Price of Privilege

by Jessica Dotta

  My father stormed to the bottom of the steps and gripped the intricate newel there. “What do you have to do with that?” He jerked his finger toward the door.

  Forrester kept his gaze on me. “I take it you haven’t seen the Morning Herald yet?”

  “What the devil did you do?” my father demanded yet again.

  Forrester touched his lip as if in too much pain to speak.

  “I’ll go find and fetch it, sir.” Isaac eyed Forrester as he jogged toward the breakfast chamber.

  My father held his temples as he spoke. To my surprise, instead of shouting, he seemed barely capable of speech. “Robert, have you any idea how precariously close our party is to crumbling with this whole Peel affair? Isaac’s entire career hinges upon the next couple of weeks, and I can’t even leave my house now.”

  A moment later Isaac returned, carrying a copy of the Morning Herald. He sighed, saying, “Front page, sir.”

  My father snapped open the newsprint. He read, then shook his head and sagged against the newel as if words were too much. “Robert.” My father’s voice was weak.

  “Sorry, Roy, but whether you believe me or not, I needed to curb your daughter’s ability to leave London House unsupervised.” He sneered at me. “No more sneaking away in the middle of the day, dearie. All of London is now at your doorstep.”

  My father’s face looked touched with grey. “You actually offered a reward for the first person to contact your paper with her husband’s identity.”

  Forrester tried to smirk but was in too much pain. “I’m going to keep as many people milling about these doors as possible. If you think about it, it also offers protection from its being burned down.”

  “And what am I to tell the queen, Melbourne, or Peel when they get caught up in the mystery of who my son-in-law is? Hope they don’t connect that it’s the same vicar notorious for stealing Macy’s bride?”

  “Why my picture?” Isaac demanded. He pinned Forrester with a gaze that asked if he hadn’t suffered enough without this additional ignominy.

  Forrester shrugged. “I had to stop the presses in the early hours of the morning to include this article. The only engraving we possessed with her image was the one we prepared for the engagement announcement. It’s necessary that everyone knows what she looks like.”

  “Isaac, we’re staying in today.” My father dropped to the bench, the paper clutched between his fingers. Over and over he shook his head but kept his silence.

  I’d said nothing until this point, trying to piece together what was happening and determine what it meant for me. Eventually my first solid thought formed. “How will Edward get back inside?”

  My father rubbed his hand over his jowl, then pinched the top of his nose. When he spoke, he looked at Jameson, not me. “Do you think he’ll know to keep away from this?”

  Jameson inclined. “If he catches wind of why they’re here, yes.”

  My heart pounded until I felt so light-headed that everything flashed white. Isaac must have been studying me, for in the next second he gripped my elbow and was depositing me onto the bench next to my father. I sat but had trouble focusing. Everything felt as if it were playing out at the end of a long tunnel.

  “Edward will be fine.” Isaac captured my hand between his.

  I pulled hard from his touch and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, able to think of nothing but the fact that I wasn’t willing to do this without Edward. That it wasn’t possible to stay in these walls, in these circumstances, without him.

  My father stood. “Jameson, have our breakfast transferred to the library. Have William dress in his regular clothes and prowl the edges of the crowd, looking for Reverend Auburn. When Edward makes it indoors, send him to us. Bring my brandy, all of it, from the smoking chamber.” He tapped my shoulder twice. “Daughter, come with me.”

  I stood, but my arms and legs felt all wrong—hollow, yet tense with energy.

  “All of your brandy? At this hour?” Forrester asked, following my father. “What, are we letting Julia drink with us too?”

  “Breathe deep,” Isaac said softly at my side as they withdrew. “The sensation you’re feeling will pass. Edward will make it back to the house, sound and in one piece. He will. Don’t fight the sensation; it only increases it.”

  I gasped, trying to get enough air, then looked at Isaac, wondering when he’d ever experienced this.

  Jameson leaned into my view, wearing his crackpot smile. “Good news! I just remembered rule number two!”

  It was so jolting, I blinked, staring at him.

