Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (31 page)

Lord Dalry shoved me behind him. “I am. Now that you know our names, who are you?”

I doubted the man heard, as he began laughing so hard. “Merry Christmas,” he cried, clapping and running down the street. “A merry Christmas to the both of you.”

I stared after him, amazed.

“You are under my care,” Lord Dalry said in a displeased voice as he retrieved me. “Do not remove yourself from it by taking charge of a situation yourself. You have no idea how much you’re worth. By confirming who you are, you’ve just placed us both in considerable danger.”

He shielded me as we crossed the street and refused to allow the coachman to help me into the carriage, instructing him to keep away the crowd pressing us.

“What is happening?” my father asked, pulling me inside.

Isaac collapsed next to my father and glanced out the window at the growing crowd. “Do you remember telling me that if I saw something I thought your daughter would want for Christmas, to purchase it and send the bill to you?”

My father made no reply as thunder gathered over his face.

Isaac looked bland as he adjusted his cape. “Well, sir, you’ve just increased your donation to the orphanage considerably.”

Joy lit my father’s face as he peered at the front page of the
Times
the next morning. First his eyes widened, then he smiled, and lastly he threw back his head and laughed long and hard. “Good show, Isaac, good show.”

Isaac blinked, having been lost in one of his books. “Sir?”

My father laughed again but handed the newspaper to me with a twinkle in his eye. “Julia reads it first.”

I touched my fingertips together; they were syrupy from my sweet roll. But fearing my father’s impatience, I took the article. Instead of waiting, Isaac rose and crossed his arms over the back of my chair. The headline read:

CHRISTMAS ANGEL VISITS ORPHANAGE

The article embellished the story of how Lord Dalry and I secretly went to a girls’ home and lavished time and money. It reported how I moved about the children, keeping a little girl in my arms. The story made me sound saintly, beautiful, and it painted a picture of Lord Dalry as my protector and moral guardian. His political views were mentioned, along with the country’s eager anticipation for him to take his seat. It steered the reader to believe that my father’s wealth combined with Isaac’s sound views would lead to a marriage rich with humanitarian efforts.

I took a slow breath, my emotions varied. How would Edward feel reading about Lord Dalry being painted as my protector when it was Edward who had ruined himself to preserve me? Moral guardian indeed! Yet another part of me swelled with hope that Edward would see I hadn’t hardened while here, but I was becoming more like him. Charity was becoming as dear to my heart as it was to his.

“That man must have been a reporter for the
Times
,” Isaac
said softly over my shoulder. “No wonder he was so pleased to learn our names.”

“What man?” my father said. “You never spoke of a man.”

“I meant to.” Isaac returned to his seat and retrieved his book. “My only complaint is his descriptions of Julia. It’s shameful a man of words didn’t manage better compliments.”

I looked up from the print. It was the boldest compliment he’d ever paid me. I gave him no smile. My father grinned, pretending not to hear, and dug through the other papers. I passed the paper to Isaac, wishing I’d never mentioned the possibility of our marrying.

The door swung open and Mr. Forrester entered, holding aloft a copy of the
Times
. “I thought we agreed she was to remain indoors at all times.” He threw the paper on a chair and unclasped his mud-spattered cloak. “Not only did you risk her making contact with one of his spies, but you took her to an orphanage and gave someone else the story! The public is eating this up, and I don’t even have a mention of it.”

He threw his muddied cloak on my father’s upholstered chair. My eyes widened in horror.

“What are you staring at?” he challenged me. “Do you have a problem with where I lay my capes?”

“Only your muddy ones,” I said.

“I think you’d be happy for a glimpse of nature, for it’s more than you’re going to see for a while.” He grabbed the last sticky bun, and his words became garbled as he chewed. “Of all the nasty things to do to me, Roy. There hasn’t been one story of the heiress in ages. The next one is mine. What are you giving her for Christmas?” He swallowed. “I’ll cover that.”

“You can have the exclusive on her betrothal to Isaac.” My father turned a page of the
Penny Post
. “Now remove your cape from my daughter’s sight since it disturbs her.”

“Gladly.” Mr. Forrester yanked his cape from the chair and threw it at my feet. Grime splattered the hem of my dress. He smirked.

Before I could object, my father asked, “Did you receive my request?”

“I did.” Mr. Forrester flopped in a chair. “But there’s no chance you’ll gain Moore’s support.”

“Just deliver what I asked and keep your opinions to yourself.” My father gave him an angry glance, then turned another page.

“Sir, may we be excused?” Isaac rose, giving Mr. Forrester a nasty look. “I prefer for Julia not to hear the conversation.”

“Wait.” My father set his paper down. “Daniels is in from Africa. I’m planning a visit today. Be ready to join me in an hour.”

Isaac shook his head. “I won’t go, unless Julia does.”

I shifted, uncomfortable that Isaac had used my given name for the second, third, fourth time this morning. My father must have noticed too, for instead of flushing red, he considered the idea. Thankfully, Mr. Forrester had shoved a serving spoon of baked eggs into his mouth and couldn’t object.

“All right, we’ll take her,” my father said.

