I cast an uncertain look at Edward.
“I’m sorry,” Edward finally said, “but you are . . . ?”
“Lord Dalry,” the young man stated, “but please, call me Isaac.”
“Lord Dalry!” Edward took a step back in astonishment before giving him a slight bow. “Good heavens, forgive me. I had no idea.”
The young man frowned, as though embarrassed. “Please, call me Isaac. Have a seat.”
Strictness pervaded the drawing room we occupied. The ceilings were high and papered, the windows layered in brocade and silks. A grand pianoforte sat at the far end.
I stared at the books arranged in perfect order on the shelves. Footstools sat equidistant from the chairs, as if they’d been measured and lives depended upon keeping them perfect. There were no indentations in the carpet to suggest anything ever moved.
A footman arrived, freshly awoken as evidenced by his misbuttoned shirt and wetted hair. “Simmons said you requested me, sir?”
“Thank you, James. We’ve guests. Please bring a light tea,” Lord Dalry ordered.
The footman gave him an incredulous look. “In the drawing room at three in the morning?”
Lord Dalry grinned. “Oh yes, in the drawing room!” He rubbed his hands together. “We’re going to bend all sorts of rules tonight. And I don’t fancy doing so on an empty stomach.”
The footman bowed and retreated.
“Now to business,” Lord Dalry said. “I’m authorized to extend Lord Pierson’s protection, and from what I understand, I need to extend his apology as well.” His smile looked practiced as he faced me. “Had your father shown you any mercy that night, Macy would have injured you further, as a means of further exploiting him. It was for your own protection that he acted as such.”
I lowered my gaze, not wanting him to see the effect his words had on me.
“Where is Lord Pierson?” Edward asked.
“He’s with a group of men who are working to do something regarding Macy.” Lord Dalry tapped his fingertips together twice, as if considering how much more to say. Lowering his tone, he decided upon, “They’re very close to proving that Macy is Adolphus.”
I sank against the back of my chair, amazed at how hated that name already was. I glanced at Edward to see how he took the information. During the last two days, I’d learned that Churchill had been like a father to him.
The footman returned with a large tray, which he placed on the table.
“Please.” Lord Dalry gestured to the spread. “Help yourself.”
“Are you hungry, Juls?” Edward asked, ready to fix me a plate.
I shook my head, suddenly desirous of being alone.
Lord Dalry rose. “Forgive me. I imagine you both must be very fatigued. Lord Pierson believed you’d only come here as a last resort, in desperation, if you will.” He looked at my dress, as if noticing it for the first time. “Perhaps I was too eager in my greeting. I warrant the both of you would prefer to sleep first. Have you luggage?”
Edward shot him a vexed look as he also stood and grasped my arm. “She has nothing.”
Lord Dalry remained unruffled by Edward’s demeanor. “James,” he said over his shoulder, “please fetch Simmons and let him know that our guests are ready for bed.” Then to us, “Perhaps explanations can wait until morning.”
A few minutes later, Simmons reappeared.
“Take the girl to Lady Pierson’s room,” Lord Dalry instructed. “I’ll show the reverend to the guest chamber nearest mine.”
Simmons grabbed a candle and made motion for me to follow him. He returned through the main hall, then trudged up the stairs, never looking behind. I followed, glancing once at Edward.
At the top, Simmons turned left and opened the door at the end of the corridor. The candlelight illuminated an ornate four-poster bed. Excessive draperies adorned the windows. They looked tawdry, even in the dark.
“The late Lady Pierson’s room,” Simmons said, a sour note in his voice.
I gave him a nod of thanks, then crawled into the bed.
I awoke later that morning to the scent of lavender and jasmine. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a room smothered with gold-textured silks and gaudy furniture. Sun poured through heavy lace covering the window and moved in waves amongst the intricate patterns over the carpet.
I slid from the massive bed and walked to the window. Eastbourne sat at the bottom of a steep ravine. From where I stood, it no longer looked like a grand estate in the process of repair but like something once lovely, now decaying. With quiet dismay, I scanned the protruding architecture and gargoyles, then yanked the lace panel back in place and turned to face the room again.
