Born of Persuasion (50 page)

I had felt shame before, but now anger birthed, spreading sparks through my body. I lifted my gaze and pierced Mr. Churchill with a cold stare.

“Do not quote Scripture to me.” Edward sounded fierce. “She’s not seducing me. If you want me freed, give me options. I cannot surrender her to
that
man. Assist me; do not lecture me.”

“Cannot or will not? She looks no more than eighteen, nineteen, and is obviously a gentlewoman. Therefore, she must be someone’s ward. Let that person offer her protection. At least he’d not be neglecting his parish and risking his soul.”

“She has no one except me.” Edward laughed bitterly, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m not abandoning her.”

“You cannot possibly feel justified before God.”

“Evil does not begin to describe her husband. Surely I’m justified in—”

“Are you arguing with me, or with your conscience?”

“You expect me to just hand her over, knowing he will destroy her? No wonder Greenham told me she wasn’t strong enough for the marriage. Who could endure such a marriage?”

“Whether she can endure it or not is moot. This may be the means by which God is breaking her, bringing her to himself. It only remains for you to stand aside. What is done is done. Allow it to play out.”

It was not my first brush with such reasoning. I was used to such judgments; therefore Churchill’s speech had no effect on me. It was, however, the first time Edward witnessed it. Therefore, it was Edward I silently studied.

He looked unable to speak as he backed toward the door, shaking his head. He exited, the bell jangling sharply.

Henry’s chair creaked as he rose and reached inside his coat. “Thank you. How much do we owe you?”

Mr. Churchill waved away the thought of a fee. “Henry, I would that you and your friend step outside. I want a moment alone with the girl.”

Henry’s warm hand clamped my shoulder while Mr. Addams deposited his teacup to the tray. “Let’s go check on the carriage, Devon.”

He patted my shoulder one last time as he departed. My chest tightened in anticipation, much as it used to during an encounter with the vicar back home.

Mr. Churchill waited until Henry and Mr. Addams had stepped outdoors before fastening his watery blue eyes on me. His tone came out stern and accusing. “What kind of girl are you?”

Having no other recourse, I stonewalled my emotions and gave him my blankest stare.

“Have you any idea the damage you’re causing with your brash behavior?” He snorted through his nose, sitting straight. “Running away from your husband! Endangering Edward’s reputation with your folly.”

For one fearsome second, I pictured the reverend from my village, gnawing on a poultry bone as he condemned me with a full mouth. How well I saw his wagging chin and pouchy cheeks ballooning like a bullfrog’s.

I levelled my gaze at Mr. Churchill, knowing I could handle hours of this sort of attack. I’d learned early how to harden my heart against it.

But Mr. Churchill’s next words penetrated my armor. “Had you a shred of love for Edward, you would release him. Only the most selfish sort of person drags someone else down with him as he drowns. Cut Edward loose, if you have any pity left in your heart.”

Truth spoken without compassion is perhaps the most devastating of all blows. It leaves one condemned of his faults without a ray of hope to cling to, or a door of change to exit.

I stared, staggered by the truth of Mr. Churchill’s argument.

I was the one who had gambled all and lost. Not Edward. Not Henry. I’d stretched my every resource—financial, emotional, physical—in an attempt to secure myself.

I’d exhausted all that I had—and now in desperation, I was on the verge of devouring the resources of those dearest to me.

I stared at Mr. Churchill, surprised by the physical throbbing of pain in my chest that accompanied the realization:

This wasn’t who I wanted to be.

I stumbled from the shop with the feeling that I stood on the precipice overlooking a vast canyon. All I could see at that moment was the loss—like a landscape scarred after a battlefield.

“Juls?” Edward placed his hand on my forearm.

I stared up at him, knowing the inevitable had come. We were lost to each other.

Something of my thoughts must have been plain, for Edward shifted his gaze and peered through the shop window. “What on earth did he say to you?”

“That was scarcely legal advice.” Mr. Addams approached, wrapping a red muffler about his neck. “I was thinking something more along the lines of
Bright v. Clark
or something, some obscure precedent. Ah well. Don’t choke it off to a full loss, Edward. At least we can save ourselves the trouble of visiting a bishop next. Your solicitor saw fit to play both roles.”

“What did he say?” Edward’s gaze remained unbroken.

“Fancy that old man actually thinking Adolphus exists,” Mr. Addams continued. “And that he’s met him, of all things!”

“You’re coming with me!” Edward slipped his fingers through mine.

“I’m not going back in there,” I protested, finding my voice.

His teeth clenched, and he looked once more inside the shop. “Nor would I ask you to. We’re going to my house. I’m going to seek my father’s advice.”

“What about Henry?” Mr. Addams asked. “He’s still with the carriage.”

“Tell him where we’re going.”

Mr. Addams trotted after us. “Do you really think it wise for the two of you to be alone?”

Edward quickened our pace, his arm tense.

Blusterous winds whipped the layers of skirt between my legs and swirled around my ankles. I welcomed the cold sensation and took deep breaths of stinging air, welcoming the change from the overheated shop.

For a mile I stumbled alongside Edward, too stunned to cry, too bruised to speak. By the time we reached the crab apple tree planted at the edge of town, I wanted to rant against the lot I’d been given.