Mr. Forrester spat out the food. “Well, don’t expect me to stay behind, then. I’d hate to miss a story if they stop at an almshouse along the way.”

Trying to appear prim and dignified, I studied Mr. Daniels as he shivered before a roaring fire. He must have adjusted to the climate of Africa because he’d spread a wool blanket over his legs, and a plaid shawl covered his shoulders. Firelight flickered off his gold-rimmed spectacles. With curiosity, I eyed the top of his balding head, which was tan, making me wonder if they wore hats in Africa.

“What is this?” My father’s angry tone shocked me as he held up a page and flapped it. “Tell me you did not sell gems of that quality for that price?”

Mr. Daniels wiped his nose on a handkerchief. “I sent word twice she could do better if she waited until I met with buyers
from Dartmoor, but she insisted I sell them.” He took off his glasses and polished them. “Who is Miss Elliston?”

I nearly choked on my astonishment. They were speaking of me?

“She doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned,” my father said. “From this point forward, I’ll handle her mine. Send the paperwork back to me.”

“Eh?” Mr. Daniels gave a leering grin. “Tired of her bed already? She must not have—”

“My daughter is present.”

“Eh?” Mr. Daniels looked in my direction. “Oh yes. Sorry.” He certainly didn’t sound apologetic. His eyes took on a vacant look as they roamed over the wrong parts of my body. I felt so uncomfortable I inched closer to Mr. Forrester.

“You’ve about fallen out of my graces,” my father said to Mr. Daniels. “I prefer to finish the paperwork without your presence. Go to the back room.”

Mr. Daniels looked both startled and annoyed to have been ordered by my father. He eyed his fire as though regretting losing its warmth, then rose, taking his blanket with him.

“Sir, I propose we cut ties with Daniels.” Isaac placed a hand on my shoulder.

“When you run the mines, you can find your own dealer,” my father growled. “In the meantime, he outperforms the rest combined.”

“But did you not see the way he just looked at Julia?”

“I have to agree with Isaac here,” Mr. Forrester said, giving me a snide look. “He just proved he’s not much of a connoisseur.”

“That’s it.” Isaac grabbed the back of Mr. Forrester’s collar and tried to force him to stand.

“Are you witnessing this, Roy?” Mr. Forrester rasped, his face growing empurpled.

“Will you all be quiet?” my father roared, slamming his hand onto the table. “You’re worse than a pack of monkeys. Julia,
where are those papers I gave you? Why did you send word to sell gems for that price?” He threw a paper at me. It fluttered to the floor, and Lord Dalry released Mr. Forrester to retrieve it for me.

I remembered how my father handed me papers for an emerald mine the night I married Mr. Macy. I felt my brow wrinkle as I tried to remember what exactly had happened to the papers. The last memory I had of them was right before Edward and I visited Churchill.

“It’s my name, but not my hand. I don’t understand.”

“Where are the papers?” My father’s voice increased in volume.

I swallowed, trying to recall. “I think Henry’s carriage is the last place I saw them.”

“Henry?”

“Henry Auburn—Edward’s brother.”

My father’s face contorted. “Well, apparently your vicar has decided to make himself quite a profit on your misfortunes. I have half a mind to sue him for this.”

I found my feet. “How dare you accuse him!”

Mr. Forrester snickered, rubbing his neck. “Don’t tell me a Macy girl had the wool pulled over her eyes.”

“Shut up already,” Isaac snapped, spinning to face him.

My father grew red, but not at Mr. Forrester. He leafed through more papers. “They’ve hit a vein in your mine, and the stones have been sold for a tenth of their value, and uncut, so you’ve lost potentially more!” He was near screaming. “How could you have allowed this to happen?”

“Do I have to defend her from you as well?” Isaac stepped in front of me. “Who gave her the mine in the first place?” His voice rose. “If you want to scream at someone, then scream at me!”

“Isaac, she’s allowed an entire fortune to be lost.” My father stood. “There must be at least twenty thousand pounds lining someone else’s pocket.”

Mr. Forrester chuckled. “Can I have that story?”

My father shook a fistful of paper in my direction. “Did you never even notice it was missing?”

I felt like crying and yelling too but refused to answer him.

“Did you even once check on your daughter!” Isaac matched his volume. “Have you considered that? Or were you so anxious to cover your sin that you tossed her to Macy or any other wolf, leaving her to fend for herself? Don’t you dare shout at her! If you’re mad about a lost fortune, then you take it out on me. Not her!”

Mr. Daniels stuck out his balding head from the back room. “Is everything all right in here?”

My father’s nostrils flared. “Robert, take Julia to the carriage and wait there with her.”

“Gladly.” Mr. Forrester’s fingers hurt my wrist as he yanked me from my chair. “Come on, dearie.”

Outdoors, I attempted to twist my arm free from Forrester’s rough grasp. Anger and humiliation followed me from Mr. Daniels’s office. I would not tolerate more today. “Release me,” I demanded.

Across the street, my father’s coachman spotted us and extended his neck to see around the passing vehicles. With a sudden yank, I managed to wrench myself from Forrester but stumbled into a jaunty-looking young gentleman. “Beg your pardon, miss.” He stooped to pick up his tumbled hat. “I am quite sorry.”