“I fear to touch you,” I whispered. “You look so lovely. Your gown, it’s beautiful!”
She grabbed my hands and crushed them.
I squeezed back, tapping into her delight. What did it matter whether Lord Auburn approved of me? Did I not have a lifetime to win him? And how many times had Edward and Henry fought? What was one more? So long as Elizabeth and I maintained, we’d mend this together.
“Sisters!” Elizabeth bounced on her toes. “We’re to be sisters!”
Betsy frowned from where she sorted through a trunk. “What you’re going to be is late.”
“Fie!” Elizabeth waved her to silence. “Everything is basically packed and ready to go to Auburn Manor.”
“Not the bonnet you tore apart.” Betsy knelt before one of the trunks and, huffing, wrapped Elizabeth’s knickknackeries in paper.
“Shh!” Elizabeth waved her to silence; then, winking at me, she lifted the lid of a nearby trunk and pulled out a deplumed bonnet. “I despised my going-away bonnet, so I’m changing it before Mama or Aunt Millicent can do a thing about it.”
“They’re going to have a fit,” Betsy declared. “They were up until the wee hours remaking it. I’ll end up in the workhouse like—” She abruptly stopped and glanced at me.
Surely Nancy hadn’t been forced into a place as bad as that. I desired to ask but knew such inquiries would only dampen the wedding.
“Well, they won’t know,” Elizabeth rejoined, examining her untrimmed bonnet, “until it’s secured to my head, ready to quit Am Meer forever. You can tell Mama I threatened to prick your feet with pins. Julia will back your story, won’t you, dearest?” She grinned in my direction. “You should have seen the monstrosity. Green scaly ribbons coiled about it like a Gorgon’s head. Making it even more frightful was that every inch was aquiver with ostrich feathers. I would have frightened the youngest children, making me the most gossiped-about member of the Auburn family.”
I felt my eyebrows hitch as I wondered if it was reasonable to feel slighted by her statement.
“I daresay it would have become a local legend,” Betsy affirmed with a stout nod.
“I tore it apart this morning,” Elizabeth said, setting it on her vanity, “much to Betsy’s dismay. I was planning to add that fat gauzy ribbon there so it would tie beneath the chin just so. But now I fear I should use the safer velvet one. What do you think, dearest? That’s the dress there.”
I looked over the maze of trunks. The room was stripped of Elizabeth’s belongings, her clothing emptied from its pegs and drawers. My heart felt crushed as I realized the truth of her words. She really was quitting Am Meer forever. No wonder the cottage wore a mantle of desolation. It mourned the loss of Elizabeth. How on earth would life manage here without her calming hand?
“It’s the green one there.” Elizabeth pointed anew when I failed to note her dress.
I obliged her and looked. The dress was an intermix of moss-green velvet and peau de soie that were skillfully tucked and sewn in layers with ruffled ribbons. Still the dress failed to arrest my attention. Below it, resting on a chair, were four bouquets of lilies wrapped in a silk ribbon whose color Miss Moray had declared out of season last year.
I exhaled slowly, wondering who would stand as Elizabeth’s maid of honor in my stead. Suddenly I felt yet more displaced. I’d sojourned in a faraway land, and though I’d pilgrimaged home, everything and everyone had changed.
“Both ribbons have merits,” Elizabeth continued, unaware of the heaviness of my thoughts. With her slim fingers, she lifted the two ribbons from their spools and faced me. “Which do you think?”
Remembering her preference, I touched the wide, gauzy one. “This one.”
“Oh, I thought so too,” Elizabeth exclaimed, her enthusiasm rising anew. “Only Matilda Bren trimmed her bonnet with a transparent ribbon last month, and I couldn’t stand the idea of her thinking I’d imitated her, but now I can say you selected it. And you never even saw her bonnet!”
“Matilda Bren?” I repeated, remembering the bossy girl we’d always shunned. “My word, it’s been ages since I thought of her.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Lucky you! This winter, her older sister married someone titled, and you should see the airs she puts on about it. You would never guess her brother-in-law is sixty with gout. Not that the match is any benefit to her. Mama says if she doesn’t marry this year, she’ll remain a wallflower for certain.”
