Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (39 page)

“You won’t often see snow in London, so take a good look,” Isaac said, but his eyes were on me. “Soon servants will tend fires and horses will stir up the streets and our world will be brown again. Since it’s going to be marred, let’s be the first to make tracks.”

“What a scandal we could make,” I said, glancing at the windows of residences as we walked down the street, holding hands. “The Emerald Heiress and Lord Dalry playing in the snow.”

He laughed outright, his breath frosting the air. “My uncle lives in the north. Ben, Kate, and I used to take sleds up his hills and fly down. We were too old last visit, so Kate and I snuck out and went sledding after dark.”

“You! I’m surprised you allowed her to act so unladylike.”

His eyes sparkled. “Don’t think I’m not going to insist my wife join me next time. Yes, you may as well look that horrified because I’m perfectly serious. You need more merriment in your life.” He turned toward me, placing his hands on my waist, under my cape. “I look forward to hearing your shrieks of laughter when we spill into a snowbank. I’ve not forgotten the way you jumped on that settee with Kate. I know merriment is still inside you, and I intend to find the key.”

He leaned near, his eyes closing, about to kiss me. My heart pounded, but not with adoration. Since that unutterable experience, my world had turned chaotic, but to kiss Isaac would still be to betray Edward. All at once, I recalled Macy’s last words to
me. I had only to step outdoors when I was finished with my father, and his men would find me. My breath curled in the air as I panicked.

“Take me back. Take me back, please.” I clutched Isaac’s cape at his chest, nearly crying. “Please. Do not delay.”

Seemingly disappointed, he drew me close. “All right. We’ll return right now.”

Clumps of snow clung to the bottom of my skirt as we hastened homeward. As we neared, I caught sight of my father peering from his library window. His jaw dropped upon spying us, and from his angry expressions and the movements of his mouth, I deemed that he shouted.

Isaac laughed and waved, then tugged my hand. “Come on. We’ll enter through the servants’ door, giving him a chance to cool before dealing with him.”

“He’ll be livid.”

“Have I ever led you wrong, even once?”

“No, but—”

Isaac removed his hat, leading me down to the lower entrance. “Believe me, your father will not lecture either one of us today. Tomorrow, though, is another story.”

We stepped into a dank corridor. Linens and aprons dripped from a clothesline just over the door, making the first steps icy. Scents of oyster, poultry, parsley, and butter filled the narrow hall along with the clang of pots. Each step toward the noise increased the amount of grease built up over the floor. I clenched my skirt, holding it above the grime, casting Isaac anxious looks. It was unheard of for a lady of my station to enter the servants’ world.

When we reached the kitchen, haze from the fires made me want to sweep an invisible veil from my eyes. The dense air became choking.

“I’m going to introduce you to Pierrick,” Isaac said as we drew closer to the clatter of pots rattling and knives chopping.

We rounded the corner. My father’s kitchen occupied at
least a quarter of the lowest level of the house. Bowls, pots, and cutting boards spread over long wooden tables. High-backed chairs were pushed against walls. The walls were lined with long shelves holding serving platters and plates. Copper measuring pitchers and utensils hung upon brass hooks. In the far corner, there were two beds with straw pushing through the ticking.

The scullery girl at the opposite end of the room spotted us first and stopped working, her hands still plunged into the wooden sink. Piled around her were dirty dishes. Her drenched dress clung to her bony body, and perspiration streaked her face.

On my right, upper and lower maids sat around a table set with bread, cheese, and what looked like a weak tea. They rose, wide-eyed, and bobbed, stumbling over various forms of greetings which equated to “Merry Christmas.”

“And a merry Christmas to you.” Isaac rested his fingers on his lips and signalled for them to sit back down. Then catching my eye, he pointed toward a burly man with his back toward us. He was cutting apart a lamb with a cleaver, leaving splatters of blood on the wall. Next to him, underchefs paused in their work, leaving the lids of copper pots to rattle, as steam and bubbling water lifted them.