  “The herd sticks together!” He grinned. “If it becomes necessary, I shall cease being a butler and immediately transform into a faerie queen’s valet.” He cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered to Isaac, “Because of all the lions stalking them, the fair folk prefer to hire valets who hunt. I say the word hire, but it’s highly inaccurate.”

  I gave a shaky laugh, then rested my head against the wall.

  Isaac, however, stepped away, frowning as if uncertain now about Jameson.

  Jameson offered me his arm. “Ready, my queen? Or shall I revert back at once and tell your father you refuse to join him unless he crawls backwards and petitions you as a faerie queen requires, in serenade?”

  Amazed and touched that he was willing to look foolish to make me feel better, I accepted his arm. “I’m sorry for what I said.” I felt able to breathe again. “Right now I couldn’t be gladder you’re the butler. At least you’ll be allowed to remain in the chamber with us.” My voice strained. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course. That’s rule seventy-seven.”

  “Seventy-seven?”

  “You’ll figure it out, in due course. Ready now?”

  I sniffled, nodding. “Yes. I can manage.”

  As we passed, Isaac looked away, seemingly deflated. His very countenance bespoke frustration that he kept failing to win my trust, whereas both Jameson and Edward so easily succeeded. I dropped my gaze, wishing I could think of a way to explain it, but in truth, at that time I hardly understood it myself.

  Now I better grasp it. Edward and Jameson had shown me unswerving loyalty, never asking me to betray myself. Isaac, on the other hand, was above all a peacemaker, always working to find compromise—and when it came to my father and me, I intuitively knew he’d try to convince both of us to yield. But without receiving my father’s acceptance and affection, there was nothing more of myself I could offer. My father was only interested in me to the extent that I could serve his view of life.

  When I entered the library, my father had already loosened his cravat and his collar buttons. He sat on the settee, legs sprawled, finger buried in his cheek, staring at Mama’s sunflower painting. Near him, Forrester leaned against my father’s desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the door.

  “She’s here,” he announced.

  My father never took his eyes off the bold hues of the painting as he gestured to the tufted sofa across from him. “Daughter, please sit.” He breathed out of his nose as I obeyed. “Robert needs to know where you and your husband went yesterday.”

  I shifted my gaze to Forrester, wishing he weren’t such an idiot. As foul as he was, I needed him. “The orphanage.”

  “What orphanage?” Forrester challenged.

  “The one I visited at Christmas.”

  My father turned from Mama’s painting with genuine interest. “What were you doing there?”

  Jameson entered the chamber, carrying a tray with three identical decanters.

  “What were you doing?” my father repeated.

  My attention snapped back to him. “Edward was interested in meeting the little girl I wanted to adopt.”

  Mr. Forrester spat out the sip of brandy he’d been taking, then barked a sardonic laugh. “What? This is insane, Roy! She actually hopes to win favor by stating she visited orphans. Prove it. What child? Where is she?”

  My stomach turned as I remembered her corpse stretched out on the
floor. Then, refusing to cry again, I glanced at Isaac. “It was the girl we spoke of. Remember?”

  My father looked incredulous as he faced Isaac. “You’re following this?”

  Isaac appeared haunted. “Yes, sir. We did discuss a little girl that day, whom Julia wished to adopt.”

  My father’s jowls deepened. “Why was I never told this?”

  Isaac wore no expression. “It wasn’t a petition I took seriously, sir. I hadn’t thought it warranted mentioning.”

  My father returned to me. “And so . . . you and Edward were just, what?” He gestured toward me. “Were going to look at her?”

  I hunched my shoulders and peered down at my laced fingers. “We hadn’t exactly decided what we were going to do yet.”

  Mr. Forrester gave another burst of laughter. “I’m sorry, Roy, but this will be tomorrow’s headline. The readers will love it.”

