While I bathed my face, I had visions of Edward being hit by a carriage. While I stood to be laced, I wondered if he could be killed by one of Macy’s men. And even while I argued to wear the clothing I’d recovered from Am Meer, I was plagued with an unreasonable fear that Edward might have abandoned me here, no longer willing to face the complexities. Though I knew such fears to be unfounded, I could not rid myself of the dread. I stared at my pale face in the vanity mirror, able to imagine all too well the horrors of living under my father’s rule with nowhere else to go.
“There.” Miss Moray stepped back, frowning at my appearance. “It’s the best I can do without washing your hair.”
I glanced at the clock, wondering why she hadn’t attempted a wash if it offended her.
She smirked. “Oh yes, I’m to tell you that breakfast will be served an hour earlier. You best hurry. You have only minutes.”
I gathered a fistful of my skirt, realizing that Edward wouldn’t know about the change. My stomach plummeted at the idea of facing my father and Isaac without him. “Why did you not say something before now?”
She blinked slowly. “You can stand here and question me about how I handle my time, or hurry and not keep your father waiting.”
In a flash of temper, I swept my arm over the vanity, sending the glass jars and porcelain boxes crashing to the floor. Months of her work on lotions and beauty tonics bled into each other. Her glare gave me no satisfaction, yet I crossed my arms. “There. Now I have no need to question what you intend to do with your time.”
Before she could shoot another icy glance, I hastened from the chamber and down the stairs, already feeling sick and repentant.
My dress practically floated as I pattered down the stairs, for gone was the weight of the more expensive gowns. As I neared the breakfast chamber, however, its layers could have been made of lead. My legs felt like stiff logs, and my palms grew clammy. I clutched Mama’s shawl as my talisman. Despite its threadbare appearance, I’d insisted on wearing it as if it could take the place of Mama rushing to my side to defend me, as she used to in my stepfather’s furies.
My legs quaked as I quietly slid into my usual seat and took up my napkin. Taking measured breaths and keeping my eyes downcast, I focused on the cut of the crystal goblets and the sparkle of the ornate silverware cast with figures from Greek mythology. The set must have been recently ordered, for I’d never seen it before.
I waited, head bowed, not daring to look at the clock to see if I’d made it on time. I’d not been invited to my father’s or Isaac’s presence since the morning they discovered the betrayal in Forrester’s newspaper.
My father waited a full minute to speak, allowing the timepiece’s monotonous and heavy ticks to fill the chamber. When he did speak, it was brusque and harsh. “Where is your husband?”
My cheeks felt on fire. “I know not.”
His sudden exhale suggested his anger exceeded words. “Is he aware that breakfast has started?”
Beneath the table, I tightened my hold on Mama’s shawl. “I know not. I have not seen him this morning.”
In the blade of a knife, I could see a shadowy reflection of Isaac. He occupied his usual place, but I could not make out his expression, nor did I dare to lift my gaze. With my right hand, I felt the square of Colonel Greenley’s letter, which I’d secreted in a pocket that Nancy had sewn into this dress. Now that I was in London House, I knew I’d never be able to deliver it.
“Did you inform Reverend Auburn last night of our regular breakfast hour?” my father demanded.
On the handle of the spoon, the Greek goddess Hebe dented her cheek, staring back at me. “Yes.”
“Fine.” The rustle of newspapers was followed by a loud crack as he snapped open the first one. “He will only eat if he arrives on time for the breakfast hour. James, you may begin.”
Within minutes the clink of dishes and the waft of kidneys and bacon filled the chamber. I adjusted Mama’s shawl as if to conjure her arms about me. I studied my fork’s handle, which featured a curly-haired poet, refusing to imagine what my life would look like if Edward never came back.
To my dismay, James set down the yellow teapot with roses that Isaac had purchased for me. A lavender-fragranced steam piped from its spout. For a second I nearly glanced at Isaac to see if he felt as horrified, but I recalled myself in time.