As a child, I determined I would be loved. I would never be like Mama, despised by her own husband and aloof from nearly everyone. I had Edward, Henry, and Elizabeth as proof. I planned to embrace my father’s ideals, only with a kinder and gentler demeanor, which would allow me to be more persuasive. I planned to succeed where he had failed.

Yet despite my best efforts, only days after my wedding I was estranged from my husband, had disgraced the name of Elliston, and was confronted with the truth that if I truly loved Edward, I must banish myself from him, too.

I picked up a rotting crab apple and threw it with all my might against the tree. And then another, and another, and another. I screamed my frustration in the wind, then, having nothing left to do, sank to the ground beside the gnarled tree and buried my head in my arms.

Edward’s hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“Why me?” I sobbed at him, turning. “Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why am I the only one who keeps losing everything and everyone over and over again?”

Pain knit his face. “Everyone suffers, Juls.”

I gave a bitter laugh that was mixed with tears. Then, catching sight of a cottager hoeing his field in the distance, I pointed. “Not that man! Tomorrow he’ll rise and live the same day over.
You can’t tell me that he’s about to discover that the person he married is a murderer. Or that his father isn’t really his father after all. Or that the man who claims to be his father denies his existence. Or that his name is being circulated in the papers with lies attached to it!”

Edward studied the man for a long moment, as if considering my argument. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Perhaps not, and perhaps all of Jacob Turner’s tomorrows are the same—but how do you know if that day is worth living again and again? Do you see his stiffness as he moves? He has rheumatism, and some days he tells me that it feels as though his joints are no more than bone scraping against bone. Each step is agony, but he must work or starve. Most days his food is little more than a thin gruel, and he’s been saving months to buy a new blanket before winter sets in.”

I dried my eyes with the sleeve of Edward’s frock coat, and I studied the cottager anew. Edward had spoken truthfully about the man’s afflictions. Each time he lifted his hoe, he hesitated, then squared his shoulders as if willing himself to strike the earth. Each clod of dirt was hard-won. Yet he continued.

Could I do less?

I knew what needed to be done. Churchill had seen to that. In order to protect the ones I loved, I needed to embrace the very isolation I had sought to avoid.

“How can you believe in a God who is so cruel?” I asked.

Edward’s countenance took on an aching look. He did not have to ask what I meant. Though the ground was cold and wet, he joined me. And because he did not rush to answer, because he took the time to consider my viewpoint, I listened when he finally began to speak.

“Imagine the kindest, gentlest man you can. A man who reaches out to the most wretched and works to restore the undeserving. No injustice is tolerated, no snobbery, no bickering.”

I eyed Jacob Turner, predicting where Edward was going.

“Now imagine him a general,” Edward continued, “and off to war. During this time, all sorts of horrible rumors and distressing reports have reached his home country and his family’s ears. And while these reports may be true, those who know and love him best can only tell others to keep faith. There are explanations; surely there are a myriad of reasons that have not yet been revealed.” He pointed at the cottager. “Men like him are like that family. He keeps faith that this isn’t the full story.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Wait for the ending,” Edward said.

At that moment, though, the only ending I could envision was Macy collecting me as his wife, which drew my thoughts in a new direction.

“Who is Adolphus?” I asked, recalling the name Edward had used to communicate how evil Mr. Macy was.

Edward made no comment on my seemingly erratic switching of topics, though his brows knit, and an emotion I could not name settled over his features.

“It’s . . . it’s . . .” Edward sighed through his nose, as if searching for a way to explain this. “It’s a name. A sort of countersign to London’s criminal lot—a collected body of the worst rabble you can imagine. The problem is the name is so legendary, no one knows what’s what anymore. Some say there is a mastermind, others that he never existed. An MP is murdered, a priceless jewel is misplaced, and people right away start whispering this was no ordinary crime and this imaginary figure is credited.”

I wrinkled my nose. “And what has this legend to do with Churchill, then?”

“Years ago, when Churchill still worked in London, he met a man who hired his services. Rather than give his name, the man told him to call him Adolphus. That was years before rumors of this crime syndicate started.”

I hugged my knees tight against my chest, thinking that Edward had chosen an apt comparison. As I mentally reviewed
some of the priceless treasures of Eastbourne, I resisted the urge to give a bitter chuckle. How easy it would have been for people to pay off Mr. Macy with a priceless heirloom, and then blame the item’s disappearance on this mysterious Adolphus.

Mr. Macy had been up front about his blackguard past, but nothing could excuse him from his lies to me or Mr. Greenham’s accusation of murder.

But how to escape a husband?

I shut my eyes, calculating the task ahead of me. Lord Pierson had furnished me with papers to financially provide for me. I needed to access the funds. I also needed clothing. My mind flew to the ragbag at Am Meer, where I’d left my mourning garb.

Edward disturbed my thoughts by slipping my hand in his. “Come on. Let’s go talk to my father.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to argue against the pointlessness of asking Lord Auburn for help, but I realized this was a necessary step for Edward. It would haunt him to his dying day if he didn’t feel he’d done everything possible to rectify the situation.

For his sake, I nodded and allowed his help in regaining my feet.

I cast one last look at Jacob Turner struggling to etch out his survival in that plot of earth. After Auburn Manor, I determined to visit Am Meer. I wasn’t sure how to convince Henry and Edward to back away or how to access my funds yet, but at the very least I could get out of this outlandish gown.