Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (8 page)

“There, there,” Mrs. Coleman said, misunderstanding the sudden hurt that must have evidenced itself on my face. “Is that the cause of all this shilly-shallying? Do as you wish; your father is more than generous with his money. There, at least, you’ll find no fault.”

I stared at her, too horrified for words. My prior circumstances had been so mean that at times I had been ridiculed for my lack of funds. My mourning dresses had been rags, the sleeves so short they exposed my wrists. After William’s death, Mama and I had given up our horse and carriage, let go of all servants except Sarah.

Firm footsteps rounded the hall, doubtless a footman. Mrs. Coleman looked up expectantly, and I took the opportunity to rise and retreat to the window to hide my pain. A miserly rain hung on the panes like beads, as impenetrable as a thick fog.

“Good evening, Mrs. Coleman,” said a male voice behind me. “I came here with the hopes you could tell me where Miss Pierson was, but I see I’ve found her.”

The confident tone was not that of a servant. Startled, I turned.

In the doorway stood the gentleman I’d not seen since he departed with Edward.

Imagine how differently we’d treat people if at the beginning of an acquaintance we were given opportunity to know how that
person would affect our life. How joyously we would greet some we might otherwise act cool toward, or how deep our antipathy would run toward others we might initially feel attracted to. Naturally, I had no knowledge of the sort of soul Lord Dalry possessed. Thus I turned and greeted him with a wary eye.

“Good merciful heavens!” Mrs. Coleman stared at his clay-caked boots. “Isaac, you didn’t walk through the house like that? When did you arrive? Does Lord Pierson know you’ve returned home?”

He tore his gaze from me as if unwilling. “Not yet, and you’re not to inform him. I need a few minutes in private with Miss Pierson before my arrival is generally known. Will you help us?”

The papers slipped from my fingers as I envisioned Edward. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Alone! And me knowing?” Mrs. Coleman’s scandalized voice drowned out my frantic whisper. “No. Absolutely not. Can you imagine Lord Pierson’s temper if he discovered—?”

“I’ll manage him,” Lord Dalry said. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.”

“Isaac.” Mrs. Coleman planted a hand on her hip, then slowly looked my way. Her gaze lingered over the papers that had dropped from my hands to the floor. Relief flooded her countenance. “Yes, yes, do take her.” She bent and scooped up the pages. “Only give me your promise to help her decide on these household matters.” She thrust the pages into Lord Dalry’s hand.

“Have James bring us tea in the back parlor.” Lord Dalry slipped the loose pages under his arm. “James, mind you; not William or Eaton. Understand?”

Her mouth pursed, and for half a second she looked as though she doubted her decision. “No shenanigans. I want your sworn word.”

His reply was a direct stare, which brought color to her cheeks. Even I shifted, uncomfortable with his evident displeasure. “Have I ever acted unseemly? Even once in memory?”

Her color deepened and she mumbled something inaudible.

“Move along with you, then.” Lord Dalry stepped from the doorway, allowing her to pass. “Be quick about it. Simmons is also on the prowl. Be forewarned; there’s bound to be another quarrel between us tonight.”

I frowned at the mention of my father’s steward.

“Good gracious,” she said, entering the dark hall. “Here I’ve been waiting for you to come and settle things, not stir them up worse.”

His eyebrows elevated before he turned and favored me with a bow as Mrs. Coleman pattered away. “Forgive me this unorthodox greeting, but if you wish to hear the particulars of my journey, we must act now.”

“Please.” I advanced toward him, scarcely able to level the panic in my voice. “Is he all right?”

Lord Dalry extended his arm, and as he did so, homesickness nearly buckled my knees. Traces of Am Meer’s scent clung to his clothing. “I assure you, I left Reverend Auburn in excellent health.” Even then, I noted how he made sure our eyes met when he said Edward’s name, only I couldn’t guess the reason. “Please, the moment your father learns I’m home, he’ll summon me. Once he learns what has passed, I’ll have no opportunity to furnish you with the particulars. I promised Miss Windham I would do my best to deliver her message to you.”

“Elizabeth?” Her name alone threatened to dissolve me.

Lord Dalry placed the tips of his fingers beneath my elbow in the lightest of touches. “This way.”

