My father hid an incredulous smile by rubbing the receding line on his forehead. “So let me make certain I understand this. You would have us believe we should abandon position and titles—” He waved his hand as if to ask Edward if he’d left something out.
“Secondary to the Kingdom of God,” Edward supplied. “Yes.”
“Yet you married my daughter, an emerald heiress, and forced your way into my family?”
Edward looked askance at the table, shaking his head in disagreement. “No. I married the girl I’ve loved since my youth. I married Julia. Not an emerald heiress—” his teeth showed as he fairly snarled in Isaac’s direction—“as some would consider her.”
“And yet when she was neither my daughter nor a known heiress,” my father challenged, “you wed her to someone else.”
Edward always had the most stunning countenance of anyone I’d ever met. Macy was mesmerizing and enthralling in a way that eclipsed others, but Edward, though beautiful, usually managed to walk through life projecting an invisible cowl over his face, hiding his transcendence. But that night, as he lifted his gaze to my father, he was his truer self.
My breath caught, for he was formidable.
“Guilt will not work on me.” He fastened his gaze on his hand, which clenched his chair. “Neither will the attraction of prestige or power. I desire neither status nor wealth. You’ll have to find something new to try to lure me with. Though I should warn you, once a soul has broken free of those desires, it’s much harder to coerce.” He chuckled. “Actually, after that point, we tend to be pretty much useless to anyone outside of God.”
Were my father a royal tailor and Edward expensive cloth on the verge of being cut, my father could not have measured him with more excitement. I’d come into his shop common serge, broadcloth, not worthy of his notice, but Edward . . . here at last was golden silk and scraps of blue taffeta for lining, with enough velvet to make cuffs. The blind purchase of materials had finally yielded something of use, just unexpectedly, at the bottom of the bag.
My father rubbed along his jawline as he considered the chandelier above. Was he thinking House of Commons? Did he envision the usefulness of Edward at clubs, or in his mind, was he grooming him to go to India and Africa, a steward of his foreign affairs? Shaking his head as if wondering how to first rid his son-in-law of such odd notions, his attention returned to the table and he gave Isaac a nod of encouragement to do something.
Here I dared look at Isaac, for he was distracted, but he remained unreadable. Aloof and detached, he considered his sip of wine before swallowing. The only sign of his true thoughts was a quick glance at me. Then, with a dispassionate gesture, he set down his wineglass. “Can you agree, Reverend Auburn, that it is equally prideful to claim that one needs nothing outside of God, as if one somehow is spiritually above the rest of humanity? Do you not find there is danger in constantly being placed where you are the one best educated, the most privileged? How do you guard against feeling superior—not only to those, like us here, still living an advantaged life, but to those whose early deprivations make them unable to challenge you?”
Edward’s eyes snapped open. He said nothing as he fastened an intense stare on his empty place setting. I held my breath, knowing he’d made the prior decision that he would never acknowledge Isaac’s existence.
Isaac had masterfully played his hand, too, for he’d left Edward at the crossroads of two equally repugnant choices—speaking to him or allowing the insinuation to hang that Edward only associated with those to whom he could feel superior.
My father’s eyes twinkled as he watched Isaac, telling me he likewise understood Isaac’s technique. I sat on pins, pressing the tips of my fingers into the arms of my chair.
To my relief, Edward turned an angry glare on Isaac but decided he would speak. “Just as Lord Pierson failed to topple me with guilt, you cannot topple me by using my fear of being misunderstood. When you’ve lived on the streets of London little better than a beggar, you stop caring what others think. I do not claim that title and position are without value. How much more guilt would our country shoulder were it not for Pitt and Wilberforce? But note, even though they were in politics, they weren’t working for their own kingdom. If God bids you to build a train or sponsor a poorhouse or feed the masses, then by all means do so. But let us not pretend that is what is happening here. If that were so, you would not object to my wearing a simple coat to dinner. You would not turn away an orphan simply because she does not fit into the life you’ve planned.”