“Thank you, James.” Isaac’s demeanor was cultured as he dished his food; then, in an urbane tone directed at my father, “This morning I had the pleasure of bumping into Reverend Auburn’s future valet. An absolutely fascinating character. I showed him your smoking chamber—”
“You showed him my smoking room?” The paper crinkled as if my father had lowered it. “Why?”
“We fell into conversation about his time in Africa, and I desired that he see your albino male lion skin. Believe it or not, sir, he claimed he glimpsed a white cat as well, while hunting with none other than Baron Beaumont.”
“Beaumont? Impossible!” My father sounded incredulous. “How old is this valet?”
“Future valet,” Isaac corrected. Then, taking a stab at his age, “I’d say he’s a bit younger than Kinsley.”
I frowned, trying to imagine why Isaac was adding years to Jameson’s life.
My father’s chair creaked as he sat back. “Are you certain he said Beaumont?”
Isaac’s laugh was clear as rain. “Quite.”
“What do you mean he’s a future valet? What is he now if he’s not yet employed?”
“Ah, that.” Isaac’s voice was polished as he reached his manicured hand within my view and picked up the mustard jar. “I think I’ve uncovered the reason behind your daughter’s unexpected arrival, though I would rather allow Reverend Auburn to explain it. In the meantime, I was quite impressed with this Jameson fellow, and I have to give him credit. He apparently made the sacrifice of suspending his pay for a season in order to continue service to his young charge.”
“Do you mean to say one of Beaumont’s own men had a hand in Edward’s upbringing?” My father couldn’t have sounded more delighted if he’d learned that Edward came with a seat in Parliament. “Where is this Jameson fellow now?”
Isaac waited the perfect amount of time before asking, “James?”
The footman stepped forward. “Sitting on a bench downstairs, sir. Waiting for you to decide what to do with him.”
My father strummed his fingers over the table; then, “And you liked this fellow?”
“Oh, I thought him quite splendid. And if you ask me, with Kinsley’s condition, he might be the temporary solution we’re looking for.”
“Butler?” My father’s glass clinked as if his ring hit it. “That’s rather imprudent. What do we know of his credentials? I take it there are no references.” Here I finally peeked at my father and found him staring at Isaac. “No, that’s too big of a risk.”
“Well,” Isaac drawled as if he were completely devoid of opinion, “I’d say his credentials are top-notch. We know for a fact he was Lord Auburn’s personal valet. As far as references—” All of a sudden he became too polished-sounding. “Well, what do you make of him, Mrs. Auburn? Tell us your opinion.”
He used my new name effortlessly as he extended the invitation for me to join the conversation. It was impossible not to at least lift my head. He sat across from me seemingly in full possession of himself, knife poised over the rasher of bacon and oysters, fork in place, his face utterly devoid of emotion. Yet even at a glance I noted the shadows beneath his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks.
I swallowed, lowering my gaze to my plate. “I trust him.”
They were the wrong words, for the conversation fell from the air like a quail that had been shot. Traitresses, apparently, would do well to eliminate the word trust from their vocabulary. My father’s silverware clanked loudly over his plate. He said nothing for so long that I finally stole a peek.
He glared at me, a single vein bulging over his brow, like a man str
aining to lift a heavy trunk. Then, turning to Isaac, he lifted his right hand, which fisted a napkin. “Arrange a time for me to meet with this valet in person.” He dropped the linen on top of his breakfast. “His references are found lacking.”
Abruptly he shoved back his chair and left the chamber, leaving me alone with Lord Dalry.
I turned my face toward the windows, more willing that a passerby should witness my hurt than Isaac. My eyes burned as if I’d not slept the night before, and I found that I needed to gulp in air in order to keep my countenance. But keep it I would.
He waited, perhaps to be acknowledged, perhaps too steeped in his own pain to speak. I sensed he desired me to acknowledge him—to look in his direction. But every time I even considered it, my throat ached as if I’d breathed in fire.
Eventually, as if sensing he needed to withdraw in order for me to find any sort of recovery, he quietly stood, and his soft footfall receded from the chamber, leaving behind a death-like silence.
“Juls?” Air moved next to my chair as Edward knelt.
