My father lived in his library, where I often heard his angry shouts and the crash of breaking glass. His party was drowning, and just when they needed him the most, he was trapped indoors, forced to dictate from a distance. The official word was that some malady had gripped London House—perhaps the idea came from my visit to the orphanage. Likely he hoped the crowds would dwindle and life would resume. He ordered one of his unmarked carriages made ready to go at a moment’s notice, and I’ve since learned he’d prepared bags with funds he could hand off to Edward that would allow him to sustain us for years if necessary. Forrester, thankfully, remained with my father.
Isaac spent the majority of his day in the library but insisted on taking afternoon tea with me—those hours were both a blessed relief and an awkward strain. Each time he sought me out, I always felt startled, for it was a mental shift to adjust to the idea that he still remembered my existence. In my preoccupation with Edward’s whereabouts, I’d crowded out everything else and perpetually found that I’d forgotten all about Isaac. When he led me to my seat, I always found myself blinking as I studied the table. Pierrick put as much effort into those teas as he had when Isaac was courting me. For some reason I particularly remember one table whose hues were meant to resemble a beach. Sand-colored sugar encrusted the tops of the round pastries, and clotted cream peaked like clouds in a wafer-thin scalloped dish. No doubt the small cakes tasted extraordinary, but I never could eat a bite.
It felt so unreal that life continued when I had so clearly given it orders to stop.
Had I been able to fully awaken from my trance, my heart would have been rent for Isaac. Despite the fact that he had to pierce the fog of my dreamworld to retrieve me—never minding that I was unable to focus on him for more than a few seconds, nor that I rarely finished any sentence—his eyes never left me during the space of that hour. It was always with great reluctance that he took his leave. He’d set aside his napkin and stare at the door looking truly harrowed, as if by stepping out of my nightmare, he was about to step into his own.
On the fourth day, I felt so fatigued that Isaac did not have to look for me. I’d retreated to the front parlor with a book and hadn’t moved all day. Afternoon sun streamed through the tops of the windows, which weren’t shuttered like the bottom halves. I shivered and pulled my Indian shawl tighter as his footsteps grew near.
He stepped just inside the chamber, arms laden with documents. His chestnut hair looked as if he’d run his fingers through it, forgetting it was usually waxed in place. Eyes that concealed his thoughts studied me. “I can’t take tea today. There’s a bit of an emergency.”
“Is it Edward?” I asked, finding strength to sit forward.
He shifted the papers in his arms. “No. There’s still no word on him, but do not fret. I’m certain he is fine. Are you sure you’re all right? You seem a bit flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I said, nodding, though in truth the motion made my head spin. “Thank you.”
He started to leave, then glanced back and hesitated. Even in my weakened state, I noted the intensity of his thoughts. Perhaps he wished to feel my brow but debated whether touching me was improper. Out of courtesy, I shifted my gaze and pretended not to note his struggle.
He gave a slight sigh. “If you start to feel ill—” he frowned, unable to pretend he didn’t suspect—“or your condition worsens, will you have Jameson fetch me, please?”
“If it worsens,” I promised, knowing I couldn’t feel much sicker than I did.
I waited until he retreated down the hall before touching my forehead where it ached and burned. My joints complained with stiffness. My head swam with tiredness, blurring my thoughts. More than anything, I desired to go to bed but decided it would be too much of a climb. I returned to the book I held, though I could not concentrate on the words.
“Lord Dalry ordered me to bring you tea.” William, the second footman, entered the chamber, carrying a tray. “If he hasn’t located you yet, I’ve been asked to inform you that he doubts he’ll be joining you this afternoon.”
Startled by his sudden approach, I snapped my head in his direction, sending it spinning.
“William.” I clasped the arm of my settee. “Help me to my bedchamber and then make sure I’m not disturbed.”
“Are you feeling all right?” He set down the tray.
I nodded and pushed myself upright. Having scarcely slept, eaten, or touched any drink, I attributed my illness to Edward’s absence. Sun stole across the room and crept over me, but I only shivered. “Yes, I’m just tired. Please help me to my bedchamber.”