Formerly I’d have laughed and inquired whether she’d managed to attract one dance partner yet. But I found I could not command my mouth to smile. I hugged myself, feeling inexpressible grief for her. What it must feel like to know everyone secretly deemed her an old maid. How difficult it must be to enter a room and, knowing her every move was being criticized, act merry enough to capture the attention of a gentleman.
“Perhaps,” I suggested, rolling up the velvet ribbon, “she hasn’t yet learned the skills needed to charm. Now that you’re Lord Auburn’s daughter-in-law, you might make some introductions for her.”
“Me?” Elizabeth gaped. “Ha! Not likely! It’s her own doing she’s unhappy. She made her own bed by being so overbearing. Let her sleep alone in it.”
I said nothing, wondering how many people felt similarly about me. After all, Macy’s missing bride was being discussed at teas, dinner tables, card games, and gatherings all across Britain. Yet which of those souls actually knew anything about me?
“Perhaps,” I pressed, “she just needs a little help.”
Elizabeth’s nose wrinkled as she tried on her bonnet and modelled it in the mirror. “And perhaps you’re speaking of yourself. You’re no Matilda Bren, trust me! There’s no helping her sort and there’s no use trying. I most certainly won’t. Take a care! You’re beginning to sound just like Edward did when he came back from university.”
Her words stung more than they should have. It may be that she was correct and I was internalizing it too much. Feeling dejected, I gathered my skirts and took a seat on her bed, where I privately lamented Matilda’s fate. I stared at the hearth, where, as children, Elizabeth and I had sat cross-legged in our nightgowns with our cups of chamomile tea. In how many of those conversations had we verbally torn apart Matilda? It seemed so callous now. Had we treated her kindly, added her to our foursome, would her life have turned out differently?
I pressed my hands against my temples. Or was I being as judgmental as Edward had been? It wasn’t like me to feel a cool anger toward Elizabeth. Were I standing in a tipping rowboat, I could not have felt more unbalanced. Today had every essence of being a bad dream.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth’s hand fluttered to my shoulder.
I jerked at her unexpected touch, then rubbed my forehead. “Yes, I’m sorry, dearest. I don’t know what is wrong with me.”
Elizabeth removed her bonnet and set it aside. Her face grew tender as she addressed her maid. “Betsy, go heat water for Julia to wash with, then open her trunks to air them.” She lowered her voice and addressed me. “When you were missing, Mr. Macy brought your things back in case you returned. He even paid Mama to keep them here, though she said it wasn’t necessary.”
That was news, but I said nothing, not wanting to remind Betsy that I was supposedly Macy’s missing bride.
Betsy only frowned at the clock, but she stood and obeyed.
Elizabeth waited until her footsteps retreated, then sat next to me. “Henry told me about your life in London.” She placed the backs of her cool fingers against my cheek. “I can see its ill effects. Was Lord Pierson very cruel?”
Caught off guard, tears filled my eyes. Who could answer a question like that? I pictured my father’s gruff indifference and compared it against the ridiculous amounts of money he’d lavished on me. I took the debt I owed him for hiding me from Macy and weighed it against the memories of his sudden tempers and the way he domineered everyone.
As with Henry’s request from this morning, I lacked the ability to judg
e the situation. My mind and emotions disagreed, frazzling me further.
“Well, a plague on him, then,” Elizabeth said when she wearied of waiting for me to reach a conclusion. “We both can claim Lord Auburn now. Henry says he’s secretly thrilled at the prospect of grandchildren.”
My body froze in place as I knew I’d reached the juncture when I needed to tell her about Lord Auburn’s edict.
“Think of it, Juls.” Elizabeth clapped her hands. “We might even carry together! Can you imagine the two of us too immense to do more than send Mama into panic with pretend labor pains? We’ll make a game of seeing who can make her faint first.”
Heat flamed over my cheeks, for never in my life had someone spoken so directly about being in that condition. “For shame, Elizabeth!”
“Oh no, you don’t!” She leaned nearer. “No becoming a prude just when I need information the most! You’re going to tell me everything! Mama’s speech this morning was simply horrid. Full of wailful tears and instructions I fear to heed. I wanted to crawl beneath the bed and die from embarrassment for her.” She shuddered. “Give me your opinion on the matter, Juls. What do I need to know for my wedding night? Truly?”
