”

The groom bowed. “What about Cosmo?”

Mr. Greenham nodded. “Macy didn’t say, but have him saddled as well.”

Taking a lantern from inside the stable, Mr. Greenham gathered my arm, then led us to the edge of the garden path. He looked at Edward, the light casting a strange shadow over his features as he lifted his face to the wind. I now suspect a sort of begrudging cheer—like a plant covered in frost, who knows the morning sun will kill it but can’t help but eagerly wait for the first rays of light.

“Sir—” he returned his attention to us, to Edward more specifically—“I charge you with her safekeeping. See her out of this estate.” He moved the lantern toward me and studied me by its gleam. “She’s not strong enough to endure this marriage. If you are a man of God, you will see to it.”

Edward braced my shoulders with his hands and shouted over the wind, “She’s his wife now. What can you possibly expect me to do?”

Mr. Greenham indicated with a nod that grooms were approaching and that we must be silent. In the relentless wind, leaves cycloned around us, cackling like hags. Mr. Greenham accepted the reins of both horses—a black and a grey stallion—and a leather satchel.

When the grooms ran back to their other duties, Mr. Greenham checked the buckles and saddle of the grey horse. He removed a cape from a saddlebag and donned it. Drawing the collar up to conceal the lower half of his face, he turned to us.

“I don’t care how you manage. Only be forewarned, Macy takes special interest in her.” He stuck his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the mount. The horse pranced, tufts of its mane lifting in the wind. Mr. Greenham gripped the reins tight with one hand, giving the night a challenging look, before turning his feral gaze our way. “I murdered her mother for Macy when she got in the way. So be sure to use caution.”

I jerked my head up, but it was too late for questions. Digging his boots deep into the steed’s rib cage, Mr. Greenham took off, leading the other stallion by the reins. They melted into darkness.

Once, when I’d scrambled up a hayloft after Elizabeth, the ladder had tipped backwards, taking me with it. I felt the same sensation that night, only without the comfort that a haystack waited to cushion my fall.

I faced Edward, unable to mask my sheer panic and confusion. I shook my head in disbelief.
It can’t be,
my mind said
over and over. I dropped to my knees. I didn’t want to believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. Nonetheless, I sank to the ground and emptied my stomach until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Edward knelt beside me and wiped my mouth with his handkerchief.

“Lord, I need wisdom.” He gathered me in one arm. “God, please help me. Guide me. I don’t know what to do now. Forgive me.”

New waves of sickness gripped my stomach, and I choked anew. When I turned toward Edward, pleading for help, he watched me helplessly. Then all at once his face hardened. He stood and with clenched fists strode toward Eastbourne. Fearing separation from him, I stumbled after him.

He never looked back as he entered the great hall and charged to the dining room. When the doors bashed open, the men looked over in surprise.

Edward headed straight toward Mr. Macy and swung at his face. Blood gushed from Mr. Macy’s nose as his head thwacked the wall behind him. Before Edward could tackle him, three men contained Edward, though he struggled against them.

On the floor, Mr. Macy appraised Edward as he stanched blood with his sleeve.

“Julia.” Edward stopped struggling and held his hand out to me. “Come here. I want a witness to confirm what Mr. Greenham just said.”

Mr. Macy’s eyes slit with an expression that made me feel as though a hand of cold terror had gripped my soul. The storm outside erupted, pounding the windows. Water trickled down the panes.

Edward grew tired of waiting and turned to the magistrate. “Mr. Greenham confessed to killing her mother for Mr. Macy.”

Mr. Macy relaxed and leaned against the wall with a relieved-sounding chuckle.

“Her mother died of natural causes,” my guardian said to
Edward, but he cast a questioning gaze to Mr. Forrester. “I especially checked that point.”

“What do you know of her death?” Mr. Forrester asked me.

The memory of our village apothecary’s merciful face thundered back to me, and the way he explained to me the law about suicide. If it became known that Mama had killed herself, all her possessions would belong to the Crown. He and his family were near starvation themselves, yet he’d taken pity on me and broken the law so I wouldn’t lose Mama’s dowry to the Crown.

“Well?” my guardian demanded.

I clutched my stomach, knowing if I told the truth it would launch an investigation. Mr. Hollis, the apothecary, would be jailed. His wife and children would go to the poorhouse. And for what, I wondered. Would they even find anything at this point, if they unearthed Mama’s body? Yet if I said nothing, would it allow Mama’s murder to go unpunished?

“I don’t know what Mr. Greenham meant.” My voice quavered as I lied. “My mother died of natural causes. I was there.”

Mr. Macy lifted his head and stared at me with surprise.

Edward likewise gaped, then shook his head. “But outside, you . . . What is it you fear telling these men? You believed Mr. Greenham. I saw that you did.”

“You mistook me, sir.” I buried my face in my hands. Only I didn’t want to cry. I never wanted to cry again. A few hours ago, I sat in this very room, eating dinner, talking to Edward. Now I was Mrs. Macy, and Mr. Greenham had killed my mother, possibly upon the orders of my husband. My entire life had been a lie. I didn’t even know my own father. Surely I would wake soon from this nightmare.

“Julia, look at me.”

I obeyed Mr. Macy’s command.

Without shifting or blinking, he met my gaze. “What John said has no truth.”

Our eyes locked in unspoken conversation, but I couldn’t understand the language, so I reburied my face.

“I want to speak to my daughter alone,” my guardian said. “Colonel, will you be so kind as to fetch some papers for me. Simmons knows where they are.”

I heard the jangling of keys and murmuring.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Mr. Macy said, “but I feel my wife has experienced enough for one night. I’m not going to allow a private talk with you on top of everything else.”

“I’ve had enough,” my guardian replied. “I’m ending this marriage.”

There were gasps, and I looked up in time to see flames devouring our marriage license.

“You know I respect your position in government, Roy,” Mr. Macy drawled. “However, we both know your authority doesn’t carry that far. Burning it will make no difference.”

He strode to me and offered his hand. Blood smeared his palm and fingers. Blood likewise covered his face and white shirt.