“Pierrick, how dare you ignore me!” Isaac yelled to be heard over the cacophony of noise. “Did you make it?”

The chef turned, holding his cleaver. “Did I make it? Did I make it?” He threw his hands in the air. “No ‘Merry Christmas’; just did I make it?”

“Yes, yes, merry Christmas, my good man. Now did you make it?”

I could only stare at Isaac. I’d never seen him act so ordinary.

“Of course.” Pierrick studied me with a discriminating gaze. “So you managed to convince the princess to come down to our world. Does her father know?”

“I told you I would introduce you to her, and of course he doesn’t know,” Isaac said. “I don’t see it. You did follow the directions, didn’t you? I’ve not forgotten that you tried to switch recipes last year. Where is it?”

The chef threw down his cleaver and wiped his hands on his apron, smearing it red. “I sent James with it to the breakfast table.” He nodded to me. “Is today the day?”

Isaac silenced him with a look. “No. Thank you for making my request.”

“Au revoir, Miss Pierson,” Pierrick said. “I made a lemon sauce to dish over the vile, dry food his mother calls gingerbread. I make the recipe the way Master Isaac likes, but I am no responsible for such a common cake. My sauce will help.”

“Did you have to ruin my surprise?” Isaac called over his shoulder.

“What? That you have no taste when it comes to the finer foods?”

“It’s a tradition in my family,” Isaac said under his breath to me as we left the kitchen. “We’ll enjoy this every Christmas morning from this point forward, but I wanted to give you the chance to deem whether you liked it for yourself.”

Each word pricked my conscience. He was so certain he would win my heart.

“You can know that, far away, Mother and Kate are partaking of it too,” he said, entering the main hall. Then with a smile, “Shush. Here comes your father.”

“Breakfast started ten minutes ago,” my father said, striding into the hall, wearing a deep frown. Traces of his anger still blotched his neck and forehead.

“Oh, well,” Isaac said, removing my cape.

“Isaac, you shouldn’t have taken her out—”

“If you please, spare me the lecture.” Isaac gestured for me to start toward the breakfast table. “And call me Lord Dalry. You may call her Miss Pierson.”

I paused, expecting my father’s wrath to fall.

“Well, Lord Dalry,” my father finally said, “at least you’re wearing attire this year.”

“It would hardly be suitable to wear my nightclothes in your daughter’s presence, sir.” When we entered the room, James stepped forward to pull out my chair, but Isaac stopped him. “No, James. Lord Pierson wishes to serve Julia this morning. He’ll seat her.”

“You’re determined to make this day miserable for me, aren’t you?” my father asked, yanking my chair from the table.

Isaac laughed. “Had you even attempted to act less severe when your daughter arrived, I might have had mercy on you today. Would you like your father to fetch you tea or coffee, Julia?”

I feared to answer.

“I don’t believe Miss Pierson knows the Christmas rules,” James said from the sideboard, grinning.

My mouth dropped. Surely he’d be ordered from the room for addressing us.

“No, it doesn’t look as if she does.” Isaac offered me a smile. “Shall we let her in on the fun, James? You see, on Christmas I run the household. Isn’t that correct, Roy?”

My father bowed with a sigh. “Yes, Lord Dalry.”

“Isaac is in charge?” I faced my father.

“Yes, Miss Pierson, but Lord Dalry is quite mistaken if he thinks I’m going to play footman to my daughter.”

“Oh yes, you will.” Isaac selected the
Times
, opened it, and propped his feet on a chair. “And you’ll obey any request she makes this morning. And if you behave, I’ll not make you serve Lady Beatrice when she arrives for dinner today.”

My father scowled.

“So we don’t have to be on time for breakfast?” I asked.

“We don’t have to be anything.” Isaac turned the page. “Go ahead, Julia. I’m dying to see what sort of footman your father makes.”

I laughed nervously and looked at my father. Would he really serve me? “I would like tea this morning, Roy.”

“Lord Dalry, I draw the line at my daughter calling me Roy.”

“Footmen aren’t allowed to address us,” Isaac said in a singsong voice, never looking up from the paper.