A washstand stood behind an elaborately embroidered silk screen. Though it was stocked with tooth and nail brushes, towels, and soaps, there was no water in the porcelain basin. I searched the chamber for a bell pull but was unable to locate it amongst the lavish decoration.
I had tended myself for too many years to feel dismay.
I shed Nancy’s coarse dress and placed it on the silken bedclothes. My throat smarted as I wondered what had happened to her. I swallowed, hoping I could give Edward a message to relay to her.
I gathered and pulled my hair over my shoulder, then opened the wardrobe. The scent of heavy perfume stung my nose as I looked through the late Lady Pierson’s dresses. She must have been stout, for nothing looked like it would fit me. I envisioned Nancy frowning at what little there was to work with.
A knock on the door was followed by the entrance of a middle-aged woman, who was no taller than my shoulder. Behind her, two maids followed. She bobbed, and the maids bobbed.
“I’m Mrs. Coleman, the housekeeper,” she announced. She stared at Nancy’s dress spread over the bed. The wrinkles around her mouth tightened as she viewed the empty fire grate.
I drew in a breath, knowing I looked beggarly. Then, recalling Edward’s refusal to put on airs, I straightened. I eyed the girls behind Mrs. Coleman, deciding their dresses were suitable enough for me. “Good morning,” I said. “As you can see, I have no belongings. I wonder if perhaps there is someone my size on staff, someone willing to lend me a dress? I fear nothing here fits me.”
Mrs. Coleman blinked four times before finding her voice. “I grant you,” she said, entering the chamber, “you’re more petite than your mother, but we can manage.” She proceeded around me and pulled a billowing, ivory brocade dress from the wardrobe.
It took both maids and the housekeeper to lower the grand dress over my head. With deft fingers, they made tucks and pinned them, then removed the gown. One of the maids bundled it in her arms, and with her chin to her chest, scurried from the room. When she exited, two more maids entered with steaming pitchers, which they carried into the room before giving me half curtsies and leaving.
For an excruciating length of time, Mrs. Coleman washed my arms and legs. The remaining maid brushed and oiled my hair and then styled braids that looped and interwove into each other. The dress arrived while Mrs. Coleman was perfuming and powdering me. When she opened a large jewelry box, I noticed the majority were emeralds. She selected an expensive set, including combs encrusted with diamonds.
“Won’t Lord Pierson—I mean, my father—object?” I asked when the maid shoved them into my hairstyle.
Mrs. Coleman cast the maids a warning look when they expressed surprise, then primly responded, “Perhaps the vicar at your school stressed the importance of humility, but now you’re a reflection of your father’s status.”
Her response astonished me to speechlessness, but there wasn’t time to inquire. When they finished, I rose, nodding my thanks, surprised at the weight of the gown.
Outside my door, more maids stood with fresh linens. They bobbed as I sailed past them. When they entered my room, I raced down the hall toward the grand staircase.
I found what I sought immediately. At the bottom of the stairs, Edward waited beneath life-size portraits, leaning over his Bible. He
failed to notice me at first as he sat, legs crossed, his brow furrowed.
Above, light poured through the vaulted ceiling’s dome. Marble floors, azure-colored walls, and white baroque trim greeted my eyes. The huge staircase curved at the bottom. Portraits lined the lower hall and steps.
My heart felt like it would burst as I pattered down the stairs to him.
Before I reached him, however, I was arrested by the sight of one portrait in particular. She could have been me, except that her attire belonged to the last century. The resemblance was uncanny. Peculiarly, she wore the exact set of emeralds that I had inherited from Mama—every piece, excepting the headdress.
I stared a moment, recalling how much I’d longed for family the night I observed Mrs. Windham and Elizabeth reading in the hall by candlelight. Apparently I did resemble someone—and rather strongly too. That moment marked the first time I truly accepted the idea that Lord Pierson had fathered me. It birthed a desire in me, or rather a fierce longing to gain back some of what I had lost.