I lifted my face from my hands, startled by his touch. I’d had no cognizance of his arrival. Struggling to keep my composure, I glanced at the clock and found James standing silently by the sideboard. Most Englishmen did not require their staff to remain with them during breakfast, but my father was so stringent in the running of his household, they were required. Swallowing, I wondered if he’d been stuck there while I silently grieved.
“Where is everyone?” Edward drew my attention back to him.
Shaking my head that I didn’t know, I picked up my napkin and placed it on my plate. Speech was impossible, for to voice what was wrong would shatter me. I would continue to embrace silence, as my eyes were still dry.
Edward pressed tiny kisses into my hair, then wrapped both arms about me in silent support. I leaned my head against his shoulder for a second, the hartshorn scent on his clothing telling me he’d been walking in the less desirable parts of London that morning.
Taking his empty seat at the table, he frowned at the cold, half-eaten food. His tattered clothing and rigid posture clashed with the elegance of the table. His face clouded as he rolled the ornate handle of the knife between his forefinger and thumb. “Your father eats Greek gods for breakfast? That’s not very promising for us, is it?”
I rubbed my eyes, finding release again with laughter.
Edward waited until I met his comely gaze, then jerked his head at James.
I modulated my voice. “James, thank you; you’re dismissed. My apologies for keeping you so long.”
He bowed and started to exit the chamber.
“Would you have Jameson sent to us too?” Edward added.
“Very good, sir.”
I lifted my brows, wondering if Edward planned to force his own servant to wait on us next.
Edward’s eyes drank in my father’s and Isaac’s plates of abandoned food before moving to the clock. “Doesn’t breakfast begin at eight?”
I took up the goblet of claret with shaking fingers and sipped. “Normally, yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not this morning, apparently.” I strained to keep my voice level. He nearly forbade you from eating with us, and you hadn’t even known about the change.
His brows drew together, dissatisfaction deepening his every feature. “He changed the time breakfast started? Has he ever done that before?”
“No,” I said. “Unless we were travelling.”
Edward fastened his trenchant gaze on the table as if working to keep his anger distinct from me. “And would he have forbidden me from eating had I shown up a minute or two late?”
I gave him a sharp look, not quite sure what he was searching for, which made me hesitant to supply information. My shoulders hitched in a shrug. “It’s impossible to say.”
His mouth slashed in a harsh line. “Have you never been late, then?”
Still not sure what he was after, I answered, “My father is unpredictable that way. When I lived here, there were mornings I was late and wasn’t allowed to eat. And then there were mornings he allowed me to remain regardless.”
I did not add that usually those mornings he was anticipating a newspaper article about Isaac and myself.
“So.” Edward spoke slowly, taking care not to look directly at me. “It would be fair to say his ill mood is separate from your actions.”
I scrunched my nose, not certain what idea Edward was trying to express.
Jameson poked his head into the breakfast chamber. “Did you summon me?”
Edward waved him forward. “Never mind it just now, Juls. I think I have an understanding of your father’s personality that you lack. The fact that you can be late for breakfast one day and not the next proves my point. Trust me on this: it’s not about rules, schedules, or timelines.” He gestured to Isaac’s chair. “Jameson, will you join us?”
The elderly man snorted. “What did I ever do to the pair of you? Besides occasionally interfere with your juvenile plans—” he wagged a finger at Edward—“and you should have been studying anyway. No, I will not sit! It’s bad enough the staff knows that Lord Pierson summoned me for a personal audience this morning.”
I couldn’t help but gape. “He offered you the position of butler, didn’t he?”
“So it was faerie magic!” Jameson’s shining face turned in my direction. “And you did retain more powers than brewing storms! I knew it.”
“No.” I displayed my palms. “That was Edward’s doing.”
“Not me,” Edward protested. “I haven’t seen your father since the wedding, and he most certainly wasn’t in the mood to grant me favors then.”
“No, it was last night,” I explained, “when you asked James to oversee Jameson. Isaac and James always work in accord. If we’re a secret alliance, they’re another. My guess is when Isaa—Lord Dalry came home from the clubs last night, James approached him about Jameson. Lord Dalry is the one who truly oversees matters here.”
