“With your daughter here, we can be certain he won’t touch this place.” Forrester winced as he found his feet, then leaned heavily on my father’s arm. “Roy, I’m begging you, give me a private audience with her. Please!”
“You never cease trying, do you? You’ll have to arrange that with her husband. If I were you, I wouldn’t begin my request by rousing him from his sleep, bruised and battered, asking for her company.”
“Protective?”
“Humph. Deem for yourself in the morning.”
Careful to keep from sight, I slid backwards, then crawled inside Edward’s bedchamber. The floorboards creaked beneath the carpet, though I tiptoed across the chamber. Even sleeping, Edward accepted me, for he drew me tightly against him as I climbed back into bed. His warmth imbued me with a sense of courage as I considered Forrester’s conversation.
I curled into a ball, knowing the decisions I made here in the dark alone would ripple out in unpredictable ways. Already fatal mistakes had been made. Both Mama and Eramus had paid with their lives. How badly I wished to close my eyes and pretend I had no need to think about anything more.
But I couldn’t. It was like being at an elite soiree where everyone was wrapped in a delightful conversation—and being one of two people who understood that a flood was about to break loose. How does one make use of those precious few minutes, especially when they’re uncertain which direction the flood is coming from?
I breathed in the scent of Edward, picturing how hurt he’d be to learn that I was still withholding vital information, that I hadn’t yet truly trusted him to navigate. Yet what if telling Edward was the worst thing I could do? Forrester’s words pounded against my memory—he still believed if he shared his information about Macy, the hearer would die.
I shut my eyes, a silent plea for help. Had I not already touched the untouchable? Did I not sometimes feel God’s very presence? Could he not speak and direct me? What better privilege is there for his sheep than to hear his voice?
I waited in stillness, listening to the distant clop of a carriage.
Heaven chose silence.
I flopped onto my back and stared at the intricately carved oak of the massive bed frame surrounding us. I heaved a sigh, thinking anew of Forrester. Had he truly stopped trusting me? Or was that just a ruse for my father? For he’d purposefully played the antagonist toward me that morning he used his paper to betray us. Of all the souls on earth to be partnered with in this strange dance, he was the last one I’d ever have chosen. It was maddening beyond reason. For I neither liked nor trusted him. Yet our fates were tied.
But here I finally found my conclusion.
Forrester was inside London House.
There was at least a soul I could consult before taking another step.
It would be pure folly not to.
The following morning, Edward woke at his usual time, dressed, then knelt by the bed. With a tender smile, he brushed the hair from my face. When he had my full attention, he said, “I’m going to walk and pray. Do you want to join me?”
I rubbed my eyes, already knowing I wouldn’t accompany him.
Edward must have read my thoughts from my expression. “You can remain if you wish, Juls. I’ll not require anything of you.”
“I think I’ll stay.”
He kissed my forehead. “Don’t feel obligated to attend breakfast. Jameson will bring you a tray. I’ll be back soon.”
I smiled and nodded, feeling a pit in my stomach. Since I’d be alone, there still might be a chance I could slip Isaac his note. And with any luck, I’d manage to have a private conversation with Forrester.
That morning I dressed in a gown the color of charcoal and pleated elegantly at the waist. Because I’d not worn rags in my hair the night prior, curls were not possible, but Miss Moray complied with my wish to appear simplistic and parted my hair, which she plaited in loops before adding a ribboned headband that tied across my forehead.
I nodded approval as I stared at my mirror self. Hopefully Forrester would be reminded of my nonage.
The scent of cinnamon and bacon wafted through the air as I approached the breakfast chamber. Though I could clearly hear the clink of silverware, no one spoke, making it impossible to distinguish whether Forrester was present.
Modulating my face, I crossed the threshold.
To my astonishment, Jameson stood at the sideboard wearing black tie, indicating that he was the butler. The only other occupant was Isaac. I froze, staring at Jameson, so stunned he’d accepted the position that I had to grip the doorframe.
