Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  Mrs. Windham looked ready to protest, but Mr. Macy’s expression must have changed her mind. She turned on me instead. “Such a fuss, Julia, about where your room is.” She shooed me away. “I am certain you’ll find your room suitable enough. I highly doubt Mr. Macy will place you too close to the servants!”

  Mr. Macy, with a bow, shut the door. Annoyance flashed over his face as he narrowed his eyes at Lady Foxmore. “Remind me to have a word with John later.”

  In a nearby passage, he unlocked a door that revealed a chamber as ancient as Queen Elizabeth’s reign. A huge bed with thick posts and a canopy sat amidst Jacobean furniture.

  “Your room, Adelia.”

  She stepped to the threshold and took her time examining the space. Whether she approved or not was difficult to tell by her odd expression. “You do realize,” she said, finishing her inspection, “I am quite your enemy now.”

  “Are you, indeed?” was Mr. Macy’s amused reply.

  Her earbobs swung as she addressed him. “I am in earnest, Chance, for I did not think you serious until this exact moment. You must know I am completely against this.”

  His eyes danced briefly to me. “Are you? Why?”

  Lady Foxmore fully turned. “Shall I truly spell out my objections, here and now?” She gestured toward me. “Look at her. She’s as ungainly and as unprepared for this as a newborn colt, Chance. Honestly, if you want my advice—”

  “Do not pit yourself against me, Adelia. You will lose.”

  A brief narrowing of his eyes was all it took. Lady Foxmore stopped midspeech, though she looked none too pleased. I fidgeted, feeling little better than a servant being spoken about while she tends the fire.

  Lady Foxmore lifted her petite stature to its full height. “Expect no mercy, then, from me.”

  He laughed in his mesmerizing way. “I never do, my dear. I never do. Now if you’ll excuse me, my last guest still requires attention.”

  I met her ladyship’s gaze, to plead silently that she not leave me alone with our host.

  Lady Foxmore limped into her room, looked over her shoulder, and gave Mr. Macy such a baleful stare that my every hair stood on end. The door clapped shut.

  The next few seconds were pure agony as I tugged on my sleeves and looked at the crack of light shining beneath her ladyship’s door. Inside, the sound of her cane retreated toward the back of the room.

  I fixed my gaze on the thin ribbon of light, overly aware of my windblown hair and scarlet cheeks. Mr. Macy stood motionless.

  How long we remained as such, I cannot say, but to me it felt endless. Eventually, my senses attuned to the distant echo of rain and the footfall of servants running in the main hall. The scents of beeswax and soaplees were borne aloft on the cold draft.

  Yet despite this, I felt the presence of Mr. Macy more than anything else. No air stirred near him; no scent carried from his body; he made no sound. Yet were I blind, I would have known he was there. The air fairly scintillated with his presence.

  Feeling wretched at my shyness, I finally dared a peek.

  No one wore pride like Mr. Macy. Ebony-colored eyes sparkled with delight. If such a thing is possible, he looked as charmed by my shyness as he was with my victory over it.

  “Undoubtedly,” he said in a soft voice, “you have many questions for me. I give you my word, we shall discuss this arrangement at length. Only now, as you’ve just arrived, it is not the proper time. Come, allow me to take you to your chambers.”

  I took him as meaning to soften my discomfort by being frank; however, I did not know what “arrangement” he spoke about. Stunned, I stared at him.

  His brows scrunched for a fraction of a second, but then all at once he seemed to grasp something. With a look of irritation, he turned toward Lady Foxmore’s closed door. “She wasn’t in jest,” he said softly.

  He rubbed this thumb over his forehead, for a moment looking lost, but then he chuckled and placed his hand on his hip. “She neglected to inform you, didn’t she?”

  I folded my arms, drawing them close. When I spoke, I wished I hadn’t, for it sounded weak. “Sir?”

  He grew very still. “And you’re frightened besides.”

  At first, I thought him angry, for his jaw tightened and he averted his eyes, but then as he reposed himself, I thought him hurt. “And why wouldn’t you be,” he asked more to himself, then swore under his breath. “What would I think, were I in your position?”