I have a vague impression that William slowly helped me climb the stairs and then at my request drew the drapes, but thankfully that long, hard climb soon left my memory.
I do, however, recall sinking to the bed, relieved I could just rest, too tired to even bother drawing back the counterpane, and then falling into a deep sleep. The chills and shaking didn’t begin until hours later.
Cool hands gently stroked my brow and my cheeks, then felt for a pulse on my neck. I wrenched away, struggling to move, but found I couldn’t.
“Shh, Juls, it’s me,” Edward’s voice whispered.
“Ed?” I grasped through the dark, desperate to find his hand.
He gave it, then kissed my brow, smoothing back my hair. “Can you open your eyes for me?”
My head throbbed at the thought of opening my eyes, but I struggled to obey. Though a low fire burned in the hearth, my chambers were dark. A single candle sat lit on my nightstand. Illuminated in its circle of light, Edward leaned over me with a concerned gaze. His hair hadn’t been combed in days, and it was apparent he’d been living on the streets.
Where tears of relief would have filled my eyes, they burned instead.
“Am I sick?” I asked, grasping his sleeves so he wouldn’t turn into a dream and leave me.
“Not too badly.” His eyes, however, told a different story as they scanned my features. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”
I felt his arms beneath the thick material, still needing to make certain he was truly there in the flesh and not a vision. “I think Isaac made me eat something at tea. Or was that the day before yesterday? I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember? I thought it was just a story that the household was sick, since no physicians were seen coming or leaving.” Anger tightened his jaw as he rolled back the sleeves of my dress and inspected my forearms.
“Nobody was sick,” I said, shaking my head, confused.
Edward pinched my skin, and though I didn’t think it possible, his eyes intensified. “Look up,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no arguments. With his thumb, he tugged down on my lower eyelid. “You haven’t been drinking either, have you?” He picked up my hand again, pinched the back of it, and watched my skin settle before uttering a curse.
“Can’t we just sleep and talk in the morning?” I asked.
“Don’t fall asleep, Juls! Stay awake!” His tone sliced through even my stupor. He stomped to the bellpull, where he demanded, “How do I get a senior staff member?”
I closed my eyes, needing to think. “Uh . . . three tugs.”
Edward gave it three tugs, waited, gave it three more tugs, then slammed the nearest chair to him. “Which room is your father’s?”
This woke me, for in my confused state I doubted my father would take kindly to being roused in the dead of night because Edward couldn’t summon the staff. I gave Edward a warning shake of my head.
Seeing I wouldn’t present him with the information, he stormed from the chamber and charged down the hall, pounding his fists on every door, screaming, “Wake up!”
Shivering, I closed my eyes.
“What the deuce!” My father’s voice carried from the hall.
“Wake up!” Edward shouted as he continued his pounding. “Everyone on this floor will wake up and attend me now!”
“How the devil did he get back inside?” Forrester demanded next.
“The lot of you did nothing?” Edward cried. “You just left my wife lying soaked in her own clothing, on the bed, chilled with fever! Someone will fetch me a doctor, and they will fetch him now!”
I managed to open my eyes in time to see him storm back into the chamber. His feral gaze darted about the room, landing on the porcelain pitcher and washbasin at the other side. Struggling to maintain his composure, he placed a hand towel in the basin, then filled it with water. He set it on the nightstand. The mattress dented as he took a seat next to me and wrung out the towel.
“You’re going to be all right, Juls.” His words sounded slightly garbled, and he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat.
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “Just tired.”
“How long has she been ill?” My father’s voice sounded near the threshold. I turned my head and found him tying the knot of his robe. Behind him, Forrester stood with hands on hips, his dressing gown untied at the top, showing a chest of black hair. Isaac arrived in nightdress and a banyan, carrying a lamp, then shouldered his way between the pair to the front.
“You mean you don’t even know?” Edward shouted over his shoulder.
