Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (9 page)

My father kept his face turned from me but pushed back the tails of his frock coat. “Isaac, remove Julia. She needn’t be privy to this.”

Lord Dalry found his feet and gave a graceful wave of his hand. “Normally I would be glad to, sir. But if you recall, it was your party who disturbed our tea. It would be far more seemly if you left and took the conversation with you.”

“Isaac!”

“I’m perfectly serious, sir.” He turned and gave Mr. Forrester a curt nod. “No matter what their opinion of her is, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s Lord Pierson’s daughter, and, as such, she’ll be treated graciously and not insulted.”

“No one insulted that piece of work,” Mr. Forrester said between mouthfuls, setting his Danish into an empty cup to comb over the other selections. “We were discussing Simmons’s faults. Not hers.”

“This conversation is finished. Isaac, I know what you were attempting, and it was ill done. What happened to Reverend Auburn is of no concern to her. Or us, for that matter.” My father tossed the two letters into the fire, now crackling merrily. Mrs. Windham’s missive, unfolded, fluttered and made an open show of going to its death.

“Isaac, finish here,” my father commanded, “then join me in the library. You should know now, we leave for London in the morning.”

“London!” Lord Dalry bent his head, making a petition. “But it’s not even the season yet! I hoped at the very least to spend a day or two with Kate and Mother.”

“There isn’t time. I’ve been waiting for your return. It’ll take
both of us controlling the damage if we’re going to pull this off. Tell Eaton to send them word that we’re leaving.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’ll ride over and tell them myself.”

My father looked about to deny the request. “Honestly, Isaac! Fine. Only I expect you to dine here.”

Lord Dalry seemed surprised, even annoyed, at the command but acquiesced with a nod.

“Robert.” My father turned and, without waiting to see whether Mr. Forrester followed him, left. His voice rang from the hall. “Simmons, stay and chaperone.”

With a shrug, Mr. Forrester abandoned the tea tray and wiped his hands over the front of his frock coat as he left the chamber.

There was no recovery from such an action—from this conversation. I pressed my fingertips against my forehead and my cheeks as if to ascertain this wasn’t a horrible nightmare.

“I am truly sorry, Miss Pierson,” Lord Dalry said in a low voice. “I had hoped we’d have a few more minutes in private.”

I stared at the fireplace, where my former life turned to ashes. If I could have trusted my feet to carry me, I would have fled the scene. What tidings had Elizabeth thought would be best coming from her? Had the bishop come? Had Edward been tried as an adulterer? Was Nancy hurt?

“Tea, Miss Pierson?”

Rendered speechless, I turned to view Lord Dalry, my restless fingers now tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. Could he not see I barely clung to sanity? But he did see. Compassion punctuated his every feature.

“I assure you, matters could have been much worse, and Reverend Auburn fared rather well through the entire ordeal.”

“Isaac,” Simmons warned from the desk in the corner.

“Surely even you cannot object to me offering that morsel of comfort.”

“You’d be surprised at what I could object to,” was Simmons’s response.

“This may sound odd, but I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed my time with the Windhams,” Lord Dalry continued as if not hearing him. “The glimpse at your former life was most profitable; indeed, I almost envy you the freedoms you enjoyed there.”

I stared at him as though he were addled before the idea seized me that he was trying to lay the path back to normalcy, step-by-step help me adapt from the scene that had just unfolded.

The nonchalant way he waited for me to meet his gaze bespoke a silent command that the elite never permitted themselves to act emotional, to show weakness, to betray a thought.

At the desk, Simmons stopped tallying his books and observed us.

I looked between them, wondering if they truly expected me to continue on as if I’d not heard how my father tried to tuck me out of existence, as if my feelings were of no consequence.

“Tea, Miss Pierson?” Lord Dalry pressed again in his emotionless voice. Again, he watched me, waiting.

I drew a shaky breath and allowed my hands to drop to my lap, stunned that he was expecting it. “Tea!”

