Price of Privilege

by Jessica Dotta

  “Blind Solomon begs on a corner not far from here,” Edward said. “My word, but I am longing for a conversation with him. Juls, I’ll have to bring you to meet him. There’s no one like him. He sees souls because he can’t see their faces.”

  I gave him an odd look, wanting him to explain that, but he tapped Jameson’s knee.

  “There’s where I was beaten by a white cane for daring to rise on tiptoes to see into the carriage.” Edward nodded to a street corner. “The crowd cheered when I pulled him down and snapped his cane over my knee.” He grinned. “But I had to run because a magistrate spotted me destroying the man’s property. I nearly was caught, too.”

  “White cane?” I asked.

  Jameson’s tufted brows rose in astonishment. “Oh, I know you can guess this one by the description alone.”

  “Not likely,” Edward disagreed. “Her father’s footmen use whips.”

  “Ah!” Jameson pointed at his own shoulder. “Hence your new scar.”

  Edward shot Jameson a dark look, but it was too late. My eyes widened. I had felt the angry welt over Edward’s shoulder as my fingers had explored his body, but that moment hadn’t been the right time to make an inquiry about the injury.

  “Who whipped you?” I demanded, outraged. “James or William?”

  “You’re too late. It’s forgiven,” Edward said. “While we were at Maplecroft, after your father agreed we could wed, the poor devil took the opportunity to come and beg forgiveness.”

  Jameson chuckled at the thought. “Yes, I imagine that would be quite the discovery. The vagrant you’ve been beating is your new master. He’s lucky to have come up against your temperament.”

  Edward laughed. “Now that’s a compliment I rarely hear.”

  I clenched my hands, mentally reviewing each time I’d heard one of the men beating someone off our carriage. How many times had it been Edward? All I recalled was my father drawing the curtain shut and his constant commands that I was not to look upon the rabble. Had he feared we’d meet Edward on the street? I kicked the footboard of the seat across from me with vehemence. They had beaten my soul mate as though he were common rubbish. To injure him was one with injuring me.

  “Juls?” Edward sounded concerned.

  Rain spattered the windows then, making the stench of London yet more unbearable. Not caring that it wasn’t proper, I loosened the ribbons of my bonnet and removed it. “I can’t face him again,” I choked out. “I’m too angry. I can’t do this.”

  Jameson gave a low whistle as he leaned forward and peered up at the shreds of grey clouds congregating above us. “My word! It stormed when we were kicked out of Am Meer, and now it storms when you learn Edward has been whipped.” He pointed skyward. “I have to say, the power to brew the weather according to your emotions was well worth keeping. Did you retain any other?”

  I turned my angry glare to the streets. Having my pain ignored was just as bad. Nevertheless, my thoughts churned over all that had happened and how I seemed to curse everyone close to me. Then, “You won’t appreciate that power once you’ve withstood one of my gales. Trust me.”

  “If I plead my age, will you have mercy?” Jameson’s question was happily asked.

  How could he continue to talk nonsense when I wasn’t jesting back? Genuinely hurt, I gave him a reproachful look.

  That, however, proved to be my undoing. For to meet another’s gaze is an aeration of one’s soul. I found that he wasn’t overlooking my pain; rather he was staring directly at it, straight on, unblinkingly.

  Though his eyes held only kindness and concern, they were like rays of sun piercing the eyes of a prisoner left long in darkness. Tears quickly barred him from further access. I slid my arm beneath Edward’s, then touched my forehead to his shoulder, retreating into him.

  “Ah, my queen of queens.” Jameson’s voice was sad.

  “Enough,” Edward said. “She obviously doesn’t like being called a faerie queen. Why are you continuing, then?”

  “I speak to her in parables,” Jameson said quietly. “I call her forth with story. How else can I fan to embers the truth of who she is? For look, she has forgotten.”

  I felt Edward shift as he looked, but it was as one compelled by a boyhood habit to obey. His glance was cursory.

