Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (37 page)

I slid my arm through hers and held her close. Kate looked horrified but had enough sense not to protest with my father present.

I swallowed my anguish, already feeling her loss.

Henry perceived my thoughts. As my father exited, Henry gave him an indignant stare from across the room. With both hands, Kate clasped my arm and turned to Isaac. Panic coated her voice. “I can’t return home. Mama’s not home yet.”

Lord Dalry extended his arm, gesturing for her to come with him. “Lord Pierson sent his messenger. Our mother is expecting you tonight.” Looking over his shoulder, he said to James, “Hudson and Brown are occupied. Is there a stable hand who might take her?”

“You can’t send me home.” Kate pounded fisted hands into her lap. “I won’t go. I won’t. Julia needs me. Nobody else pays any attention to her! Or loves her! I’m not leaving.”

Again, Henry’s eyes met mine.

Isaac colored. “Kate, you are not to say another word. If you do not come this instant, I’ll withhold your allowance for two months.”

With tears welling in her eyes, Kate glanced at Henry and Mr. Addams, then raced from the room, followed by her brother.

Henry stepped toward the door to close it. “Devon, give me a minute alone with Julia. Rap on the door if someone comes.”

Mr. Addams gasped. “Henry, don’t risk it! He’ll be furious.”

“Oh, hush! Are you my nursemaid now too? If you don’t leave, I can promise you, I’ll remain in London for the entire holiday, just to spite you.”

Mr. Addams shoved his hat on his head with a frown but thankfully stomped from the chamber. Henry faced me and indicated James with a roll of his eyes.

“James, you may leave,” I ordered.

“Your father—”

I clenched my teeth. “Now, James!”

He gave a cold bow. “Yes, Miss Pierson, but the door remains open.” Then in a stiff manner, he likewise withdrew.

Alone, Henry wasted no time. He stepped close and gathered me. “Your father is difficult. As I know no one else will tell you what transpired, here’s the gist. So long as your father is your protection, he’ll have you play your role to the end. So in essence, you’ve traded one cage for another, and by golly, I’ll not stand for it. What does any of this matter to us? Come with me. I’ll oversee you and Edward to Scotland, and we’ll figure this out amongst ourselves.”

My longing was so sharp, I pressed against Henry’s shoulder, scarcely able to contain it. I could be in Edward’s arms in two days’ time, and this ordeal would be over. Yet it would be moving backwards. Hiding solved nothing. Henry was generous, but did we want to live in a fashion where we continuously drained his purse? I pictured dark winters, living in poor quarters and constant fear.

“I can’t,” I said. “It’s still trading this cage for yet another. Macy has got to be dealt with first. This is the only sphere in which we have a ghost of a chance of winning.”

“Let them sort it out amongst themselves, Juls. You didn’t create this. They did. It’s not your responsibility. If you don’t come now, he’s going to force you to wed Dalry.”

“If my only recourse is to be Julia Pierson, then I do what every other daughter does. I refuse to budge. I wear my father down and force him to accept my choice.” I gave a derisive laugh, forming my plan as I spoke. “To think, after all this time, I actually have something worth offering Edward.”

“Dash the money,” Henry whispered. “You know as well as I do it would never suit him anyway.”

“Yes, but neither does living on his brother’s charity. Since we’ve gambled everything already, we may as well complete it.”

“Henry.” Mr. Addams’s nervous voice carried through the door.

Henry’s mouth twisted with indecision.

“Go.” I shoved him a step toward the door. “Before we get caught.”

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small brown package and a book with a frayed cover. He shoved them into my hands. “They’re from Edward. It’s his personal Bible, Julia, filled with his notations. It took him weeks to convince me to bring it to you. He’s consumed most of his waking life studying it. He insisted. He’s afraid his good work will be lost on you if you have no instruction.”

I averted my gaze, for my tears were private. Mr. Addams rapped on the door.