“Mrs. Windham had a charming blend, though I can’t say that I’ll continue her practice of adding rose petals.” He picked up the silver pot. “May I?”

I stared, shocked that he’d just continued on, but then, wondering if he was attempting to find a way to talk about Am Meer, I nodded agreement.

Lord Dalry’s smile was approving before he selected an extravagant black and gold-gilt teacup, which he arranged over a saucer. The delicate china never slipped or rattled under his care. “I am sorry that Miss Windham’s letter was burned.” He set the hot cup in my hands. “I know she felt the loss of your companionship most keenly. One day I hope to have the pleasure of seeing your friendship with her restored. I found her to be the perfect model of discretion.”

Simmons harrumphed, flipping over a page. “Yes, and her
mother the perfect lack thereof. If you ask me, Miss Pierson would be wise to forget she ever knew such rabble.”

Lord Dalry did not glance at him but concentrated his gaze on me as if willing me not to respond in any manner. This situation scarcely felt real. The desire to scream and smash everything in the room came over me, yet as long as Lord Dalry kept his focus on me, I felt unable to do anything except sit. Behind him, Lady Josephine gleamed from her portrait with approval.

“We stayed at Am Meer for nearly a fortnight,” Lord Dalry eventually said. “The cottage is decorated rather charmingly. Have they lived there long?”

I gave him a strained look as questions screamed at me: Why did they stay at Am Meer? Why a fortnight? Had Edward been on trial? Impatient to hear the real news, I gave a curt nod. “Yes, yes . . . I believe many years now.”

“Ah, that would explain the grounds. Mrs. Windham spent half her time planting bulbs. Even this time of year I could see how magnificent her garden must be.”

All at once I realized this wasn’t his way of giving me tidings, but his way of training me. Like one waking from a trance, I dumped my teacup on the nearby saucer. Lord Dalry could hope all he wanted that I’d just sit there having tea while my life was being destroyed, but I wouldn’t. Never!

My breath came in hard pants as I resisted looking in Lord Dalry’s direction again.

“I have nothing more to say to you.” Unwilling to subject myself to his influence, I found my feet. Yet even as I did so, the urge to curtsy and formally take my leave proved stronger than my resistance. I dipped. “If you’ll please excuse me, Lord Dalry.”

He likewise rose and bowed.

Cold air enveloped me as I rushed into the hall and escaped the bizarre encounter. I braced myself against the wall, fighting tears. I pressed my fingers to my temples, knowing I needed to find a way to contact Edward and have him come and get me. But how?

“Pity,” I heard Simmons say after a few seconds. “You nearly had her acting ladylike.”

“Quiet.” Lord Dalry’s command was soft, yet unbending. “She doesn’t need criticism, but our aid.”

I heard a book slam shut. “I’ll not welcome one of Macy’s girls, even at your command. It was folly to risk everything on her.”

“Well, there’s no helping it now. The plan is already in motion.” This time Lord Dalry’s tone contained irritation. “There’s little we can do now but hope for the best.”

Simmons let out a huff. “Were I you, I’d be clambering to find an escape from your part of this scheme.”

“Keep your concern. I don’t need it.”

Simmons snorted and papers rustled. “Only a fool steps so directly in that man’s path. Don’t expect me to weep when you’re killed. You do realize you are the only one whose life is primarily in danger.”

I held my breath to ensure I heard the reply, but it was unnecessary, for a jovial laugh followed the remark. “I never presumed you to feel one of the worthier emotions. Besides, Forrester is the one I wouldn’t trade places with. My danger is nothing compared to his.”

“Don’t count upon it,” Simmons said. “Stealing a man’s wife right out from underneath his nose! This is the most reckless scheme I’ve ever been forced to embark on. For my own part, I wish myself far from here.”

“Well, no one’s asking you to do anything except manage Lord Pierson’s properties and keep quiet.” China clattered as Lord Dalry presumably dumped his cup and saucer onto the tray. “I’d best move on to the library now.”

Having no time to flee, I stepped into an empty room and pressed my ear against the door. Lord Dalry exited and made his way down the passage.