Seeing me study the painting, Edward said, “I fear our Mr. Forrester isn’t very sharp if it took him an entire week to figure out who you were.”
I laughed, then when Edward opened his arms to me, flung myself into them. He held me tight a minute; then he whispered, “Can you fetch a shawl? There’s something I want to show you. Only make haste. I have a feeling when it’s discovered that you’re awake, we haven’t a chance in all the world to talk privately.”
I pulled away from him but took up his calloused palm and kissed it before running up the stairs.
When I arrived breathless in the chamber, I learned I had broken protocol; all the maids froze with horror.
“I just need a shawl,” I explained, heading toward the wardrobe, starting confusion anew, for one girl stepped forward to fetch it for me, but then seeing I made motion to help myself, stepped back.
“Can you find it?” I asked her, knowing it would be quicker.
“Yes, miss.” She dipped. She selected a watered silk that matched my dress, but I shook my head.
“Something very warm, if you please.”
The girl shot another maid a nervous glance, and I knew that Edward and I would have to run for it. My father’s staff clearly did not know what to think about my wanting to go outdoors. Nevertheless, she returned with a thick, fringed cashmere shawl.
I nodded my thanks, turned, and took flight.
“We’ve got to hurry,” I told Edward, holding the shawl above my head in order to wrap it around me as I hied down the stairs.
He nodded and held out his hand.
We burst onto the frost-covered grounds that dazzled beneath the rising sun. Our breath curled above us, dancing in a song of thanksgiving as we hastened around a garden path.
“Here,” Edward said, releasing me. “We mustn’t be seen holding hands. I’m not certain how it started, but the staff thinks I’m your teacher. I’ll pull out my Bible and read aloud; you follow. Keep your head bent. That way if any servants look out the window, they’ll assume we’re keeping the school’s morning routine. They won’t like our school very much, nor will they think us proper, but nonetheless . . .”
As long as we remained in sight of the house, Edward held his Bible before his face, reading—a psalm, I think—waving his free hand as if preaching, too.
I followed, thinking us ridiculous, but I didn’t care. It was so like the old days. I imagined Henry and Elizabeth laughing in Am Meer’s drawing room when Edward recounted our escape from my father’s house.
Once we were free from view, Edward slowed and caught pace with me. Hand in hand we walked in silence, tromping across ground from which an early mist rose.
I shoved aside heartache, knowing that later I would drown in it. But for now, for that moment, I was determined to savor every minute with Edward.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” Edward said as we entered a pasture. “I found it this morning, during my prayer walk.”
By this time, I was breathing hard and my body was a strange mixture of temperatures—cold nose, ears, and toes, but warm elsewhere. I lifted my gaze to an ancient oak that stood near the entrance of the pasture.
A few rays of morning sun broke through the clouds and fell aslant on the tree. I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling tears rise. “How can this be?” I asked. “How is it possible?”
“I have a theory,” Edward said in a quiet voice next to me, “but you won’t like it.”
My breath curled in the frosty air as I laughed. Were it not impossible, I would swear that this was our ancient oak. It was identical in nearly every way.
Moss clumped over its massive trunk and up the centuries-old divide of its first two boughs. Straggles of leaves still clung to its twisting, meandering branches. Below, their fallen comrades carpeted the ground, looking as dry and as pitiful as corn husks. I covered my mouth, laughing at the bittersweet feeling, then grew teary. Just like our tree, one massive root still pulled up violently from the ground, as if the tree once took a mind to change locations but couldn’t manage it.
I felt the release of more tension than I thought possible. How many times during the past three years had I daydreamed I was at the ancient oak? Then I laughed for the sheer absurdity of life. How could I have married Mama’s murderer and yet still receive a gift like this moment? No jewel, no vase, no painting inside the halls of Eastbourne could ever compete.
Edward kept his fingers twined in mine, not speaking.