  “You don’t brew the storms,” Jameson said before Edward could speak again. “Though perhaps you have an uncanny knack for flying straight into them.”

  “I know you mean well.” Edward’s voice was stern as he placed an arm about me. “But I don’t follow your method. She’s sadder now than before you spoke.” He turned and appraised me fully. “Are you all right? Jameson’s always been eccentric. Don’t let him disturb you.”

  Jameson crossed his arms. “My goal isn’t happiness but healing. Sometimes surgeons hurt their patients in order to restore them.”

  “He’s fine,” I finally managed but found I could not again look directly at Jameson. Like a flame that consumes itself in one mighty burst, my anger was gone. I huddled closer to Edward, wishing I never had to lay eyes on my father or Isaac again. For a fleeting second, I debated whether to plead one last time to flee the country instead of returning to London House.

  To this day I regret that I did not at least try.

  By the time we reached Audley Street, the light rain had ceased and an embankment of fog enshrouded the world.

  Silently I eyed the turrets that stretched high above us.

  Swallowing, I lifted my hand to knock, deciding it would be unwise to ring the bell.

  “One moment!” Jameson brushed off his jacket, stepping into the dense murk that lolled over the sidewalks. “This time, my queen, I prefer to go through the back entrance. Your generosity at Maplecroft was extraordinary, but in this house I would rather we make a secret of our alliance. With your permission, that is.”

  “Yes, go,” Edward said, taking my elbow. And as Jameson’s footsteps tapped out of hearing, he tacked on, “Lucky dog. I half wish we could sneak through that way too.” He frowned at the building. “I wonder why I haven’t thought of that before. If I had snuck in as a delivery boy and found you, would you have dropped everything and fled with me?”

  “It was more complicated than that,” I said.

  Edward’s brows arched. “How so?”

  I shrugged, knowing it would be impossible to explain that invisible chains had held me. During that time, silent commands and expectations ruled my world. I’d been so busy trying not to set off my father’s temper, I’d nearly forgotten I’d existed independently. “At the opera I planned on running away with you. You saw what happened.”

  Edward mulled over that a moment. “Well, at least this time you’ve got me with you instead of Dalry. You ready?”

  I nodded and gave the door a sound rap, knowing what would happen the moment we set foot inside. Our lives were about to be torn from us. My father was used to dominating others, and now that we were back on his doorstep, I saw little hope of escape.

  “Should we ring the bell?” Edward asked when no servant came.

  “Let’s at least try the door first,” I urged.

  To both our surprise, it was unlocked.

  The burnished floors of London House made me catch my breath. They’d been waxed until they shone like glass. The golden lights from the sconces, fastened on the mahogany walls, reflected on the glossy sheen. Despite the season, a low fire burned in the castled fireplace, adding its own path of light that was as resplendent as a moonglade.

  Edward stepped forward, his mouth parting as he glanced at the dark mahogany balusters along the staircases. They gleamed on the second and third floors. I caught the scent of sweet oil and turpentine. Likely the staff here had tackled this house when we left to celebrate my engagement to Isaac at Maplecroft. Even the suits of armor were mirrors.

  “Unbelievable,” Edward whispered as he leaned forward and considered the stately blend of stone and lambent wood. “I can’t help feeling impressed, which I suppose is
the point.”

  My fingers were cold as I surveyed our warm surroundings. “Let’s go check the library and the smoking room for my father.”

  “I’m yours to command.”

  Taking a fortifying breath, I drew up my skirts and headed toward a small door beneath an alcove. This chamber, too, I knew would stun Edward. The door looked like it might lead to a broom closet but instead opened into a massive library with velvety couches and plush rugs and rows and rows of rare and extraordinary tomes. I pressed my ear against it, hoping Edward could first experience it without my father.

  To my surprise, the first voice I heard was a woman’s.

  “For the last time—” her voice was stern—“you will put them on before you are discovered.”