With a rare break in his cultured expression, Isaac stood. His eyes travelled along the features of my face. Barely visible, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked behind me. “Julia.”
The tenor of his voice was enough to put me on my guard, and I wasn’t the only one. Behind him, Jameson flashed me a look of warning.
I gathered my skirts, hesitating. All at once I recalled that Jameson had seen the fore-edge painting while we were at Maplecroft. Surely by now he’d connected that the figure represented was Isaac. He’d even seen me brooding over it. My cheeks tingled as I realized there was no explaining it. If I tried, it would only make me look guiltier. I glanced at the empty hall behind me, not certain what to do.
“Please.” Isaac’s entreaty was genuine, drawing my attention back to his pale face. He swallowed, still gripping his napkin. “Please join me. I . . .” For a moment his eyes grew pained, but in Isaac-like fashion he recovered himself. “This wall between us is torment.” He lifted one hand as if what he needed to express was greater than words, but then gained possession of himself and dropped it.
My vision blurred, for I had not forgotten how isolated his world was. To walk away felt cruel, yet to stay felt like betrayal. Not certain what to do, I looked to Jameson for direction.
Jameson, to his credit, watched, displaying the same fatherly tenderness he showed Edward and me.
Isaac drew a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the table. “I know your husband does not approve of me, but I will win him over. Give me time. I swear to you, I can win him. But in the meantime, do not shut me out. I’m beg—” He squeezed shut his eyes as if to keep from uttering more. “Jameson, I know she’s seeking your counsel, for I see her looking to you for help. I give you my word of honor as a gentleman, I would do nothing to harm her or her marriage. I swear it.”
“I know, laddie,” Jameson said. “I know.”
Isaac grew very still and the blue of his eyes moved toward Jameson with shock. But then, as if determined nothing should interfere with his request, he returned his full attention to me.
Jameson coughed into his fist, then whispered, “The first rule of the herd, Mrs. Auburn.”
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead. I wasn’t certain Isaac could heal in close proximity to me. And despite Isaac’s belief that he could win Edward, he was wrong.
“Sit and eat breakfast.” Jameson’s voice travelled toward my chair. I glanced up in time to see him pulling it out. “One of the benefits of marrying a vicar—particularly Edward—is that even if he doesn’t approve, he hasn’t a choice but to forgive you.”
Isaac’s brows knit as he considered Jameson, but then, determined not to get off task, he kept his head bowed, waiting for a sign of my approval.
I folded my arms against my stomach, uncertain. One by one, I considered the pieces of Isaac’s life I knew: losing his father, being torn from his family, enduring Eramus’s aggression, growing up in an atmosphere thick with the bitterness that existed between my father and his wife, being jilted by me weeks before our wedding.
He lifted his eyes, waiting, making me more nervous. I squeezed my skirt, knowing I couldn’t ignore Isaac, even if it was for his own benefit. Unfortunately I blurted out the first thing I could think of: “How have you been during my absence?”
Isaac hesitated, clearly searching for a truthful and polite way to bridge that.
Jameson chuckled as he hel
d out my chair, somehow helping to alleviate the embarrassment I felt at my obvious gaffe.
I took my seat, gritting my teeth, unable to believe I’d asked that when wretched was the obvious answer. I drew a breath and tried anew. This was Isaac, after all. “I saw Colonel Greenley while we were at Maplecroft.”
Isaac’s expression was difficult to read. Perhaps he felt disappointed that I approached him only as a casual acquaintance. Or perhaps he was so relieved we were speaking that he was once more able to discipline his features. “Yes, he calls quite regularly, though it’s odd for him to do so while your father is absent.”
I likewise schooled my features. “This time he desired to meet with me.”
“Ah,” Isaac said by way of continuing conversation, though it was like a swimmer trying to struggle against high tide. “Did he . . . Did you . . . enjoy the visit?”
In response, I withdrew the now-crumpled letter from my pocket and slid it across the table.