My father laughed. “Well, I can see what brought you to these circumstances. No wonder you’re homeless. You cannot possibly hope to sell God to the masses with a viewpoint like that.”
Edward grimaced as if experiencing a bitter taste. “Nor do I have desire to sell him, sir. Trust me, he’s not concerned with whether or not he’s marketable. If he were, he wouldn’t dress his prophets in camels’ hair or forgo giving himself good looks. No preening, strutting, hopeful suitor is he, but a King on a throne. Accept his rule or not.” He faced Isaac. “Live a tidy, neat life if you wish. I won’t condemn you for it. Someone must sell fish, shoe the horse, argue the law. But as for me, the only things I dare invest myself in are eternal ones—people and truth.”
Isaac considered his next words with the air of someone combing them over and over for a flaw before speaking. “If you’re called to invest in people, allow me to unite with those like Wilberforce. Let me introduce you to some of my friends. You would be sharpened by them—I know you would—and they by you.”
“No.” Edward made no attempt to veil the disdain in his voice. “I won’t look for greatness amongst your peers, for I dislike fruitless searches. I tell you, it is hard to find it amongst those of title, wealth, and position. Instead I look far lower and find examples of eminence everywhere I go. Stories of courage, love, and bravery that this sphere has never dreamed existed.”
“Come on then; give us an example.” My father’s voice was warm. “Let us hear and judge for ourselves.”
“I can’t.” Edward’s voice was empty. “For you don’t have the eyes to see it.”
“Bah! Riddles.” My father clicked his fork against his plate. “Give me one solid example.” He lifted his hand. “Bravery. You just said you’d encountered it such as I never dreamed of. Give me one example, and I’ll trump it with my own story. I would like to see one of your beggarly types withstand a hostile mob of two hundred coolies, single-handedly, without a gun. Only a true born-and-bred English gentleman could manage that feat. But go on; prove me wrong.”
Once again, Edward lifted his otherworldly gaze. He opened his mouth and for a second nearly didn’t speak. But then he locked eyes with me. “Once I witnessed the shyest girl I’ve ever known take a great risk by entering this sphere, needing to be saved, praying to win your love.”
I shook my head. I did not want to be his example.
“I watched her shoved into an arena with orders to perform a role that most need a lifetime to prepare for. I watched her sacrifice her heart trying to appease the unappeasable. And when I finally managed to free her from you, she quailed at the idea of returning. But she came. Tell me, sir, which English gentleman friend of yours would enter a room where he had no value and no chance of redeeming himself? She wasn’t even reckoned worthy enough to be personally greeted by you, sir. She sits next to you now, at this dinner, passed over, unspoken to, while you try to curry favor with me. How can I show you greater things when you refuse to see the quiet grace and bravery right before you?” He shoved back his chair and stood. “As to winning my favor, I am deaf to you until she is honored.”
I turned toward Edward, feeling my face twisting, not wanting the others to see how undone I was.
He placed his napkin on his chair. “Are you ready to go to bed, Juls? We’re the only ones not eating anyway.”
I nodded. James must have assisted with my chair, for I found my feet before Edward made it to me. Head bent, I ma
naged to exit the chamber and climb the stairs, clutching his hand. Tears wet my cheeks, but I didn’t seem able to stop the flow of them, though I didn’t know why.
Edward waited until we’d reached his bedchamber before speaking. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to—” He opened the door.
I cut him off with a kiss, feeling a fervency I scarcely understood. I pulled hard at his cravat, though my fingers shook. A sharp and acute emotion had erupted within me. Though I had never pursued him this way before, I tugged at the buttons on his frock coat, unwilling for there to be anything between us. Why, I feebly wondered, why had I not truly known him before? Had I not searched him out as he had me? Here was the lover of my soul and my desire was insatiable.
My kisses were frantic and mingled with tears, yet he was not alarmed. No longer did I balk at the idea that he’d stepped over the threshold into manhood.