  “I am not under your authority.” This was James, one of my father’s footmen. “Besides, if you’d just leave me alone for ten more minutes, I could have this done and we’d both be satisfied.”

  “This is my last warning.”

  Intrigued by this servants’ argument, I opened the door.

  Three individuals clustered around my father’s massive desk. The eldest, Kinsley, slept with his head tilted back, mouth ajar, polishing rag clutched between his ancient fingers. He’d aged during my short absence. His skin looked stretched over his skull and more paper-like. Next to him, James stood with streaks of perspiration running down his face as he polished the silver edging over some of the tumblers on my father’s drink tray. He’d discarded his velvet coat and had rolled his sleeves above his elbows. His wig rested askew atop a marble bust of Octavian. Mrs. King, London House’s venerable housekeeper, peered at him disdainfully. She pursed her mouth so hard it highlighted the lines that etched her cheeks into crackled pottery.

  “You give me no choice,” Mrs. King was saying. “I shall ask Lord Pierson to deny your monthly day off.”

  “If you do—” James turned his head and spotted me, and his eyes widened. He threw down his polishing cloth and snatched up his wig, which he shoved on his head before starting on his sleeves. “Ah, cagmag!”

  “It’s all right, James,” I assured. “It’s only me.”

  “It is not all right.” Green eyes bored into me as Mrs. King slowly turned my direction. “This is exactly the type of circumstance I’m trying to warn him about. That a member of the upper staff should be caught without his jacket and wig is downright shameful.”

  I frowned, recalling all the times I’d come upon her and Miss Moray holding a tête-à-tête in the hallway, berating the running of this household.

  “Mrs. King,” I said, managing what I hoped was an equally haughty expression, “in the future, when my husband and I enter a room, you will ensure that you properly greet us, or I’ll personally see that you are denied your monthly day off.”

  Her earbobs swung as she dipped. Ice coated her voice. “Reverend Auburn. Mrs. Auburn. How unexpected.”

  “Did not Simmons inform you of our arrival?”

  “I know not.”

  “Well, did he arrive yesterday and speak with my father?”

  She placed her hands directly before her, a lorgnette dangling from them, her palms facing each other, fingers locked. “I can attest that both of those occurrences happened.”

  Realizing I’d have to word my questions perfectly in order to get any answers, I said, “Thank you; you’re dismissed.”

  As her footsteps faded, Edward gained my side, silently studying our surroundings.

  “James?” I asked when I deemed us safe from eavesdropping ears.

  He frowned as he continued unrolling his sleeves. He gave Edward a glance. “Simmons was here, and he did inform your father.”

  “And?”

  Again James glanced at Edward, not out of fear but as if pained. For a second I felt a knife twist in my soul, for I feared our informality had only been an extension of his and Isaac’s relationship. It was my first taste of life in London House divided from Isaac, and it was dizzying. Normally James would at least offer a suggestion, helping me navigate what was happening. But I noted that, though James opened his mouth, he snapped it shut after glancing at Edward.

  “Whatever it is,” I encouraged, “just tell me. My husband won’t inform on you.”

  The tinge of red already upon James’s cheeks deepened, but at last he revealed his true self. “Your father knew you planned to arrive, but he said he didn’t care what the devil you did or didn’t do.”

  I felt the sting of his rejection but managed to keep an indifferent aspect. “And Isaa—Lord Dalry?”

  Misunderstanding that I was questioning how he’d handled the news, James gave me a pitying look. “He did his best to convince your father to be here to greet you, but your father only said he had washed his hands of you, and you were your husband’s problem now.”

  I stood unmoving—not even blinking—so that I would remain unbreakable. Nonetheless, I felt my lips swell as I refused to acknowledge the tightness in my throat. My eyes grew watery, but I would not speak until I could command my voice. Over and over again I told myself that if my father was willing to accept only what he could control, then it was not love, and I would not mourn something false.

  As if sensing my struggle, James averted his gaze and polished the tumblers.

  “Does that mean we are to leave?” I finally managed.