Henry kissed my cheek. “If you like, I can go find Lord Dalry and flatten him for you.”

I gave a weak laugh, knowing he wanted one, then hugged his neck. “Give Elizabeth my love. Tell Edward I am ever his.”

But Henry did not leave. “I don’t like this, Juls. It feels wrong leaving you here.”

“It’s only until something is done with Macy; then we force my father to accept Edward. If he won’t, I’ll allow you to steal me.”

Mr. Addams rapped again.

“Go!” I kissed his cheek and clutched Edward’s presents against my body for strength as Henry’s footsteps receded.

“Good night, Daughter.” My father leaned down and kissed my head. He smelled of the softened cloves he chewed for his breath before social engagements. “We’ll be out late. Do not wait up.”

It was the first time he’d bidden me farewell since my encounter with Mr. Macy. Suspecting it had something to do with Henry’s visit that afternoon, I paused in my sewing to
consider him. His best cloak was layered over formal attire. He wore low but elegant boots and colored silk cravats pinned by a diamond. Behind him, Isaac waited in the doorway, just as elaborately dressed. Looking that dapper, they had to be going to a ball.

Wistfulness gathered as I envisioned a London Christmas ball. As a young girl, I’d dreamed of attending a ball here at yuletide. I ducked my head. “May I go?”

Though my father’s words were soft, his tone brooked no arguments. “I think not.”

“Please?”

My father censured me with a look before he turned. “No dallying, Isaac. I promised the Cavendars you’d persuade the Whites to our side beforehand.”

Isaac acknowledged him but knelt at my side. “Are you all right being alone, after seeing Henry?”

Not wanting to foster closeness, I returned to my chain stitches. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll try to schedule time with you tomorrow.” Lord Dalry rose and left. His footsteps rang as he hurried after my father.

Kinsley, who had been standing by the hearth, harrumphed. “Stuffy old party, if you ask me,” he said. “Nothing of interest for a young lady, all dancing and staying up.”

His words brought a smile to my lips.

“Shall I fetch tea?”

“No. I’ll be fine. Go enjoy your evening.” When he left, I set aside my sewing and pulled Edward’s gifts from the sewing basket.

On the velvet couch, I gingerly removed the gift and Bible from Edward. Part of me longed to sit in the firelight and savor this moment, but I couldn’t forget my father burning my letters at Maplecroft. If I were to be caught, I knew I could not bear losing this. My hands shook as I removed a hairpin to slit open his letter.

Juls,

I’ve but a moment to pen this, as Henry—ever himself—is impatient. How can I speak even a fraction of my heart? I long to give advice, assurances of love, and bits of news. Close your eyes, Juls, and know them. Our souls have ever been one.

I pray these gifts please you. With Henry and Elizabeth’s upcoming nuptials, Mother retrieved my grandmother’s jewelry, giving us the task of dividing it. Considering you have an emerald mine, I wanted nothing to do with it. I knew your heart and my own would be the same—that Elizabeth should have them. Henry, of course, was adamant the matter be fair. It wasn’t until I saw this item that we could reach any sort of an agreement. I took this for you. Elizabeth is to have the rest. I believe you will find it useful, living with your father.

I also am sending my Bible. If it insults rather than ministers, I beg you not burn it, but preserve it until we next meet. As you’ll see, it contains my thoughts as well as any journal could. I pray for you every day; I likewise search the papers for news. I am proud to think of my Julia succeeding in that circle. I am well. Do not fret for me. I wish you the best Christmas with a deeper understanding than of previous ones. You know my unspoken thoughts. I need not say more.

Merry Christmas,

Edward

Four times I read the letter. While tears wet my cheeks, I treasured each word. It was the courage I needed. Thankfully, there was no hint he gave merit to the rumors about Isaac.

I turned over the package wrapped in simple brown paper that was so much like Edward those days. Plain, with nothing
to mark him a gentleman, yet containing a heart that was a treasure.