“How delightfully confusing our names are!” Jameson clapped his hands. “James and Jameson. Let’s make this easier for ourselves. Just think of me as being the footman’s son. Jameson. From this point forward, when I refer to him, I’ll call him my father, and so can you. It will help us keep the matter straight.”
Cheered, I laughed at his nonsense, feeling like a spinning diabolo that has been securely caught on its string again.
“I still don’t understand.” Edward frowned, then, waving aside his need to comprehend, addressed Jameson. “Are you accepting his offer?”
“Who, my new father’s?” Jameson looked at me. “Is he making me an offer too?”
“No.” Edward squeezed his eyes shut. “Lord Pierson’s offer.”
“Ah, your new father-in-law!” He clapped his hands. “How fun. We both have new fathers! I suppose we all do. How very nice of Mrs. Auburn to start the fashion and now share.”
It was so nonsensical, and Jameson kept lifting his eyebrows in my direction, so I couldn’t help but laugh.
Edward looked to me. “Are you following this?”
“Oh, perfectly!” I slipped my napkin out from beneath my silverware and spread it on my lap. “He’s not alarming me any.”
“Well, you’re both alarming me,” Edward said, but his voice gave away his amusement. “I go to walk and pray, and when I return, I find that the breakfast hour has changed. My valet has become a butler and the footman is his father. But most of all, my wife is upset by something that occurred at breakfast, which I still haven’t ascertained.”
“It’s this house.” Jameson gestured about the chamber. “It practically throbs with magic. I shouldn’t wonder if we found a hundred years had passed us by the next time we stepped outdoors. It’s a good thing you’re married to a faerie queen, Ed, for protection. I don’t think the house likes you much.”
“Nor do I like it.”
I sank against my chair, half-smiling, heartened that the three of us wer
e still intact.
Jameson’s keen gaze turned on me. “But what happened at breakfast?”
“Yes.” Edward sounded annoyed. “Tell him, Juls. Please. Make him aware of the hornets’ nest he’s near stepping into.”
I pulled Mama’s shawl about me, feeling my face start to crumble as I recalled my father’s words. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
“Her father refused to greet her last night as well.” Edward’s voice was wrought iron as he looked at Jameson. “Went to the club, declaring she wasn’t his problem anymore. Lord Dalry, her former beau, of all people, had to order chambers for us.”
Jameson’s mouth looked like seagull wings as he smiled, but it was an angry smile.
I begged Jameson with my eyes to do something, to help me change the topic.
Jameson chuckled, though his eyes still wore that black look. “Mr. Addams warned me about her. Said he’d never witnessed any force like her before. ‘An absolute magnet for trouble’ were his exact words.” He turned toward me. “Have you ever tried to act upon life instead of letting life act upon you?”
“Once.” I rubbed my eyes, feeling able to breathe. “I married Mr. Macy as a result.”
Jameson burst out with laughter. “Oh, no, no, no! Let’s not encourage activity, then. That might prove more detrimental.” He glanced at Edward. “Perhaps it quickens the process.”
Even Edward chuckled and loosened before dishing himself cold kidneys and oysters. “Well, we found her, and we’re not trouble. That’s something, anyhow.”
“Yes, Mr. Addams warned me about that part too. He said she’s like a black cat and to cross paths with her is to become tangled in adventure. And here we are! London! In Lord Pierson’s breakfast chamber!” Jameson looked toward the door, which was open a crack, before crossing the chamber and shutting it. “Perhaps I will sit and have a bite.”
“Hear, hear!” Edward raised a glass of claret. “Lord Pierson’s leftovers are a fair find for any adventurers.”
I tugged Mama’s shawl tighter, compelled to laugh with tears in my eyes. Outside of Christmas Day, such a thing had probably never happened at London House, but the idea that we three were breaking down all walls felt right. Like a ray of sunshine lancing a dark prison cell. It felt like even my father’s angriest temper couldn’t quell our merry little party.
Price of Privilege Page 18