I dipped my head, unable to look at her as I recalled the sultry touch of Edward’s skin against my skin. Without permission, my mind traced over the ebullient, though sometimes-painful, sensations from last night. Knowing I was bright red, I shielded my face. “Elizabeth, you forget I’m a woman of scandal. I feel all the wrong things at the wrong times.”
“All the more reason to beg succor,” Elizabeth pleaded. “For I can tell just by looking at you, I’d rather repeat your experience, by far, than Mama’s.”
Shocked, I gawked at her. In the next second, peals of laughter rang from Elizabeth’s chamber. We were so jubilant, I thought Mrs. Windham took the notion to heft herself up the stairs, for heavy footsteps outside in the hall charged toward us.
Elizabeth covered her mouth as she swallowed back laughter. I laced my fingers in hers, recalling how often Mrs. Windham had caught Elizabeth and me giggling in the dead of night.
The door swung open, but instead of Mrs. Windham, Betsy entered. She dipped to Elizabeth, then turned toward me. “Your water is ready.”
“Would you give us another moment alone?” I scooted toward the side of the bed, ready to stand.
Betsy pressed her mouth in a firm line, likely feeling desperate to complete her duty and oversee Elizabeth packed. But she had no choice but to obey. I waited until she was out of hearing, then again slipped my fingers through Elizabeth’s. “Dearest, I’m not attending your wedding.”
“What?” She withdrew slightly, releasing me.
“Henry asked me not to.”
Elizabeth stood, her eyes narrowed with indignation. “Why would he make such a request?”
Keeping my voice monotone and low, I explained how Lord and Lady Auburn refused to come if I was there. As I spoke, Elizabeth’s face softened and she nestled back into her seat beside me. By the time I finished, I felt exposed. Pained, I waited for her to speak, waited for her to shed light on what was normal to feel or think.
She blinked several times as if slowly digesting the information. Then, gathering my hands back in hers, she said, “But you will call on us, won’t you? If you do, eventually Edward will come around too.”
I did not speak or move. I wanted to believe she’d misunderstood that I’d been banned from her wedding. But reason corrected me. Elizabeth grasped it. Why else would she have sought to secure my future visits?
Part of me refused to accept that Elizabeth had understood. Had she commiserated, then asked whether I would still call on her, we would have held our own handfasting, where I would have solemnly sworn we would always be inseparable. But that she’d hurtled over my rejection so easily made me want to distance myself from her.
Though I do not recall my exact words, my response was noncommittal.
It contented Elizabeth, though. The next several minutes were taken up with her asking my opinion on which feathers to add to her bonnet. I numbly assisted, feeling like a fasting monk whose attendance was required at a banquet.
I left the chamber as quickly as possible and retreated to my bedchamber, where eventually the clop of horses announced the wedding carriage. I leaned against the bedpost as the cottage filled with frantic rushing. Eyes shut, I listened to cries of “The carriage has arrived!” “What about Mrs. Auburn?” “Oh, for heaven’s sakes! Let her take her own carriage!” “Elizabeth, pet, you must hasten!” “No, no, not that wrap!” “Where’s my bonnet?” “Have you remembered the bouquets?” Eventually the flurry of noises distilled to Hannah and Betsy opening and shutting cupboards before hurrying off to see Elizabeth wed.
Cool water trickled through my fingers into the porcelain basin as I bathed my eyes. Beneath my window, chickens and geese fussed at each other. With tired fingers I hung the dampened towel back on the washstand, then stared at my image.
Faint shadows haunted my eyes, but nothing else hinted that I felt stretched past endurance. I turned away and faced the bedchamber, grateful for the solitude.
The trunk Mr. Macy left was easy enough to locate. It sat in the corner as if forgotten. The craftsmanship, however, was impressive. Instead of slats, ingrained polished wood moved in a checkerboard pattern of stately greys. The bands and clamps were burnished nickel, and the lock, complete with an inserted key, was enamelled with mother-of-pearl.
I knelt and touched the glossy wood. No rust spotted the lock, for it clicked open with the gentlest pressure of my thumb. Likewise, the leather straps unbuckled and the lid lifted easily.