Gently, I pulled loose the paper, which had been fitted perfectly around the box. Inside, nestled in a plain muslin handkerchief, lay an heirloom timepiece made of white gold and elaborately etched with flowers and filigree. Small diamonds encrusted the center of each flower. It was attached to a bar pin that supported four sizable pearls. I cupped it in my hand, feeling the weight. It was beautiful. So exquisite. I could have cried, wishing he had sold it. He lived in need, whereas I lacked nothing. I wound the watch and held it to my ear. It ticked as gently as fine rain.

I pinned the watch to my dress, then touched the frayed cover of the Bible. I’d sworn so faithfully never to open a Bible in my lifetime. Not even Isaac had been able to persuade me to look inside one as we drilled for my presentation.

I gave a weepy laugh. It was perhaps the lowest thing Edward had ever done to me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to resist
this
Bible.

“Who or what are you,” I whispered in a prayer to its author, “that makes everyone think I should heed this?”

I regretted the prayer almost instantly, for the same sensation that I’d felt in Eastbourne’s chapel swept over me. An almost-palpable sense that something unapproachable and unlimited turned its full attention to my prayer. The impression was so real that chills spread over my body.

I chose not to attend it, like those who hear noises in the dead of night and refuse to speculate further, lest their thoughts take unwelcome directions.

Instead, I opened the Bible and was surprised and delighted to find Edward’s scrawl. The first pages were a marriage index, filled out in various ink colors. As I read, I realized they were records of those he’d married. My eyes landed on the last entry:
Mr. and Mrs. Chance Macy.
Compared to the other names, his handwriting was erratic and the ink blotched.

I turned the page. It was filled with burials. The list was filled and carried over to the blank pages. I scanned through the names, hoping no one I knew had died, but one entry made my heart still.

Stillborn from workhouse—no one but myself attended the grave

I touched the words, seeing his face knit with grief as he stood alone, tending sheep no one else would. All at once, I became one with Edward. I felt his grief and joined him in it.

My fingers hovered over the book as though the pages were holy and not mere words. When I dared, I flipped through sections. Everywhere, Edward had scrawled notes, revealing his thoughts and heart.

I laughed softly as I grew teary. How could he have sent this to me? It was apparent he’d kept it since his Oxford days. This had to be his dearest possession. I clutched it against my chest, aching at the overwhelming feeling of love.

What if Mr. Addams was right that a divine hand was at work? What if, like Oedipus, no matter what Edward and I did, we would never overcome our fate? I sank against the back of the couch, tucked in my knees, and clutched the Bible against myself as I pondered the earlier sensation. William Elliston’s teaching writhed against the notion of praying, but Mama always had. What if it was possible to be heard? What would I say? It took several minutes to compose my first thought-out prayer, which now amuses me.

“I’ll serve you,” I eventually whispered, “but only if you give me Edward.”

It was at that moment I felt it.

An unease filled me—one that went against all rationale, all prior experiences. It was as if every fiber within my body rose up with a strong cry that far more was at work than I could
understand and that I shouldn’t presume to bargain my soul in such a manner—that to do so violated principles whose existence I had not yet fathomed.

The conviction was so heavy, I marveled that the entire world was not crushed beneath the weight of it, and yet so full of mourning and grief that no wail or requiem could ever capture the full dolor of it.

I’d heard stories of revivals and awakenings, where mankind touched the untouchable and birthed a resurgence of religious zeal. But those, I knew, depended upon the charisma of the speaker and the contagious fervor of the crowd.

But this! What could explain this?

It was.

I had to take a deep breath to contain the rush of the knowledge of the gravity that surrounded my situation. Mine was a different story, with a different purpose, and therefore woven in darker colors. There was no gradual revelation. It was stark and plain before me. Nothing less than a full surrender would suffice. If that meant losing Edward, marrying Isaac, or even returning to Mr. Macy—the choice wouldn’t be mine.