  By this time the heavy wetness of my clothing combined with escalating emotions was taking its toll. I shivered, pulling the damp wool of my cape tighter.

  He offered me his hand. “Come.”

  I have been much criticized for what followed next, the point being belabored that had I possessed more moral fiber, I would have refused to be led through a crumbling estate without a chaperone—especially as I had two on hand.

  To my critics let me respond that I am not at fault for the disgrace that claimed so many over the next year. That storm already loomed on the horizon. I was little more than a wayfarer caught in the torrent without an umbrella.

  As our footsteps rang through one long corridor after another, my mind reviewed the strange banter between Lady Foxmore and our host. To avoid looking at him, I pretended to study the master paintings that lined every wall. Soon bright plaster halls, lit from suspended lamps, turned into narrow stone passages. Lancet windows became smaller and were set in deeper recesses.

  When we approached an arch etched with Roman letters, I hesitated, suddenly reluctant. Past that threshold the estate was stripped bare, without even carpet to soften our tread. Though I could not read Latin, I felt a dread of passing beneath those words. I pulled back. “Is my room not near the Windhams’?”

  “No. It’s on the other side of the house.” He stopped walking and turned when I refused to continue. “Allow me to assure you, you are now far safer than you’ve been in months.”

  I lifted my face to study him. “I have been in no danger.”

  The cant of his eyebrows told me he found my answer unexpected. “If that is your belief, then it’s urgent we talk.”

  “Sir!” A panting voice sounded behind me.

  Mr. Macy lifted his eyes and gave a nod. “Approach.”

  I looked behind me as the butler turned the corner. With one elbow he leaned against the wall. “Forgive me, sir,” he said between breaths, “but you have a visitor.”

  Mr. Macy looked at his manservant as if he’d gone mad, before asking me, “Is there another in your party?”

  I denied it as Mr. Macy waved his servant forward, then took up the soggy card on a silver tray. He flipped it over.

  For a full minute he said nothing as he stared. “Forrester.” He tossed the card back on the tray. “My word, that man is relentless.” His gaze flitted over me. “And of all the nights to make a nuisance of himself. Is Rooke still here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll go find him. I grant you permission to take Miss Elliston to her rooms.”

  The butler bowed.

  Mr. Macy looked about to make apologies, but then, with a flick of his fingers, said, “No, change that. I’ll take Miss Elliston to her rooms. Find Rooke; tell him Forrester is here. He’ll know what I want. Send them both to the billiards room. Tell them I’ll join them shortly.”

  The butler bowed and turned. His footsteps quickly dissipated down the corridor.

  “This is not the way I envisioned our first conversation,” Mr. Macy said with a smile, though I sensed irritation. “At least let me see you to your rooms.”

  He quickened our pace, checking from time to time to see if I lagged. After it seemed we had crossed the length of the house, we stopped at a door at the bottom of a stairwell. With both hands, he pulled a ribbon out from beneath his collar and removed it from around his neck. On it was threaded a single key. His eyes sparkled as he unlocked the door. “Your room.”

  The chamber was larger than my drawing room, parlor, and foyer comb
ined, but I saw no bed. Expensive silks, whose color and texture reminded me of honeycomb, dripped from the windows. The settees and chairs were upholstered in the same fabric. Above, the ceiling arched and slanted into domes. The firelight flickered off polished wood, evidencing the skills of past artisans. Confused, I crossed the threshold and realized this was only a sitting room and that several chambers adjoined it. The door to my right revealed a bed covered with satins.

  Regaining my senses, I turned toward Mr. Macy and found him leaning against the doorpost, appraising me with satisfaction.

  “I cannot occupy this room.”

  “Nonsense. It’s plain to see you are taken with it. I didn’t refurnish this for mere extravagance.” He straightened and entered. “I must hurry now, for I have an uninvited guest.” He took my hand and placed the key in it, slowly closing my fingers around, making my heart flutter. He waited a moment, regarding me, then retreated.

  When the door clicked shut, my world moved again. I pressed my ear against the door; however, it was too thick to hear his retreating footsteps. I sank to the floor with euphoria rushing over me, then moaned. This was impossible, unimaginable, unforeseeable. Forcing myself to breathe, I reviewed all the questions, all the peculiar conversations that rushed over me, all demanding attention at once. I wanted to know who Mr. Macy was, and why he thought I should know him. I felt as though I’d been lifted from a stupor into a strange new reality.