  James’s eyes rose to meet mine as if he was once again uncertain whether to speak. “Mrs. King didn’t tell you the full truth. Your father refused to heed your arrival, but Master Isaac ordered chambers ready for you and Reverend Auburn. You’ll find beds prepared. He bids you be on time for breakfast tomorrow, where, if there are problems, he’ll inform your father that you’re his guests.”

  I shut my eyes and drew in deep breaths, not willing to betray any emotion. How did one even begin to know how to feel? Too many sensations warred. Hurt that I no longer mattered to my father. Shame that, though I deserved nothing further from Isaac, he hadn’t forsaken me. Relief that my nightmare wasn’t true, that he wouldn’t leave me to navigate something beyond what I knew how to handle. Grief that Edward had to be subjected to any of this.

  James stepped back from the tray of sparkling decanters and tumblers. “May I replace these supplies belowstairs before I wake Kinsley?”

  I gave a slight nod.

  “We arrived with a servant,” Edward said. “He’s downstairs now. Will you help oversee him?”

  James looked as if we had no idea how much of a favor that was, but he agreed and gathered his supplies.

  My bonnet slipped from my fingers and hit the floor, though I caught the ribbon. I swallowed, still working to regain my indifference. Here, I felt a glint of anger toward Jameson and Isaac. I knew they meant well, but their kindness hurt more than it helped. It’d pierced through my hard shell, but that now left me vulnerable. For people break if they reach for love and acceptance while still in a place where they ought to be protecting themselves.

  Edward gathered me to him and whispered, “Well, we’re just here for the food and beds anyway. A plague on him too.”

  I laughed out loud, needing some sort of a release, and anything was better than tears.

  “And since you’re my problem and not his, I say let’s teach him a lesson he’ll never forget about not caring ‘what the devil you do.’ Let’s try out Henry and Elizabeth’s personalities on him. Test how far we can really take that statement.”

  Again I laughed but felt the sharp pang of missing our foursome.

  Edward slipped his fingers into mine, withdrawing a step. “Want to show me the rest of the house?”

  I brushed aside the wisp of hair that fell over my brow. “Would you mind if I retired instead? You can explore it if you wish.”

  Edward scanned the fireplace, his jaw tightening. “Once you’ve seen one estate, you’ve seen them all. I’d rather retire with you.” He swung his hat forward as he gestured at Kinsley. “Who’s he?”

  Grateful that he knew to change the subject jus
t then, I stepped closer and took his arm. “The butler.”

  Confusion crossed Edward’s face. “Your father keeps him?”

  I nodded, glancing at the portrait of Lady Josephine, who smiled serenely upon her aged servant. I understood Edward’s puzzlement. How was it that the man could act so uncaring toward one member of his household and so merciful toward another?

  I crossed the chamber with awareness that we all are guilty of such erratic behavior. None of us have escaped being both good and evil, sometimes simultaneously.

  I tiptoed to where Kinsley snored. I kissed my fingertips, then bent and placed them on his shoulder so as not to awaken him. Like Evelyn Greenley, here was someone safe to love, someone beyond the ability of inflicting hurt. But even that act welled sadness. His feet were tucked in mink-lined slippers and his quilted dressing robe looked brand-new. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, realizing that my father must love him dearly to have ordered such costly items.

  How does one bear the ache that accompanies seeing the goodness resting in the soul of someone who denies you love because they see only your shortcomings?

  It is the worst state of invisibility I have known.

  MISS MORAY PARTED my hair before braiding a length of it and looping it over my ear. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the matching loop, whose end she pinned into the knot of hair at the base of my neck. Despite the annoyance twisting her face, I watched her jerky movements, wishing this time would never end.

  Careful to keep my head still, I slid my eyes to the rumpled sheets that Edward and I had slept in last night. This morning when Miss Moray shook me awake, he had already slipped from the bedchamber. Though I did my best to appear genteel, in the short amount of time it took Miss Moray to assist me, I’d harrowed my soul every imaginable way.