Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  He waited until she ran from sight before sliding his watch inside his waistcoat. “How does your housekeeper manage her?”

  Too embarrassed to admit Nancy was borrowed, I shrugged.

  He tugged at his waistcoat. “Never mind. Within a week, I’ll have her spit-spot.”

  As Reynolds retraced our steps to the entrance hall, I shoved aside my lingering sadness over Edward and thoughts of Mama. In my new gown, I felt graceful and elegant. I envisioned Mr. Macy greeting me with admiration. The world felt magical as Reynolds opened a pair of doors. “The dining hall.”

  My slippers made no noise as I entered.

  Like all of Eastbourne, the chamber was grand. A shimmering host of candles lit a painted ceiling awash in golden clouds and angels. A massive table was laden with an excessive number of articles. Heavy goblets in successive sizes, mother-of-pearl utensils, and gold chargers graced each place setting. I reached for one of the finger bowls, knocking a wine and water glass together. A shimmering sound tinkled through the room. I drew in my breath in awe, realizing the space was designed so that one could whisper and be heard. In the center of the table, an arrangement of ferns and almond blossoms sat in a silver urn.

  “Fascination and hope?” I fingered one of the flowers.

  “It was not my intention to send a message,” came Mr. Macy’s breathtaking voice behind me. “However, I’ll acknowledge what they say.”

  I turned, unintentionally tearing a petal from the centerpiece. Mr. Macy stood near the door, looking devastating in dinner attire. Next to him stood a trolley laden with decanters and tumblers. In his right hand he held a tumbler containing amber drink.

  “I thought myself alone.”

  “Yes, I know. Perhaps I should have made my presence known, but I desired to study your behavior when you thought yourself unobserved.”

  I broke our gaze and turned slightly to place the shorn petal on the table. “I . . . I’m early.”

  “Yes. I asked Reynolds to fetch you. There are matters we need to discuss.” He set down his drink and approached. When I backed against the table, he paused. “No, now isn’t right either. You still fear m—” His mouth curved upwards. “What the devil?” He laughed and caught my hand in his, running his fingers along the ribbon wound about my wrist. “Are you lacking bracelets? Shall I supply some?”

  “Your . . . manservant—he wouldn’t allow me to give it to my maid.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed a thumb along his forehead. “Ahh, yes. Excuse me, please.” He strode to the door and leaned out. “My good man, Miss Elliston reminds me I neglected to instruct my guests regarding their keys. Amend it. Also start bringing our guests. Fetch me John first.”

  Mr. Macy shut the door and returned to me with an amused expression. “Why on earth did you not bring a reticule? You are perfection, except for that key.”

  Still unable to look directly at him, I unwound the ribbon, uncertain what to do with it.

  “I’ll safeguard it.” He held out his gloved hand. When I placed it in his palm, he clucked his tongue. “You are far too trusting. Never again give a gentleman your key, even if he owns the house.”

  My stomach dropped, but he did not offer me my key back. Instead, he looped the ribbon over his head and tucked it beneath his shirt. The doors opened.

  “Mr. Jonathan Alexander Greenham,” Reynolds called.

  Though I estimated the door height to be twice the height of Mr. Greenham, he still ducked as he entered, no longer a rain-soaked traveller. This was as much his world as Mr. Macy’s. He looked impeccable. His eyes, however, blazed as he tore through the doors. He stopped midstride upon spotting me.

  “John, welcome.” Mr. Macy’s voice held admonishment. He went to the drink table and poured a beverage. “Please join us. Allow me to extend my gratitude. I trust I did not burden you by having you arrange the journey.”

  Mr. Greenham accepted the tumbler but avoided Mr. Macy’s gaze. “The trip wasn’t the burden and you know it.”

  “Good. There’s more business we need to discuss. I fear I need another favor.”

  Mr. Greenham gripped his drink. “Yes, well, there’s something I’d like to address with you too.”

  “Good; after dinner, then.”

  Next, Reynolds announced Henry Auburn and Mr. Rooke.

  Henry entered first and viewed the dining room as Rooke went straight to Mr. Macy and whispered in his ear.

