Isaac’s chest swelled, and for a second he seemed to will every muscle in his body to relax. “Sir, you know I wouldn’t take a step I am uncertain of. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. It’s rude for us to intrude longer on Mrs. Auburn’s sick chamber. And this is hardly the hour—” he glanced down—“or the appropriate dress in which to discuss this.” He looked about as if trying to decide who was the most proper person to bid good night, allowing him to take his leave. His eyes swung to mine.
I swallowed, still feeling as shocked as my father.
Silently Isaac pleaded with me to aid him this time, to find the right words to mend this situation, to transition him out of this awkward moment as he always did for me.
Only this was my weakest area. I didn’t know how. Especially not when I was trying to recover from my own shock.
Switch the topic, my mind supplied. Hadn’t Isaac always effortlessly changed the direction of conversation for me? Affirm him, was the next thought. It was what Jameson kept doing. In my panic, I spoke the first affirming words that came to mind.
“Thank you for your service tonight, Isaac. You would have made a good doctor.”
Forrester burst out laughing and had to grasp his rib cage. My father just winced and shook his head as if to deny I was his.
Jameson drew near to Edward and spoke in a quiet voice. “Hurry to her aid, boy, lest she retreat again.”
Edward looked as if he’d rather have chewed on gravel, but he stood from the bed. His nostrils flared as he gave Isaac a stiff bow. “Yes, thank you. Perhaps I overreacted.”
Strangely, my comment did help Isaac in the end. He noted my distress and slipped back into his role of being a conciliator and soothing the situation for me. He gave a liquid bow and exited the chamber.
I watched his retreating form, feeling miserable, sick, and embarrassed. As my father and Forrester closed their doors, Edward settled next to me and drew me close. I leaned against him, wondering how others transformed embarrassment while the best I ever managed was to transition it onto myself. My tearless eyes stung.
But it wasn’t for myself that I tried to cry. Isaac couldn’t marry Evelyn. He’d regret it for life. I had to stop him, but without taking unfair advantage of his attachment to me, I wasn’t certain how I could.
Sensing that Edward studied me, I said, “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”
Jameson chuckled. “Faeries are allowed to say whatever they want, and don’t you forget it!”
“I owe you an apology,” Edward said to him, pulling me tighter as he addressed Jameson. “I did overreact. I’m sorry.”
Jameson gave a nod. “Well, we can’t all be John the Beloved, such as myself.”
Edward wrinkled his nose. “I thought you were a worm.”
“Yes! It’s the beauty of the plan.” Jameson motioned for me to shift slightly over so he could pull back my counterpane. “A worm today. John the Beloved tomorrow! You must become small in order to grow big. When you have time, Edward, double-check and see what Scripture says about using wrath to accomplish the righteousness of God.”
“Fine, be a worm today so you can be John the Beloved tomorrow.” Edward removed himself from the bed so he could draw down the other side of the counterpane. “I’ll be a son of thunder. Let’s see if the path lands me at the same place.”
Jameson paused, then laughed, holding up his hands. “Touché! But I still say you’ll be much happier and more useful when you learn to curb that temper.”
Edward’s shoulders sagged. His words came out a near whisper. “I’m trying; I really am.” He lifted his hands and looked at them as if amazed that only moments ago they’d pounded Isaac against the wall. “Patience and gentleness just slip out of my grasp every time I think I’ve finally got ahold of them.”
“Stop trying and start realizing that’s not who you are. That’s when you’ll walk in freedom. His nature has been given to you.”
Frowning, Edward ran his fingers through his curls. “How do you suppose Dalry manages to keep his temper so well?”
“Never mind looking at his life. Trust me, that boy has his own struggles.” Jameson keyed the lamp low. “Just keep your eyes on your own path and allow me to worry about Dalry.”
Edward felt my brow. “She’s still burning up. Lovely how her father left such vague instructions. I’m to send for his physician. Any ideas who that would be?”