My stomach flopped as the faint scent of sandalwood and cigars tickled my nose, surfacing memories better forgotten. Stacks of folded clothing awaited me. I eyed them, fascinated. Prior to becoming Lord Pierson’s daughter, these were the best gowns I’d ever owned.
I dug through the dresses, delighted by their simplicity. No pearls were sewn into their trim, and their petticoats weren’t quilted with intricate coats of arms.
They were simple and straightforward but lovely. On one, I touched the cold steel buttons, recalling how Nancy wrangled over the price. Beneath it was the gown she’d insisted be trimmed in blue velvet even though I fought for red satin. Rainwater perfume, which Nancy brewed to keep the clothing fresh, imbued the garments. I shut my eyes. Was it possible to be homesick for a soul?
Making a mental note to discuss with Edward the best way to find her again, I selected a grey woollen gown that I’d yet to wear. Ten minutes sufficed to find me clothed and my tangled hair brushed and restyled.
A wan fire burned in the drawing room, left over from that morning. Glad the simplicity of my dress allowed me freedom of movement, I perched on the raised stone hearth, then took in my surroundings, realizing the pleasures of being at Am Meer had truly vanished.
My former life was like a lovely golden painting that I used to live inside, but I’d tumbled out of the frame and forever lost my world. And while I might have been able to touch the painted man playing the fiddle, I was barred from hearing his merry tune. My eyes could perceive the warm reds and oranges of the painted firelight playing over the furniture, but I no longer felt its warmth.
The knowledge was like a cold wind numbing me, yet not cold enough to deaden pain. It left behind a dull ache, one that I didn’t believe I’d ever be able to subdue.
How could I mourn? Was this not what I’d fought so hard to gain? Was I not back inside Am Meer? I placed my eyes in the heels of my hands. How could the dream turn out to be so hollow and barren?
Yet the fault didn’t lie with the dream. The dream was real. Henry and Elizabeth most certainly still existed within that painting. The joy brushed over Elizabeth’s features this morning was proof enough. The dream hadn’t failed. It was me. I’d somehow managed to mangle even this. For a moment I scarcely could breathe, but then as I lifted my gaze, it fell on the spot where Edward had stood that morning months
ago, crushing his hat as I learned he’d become a vicar.
How well I remembered his rigid stance and the intensity of his gaze. I drew in a breath, the worst of the emotion passing. Now that I considered it, he too had fallen out of the picture. He’d been living in this shattered reality longer than I had.
And during that time, had he belonged anywhere? He was no longer rich, yet not poor. No longer accepted, yet not shunned. I myself had witnessed how difficult it’d been for him to participate in the easy laughter of those around us.
Yes, I decided, feeling warmth bleed back into my toes and fingers. There was still Edward.
And with that comforting thought, I tucked my feet up on the ottoman and wrapped my arms about my knees, desperately wanting him to return. At least when we were together, the loneliness was reduced from a raging tempest to a mere stirring that I could live with.
Eyes shut, I listened for the sound of wedding bells that would announce my banishment was ending, that Edward was marching back to the cottage. Having barely slept the night before, I shut my eyes, and like a rock being skipped over water, I skimmed in and out of consciousness. I was lulled so near sleep that I didn’t register the sound of boots slapping down the flagstone hall until they were already at the door.
“SHE’S SLEEPING. I already checked,” a male voice said. “You’re not to disturb her!”
“Poppycock,” a second male voice retorted. “What vicar’s wife sleeps while there’s unfinished work in the parish? Block my path at peril to yourself.”
“Sir, on Master Isaac’s orders, I forbid you to open that door!”
I rose to my feet and positioned myself behind a nearby chair, feeling more curious than frightened. The first voice was most certainly Thomas, my father’s groom, and the second, simply put, didn’t sound frightening.
The door burst open and two men stumbled into the chamber. Thomas barely caught his balance, losing his powdered wig. The other was an elderly gentleman, wearing clothing that was outlandishly overlarge for him. Breathing heavily, he took one look at me before relief filled his eyes. “Oh, good! There you are.”
Price of Privilege Page 6