  “So help me, if you do, I’ll horsewhip you from my house to Macy’s front door,” my father growled. “I mean it, Robert. You still have no idea what you’ve done. After that stunt, I now need to get Simmons to forge an entirely new identity for Edward. Birth, school, marriage records. You’ve no idea how complicated this will grow, nor how close to disaster we already are. It was one thing for Edward to come to London, keep his head low, and start learning how to run the mines, but you made him a curiosity and offered a reward!”

  I glanced at the folded newspaper between him and Isaac, wondering how much Edward’s identity was worth. Already Macy had five thousand pounds hanging over me.

  My father huffed and pulled sharply on his waistcoat. “For all we know, this orphanage might make the discovery.” To me, “Did you give your names? Did they know you were my daughter?”

  “Edward did tell her his name at the gate, but I doubt she’ll read the paper, what with the outbreak happening there.”

  “Outbreak?” My father lifted his face.

  Forrester unfolded his arms. “An outbreak of what?”

  I flattened my hands over my lap, wishing this interview were over. “Typhus . . . or maybe brain fever.”

  A stunned silence filled the chamber while Forrester moved his hand to his neck as if to ascertain that it wasn’t already stiffening. The idea that anyone might have willingly exposed themselves to sickness was so novel that my father’s mouth parted as he tried to adjust his thinking.

  A different emotion marked Isaac. His nose scrunched as he looked directly at me.

  “Wait!” he ordered, lifting a hand as my father leaned forward, about to speak. And though Isaac’s words were even, his eyes locked on mine and blazed like fire. “Did Reverend Auburn allow you to enter the orphanage?”

  Stunned, I stared. He had never spoken so firmly to me. Even my father and Forrester exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  And again, in a tone that silenced the chamber, Isaac asked, “Did he allow you to step foot inside the orphanage?”

  My stomach tightened. “I went in of my own volition.”

  Isaac took a heated breath. “He knew there was an outbreak?”

  I crossed my arms instead of answering. It wasn’t his business.

  I’d never seen Isaac angry before. He stood, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. He gave a refined bow in my father’s direction. “I beg you will excuse me, sir.”

  My father stood to follow, then frowned, looking between Forrester and me as if uncertain he could leave the two of us alone.

  I stared defiantly back, knowing it was unfair because no matter what he chose, I’d despise his decision. I wanted to talk to Forrester, desperately, but not at the cost of seeing my father leave me alone with a bully.

  “Robert, stay here,” my father finally said. “Let me talk to Isaac alone.”

  “Gladly.” Forrester spread his hands innocently.

  I held my sigh as I watched my father depart, then glanced at Jameson, who looked sad. I sat forward, ready to seize my opportunity of speaking with Forrester alone. “Jameson, would you please excuse us?”

  Forrester frowned in his direction. “Who the devil are you, anyway?”

  “Jameson, sir.”

  “I think I could have figured that much out,” was Forrester’s tart reply. “What the deuce are you doing here in London House? How did you get hired here?” Then, with a snarl, “Never mind it. I warrant you’re mixed up with her. But go ahead, deny it.”

  “Oh, I would never deny it.”

  Forrester waved a hand toward him, scowling at me. “There. No need to dismiss him.” To Jameson, “I suppose you know, too, that she’s Macy’s missing bride?”

  I gasped, stunned. Had Jameson not known it, such a statement alone could have ruined my father.

  “We prefer the term fabled bride.” Smiling, Jameson inclined his head. “But yes, I’m aware.”

  “And what would you say,” Forrester demanded, gesturing to his face, “if I told you she’d tried to kill me?”

  Jameson cocked his head and knit his brow. “I’d have to say that she wasn’t very thorough. Shall I have a talk with her about being slipshod?”

  I grimaced, sensing that Jameson’s flippancy stemmed from a dislike of Forrester. Had not my alliance with Forrester been both necessary and shaky, I would have relished this, but I couldn’t afford it today. Loyal souls have their disadvantages too. I grasped Mama’s locket for strength, wondering how to calm Forrester and how to open the topic of our blackmail attempt with Jameson present.

  I looked at Jameson and realized I couldn’t discuss this in the chamber. Though it felt odd giving a command to him, I stood. “Jameson, please leave us alone.”