  I cradled my hands over my stomach, feeling like a fool. Less than an hour ago I’d believed I was wrong to place myself in Lady Foxmore’s care, but now I was buoyant with hope. I laughed aloud, suddenly understanding Lady Foxmore’s demand that I show fortitude and abandon mourning.

  Eventually, the sensible ticking of the clock and ordinary drumming of rain weakened my fascination. I sat forward, suspicious that Mr. Macy might, perhaps, take pleasure in trifling with women’s affections. There must be a reason he remained a bachelor.

  Loud rapping startled me, followed by Nancy’s “Miss?”

  I stood, feeling guilt flush my cheeks, and pulled open the heavy door. She waited in the hall, looking especially shabby with a drenched coat and hat with drooping feathers. Behind her, three men and my trunks waited.

  “Good grief!” She tugged at the knot on her bonnet, staring at the room wide-eyed. “I tried to get to thee before now,” she said, entering, “only they was all arguing about whether they were allowed in this part of the house.” She waved to the men behind her. “Come on with ye. Fetch th’ trunks to yon corner.”

  The footmen eyed her with contempt until I nodded agreement, and they carried in the trunks. Having delivered the baggage, the taller one bowed. “I’m to inform you a servant will be sent in an hour to escort you to dinner.”

  “Escort me to dinner?” I asked. “Is that customary?”

  Nancy squatted before the luggage. “How does thou think to find your way round this house without a servant and all?”

  The footmen stiffened when she answered for me. I grinned, tucking a wisp of hair behind my ear, pleased somehow to find the girl was as brash here as she’d been at Am Meer. I waved them out the door.

  Nancy shook her coat off. “We best hasten if I’m to have ye ready at an hour.”

  I nodded agreement, surprised how good Nancy’s presence felt. She brought with her normalcy, the sense that everything hadn’t gone topsy-turvy. While Nancy rummaged through trunks, I explored the chamber. The first door I opened held the greatest luxury of all. A large copper tub, filled with steaming water and rose petals, sat before a roaring fire.

  I stared wide-eyed before gathering my wits. “Nancy!”

  She came running, then gaped.

  “Hurry!” I peeled off my stockings. It had been years since I’d had a proper bath, with Sarah too old to lug water and Mrs. Windham believing bathing was the death of people.

  Nancy wrinkled her nose, then crossed the space. She touched a petal. “’Tis hot. How’s that done? What if somewhat happened and we stayed on th’ road another hour?”

  “I couldn’t care less how it’s accomplished.” I unbuttoned the cuffs on my sleeves. “Hurry, assist me.”

  She stared longingly at the water once more but then unhooked my dress and started on my petticoats. I scanned the space while I waited, and then the room beyond it, which was entirely dedicated to writing. A large desk sat open with stationery and pens. Atop the desk, an elaborate grouping of yellow roses was arranged in a hand-painted bowl.

  I froze, forgetting everything except the roses.

  Their message was jealousy, so it was impossible that they were chosen to convey any sentiments. Yet the chances were remote that the exact flower adorned a writing desk here, the same spot they’d been featured my entire life, in my bedchambers both at home and while visiting Am Meer.

  Nancy piled my hair atop my head and pinned it. “Well? Is thou going to stand there or bathe?”

  I shook off the thought and turned my attention to the bath. Never had I been afforded so much water at once. There was enough room, if I sank down, for the water to touch my chin. A nearby table held scrubs and perfumed soaps. I entered the fragranced water and felt my numb toes and fingers warm. I shut my eyes, submerging myself in the warmth. Later, I decided, I would ponder the roses.

  A GIRL IS TAUGHT from an early age her highest achievement is marriage. Her greatest ambition is acquiring a husband. While young men crowd classrooms stuffing their heads with Latin and mathematics, young ladies nest within the same four walls, learning it is they who cushion their husband’s existence and who can create an environment of marital bliss.