For several minutes nothing was spoken as he guided me through passages of Maplecroft I’d not yet explored. My slippered feet made no noise while his boots echoed over the vast marble halls. His conversation with the housekeeper and his working knowledge of the passageways made me feel more alien in Maplecroft than ever.

“Turn in here.” Lord Dalry opened the door to a white-
pillared room whose walls were glazed the color of weak tea. Gold glinted off various mirrors, and gilt-edged wreaths embossed the sides of tables. Opposite us hung a carriage-size painting of my ancestral look-alike. From high in her massive frame, she watched as I pulled my shawl tight. A smile curved her lips and welcome filled her eyes.

“Lady Josephine,” Lord Dalry said, slipping past me and into the chamber. “Your father’s mother. This was her private parlor.”

My gaze settled on the large center table, where speckled green and brownish-red pears sat in a porcelain bowl next to dainty white flowers. Near them, a bronze sculpture of cherubic children played with boughs of flowers. An awkwardly decoupaged box sat beneath an intricate jewelry box. Plain next to fancy. Earth next to art.

“My grandmother,” I whispered, returning my gaze to the smiling portrait. My father’s harsh words, spoken the night I married Mr. Macy, cycled back.

“There’s also a handsome living left to you from my mother. . . . She learned of your existence and took pity. I’m glad she died, sparing herself the knowledge of how shameless you are.”

“So it was her,” I whispered, studying her portrait.

I crossed the room and touched the crackled paint. Had she wondered about me, perhaps yearned for her granddaughter? The thought contrasted so greatly with my father’s treatment that my nose tickled as I held in tears.

“At least the fire is lit,” Lord Dalry said behind me, unaware of the transformation taking place within me. “It wasted precious time, but it would look odd if your father found us sitting in a cold, unused portion of Maplecroft.”

“There you’re mistaken.” I reluctantly turned from Lady Josephine and found Lord Dalry crouched before the kindling he’d lit. “It makes no difference to my father what I do.”

Furrows lined his brow as he rose and dusted his knees.
“That, I can assure you, is far from the truth. Whatever led you to believe that?”

Here was a dispute I had no desire to enter. I sank into a chair, realizing I’d said too much. “Please, just tell me about Edward.”

Lord Dalry took a seat opposite me. His eyes stayed trained upon me, observing me as keenly as Mr. Macy used to, but without his mocking humor. “Here.” He extracted two letters from his waistcoat and held them out as though he regretted their contents. “I promised Miss Windham I’d say nothing until you’d read her letter first. She felt it would be better if she were the one to communicate what transpired.”

Had I been shoved off a cliff, I could not have felt more panicked. My fingers trembled so much that after I took the letters, I couldn’t loosen the wax. The pitying manner in which Lord Dalry watched me made it all the more chilling.

The distinct clack of china broke the silence, and I turned to the sight of James rolling a tea cart. Though he looked void of expression as he stepped through the threshold, he gave Lord Dalry an exaggerated shake of his head and mouthed,
He’s coming.

Behind him, more footsteps pounded.

Without pause, James pulled a folded table from the wall and raised its leaves while Lord Dalry stood, placing his hand beneath my elbow, encouraging me to rise as well. Certain it was my father, I tottered to my feet, not ready for another encounter.

Within seconds my father entered, accompanied by Mr. Forrester. My father’s sharp gaze went to James and then to the empty chairs. His face mottled red. “Isaac, what the devil is going on here?”

To my amazement, Lord Dalry looked perfectly calm. “I beg pardon, sir?”

“Don’t give me that. How long have you been home? Why is she with you?” He spun around, passing over me with his probing gaze. “And where is Simmons?”

“Here I am,” came the sour answer from the hall, “though Master Isaac did his best to slip past me.”

My father’s steward entered. His wet hair lay in rows where he’d hastily combed it. Oppression fell over the space, as though unheard music suddenly struck the wrong notes. As if magnetized, the steward’s gaze flew to the letters still in my grasp. He made a noise like a choke and a snarl rolled into one. “I forbade you to give those to her without Lord Pierson’s approval.”

My father finally acknowledged me with a glance. “Give her what?”

I resisted the urge to stash the letters down the front of my dress, where no man could be permitted to retrieve them. My father’s temperament was unpredictable. Having already been raised in such a household, I knew better than to escalate matters during a tense situation.

“Master Isaac brought back letters for your daughter.” Simmons hefted a leather satchel onto the empty desk and opened it. “I explicitly forbade him to pass them on to her.”