“None whatsoever.” Jameson touched my brow with the backs of his knobby fingers.
“Isaac said Kinsley had medicine in his office. He was about to go get the key and fetch it . . .” I glanced at Edward, trying to think of a way to soften it. “Before he was interrupted.”
Jameson chuckled, finding that description humorous. “Lord Dalry is going to be delighted to discover we still need his services tonight. Funny how we continue to need the people we no longer want around, isn’t it? Perhaps God is giving you a hint, Edward. I’ll go rouse him.”
“She needs to drink too,” Edward said. “Broth, wine, claret.” Then, to me, “Any idea where this illness came from?”
I shook my head.
“She suffered without you,” Jameson said from the door. “She stopped eating and rarely spoke. Likely she fell ill because of her weakened state.” Then quietly to Edward, though he gave me a tender look, “No doubt it’s the accumulation of traumas from this past year. But in my experience, when something of this nature is highlighted, it’s usually a mercy, a wind before the storm. If you’ll take my advice, get to the bottom of it tonight. There’s a reason God exposed this vulnerability.”
Edward nodded. When Jameson closed the door, I allowed Edward to tuck me in bed. The cool, clean feel of the sheets embraced me as I rested my head against the pillow and stared at my husband. Propped on his elbow, he gently moved hair from my brow.
“You’re tender and patient with me,” I eventually said. “That’s a start.”
His laugh was husky. “And you talk to me. Personally I never understood the complaint.”
Smiling, I shut my eyes, content that he was back, content to keep my world small.
“So why weren’t you eating and drinking, Juls? It was a fluke I managed to get inside tonight. What if I hadn’t? What if I’d been forced to live on the streets for a fortnight?”
Again my eyes burned as I shook my head. I hated having to admit that outside of Edward, I hadn’t anyone else. It was too pitiful. “I just panicked and then . . .” I frowned. “I won’t do this without you. It’s that simple. I won’t.”
“And if God calls you away from me?”
I pulled the covers against my chest, feeling a vague dread numb my limbs. “Why would he call me away from my husband? That’s ludicrous.”
“You can’t guide your life by me,” Edward said. “I can’t be anyone’s Polaris. I can’t. You’ll shipwreck if you try.”
There was a truth to what he said, but that picture was far too simple, like looking at a woodcut print of sailors on a boat and saying it encompassed life on the sea. That paper image will not prepare you for the cry of seagulls nor the scent of brine. It cannot give you sea legs nor callous your hands in order to hoist the lines. It cannot teach you to swim if you’re thrown overboard. Nor can it convey the terror of being tossed by the wind and the waves. It was a picture; it contained a truth. But it wasn’t a formula.
“You talk about being shipwrecked,” I said, “but what good is Polaris when I’m adrift and foundering? I have no ship. Or if you want to say I’m the ship, then I have no crew. That is what I would be without you. What would you do if you were in the ocean, drowning, with only a cold, distant star above you?”
Jameson arrived with a tray holding a tureen of broth and a decanter of claret. For Edward there were meat pies and wine, along with various other foods that had been showered on London House. Jameson’s kindly eyes crinkled with pleasure at Edward’s repose over me.
“Give her this,” he ordered, pouring claret into a crys
tal goblet. He then emptied a packet of powder into the red liquid. The silver spoon clinked against the glass as he stirred, walking the concoction to Edward.
“Here.” Carefully cradling my head, Edward pressed the glass to my lips. “Drink.”
Ignoring the dryness in my throat, I swallowed. Clumps of the bitter powder broke against my tongue. I wrinkled my nose, then gagged on its taste.
“Fetch her another glass of claret,” Edward ordered Jameson; then, to me, “I want you to drink so much you think your stomach will explode.”
Jameson laughed, pouring the glass. “Such a romantic choice of words, Edward.”
Though Edward attempted to smile, it fell short. Our minds were too full of our previous conversation. I waited until Jameson’s footsteps retreated down the hall.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, determined to keep the topic from dropping.