  It is likewise believed that marriage within one’s sphere is the only right and reasonable union. What use has a gentleman for a frugal merchant’s daughter? How would a highborn lady benefit a struggling baker? Shall clean touch the unclean? The very thought is unhallowed, defiled.

  Yet that night, as I stood before my mirror, my thoughts tarnished society. Only weeks away from servanthood, I stood amidst unimaginable wealth, envisioning a new life for myself. I hungered to belong in this sphere—not just for the sake of belonging, but for the sake of my future security. Too long had I stood on the threshold of uncertainty, never quite sure how matters would work out.

  Wisps of hair, damp from my bath, clung to the nape of my neck as I ran my hands over the close-fitted waist and touched my low neckline. A myriad of desires coursed through me—each as varied and as lovely as the sparkling treasures surrounding us. I knew as I stared back at my image I would do whatever it took to secure my place in this sphere.

  My gown was pink peau de soie, frilled in the same material, with tight, small sleeves in lieu of the large mutton sleeves I knew the Windhams would wear tonight. When I had first tried on the gown for Nancy’s needlewoman, I thought it too unusual, too modern. But now I saw Nancy’s wisdom. My dress would be light and airy next to Lady Foxmore’s stiff drapery folds, and young and girlish compared to the Windhams’ excess of ruffles and lace.

  My reveries ended with a rap on the door.

  “’Twas scarcely above a half hour.” Nancy regarded the sprigs of ivy she’d been entwining in my hair and wiped her hands over her apron. With a frustrated sigh, she looked over Mama’s emeralds. “What about thy jewelry?”

  “Leave it.” I tugged her skirt as she turned, keeping her in place. “Nancy, do me a favor. . . . Keep a sharp ear. Learn everything possible about Mr. Macy.”

  Freckled cheeks rose with her grin. “Aye. And what does thou want to know?”

  “Never you mind,” I said, reclaiming as much distinction between us as possible. “Now answer the door.”

  I gave my cheeks a pinch and inspected myself anew. Surely, I thought viewing my dress, this night was a gift of the gods.

  In the hall, an elderly man waited. His silver-white hair had been carefully parted and combed in place with bandoline. The creases around his blue eyes deepened as he smiled and bowed. “Are you Miss Elliston?”
r />   I glanced sideways, but Nancy seemed as perplexed by him as I was.

  “I am Reynolds, Mr. Macy’s personal valet. It is my honor to escort you to dinner.”

  Confusion washed over me as to whether I should take his arm. He, however, did not offer it. With militaristic precision, he pivoted and waited for me to follow.

  I dangled my key before Nancy. “Listen carefully. Unpack; touch nothing in the room. Find the butler and have him return this to me within the hour.”

  “I beg your pardon, miss, but I cannot permit that.” Reynolds said. “Did not Mr. Macy instruct you about the keys?”

  “The keys?”

  “Yes. Outside of myself, servants are not permitted them in this household.” He gave Nancy a head nod. “Not even abigails, I fear. I must forbid this.” Though Reynolds maintained a bored expression, the determination in his eyes made it clear he would have his way, to the point of appropriating the key himself if necessary.

  Nancy’s eyes narrowed, and she stretched out her hand. “I ain’t never stole nothing in me whole life.”

  I hesitated. It didn’t seem possible an estate could run if servants didn’t possess keys. I glanced at my chambers. Pandemonium had erupted during my bath. My wet trunks dotted the room and stood with lids open, their muddy water seeping into the rich carpet. Clothing lay piled over every article of furniture.

  “Here.” I pulled Nancy from the room. “I’ll address it with Mr. Macy.”

  Nancy gave me an indignant stare as I locked my door. Then, not knowing what else to do with it, I wound the ribbon around my wrist.

  “You’ll find the servants’ quarters if you turn right and keep walking the length of the corridor,” Reynolds said.

  Nancy huffed and turned.

  “You forgot to say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

  She spun. “Eh?”

  “We do not say ‘eh’ in this household. Neither do we feign deafness. You have ten seconds.” He pulled out a pocket watch, flipped open the gold lid, and stared at the face.

  Somehow, this small gesture finally penetrated her brashness. Her eyes widened, and for the first time in my memory, she bobbed. “Yes, sir.” And then to me, “By thy leave.”