  Henry joined me, then leaned over and matched their secretive tones, wearing a mocking grin. “So what did you think when I rode up and pounded on the side of your carriage? Did you laugh? I imagine your mother wasn’t very pleased. What did she say?”

  It was so like Henry to simply resume our relationship—as if we’d just seen each other yesterday and I were still destined to become his sister. I felt my lip quiver as I looked askance at him, silently imploring him to stop.

  Something about his penetrating gaze made me think he remembered the girl I’d been. The girl who’d laughed beneath the warmth of the sun as Edward spun her around in circles, her hair whirling in the air, before she collapsed to the ground in peals of laughter. I’d never felt self-conscious around Henry before, but suddenly I realized if anyone were fully cognizant of my great change, it was he.

  His jovial mood was replaced by sobriety as I hugged myself. “It will be all right, Juls. I swear it. Edward always was somewhat of a tomfool with his high notions, but I swear to you, he will keep his oath.”

  I felt my quivering bottom lip push out. I did not take the opportunity to inform Henry that Edward’s and my engagement had ended. Anyone who knows Henry also knows he would have badgered me until he learned the whole story. At that particular moment, I didn’t want Henry’s pestering.

  When the doors swung open again, Mr. Robert Forrester was announced.

  Upon hearing the name, Mr. Greenham’s head jerked up and he viewed the visitor with an expression of equivocal horror and relief.

  I scarce have need to describe Mr. Forrester, as his notoriety continues to this day, but I will say this: even by his late thirties, he did not have his pants tailored; therefore they hung about his feet like the excess skin of pugs. His hair looked tangled. I am uncertain whether a comb had ever touched it in his entire life. Only the top buttons of his frock coat were fastened, adding to his unkempt appearance.

  What utter depth of stupidity he exhibited too, entering the chamber. He tripped, and when he righted himself, he narrowed his eyes at Mr. Greenham, as if to place blame. “Gentlemen,” he announced in that nasally, annoying voice of his, as though challenging the room. Seeing the drink table, he picked up a glass and ran ink-stained fingers along the bottom. Apparently satisfied, he poured a drink and waved it under his nose.

  “By all means, help yourself,” Mr. Macy said in a bland tone over his shoulder, then returned to his conversation.

  Mr. Forrester set the drink down untouched, though he stuck one finger in and brought it to his mouth.

  Henry laughed. “What a droll fellow.”

  Mr. Forrester’s eyes darted to us, his hand over his stomach, seemingly nauseated. But those eyes widened upon seeing me. “I know you!”

  Mr. Macy paused and looked up from his conversation.

  In response to Mr. Forrester’s forwardness, I turned to face Henry.

  “I’m certain of it.” Mr. Forrester took a few steps in our direction. “Yes, yes; I can see you remember me too. I demand to know where we’ve met.”

  Mr. Macy crossed the room and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Robert, may I present Miss Julia Elliston. She’s my guest and not about to be harassed by your uncouth ways.”

  Mr. Forrester snorted but retreated two steps. The doors crashed into the drink trolley, and Lady Foxmore burst into the room, her face sour. Stopping before Macy, she stood on tiptoes, pointing toward his nose. “I shall not tolerate this! Not even from you. If your man does not return my key momentarily, I shall take my leave and take my charge with me!�
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  Mr. Macy’s mouth twitched as he steered her back to the hall. “Excuse us, please.”

  Elizabeth and Mrs. Windham entered, wide-eyed. Elizabeth touched her hair, looking at me, asking my opinion on her looks. I nodded. Thankfully a smiling Henry hastened to greet her, doubtlessly glad for the circumstances to meet away from his parents’ watchful eyes.

  Legend has it that no one has ever bested her ladyship, but it isn’t true. When Lady Foxmore returned with Mr. Macy, I saw in a glance that not even she had managed to secure a key for her servant. Beneath the powder, her face was a shade of puce, yet her dignity was a marvel to behold. Her shoulders square, she discarded angry looks as carelessly as a gentleman tosses coins to a beggar.

  To my delight, Mr. Macy came straight to me and took my arm. He placed me in the seat of honor; then, holding the back of my chair, he announced, “Please, everyone be seated.”

  There were no place cards, no prior arrangements as to which gentleman should seat which lady. It took a full minute for the confusion to abate, and another until the men sorted it out.