“Pray, you’ll have to forgive me then.” Lord Dalry returned to his seat and motioned for me to do likewise. “But I’m not in the habit of obeying your orders. The last time I checked, I live here of my own volition.”

“She’s my master’s daughter.” Simmons withdrew a leather book and clomped it open on the desk. “And as such, she falls under my jurisdiction.”

“There you are mistaken.” Lord Dalry removed a ring from his hand and turned it about in his fingers. “It is my understanding that Miss Pierson has taken up the duty of directing the staff, which means you now fall under her authority.”

“Impossible!” Simmons shifted his nasty gaze to me.

I looked at Lord Dalry, wondering how on earth he’d obtained that bit of information already. The room felt suddenly deprived of air, and I sensed I’d been thrown into a clash that had been
ongoing for years. At stake were my letters, which I desperately needed to read.

The repose with which James unfurled the milk-white tablecloth amazed me. If it were possible for someone to be unaware of the tension, he would have looked exactly as James did—half-bored, as if his mind were too replete to be bothered by our buzzing conversation.

“It matters little who’s in charge of whom,” Mr. Forrester said behind me. During the drama, I’d lost track of him but now found him behind my chair. He plucked the letters from my grasp. “The fact is, Miss Pierson is not allowed to receive any outside correspondence. No matter who wrote it. No matter who’s delivering it. It’s too dangerous, and we all know that.”

“Of all the nonsense.” Lord Dalry faced my father. “Honestly, sir, what harm can there be in reading a letter from her former home?”

With a frown, my father stepped toward me and stretched out his hand. “Robert, I’ll take those. He’s right, Isaac. She’s not permitted contact.”

Helplessly, I watched as my father opened the first of the two missives. James used this opportunity to escape, shutting the door gently.

“Personally, knowing the source, I’d burn them.” Simmons perched on a chair and pulled an inkwell toward him, no longer watching us. “There can hardly be anything sensible therein.”

My father made no reply as his eyes raked over the unfolded letter. His gaze tarried on certain parts, the jowls of his cheeks deepening. When he finished, he lowered the page and glared at me.

I folded my hands over my stomach, my sense of shame growing warmer by degrees. What could Elizabeth have written to merit such a response? My heart wrung. What had happened to Edward? Our scandal?

When I said nothing, my father tore open the second letter. He winced, then held it at arm’s length. Heavy perfume clouded
the room as he turned his head to escape the overpowering scent. Light passed through the thin paper, revealing large tearstains and inkblots.

“Who on earth is Mrs. Windham?” My father squinted at the scrawled signature.

Simmons didn’t even glance up as he wrote. “The widow your daughter formerly stayed with.”

My father cocked an eyebrow, then started reading. The more he read, the more his disgust deepened the creases on his face. “This is the woman you chose?” Anger seeped into his tone as he flapped the missive. “Is this how you handle all the tasks I give you?”

Simmons looked up, seemingly as irritated as my father. “Under the circumstances, I thought I did rather well by allowing the visit.” He began counting off fingers. “She lived far removed from society. Had no friends of consequence. Occupied a neighborhood where your daughter hadn’t half a chance of finding a husband without a dowry.”

My mouth fell open as I learned why I’d been granted permission to visit Am Meer before being sent to Scotland. My father shot Simmons a silencing look, then jerked his face from sight.

“Ah yes,” Mr. Forrester gibed, surveying the platter of pastries James had set out. “Someone who took her to Eastbourne to look for a husband. Good show, Simmons.”

“I hardly require your approval.” Simmons threw his black pen down. “Lady Foxmore was not listed amongst those she was acquainted with. And heaven knows, I never suspected Lord Auburn would actually permit that Windham woman into his house.”

“How unlucky your lack of foresight proved to be for his youngest son.” Mr. Forrester bit into a raspberry Danish, holding one hand beneath his mouth to catch crumbs. “His good name lost over that tart sitting there.”

My father grimaced. “And the meeting with his father?”

“Lord Auburn plans to remain ignorant, but at cost. You may want to sell a mine when you learn how much.” Simmons frowned, nudging his head toward me. “He also requires you prevent chance encounters since he’s met her before. If they cross paths, he’ll be forced to go to the authorities to keep from being an accomplice.”