And somehow, illogical though it may be, the joy of that moment unlocked the pain. I covered my mouth and tried to stifle a sob. Embarrassed, I turned from Edward, not wanting him to hear. Not if this was our last time together. But it was for this reason he’d brought me here.
“Here.” He tugged on my fingertips.
He led me to the tree, and then, taking a giant step up, he hoisted himself onto the lowest recumbent ledge. I gave him my hands, and with a shake of my head recalled how the soles of my shoes always slipped over the moss. Thankfully I found a knotty hole that the toe of my shoe could fit into. The initials BD + EG were carved next to it.
The next moment found us cradled in the massive bough, stretched out over the cushions of moss, looking up at the rambling crown of the tree. I settled my head against Edward’s chest and shut my eyes, content just to be there, to be held.
For a half hour, we spoke no words—not needing to.
“I don’t think Henry and Elizabeth are going to believe you,” I eventually said as a flock of crows passed, “when you tell them about this tree.”
A laugh rumbled in his chest, filling me with an unspeakable happiness. It had been so long since I’d heard it. “Hmm, I don’t think they’re going to believe me when I tell them I took tea with Lord Dalry at three in the morning and spent the night in Lord Pierson’s estate.”
I groaned, recalling the debonair gentleman. “Who is he, anyway?”
I felt Edward move, as if he were shaking his head. “A lord I’ve read about in the paper multiple times, though I don’t think he’s taken his seat yet.”
I frowned, wondering when Edward had taken an interest in politics, but then realized it must have started after he gained a parish. How many of those laws directly affected him now?
Silence followed, but now that a reminder of reality had cropped up, I disliked it.
I twisted my head to view him. “What are you thinking about?”
Again he chuckled. “Well, I’m thinking that we just had—at least, I hope we just had—our worst fight. It was bad. You ended up married to someone else, and I broke the law and ruined Henry’s carriage.”
I laughed at his description. My thoughts turned toward my first morning at Am Meer and how different he’d acted, so I said, “You’re a horrible vicar, you know.”
His breath curled in the air, he laughed so heartily. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that from someone who has never heard me preach. Admittedly, I do have one par
ishioner who causes me more problems than you can imagine. Her family was somewhat famous—”
“Her ladyship?” I said, smiling, as I squirmed to become comfortable.
“Hmm, make that two parishioners, then. No, this particular one comes from a family that is known for its animosity toward the church. But fear not.” Edward shifted his arm, allowing him to touch the top of my head. “I think I’ve made some progress with her. The last time I spoke to her about God, she neither pitched an apple at me, shoved me in a creek, nor made a most unladylike display of herself by screaming and running away.”
I laughed, turning on my side, ignoring the fact that I was wearing ivory and lying on moss. I wanted to see Edward’s face.
“I’m not so certain,” I said. “I have it on good authority she convinced her vicar to elope with her, even though she was already a woman of scandal.”
Edward said nothing, but the laughter faded from his eyes.
“What made you decide to risk your faith by taking me to Scotland?” I asked him.
He shifted position, turning to place his back on the opposite branch. When he spoke, his voice was thicker. “I don’t fully know. I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I needed to take care with Churchill, that he was a bit on the legalistic side. Henry was so certain what I needed to do.” He frowned. “Juls, I really would like to know. What did Churchill say to you?”
“He told me only the most selfish person pulls someone else down with him as he drowns, that I needed to release you.”
Edward frowned, a deep sadness filling his eyes. His jaw tightened as he looked at me anew. “I feel as though I’m responsible for Churchill’s death, somehow. On the day he told me about Adolphus, he forbade me to repeat that name. He said something terrible would happen if his association with the man became known.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I said. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. Macy knew we’d been to Churchill’s office.”
Edward shut his eyes, as if pained. “Yes, well, that was my grand idea too.”
Knowing the best way to shift Edward from this mood wasn’t to give him comfort, I said, “If Macy is this Adolphus, what on earth do you think he wants with me?”
Born of Persuasion Page 39