  One lavish course followed another, pigs’ feet in truffles, garnished tongue, artichokes with béchamel sauce. Mr. Macy paused each time a dish was offered me; his eyes gleamed whenever I pronounced something a novelty. He took no efforts to hide his pleasure that the weight of the crystal goblets shocked me, or that I marvelled that each course was served upon gold chargers. Noticing I only tasted the wine, he whispered for it to be replaced with sweeter claret.

  While his footmen toiled to keep every guest satisfied, Mr. Macy kept the conversation light and palatable. For the short amount of time he’d spent in the Windhams’ neighborhood, his knowledge was uncanny. He knew the merchants and their wares. He was familiar with dances and dinner plans, even asking if one of the cottagers had yet managed to afford the hunting pup he’d been saving to purchase.

  “Mr. Auburn,” Mr. Macy said, “I understand you return to school soon. What subjects will you study?”

  Henry dabbed his mouth, frowning. “According to my father, Latin, chemistry, political science, and botany.”

  “According to your father?”

  Lady Foxmore laughed and pointed at Elizabeth with her knife. “Yes, Lord Auburn hopes to prevent unsavory relations by forcing the boy back to school.”

  Poor Elizabeth. Even I hadn’t heard this news, but knew it was true by the way scarlet crept up her cheeks.

  Mr. Macy noticed, gave Lady Foxmore a warning look, then changed the topic. “Is it true your brother continues his studies as well?”

  “Yes,” Henry said. “Edward devotes his spare time to learning Hebrew and Greek.”

  Mr. Macy nodded approval, cutting his curried rabbit. “I hear his sermons are excellent. I regret not having had the time to attend one.”

  “Edward would say you could have made the time.”

  Lady Foxmore laughed, waving her dish away. “Henry, shame on you. Do not blame Edward for your rude statements.”

  Mr. Macy smiled. “I’m rather surprised he didn’t elect to join us too.”

  Lady Foxmore smirked at me. “Yes, and more’s the pity he didn’t join us. He would have made a most amusing addition to our party. Perhaps John can tell you what you missed. Heaven knows he’s spent enough time with my incumbent to be familiar with him.” Then, with a malicious smile, she stabbed her fork toward Mr. Greenham. “You never did tell me why you started spending hours a day with my vicar.”

  “What’s this?” Mr. Macy turned to Mr. Greenham with astonishment. “You wrote nothing about it.”

  “That’s because it was nothing.” Mr. Greenham fixed his gaze on his plate.

  “Yet my curiosity persists,” Mr. Macy said, his voice sterner. “What was so fascinating to you about the vicar?”

  “Fascinating?” Lady Foxmore’s voice barely contained her mirth. “Well, if that’s the information you seek, you’re applying to the wrong person. Try the child sitting next to you! Rumor has it no one knows him better than she. Surely, William Elliston’s daughter must have some biting insight on our overzealous parson. Dazzle us with your father’s brilliant wit. Amuse us with your opinion of our vicar.”

  I had known, of course, that Lady Foxmore could be as vicious as she could be generous. But until that moment, I could not guess on which side of that balance I truly stood.

  She smirked as she glanced toward Henry, who shifted in his seat and leaned forward. I frowned, confused about what she wanted.

  “William Elliston’s daughter?” Mr. Forrester’s head snapped toward me. His brow furrowed. “Someone spoke about your father, just the other day. Who was that?”

  “Well, child?” Lady Foxmore demanded.

  I shook my head. “I have no insight worth offering.”

  Her walking stick thumped the floor. “You must think our faculties are dulled with age, if you think to befool us with an answer like that. Come, child, there’s no need to play shy. We all were present when Edward declared that you—how did he put it?—have far stronger claim on him than any other. What did he mean?”

  His brows raised, Mr. Macy angled his head toward me.

  During the past week, Elizabeth had given me plenty of warnings about Lady Foxmore, but none of them had prepared me for this. I nearly choked as her game became clear. With the skill of a faro player pitting her opponents against each other, she’d cornered me.