With my eyes, I accused Edward of being trite. I wasn’t satisfied to simply swallow platitudes. My silent accusation wasn’t fair, though. For on one hand I knew Edward spoke the truth. He was right—I would shipwreck. There are principles that underlie life, and one cannot build lives on ideas that oppose these truths.
And yet the deepest expression of my heart was also true. Edward was all I had left. The sole member of my family. Did not our Creator himself state that it wasn’t good for man to be alone? “How do you honestly expect me to continue on without you?”
Edward caught a glimmer of what I was trying to say. He most certainly felt the emotion as well, for his eyes bespoke grief and love mingled.
“‘Though he slay me,’” he quoted softly after a minute, “‘yet will I trust in him.’ If anything happens to me, then fix your eyes on the star, Juls, and never look away, even if you sink and drown. You let God kill one life to resurrect another.”
My eyes burned with tears they couldn’t shed as I sank back upon the pillows and drifted into sleep, Edward’s words swimming in my mind.
MY FIRST CONSCIOUS thought was to ensure that Edward was at my side. Eyes still closed, I reached for Edward but my fingers found only wrinkled sheets. Not certain I hadn’t dreamed him, I sat with a gasp.
Amber light washed the chamber, for Edward had shut the drapes and lit candles, then shielded them with screens made of polished slices of agate fused together with copper. Combined with the rich tones of the burled wood of my desk and furniture, my chamber looked richer than I’d ever seen it.
Edward sat at my desk, his expression pensive as he inked his thoughts. He wrote so quickly, the sound of scratching filled the room. Next to him were books he’d carried upstairs from my father’s library, thick enough to require buckles over their pages.
I laughed with relief and was surprised at how dry it felt. “I thought I dreamed you.”
He blinked as if waking from a trance. Then, offering a slight smile, he finished his sentence and tugged three times on the bellpull. “Good, you’re up. I’m famished.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
I looked toward the window, forgetting the drapes were shut. “You haven’t eaten yet?”
Shaking his head, he took a seat near me on the bed. “I’m afraid that your father will try to befriend me. I would rather starve.”
It sent a pang of hurt through me. “At least he talks to you.”
Edward shrugged as if my father weren’t of importance anyway. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” In spirit, at least. Bodily, however, my mouth felt dry, my head too light, and my limbs too heavy.
“Do you think you could rise?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I feel shaky.”
He frowned. “Likely you need to eat too. Shall we dress and go downstairs? Or petition to have a tray brought here?”
“Let’s never leave this chamber.” Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I asked, “How did you get back inside last night?”
He grinned. “There was a fight down the street. Quite a row. I was able to climb a tree near the stables, then hop the fence.”
I felt my eyes widen, for I hadn’t thought London House was that easy to penetrate. “Did anyone stop you?”
“I was accosted by four stable hands immediately.” He winked. “But it helps being Lord Pierson’s son-in-law.” He turned his head as a soft knock sounded on the door. “Who is it?”
“James, sir.”
“You may enter.”
James opened the door. Instead of smiling, he flashed me a look. “Good morning. Lord Pierson requests both of your presence in the library immediately.”
“How long ago did he give the order?” I asked, uncertain whether it was a coincidence that the footman arrived when we rang for the staff.
“This morning when the first posts arrived. He said when you rang, I was to send you to him.”
I felt my brow furrow, unable to imagine why my father would desire us. “Was there something in the morning posts?”
James gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know, but he’d just finished opening a brown envelope and reading its contents when he gave the order.”
“Brown?” I said, trying to imagine who would be so uncouth. “What’s his mood?”
James stepped in and closed the door farther. “The queen is refusing to cooperate with Melbourne. Peel has sent two messages this morning alone, begging for your father and Lord Dalry to come support him. News of Lord Dalry’s forthcoming marriage to Miss Greenley just happened to make Forrester’s paper today, shocking London. Simmons has returned from the docks, looking more dour than I’ve ever seen him.” James’s eyes grew mischievous as he glanced at Edward. “And I’m under the impression his lordship didn’t sleep very well last night.”