Isaac cocked his head, giving me a questioning look, but he picked up the note and slit it with his knife. At the sideboard, Jameson tufted his brows, apparently amazed, and perhaps a bit hurt, at how long I’d been carrying this particular secret.
Colonel Greenley must have had tiny handwriting, for it took Isaac ten minutes to finish the note. When he lifted his head, his countenance was stiff and inscrutable. In a toneless voice he asked, “How many days ago did he give this to you?”
“The day before we arrived here in London.”
Isaac’s pallid face was masklike as he stared at the center of the table between us. “Did he tell you its contents?”
“No.”
Tormented eyes searched mine. It seemed as if, on the other side of an unreachable shore, Isaac was silently screaming and pleading for help behind his polished mask. Then his eyes went vacant as if something vital had died inside him.
Breathless, I watched, feeling helpless.
He mechanically folded the note. “If you’ll excuse me. There’s something I need to attend to immediately.”
I cast Jameson a look, begging his help. He, however, had only seen my face and not Isaac’s, which was the equivalent of hearing half a conversation. He gave a slight shake of his head, saying he didn’t know what I wanted.
Isaac stood and tucked his chair under the table. Yet he remained, gripping the chair back. In a voice I doubted even Jameson heard, he asked, “But we are still friends, Julia, yes?”
I met his eyes, not missing that he’d used my first name. It was as if fate had scripted what I was to say before time began, and I was only repeating an oft-practiced line.
“Always,” I found myself promising.
He nodded, and his chest filled as if he were able to breathe again. “Then it is enough. It is enough.”
I shut my eyes, listening to his footfalls retreat. He went past the library, which was opposite the direction of Lady Pierson’s office, where all the stationery was kept. Drawing a deep breath, I placed my hand over my heart.
“Well,” Jameson said softly, “I can see why you didn’t hone your conversational skills living here. He needs as much practice as you.” His eyes turned in the direction Isaac had taken. “Though I bet if he were shipwrecked on an empty sea of causerie, he’d stay afloat forever, whereas you’d most definitely sink. What do you suppose was in that letter?”
Though I had an inkling, I only shook my head and changed the subject. “You’re the London House butler now?”
That made him laugh. “Yes and no. I can’t exactly refuse to earn my keep.”
I felt all out of sorts, for something told me that Isaac felt trapped, and I was angry for him. I was tired of worrying about Mr. Macy. I wanted to know where Forrester was. And poor Jameson got the brunt of it. “What about us? The herd and all that nonsense that apparently isn’t true?”
His expression was soft as he crossed his arms over the back of Isaac’s empty chair. “Did you already forget, my queen, that you enslaved me forever on our first meeting?”
“That wasn’t an answer,” I accused.
“Mr. Jameson!” William, the second footman, poked his head inside the chamber. “You need to come to the front hall, sir.”
Jameson straightened and, in a deeper tone than I’d ever heard him use, said, “Thank you, William. I’ll be there in a second.”
William’s footsteps retreated, and though Jameson desired to say more, the slamming of doors and sounds of shoes clunking and servants exclaiming distracted him. With the dignity of a butler, he frowned, folded his hand over his jacket, and proceeded to the hall.
I pushed against the table and rose to follow. Even before we stepped into the hall, the heavy perfume of flowers, scents of chocolate, and aroma of baked goods wafted in the air.
To my amazement, maids were piling baskets over the polished foyer floor. Lilies of the valley, candy tufts, London pride, and flowers too numerous to count. Even half-farthing bundles of violets had been haphazardly tossed into a large basket. Hundreds of them, as though all the poor of London had squandered their pennies in an attempt to take part. Bandboxes of oranges, plums, and exotic fruits were stacked near the suits of armor. Over the marble hall table, presents wrapped in expensive papers, one even covered with gold leaf, were piled in a mound.
“When we opened the door,” William explained, “it was piled so high, the maids couldn’t get out to scrub the steps. So I had them start bringing it in here.”