  She knew that Mr. Macy had demonstrated interest in me, and the tiny glances she flashed at Henry alerted me to what she hoped to accomplish. Henry’s rumored tempers were secondary only to her own. Henry would consider anything less than the truth an affront to Edward’s honor—and if there was ever a person ready to blindly defend someone’s honor, it was Henry.

  I drew a slow breath. While my illusion of Edward was destroyed, Henry and Elizabeth still believed in our foursome. They walked in the lie that nothing would ever tear us apart, that we were untouchable. It pained me to publicly shatter them.

  Yet if I did not deny Edward, I feared I’d lose Mr. Macy.

  I felt my face grow sullen as I faced her ladyship. “How should I know his meaning?”

  “But you do know him? Yes?”

  I wanted to deny it, but one glance at Henry, sitting rigid in his chair, red splotching his cheeks, told me that would be carrying it too far. “Y-yes . . . I’ve met him once or twice.”

  “Once or twice?” Bitterness pinched Lady Foxmore’s mouth. “Very well, child, if you’re going to answer like that, I shall confront this head-on. Are you or are you not betrothed to him?”

  Mr. Macy’s astonished gaze excluded everyone but me.

  “Oh, nonsense,” Mrs. Windham said. “If anyone would know about such a thing, it would be me. I tell you, Lucy would have never allowed it. She forbade Julia to have any contact with the Auburn sons. Simply forbade it.”

  I drew a deep breath, feeling gladder for Mrs. Windham’s babble than I ever thought possible. But it did not last long.

  “Nonetheless—” Henry’s voice was grinding as knives being sharpened—“I’d like to hear Miss Elliston’s answer.”

  Beneath the table, I fingered my napkin as I met his angry gaze. It was Henry’s own fault he was here to witness this. I had not asked him to come. “There is no betrothal,” I said evenly. “I scarcely even know Reverend Auburn.”

  Henry stood and sliced me with his gaze. Though he was angrier than I’d ever seen him, he managed to keep his temper in check and gave Mr. Macy a stiff bow.

  “Henry,” Elizabeth whispered.

  He shook off her pleading touch, threw his napkin on the table, and stalked from the chamber.

  Elizabeth’s skirts rustled as she prepared to follow. She managed to cast me an exasperated look as she stood.

  “Elizabeth,” Mrs. Windham hissed loud enough for everyone to hear. “What will Lord and Lady Auburn say?”

  Her face tight, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her mother before leaving the room.

  �
��Think of the impression you’re giving Mr. Macy!” Mrs. Windham paused to titter at Mr. Macy, then called out to her daughter’s retreating form, “Elizabeth!” She placed her hands on the table and attempted to hoist herself, addressing us. “You must excuse us all a moment. I warrant Elizabeth detected something amiss with the dish and wishes to speak to the staff privately.”

  Mr. Macy cast Mr. Greenham a look of displeasure over the rim of his wineglass.

  “To be sure—” Mrs. Windham rocked as she made her second attempt to rise to her feet, looking at Mr. Macy—“it is just like Elizabeth too. A more fastidious wife one could never find. Within a month, she’d have any household so well-managed a husband would never experience even a hint of embarrassment.”

  “What?” A malicious smile curved her ladyship’s mouth. “Shall you never visit?”

  Mrs. Windham did not register the insult as she hastened toward the door. She paused at the threshold and addressed Lady Foxmore. “I can assure you, Elizabeth is not breaking Lord Auburn’s edict. When you speak to them of this matter, you must make certain they know that Elizabeth would never meet alone with Henry. That they have my personal word . . .” She trailed off as she shifted her gaze over the table.

  Contempt registered on the face of every guest, except me. I felt myself color and pale in succession with embarrassment. Had she been my own mother, my mortification could not have been more complete. Mrs. Windham’s smile drained for a brief second as she sensed the censure, but then she brightened and waved her lacy handkerchief. “Eat, eat! Do not feel obligated to wait for us. No sense in allowing the food to grow cold!”

  For a brief moment no one spoke as she pattered down the hall and, in what I believe she thought a subdued whisper, called for Elizabeth.

  Rooke recovered first, leaning back in his chair and reaching into a nearby crystal bowl before popping an olive into his mouth. He grinned, looking toward Mr. Macy and Mr. Greenham, as if waiting for them to join him in his amusement.