I DID NOT FIND the solace I sought in my bedchamber that afternoon. After locking myself inside, I spent all emotion and fell into a shallow slumber.

There, I dreamed of Mr. Macy.

In my sleep, I thrashed against the sheets that weighted my legs, making it impossible to run. I sobbed and fell to the marshy ground, knowing I was in a dream but unable to wake.

Wind pierced the wintry brume, raising the stench of rotting leaves and stirring the ground fog. In the haze, the urns and half-toppled columns jutting from the sloping ground resembled broken teeth.

Julia . . .

Mr. Macy’s voice, soft as a whisper, demanding as a general’s, took on an ethereal quality; just as in real life, there was no pinpointing which direction he would next come from. At times his voice arose from crumbling gravestones, and at others I caught sight of a shadow in the spinney of ghostly birches. My heart pounded as I waited for his approach, waited to awaken. Though
my throat burned, I sobbed. From the distance, the sound of nails being hammered into coffins filled my ears.

“Miss Pierson!”

Gasping for air, I lurched up in my bed, clutching my covers to my chest. The hammer’s ring weakened into someone knocking on my chamber door. Slowly the fabric of my dream receded under the icy slap of sleet beating against the glass. I drew my knees to my chest and hugged them against me.

Keys rattled and my lock groaned before Mrs. Coleman cracked open the door, her round eyes illuminated in the orb of light from her single candle. “Are you all right?”

I shook my head. I would never be all right. My life had gone irrevocably off course, and I would never be able to set it right.

Mrs. Coleman placed her tiny flame on my nightstand. Tenderness filled her face for a second, but instead of comforting me, she took a deep breath and gave me the same look I’d seen her give an undermaid. “Well, chin up and dry those tears. I’m to fetch you for dinner. Your father is not one to tolerate a young lady weeping at his table, to be sure.”

I wiped away the wisps of hair plastered to my face, scarcely able to contain the sudden rush of belonging. “My father ordered me to dinner?”

Regret flickered through Mrs. Coleman’s features. “Master Isaac sent me.”

I started to pull the counterpane back over my head.

Her chest puffed as she stopped the motion. “What difference does it make who insisted you join? If you want your father’s approval, now is the time to go claim it. Be glad for the opportunity to prove yourself.”

My eyes burned from my earlier weeping. “Is Forrester attending?”

“Are you going to let a man like that stand in your way?” Without waiting for my response, she pulled back the heavy counterpane. Her eyes locked on me. “Mercy, child, did you
have to sleep in your dress! Well, never mind it. Master Isaac stressed timeliness. I’ll comb and pin your hair. It’s the best we can do. James is waiting at the foot of the stairs. We need to get you to him before Eaton sees him.”

“You’re wrong, you know,” I said, sliding from the bed.

“How so?” She hastened me to the vanity.

I fell to the vanity bench and frowned at my image, trying to overrule my own feelings. “I could hardly care less what my father thinks.”

The good woman laughed outright. “I’m a mite wiser than you think. Lucky for you, I’ve handled the Pierson temperament longer than you’ve been alive. I warrant I know the two of you better than you know yourselves.”

Ten minutes sufficed to find me in the hall, wearing a deeply creased dress, with my hair pulled tightly into a bun. I clomped down the stairs, listening to the rain that pelted every window, amplifying the dreariness of Maplecroft.

James’s eyes sparkled as he stepped forward, which warped my emotions. I disliked Lord Dalry with each downward step I took, for I predicted the dinner would be a dismal failure—and because of his interference, key staff members were now hoping for a happy ending, increasing my embarrassment at being continually rejected by my father.

The closer I moved toward James, the more his smile died. He took in my dress with consternation. I nearly laughed, picturing how amused Edward would be by his reaction. James bowed, unable to take his eyes off the mass of wrinkles covering my dress. I gave him what I hoped was a distinguished nod; then, feeling like Anne Boleyn going to the execution block, I picked up my billowing skirts and followed him.