I was lovesick.
I AWOKE WITH A START and found myself tangled in Edward. Judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest, he was in a deep slumber. Uncertain what had awakened me, I lifted my head and found it more difficult than anticipated. My hair caught in the fingers of Edward’s left hand, while his right arm still pinned me against him. I collapsed back against the down mattress, no longer caring what had woken me.
Yawning, I turned on my stomach and kissed his chest before resting my head against it. His heart lub-dubbed, assuring me all was well. I planted two more kisses in succession on his shoulder, then pressed my cheek against the spot. His skin felt feverish compared to mine as I pulled up the covers.
Just before I shut my eyes, a flash of yellow light caught my attention beneath the door crack before it receded toward the staircase. I rose, causing Edward to turn over, mumbling incoherent words. Footsteps creaked near the top of the stairs, pausing.
I glanced at the mantel clock, frowning. Who was walking about at two in the morning?
Eramus’s homicidal face loomed in my mind, making me shiver and consider sliding out of bed and locking the door. Yet Macy had ensured I’d never need fear my cousin again. That thought also made me feel cold, for I did not yet know what to make of Macy’s continued silence since my marriage a week ago. Refusing to dwell on it, I settled against Edward’s warmth, smiling at the thought that even if someone did burst through the door, Edward would teach them a lesson they’d never forget.
I cannot say how long I slept, but just as I was beginning to dream that Edward and I were searching downstairs for Jameson, the sound of glass shattering was followed by a loud thump, like that of someone falling.
I sat up. Though it was late, London House was never darker than a full-moon night due to the lampposts in this part of the city. A second thump was followed by a loud groan in the foyer downstairs. I slid from the shelter of Edward’s warmth and grabbed the luxurious dressing gown within reach of his bed.
The scent of cedar and Isaac’s soap tingled my nose, informing me that a servant must have pulled the gown from Isaac’s closet for Edward’s use. A choking sensation filled my throat. The reminder of him was like receiving a forgotten bill just as one was planning how to spend a windfall. I tied the velveteen sash with heaviness. How many times had we exchanged amused looks over the breakfast table? Less than a fortnight ago, I thought nothing of settling against him on a settee as he read to me. I missed my brother-friend, though I was loath to admit it.
I rubbed my hand over the quilted sleeve, wondering how he truly was managing. The suddenness of our separation had hurt even me. At least I had Edward, but what must it be like for him, alone and pressured to appear more polished than he felt? I forcibly shook aside the thought, for each trauma building around me was becoming heavier than I could bear. I couldn’t afford to dwell any longer on Isaac.
Already I felt strained beyond endurance.
Determined only to discover who was prowling about the house in the middle of the night and why, I crossed the bedchamber and stepped into the hall. Clothed in darkness, I dropped to my knees and peered through the nearest balustrade.
My father and James knelt beside a man who lay crumpled on the ground, groaning. He’d apparently knocked over a pedestal with a vase on it. A whale-oil lamp sat between my father and his footman. Light refracted off the polished floor, casting their features in an eerie glow.
“Well, confound it, surely it’s only going to keep getting worse.” My father’s voice carried through the still night as it wouldn’t during the busy day. “Outside of James and myself, who even knows you’re here! Let me have Isaac fetched to the library, and we shall have this business aired at once.”
The man groaned and turned his face upwards as James pulled off his boot. I drew a sharp breath. It was Mr. Forrester. One side of his face was swollen and nearly unrecognizable. He grimaced as he spoke through a busted lip. “You still fail to understand this. If I told, Isaac would be dead before nightfall and so would you. Especially you.”
“I’m in no mood for more riddles.” My father’s face gnarled. “Trust me, I had my fill at dinner from my son-in-law.”
Forrester cried in pain as James removed the other boot. “Your son-in-law?” A note of wildness I’d never detected in him before filled his voice. “Reverend Auburn, your daughter—they’re here?”
My father made a scoffing noise. “In body, at least.”