“May I be of service?” Jameson’s voice sounded behind the group.
“Jameson.” Edward threw the cloth back into the basin and charged the gentlemen. Instead of seeking comfort, as I assumed, Edward shoved past Forrester and, facing his valet, gestured to me. “How could you let this happen? If anyone was taking care of her, I thought you were!”
“Why?” Compassion etched Jameson’s features. “What’s wrong with Mrs. Auburn?”
“What’s wrong?” Edward pulled Jameson farther down the hall so their discussion wouldn’t be heard, though the tone continued in much the same frantic fashion.
I buried my face in my hands, shutting my eyes, wanting my audience to go away. When the light brightened and I felt someone near me, however, I turned and opened them.
Isaac’s face appeared before mine as he bent and studied me in the lamplight. His chestnut hair stuck straight up in the back and out on the sides. Sleep wrinkles deeply creased his cheeks, accessorizing his bohemian appearance. I smiled, amused, for he’d never looked so uncollected.
But if he didn’t seem collected before, he became it next, for he expelled a deep breath. “May I see your palms, please?”
My arms felt rubbery as I displayed them. He scrutinized them carefully, then knelt at my bedside. With care he unbuckled and removed my shoes. As he reached near my calf to find the buckle holding my stocking, he seemed to recall himself and paused, staring at my shoe in his hand.
“Since you’ve gone this far,” Forrester said, “I’d finish whatever you’re doing before Edward comes back.”
“Forgive me,” Isaac whispered, averting his eyes. Next, he carefully examined the sole of my foot.
“It’s not typhus,” he said softly over his shoulder to my father. “Nor do I think brain fever, as she’s moved her neck several times without wincing. Her headache would be worse, too, if it were. Can you think of any of the symptoms from that day at the orphanage?”
I started to shake my head but then recalled the laundry cauldrons. “Fever and bloodied dysentery.”
“Have you suffered anything of that sort? Do your stomach or bowels feel queasy?”
My eyes widened, for I never imagined there would be a day when I’d talk of my bowels with Lord Dalry. I felt my face flood with heat. “No, not at all.”
Isaac suddenly exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath. He even temporarily allowed me behind his mask, where I saw his fear change to pure, unadulterated relief.
Again I pretended not to notice. “How do you know these things?”
My father must have also felt relieved, for he chuckled and his stance loosened as he nudged Forrester. “Do you remember that fiasco?” He turned and said to me, “Isaac wanted to study medicine. It was the only time he ever truly defied me.”
“Oh, my word, I’d forgotten!” Forrester crossed his arms. “For a month there, I really believed we’d lost him along with years of our work.”
Whatever they spoke of was an old hurt, for traces of pain were resurrected over Isaac’s countenance before he blinked and they vanished. “In Kinsley’s office there’s a locked cabinet with medicine that will likely bring her fever down. I’ll go fetch the key and—”
I had closed my eyes; thus I wasn’t aware that Edward had regained the chamber until Isaac’s words were cut off, followed by a sickening thud.
When they opened again, Edward had grabbed hold of Isaac by his banyan and held him against the wall.
“Do not ever touch my wife again!” he yelled in Isaac’s face. “Ever!”
My father placed a hand over Edward’s arm and said in a gentle voice, “Release him, son. Take a deep breath and calm yourself. You’re overwrought. Julia is going to be fine.”
Edward tried his angry glare on my father.
“Now!” my father ordered.
“Sir, this man insulted my wife, and as such—” Edward turned and screamed at Isaac—“I am calling him out!”
My father cast Forrester a look that asked what he’d ever done to deserve such a temperamental son-in-law—though the answer seemed obvious to me. He tightened his grip on Edward’s arm. “Isaac didn’t insult your wife. You wanted someone to tend her now; well, you got what you wanted. Be more careful of your demands next time.”
“I asked for a physician. He’s no doctor,” Edward protested. “I want to call him out!”
Isaac’s face was blank, keeping any hint of his thoughts to himself as he considered Edward.