“What on earth?” I asked, stunned.
My father stepped out onto the third level and looked down over the balustrade. He frowned before his face grew angered. Brushing off Simmons, who’d been fastening his cravat, he pounded down the stairs, taking over the task himself. He waited until he was on the second level before speaking. “What is going on here!”
Jameson bent over, picked up one of the packages, and read its label. His mouth creased for a second before he fisted a hand behind his back and faced my father. “Wedding presents, sir.”
The front door opened, and James entered cradling a mastiff pup whose dark-grey fur wrinkled about his arm. A gold collar with a bow and tag decorated its neck.
I gasped and placed my hands over my heart.
“What is that!” my father roared.
Jameson glanced at the tag. “Zeus, apparently.”
I covered my mouth, wondering if he also remembered that owning a mastiff was one of Edward’s fondest wishes.
“I thought it best to bring this present indoors before the others,” James explained. “It was starting to wander off.”
“There’s more?” My father stormed to the door and opened it.
Cheers arose from every corner of Audley Street. All down the front steps of London House, people had tossed baskets and wares over the gate.
Isaac approached behind me. “I could hear their cheering from my snuggery. What is happening?”
“Somehow London has learned that the Emerald Heiress and her new husband are here,” James whispered.
Outdoors, a woman cried, “I see her!” Then, waving her hand at me, “Tell us your new name, luv!”
“Give us a name!” Others took up the call. “Show us the hubby.”
“What shall I do?” I whispered to Isaac.
“Smile and wave.” As he used to, Isaac directed me with a simple touch on my elbow. “Act as if you’re enjoying the game of hare and hounds over who your husband is, until we figure out what is going on. Don’t give his name, though. Don’t linger, either. Look how they’re pressing against the gate. This could turn into a riot quickly.”
I glanced at Isaac, but he wore no expression. Pasting a smile on my face, I stepped toward the door and peeked out. The roar that followed stunned me.
“Come on, luv! Don’t keep us guessing,” a toothless man called out as he smiled. “Show us your new husband! Give us a sporting chance at least!”
His request was met with clapping approval.
Next to me, my father paled. In one of
those rare moments of emergency, I suddenly realized how to draw the attention off my father. Smiling hard enough to create dimples, I shook my head in a gesture that suggested I was both shy and unwilling to ruin the fun. I blew the man a kiss, earning cheers from the crowd.
My father’s smile looked skeletal as he grabbed my arm and pulled me back from the door, though he nodded his thanks to the crowd.
“I told you she was a first-rate actress,” Forrester said from the third floor. “Brava, my dear. Care to tell me why you couldn’t manage to pull off an act like that before now?”
“SO HELP ME, ROBERT—” my father gestured outdoors, his voice enraged—“do you have any knowledge about what’s happening?”
“I have an idea.” Mr. Forrester gripped the rail and leaned over it for a better view. In the daytime, his face looked so mangled, icy needles stabbed my stomach. The right side of his face was swollen and deeply bruised. His nose was twice its normal volume and his right eye completely forced shut. Three separate large goose eggs rose over his brow. His bottom lip was so puffy, it looked as if it would burst open if he attempted to smile.
I lifted my face and met his gaze straight on, hoping to communicate that I was still the same person who’d blackmailed Macy with him.
It was my first mistake.
Had I not eavesdropped on him and my father last night, my response would have been entirely different. I should have been living in daily dread, and I was, but one could never guess it by the calmness with which I studied Forrester’s injuries. Had I burst out in tears, given a gasp of alarm, or even covered my mouth with horror, there might have been hopes of convincing him that I, too, feared Macy.
“I see news travels fast,” Forrester said while wiggling his jaw as if a tooth were loose. “Someday I’m going to figure out how he manages it.”
Isaac, who’d been lost in astonishment, finally stepped forward, saying, “What on earth happened to you?”
Forrester started to hobble down the stairs. “The quicksands have grabbed hold of me, that’s what.”
Price of Privilege Page 23