  His face tightened with disapproval and he shot me a look worthy of any governess as he left. I walked him to the door and shut it, counted to sixty, then opened it again to make certain we weren’t being listened to.

  “We need to talk,” I said, turning.

  Forrester gave a scoffing laugh and poured himself a drink. “What makes you think I’m going to speak with you?”

  “You know what.”

  Forrester slurped a sip. “Sorry. I can’t think of a single reason I should waste one more word in your direction.”

  I hugged myself, knowing how strained our alliance was. At best we were a loose dam of twigs and mud, trying to hold back the oncoming flood. Without one of the two ingredients, there was absolutely nothing in the way of the coming calamity.

  Deciding I couldn’t be guarded and win him, I met his eyes. “I’m sorry. Please believe me. I’m sorry about—” I nearly said “the goose egg,” but feared he would think I was talking about the recent ones, so I switched. “I’m sorry about throwing pinecones at you.”

  Forrester slammed his drink down upon the desk and spun toward me. “That’s it? You’re sorry about throwing pinecones?” He pointed to his disfigurement. “You can’t think of anything else you would need to confess?”

  I eyed the goose eggs above his eye but again decided it would sound like I was admitting guilt for last night, so I shook my head.

  “My manservant was murdered in his sleep at Eastbourne because of you. My estate is in ashes, killing my three dogs and maiming another servant. My mother and sisters are homeless and in hiding now because my father’s property was ransacked, then torched. My newspaper has been looted and trashed four times since you pretended to blackmail Macy with me, and last night, for the third time, I barely escaped with my life after being kidnapped by his thugs. And you’re sorry that you threw pinecones. Well, your apology,” he suddenly screamed, “is not accepted!”

  Too much depended upon our union to nurse anger or bitterness. “Please, you mustn’t let what happened since that night make you believe—”

  “Is there anything—” he glared at me—“anything, any little helpful tidbit, any insight about Macy, that you’ve not yet told me?”

  Macy’s fevered kisses and our stolen moments in the dark thundered back to me. Heat tingled over my cheeks, but it wasn’t fair of him to want deta
ils on that. I shook my head.

  “Because I searched your chamber this morning.” Forrester reached into his waistcoat and withdrew Macy’s onyx ring, still strung on its chain. “Care to explain how it is that you possess Macy’s passkey to the underworld?”

  I rubbed the nape of my neck and was surprised to find it soaked in perspiration. “Macy gave it me.”

  Forrester made his face look like a simpleton’s as if to say he considered me a dull wit.

  “Before he killed Eramus,” I continued. “He wanted me to have future protection. He said no one who recognized it would touch me, so long as I had it with me.”

  Mr. Forrester threw his hands wide. “Well, there apparently was my problem! When I placed my trust in you to go down that hill to blackmail Macy, I forgot to bring my secret ring that claims to the world that I’m part of his organization!” Forrester flung it hard at me. It bounced on the cushion next to me. “May it be your death. May it bring your doom. May his enemies find you in your sleep and slit your throa—”

  “That’s enough,” I said sharply, rising.

  “Tell Macy,” Forrester hissed, “that my only goal now is to thwart you.” And with that, he stomped from the chamber, slamming the door.

  My stomach soured as his footsteps faded and I realized I was alone in our blackmail attempt now. My gaze landed on the ring. Feeling reluctant for it to end in the wrong hands, I picked up the necklace, looped it over my head, and tucked it beneath my gown.

  FOR FOUR DAYS Edward was unable to slip back into London House. Those days were unlike the normal stream of flowing and adjusting with the current of life. Instead I’d been caught by the detritus of the broken dam I myself had constructed. Everyone around me moved and found ways to familiarize themselves with our new reality, while I floated like a pale specter—stagnant and unable to believe that Edward wasn’t there.

  No one except William and James came or left, and that was to carry letters and business documents for my father. The fascination over the Emerald Heiress’s mysterious husband knew no bounds. They became their own cult, continually sharing theories and making conjectures about our reluctance to emerge from the shadows.