I pinched my nose. “Thank you, James.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Have tea brought to the library. Tell Mrs. King I need something for a headache as well.”
“Curious the way this house presses upon you,” I said, looking over the other levels as we tromped down the stairs. “It’s beautiful, but once inside, it’s inescapable.”
Edward gave a dark chuckle. “My problem is the opposite. My battle is always getting and staying inside it.”
In the bottom foyer, Simmons rushed across the hall to Lady Pierson’s study, where he could be heard making a ruckus. A moment later he emerged, but instead of smuggling papers to the front door, as I half expected he’d do, he rushed back to the library. Edward and I slipped in after him.
Isaac noted our presence immediately, though all he did was give us a quick glance. For a moment the way he looked at me was so benign and indifferent, I almost wondered if he truly had asked if we could be friends. My father and Simmons were looking over the documents.
Edward coughed, causing my father to glance at us, but he almost didn’t seem to register our presence. Ashen, he returned to the papers. Mr. Forrester poked his head out from behind a screen.
“Aren’t you overdue?” he asked.
My father looked at us again. “I want to give up,” he said to Simmons. “There’s so much to handle, I don’t even know which problem to address first.”
“There’s hardly anything you can do right now about this one.” Simmons shoved over what looked like a large map.
My father didn’t answer.
“What’s happening anyway?” Mr. Forrester stood. “You’ve both been acting odd since Simmons returned.”
“Nothing that merits your attention.” My father gripped his chin while shaking his head. “Problems with the mines’ production, and it’s going to cost me a lot of money, just when I’m reaping the bills from introducing an heiress into society.”
“What?” Mr. Forrester strode over to the desk. “I thought you were nearest the largest vein.”
“We were,” my father said, “but it looks like it might be veining this way instead. And I don’t own it.”
Mr. Forrester tilted his h
ead, looking at the map for a few minutes. “Have you tried buying that claim?”
“Can you imagine? Lord Pierson making an offer. They’d know.”
“Just curious—when did the workers start losing the vein?”
My father consulted some papers. “October, why?”
Mr. Forrester looked at me, spreading his lips in a thin smile. “Same month she arrived. An unlucky month all around, I’d say.”
Nothing is more damaging than someone besieging you with the lie you believe about yourself. I hugged myself as I confronted Forrester’s mocking eyes.
Edward’s brow furrowed before he made an exaggerated mock bow to the chamber. “Well, thank you, everyone, for insisting we come join you so we could be ignored and then insulted. We had a lovely time. Let’s do this again soon! Come on, Juls. Nobody is making us remain.”
“Wait!” My father’s tone was boorish, but once more he wore the hint of a smile.
I glanced at Isaac, curious what he thought of my father’s being so smitten with Edward’s unruliness, since he himself worked so hard to be genteel. His face wore nothing but a look of suavity as he carefully worked on correspondences.
My father picked up a brown piece of parchment that had been folded and sealed like an envelope. He flapped it. “I want you to tell me what the deuce this is.”
“Paper?” Edward sounded sincere, though I knew he was being flippant.
Isaac noted it too, for he lifted his gaze to Edward for a fraction of a second, but what he thought was a mystery to me.
“Why is London House receiving mail for Reverend Edward Auburn—” my father’s voice rose to a pitch as he stood—“when half of London is on my doorstep, trying to find your identity? What? Do you think people won’t recognize the address? Why not address it to me at 10 Downing Street, and see if they notice! What were you thinking?”
Edward’s nose wrinkled. “You can lower your tone, as your theatrics aren’t impressive. It should be obvious that the correspondence was set in motion before Forrester’s reward was posted. But since you see fit to scold me like a child, I see fit to point out your obtuseness.”
Price of Privilege Page 26