My father breathed twice as if willing himself to be patient. “Fine, but before I allow Isaac to drag you outside and kill you, I want to ascertain that Julia feels insulted he checked her feet with her father present. For make no mistake, if you duel, Isaac will win. I will get him exonerated if I have to pay a fortune to do so, and I will gain a new son-in-law in the process.”
“And I’ll make millions on the scandal,” Forrester added with a laugh. “I vote we do it.”
My father glared at him before turning and addressing me. “So, Julia, did Isaac insult you in any way? Or did you feel affronted by even the smallest degree?”
Isaac still wore no expression but kept his gaze on Edward.
“No, sir,” I said.
My father faced Edward. “Release Lord Dalry now.”
The tendons in Edward’s neck protruded as he glowered at Isaac a second longer, then yanked his hands away so fast, Isaac nearly lost his balance.
My father steadied him by placing a hand on his shoulder. Isaac continued to study Edward.
“Jameson,” my father called, releasing Isaac and heading toward the door, “do whatever Reverend Auburn wants. If he wants my physician, fine, call him. I’m going back to bed.”
“I wish you would wait, sir,” Isaac finally said. “For I have yet to speak and would prefer an audience for what I’m going to say.”
“Isaac,” my father’s voice pleaded, “it’s two in the morning.”
“No.” Forrester hit his arm. “Let the boy speak.”
Straightening his banyan, Isaac shot Forrester a look that ordered him to keep quiet. Then, taking a heated breath, he addressed Edward. “We both know the reason you’re unnerved is because you allowed her to enter that orphanage. I assure you, Reverend Auburn, I did not step aside for you to destroy her with such carelessness.”
“Usurpers cannot step aside.” Edward’s tone was flint. “They never belonged.”
Isaac met his eyes. “Had I known you would be so haphazard in your care of her, I would have mended the damage from Forrester’s paper and retained her as my own wife. Know that I will protect her as though she were my sister, given to you from my own household.”
Edward lunged toward Isaac, but my father caught him by his shoulders. “Retain her?” Edward seethed. “Listen to yourself. You act as though she’s so
mething one owns. Unlike you, I force nothing upon her. She chose—nay, insisted—on entering the orphanage. Who am I to rule over someone else? I leave that to you cowards of the world.”
“May I quote that in my paper?” Forrester asked. “Sorry, Isaac, but that would sell.”
Ignoring Forrester, Isaac addressed Edward alone. “Do not try to justify your lapse of honor in your care of Julia. There’s a difference between lording over your charge and guarding that with which you’ve been entrusted.”
Chest heaving, Edward tried to lunge again but was held back by my father. “Why don’t you admit that you’re in love with my wife instead of attempting to remain near her by wearing a mask of honor? Even better, go find a wife of your own and leave mine alone.”
“How about that?” Forrester grinned, patting himself as if looking for paper and pencil.
“You want a story?” Isaac’s voice flushed with anger as he faced Forrester. “You want to exploit pain to sell more papers? Well, how about this? I’m betrothed to Evelyn Greenley, the girl who would have married my identical twin had he not gone missing! Will that sell enough copies to satisfy you?” Then, turning to Edward, “If you think I’m such a cad that I would act insultingly toward your wife while promised to another, then you know nothing about me.”
At first I didn’t believe I’d heard Isaac correctly. I sat forward to question him and was rewarded with white flashes of light and an increased headache.
Before I focused my thoughts, Forrester cried, “What!”
Confusion creased my father’s face as he looked over his shoulder at Isaac. Edward jerked his arm from my father’s grasp, then, scowling, retreated to me.
Isaac noted my father’s disbelief, too, and rubbed both his eyes with long, tapered fingers. “I’m sorry, sir. I intended to tell you earlier and to discuss its implications with you. I know what you’re thinking, and I have it mapped out.”
“Please tell me you haven’t signed an agreement yet.” My father’s voice was subdued. Then, “Evelyn Greenley? Son, have you any idea the pressures your future wife will be under?”
Price of Privilege Page 25