“Are they badly injured?”
“Badly injured?” My father stood and seated himself on the bench, where he rubbed his knee. “Apparently his parish pelted him with offal at his brother’s wedding, though it didn’t sound like it was the work of Macy.”
“What?” Forrester leaned forward and spat blood on the floor, then rubbed his lip. “That’s not possible. Both of my estates gone, my newspaper trashed. I barely made it here alive, and as far as I can tell, Macy’s still out of the country.”
I gripped the wooden spindles.
“Robert, I shall ask this only once, and I want a straight answer; so help you, don’t lie to me. Simmons arrived here with a strange report. Two days ago he received my express orders to burn those papers you locked for safekeeping in my lockbox.”
The noise that Forrester made was unlike any animal’s—sharp, dry, and cutting. Though movement cost him, he crawled across the floor, keeping one leg straight, and reached out and grabbed the material of my father’s dressing gown. “Tell me! Tell me they’re not burnt!”
“They’re ash.” My father’s tone chilled even me. “But here is the strangest part of the tale. Simmons says my daughter reacted just as you did now. She nearly went mad as they were tossed into the fire.”
“What!” Forrester screamed. “She was there! She watched them burn?”
He screamed so loudly, I winced and glanced along the hall. Heat prickled my face, for I felt certain I was about to be caught eavesdropping.
“Robert.” My father’s voice was blacker than pitch. “What does my daughter have to do with your extortion of Macy? I want the truth!”
Forrester released a string of curses. “How can anyone be so stupid?” He bashed the wall with his fist. “Roy, hear me; really hear me! Your daughter has never been anything other than Macy’s planted spy! She is going to ruin you. She—”
“Did she—” my father rose, a storm unlike any other—“help you extort from Macy?”
Forrester laughed, shaking his head. “No. She’s not capable of anything but loyalty to him. I’ll swear it on any Bible, if it will help.”
My father heaved a deep breath, his fingers relaxing from their fists.
Forrester rested his head against the wall, tenderly touching his swollen jaw. “I’ve told you this before, Roy, and I’m emphasizing it now: Your daughter is the best Macy girl he’s ever produced. Whatever you do, don’t trust her.”
My father gave a dark chuckle. “You’re going to have a hard time convincing me that my son-in-law is working for Macy.”
“He’s a puppet.” Snapping his fingers in my father’s direction, Forrester cried, “Y
ou realize what’s happening, don’t you? We weren’t giving her the freedom she needed to accomplish her task, so she bucked you and took a husband. Ha, and now the little strumpet is back in London. Who’s keeping an eye on her?”
My father jammed his hands into his dressing gown. “No one, Robert. No one needs to.”
“Well, what has she been doing?”
My father shook his head as if to say he could not stand having this conversation one more time. Then, with a sigh, he peered over his shoulder. “James?”
The footman couldn’t have looked more expressionless. “Reverend and Mrs. Auburn spent the day out walking.”
“Did they do anything out of the ordinary?” Forrester demanded. “Anything at all?”
James gave him a funny look. “Well . . . when they returned home, sir, your daughter had been crying. Reverend Auburn insisted they wash their hands four times, immediately, in the front hall, ordering new water and towels each time. He then proceeded to order the hottest baths the staff could produce and sacks for them to put their clothing inside. He insisted no one was allowed to touch their clothing until it had been boiled at least ten minutes. His orders were to wash it immediately after boiling it.”
Both my father and Forrester blinked with dumb amazement.
“Why?” my father finally asked.
“I didn’t inquire, sir,” was James’s obeisant reply.
Forrester looked at my father, gesturing toward James as if demanding a better explanation than that.
“We’ll find out in the morning,” my father finally said.
“Were there bloodstains on their clothes?” Forrester demanded.
“None, sir.”
“May I stay here?” Forrester asked.
My father held out his hand to help Forrester rise. “What? Have London House burned to cinders next?”
Price of Privilege Page 22