My father shook his head, then yanked the steaming rose teapot from the sideboard. “Will there be anything else, Miss Pierson?”

I bit my lip and looked at Isaac. How far could this game go? “So James would be allowed to sit at Father’s place and join us.”

Isaac acted like my father by not removing his gaze from the paper. “Do you wish it?”

My father shot me a warning look.

“Yes.”

Isaac closed the paper. “Very well, then. James, will you be so kind as to join us? Roy, set another place at the table.”

That afternoon, I descended the stairs an overdressed doll—the green velvet gown a Christmas present from my father. It was so pompous I felt certain Lady Beatrice had overseen its making. Likely she was punishing me for never calling on her after my debut. I felt ridiculous as the hair that had been parted and piled in ringlets bounced with each step.

“Ah, I hear Julia now.” My father’s voice carried from the front parlor.

He entered the foyer, and I could tell by his grimace he’d already warred with Lady Beatrice. He gestured for me to hurry, then pulled me into the room by my arm. Lady Beatrice sat by the fire, looking as tart as ever.

“Grandmamma.” I curtsied.

Her mouth twitched, and she tapped her finger against the chair arm as she turned her head, ignoring me.

“Julia will entertain.” My father placed his hands on my
shoulders and pushed me into the center of the room. “I have work, but I look forward to seeing everyone at dinner.”

“Work?” a male voice asked from a corner. “Work on Christmas, Cousin?”

“Do not presume to question me, Eramus,” my father growled. “I said I have work to do. That means I have work.” He shut the door with a bang.

My skin prickled. The name had terrified Kate and brought Isaac home early. Curious to finally see him for myself, I slowly turned.

A portly young man leaned against the window frame with a bored expression. A large mole sat between his eyebrows, and heavy-lidded eyes added to his snobbish expression. “So.” He rolled a sovereign between his podgy fingers. “We’re supposed to be long-lost cousins.”

I drew myself to my full height. Except that I found him ugly, there was nothing fearsome about him. “Eramus Calvin?”

“At your service.” He puckered his mouth, viewing me as if he found me equally as ugly. “Come kiss me, for we are related.”

Lady Beatrice humphed from her chair.

He was testing me. But why? Something about Eramus brought out everything averse in me. He reminded me of a goblin prince Mama read about who only dined on fattened spiders and sour milk. Summoning courage, I kissed his fleshy cheek.

When I drew back, he rubbed off my kiss with his lace handkerchief. “Thank goodness, dear, old Pierson is pawning you off on Isaac,” he muttered under his breath, and then louder, “Do you play chess?”

“The thought is mutual,” I whispered back. Then, in my speaking voice, “No, I do not.” Which was not entirely true. I’d been taught but never enjoyed it.

“Well, there’s nothing else here that interests me.” Eramus gestured to a set board. “Lose a few games.”

“I need company,” Lady Beatrice protested.

“Shall I sit with you instead?” I asked. “When Isaac arrives, he can play chess with Eramus.”

She closed her eyes as if suddenly napping and unable to hear me.

Eramus collected my arm. “So you call the family leech by his given name already? How can you tolerate him?” Eramus sat at the chessboard and, with bloated fingers, touched the tops of the ivory pieces. “Tell me, which one of these pieces best suits you?”

I dropped into my seat, and my ostentatious dress billowed around me as high as my chest, forcing me to push it down. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you, sir.”

“Please, no flowery language.” Eramus rolled the king between his fingers. “It’s bad enough we’re forced to suffer one another’s company without having to flatter and cajole each other. You know what I mean.” He spread his hand over the board.

I studied the chessmen. Which piece was I? Between Mr. Macy and my father, the answer was clear. My eyes settled on the front row.

Footsteps swelled, running toward our door. Isaac burst into the room with a wild look. A glint of pleasure filled Eramus’s eyes. “How do you stand living under the same roof with such an uncultured clod, Cousin?” Then turning, he said, “Temper, temper, Isaac. I’ve not touched your precious bride-to-be.”