Price of Privilege

by Jessica Dotta

  We all watched as, frowning, my father opened one after another. Then, pinching his forehead, “James, fetch me laudanum.”

  “What is it?” Forrester asked.

  “The full harvest of bills for introducing the Emerald Heiress into society.” He picked one off the top and threw it to Forrester. “They’re demanding full payment before I lose everything.”

  Forrester opened the note. His eyes widened before he folded it. “Why not try sending the bill to her husband and seeing if he’ll pick up the tab?”

  My father’s black look silenced him, but not for long.

  “This one remembered you, Isaac.” Forrester chuckled as he perused the next newspaper, then read aloud, “‘We’re all left wondering how it came to pass that this whey-faced girl ever managed to fool the elite. How is it the blue bloods failed to notice her coarse manners? There are rumors that she used Lord Dalry to help with her ruse. It wouldn’t be the first time a femme fatale has used her licentious nature to take advantage of a pure youth. We can only thank the heavens that he was cut loose just in time.’” He narrowed his eyes, passing the paper to Isaac. “I hope you finally believe me and see for yourself what she is now.”

  Frowning, Isaac took the paper and scanned the article for himself. My face burned as I waited to learn his thoughts.

  “How extraordinarily faulty your memory is,” he finally said. “You forget that I’ve always known her story was one we created. How have you already forgotten that we’re the ones who pushed her into this sham? As gentlemen, instead of insulting her, we should be working on how best to assist her.”

  My father heaved a sigh and sat back, still pinching his brow. “Would you all mind leaving? I desire to speak to my daughter alone.”

  Isaac met my gaze with a supportive look, then stood and retrieved his coat, which was slung over the back of his chair.

  Jameson sailed through the background, giving me a slight nod of encouragement as Forrester gathered not only the papers but the basket of croissants. I stiffened in my chair. For the first time since Forrester published that newspaper article that broke my betrothal to Isaac, the doors of communication were open between my father and me.

  My father waited until we were alone, then turned his coffee cup in a full circle, keeping its bottom on the table as he stared at it. He drew a long sigh. “I’m hiring counsel for you and Edward. The same counsel I’m hiring for myself, as our cases hinge on each other’s. You’re not to talk to anyone else about the investigation. Not in any way. Am I clear?”

  I nodded, angry at myself for allowing a rush of hope. This was no attempt to bridge the differences between us. This was his life. He was a politician. We just found out we were in the same camp. We were speaking again. Period.

  I took a careful breath weighted with sadness. Instead of relationship, I spoke his language—fact. “What happens next?”

  His shoulders loosened as if he was relieved. “We plan our strategy and look for weakness in Macy’s.”

  Not certain if I was allowed to say his name or not, now that the whole country knew the truth, I haltingly asked, “Do we know his strategy?”

  “Yes and no.” He leaned on an elbow and dug his finger into his cheek. “As you’re aware, he’s suing me for damages to his conjugal happiness. We know that Merrick attempted to make you look terrified and uncertain whom to trust. Macy is angling that I’ve poisoned you against him.”

  I allowed that thought to soak in and found I couldn’t disagree with it. “Could he truly force my return?”

  My father shifted his weight to his other hip. “It’s not as simple as that. You’re on the verge of being charged with bigamy. My first goal is to prevent that from happening before my countersuit is examined. Otherwise, as your supposed legal husband, Macy has full jurisdiction over you. As we know from Merrick, Macy is already claiming that you were acting on his orders, which makes him accountable. Thank heavens Edward performed the first ceremony, so at least there’s no ability to add to your crime by saying you hid your first wedding in order to marry Edward.

  “Nonetheless, you can’t commit a felony as offensive as bigamy and escape under the clause that you were obeying your husband. Yet Merrick seemed absolutely certain that arresting you wouldn’t stand. The most logical conclusion, therefore, is that Macy is going to claim he thought you were too emotionally fragile to snatch outright from my care. Furthermore, we know that more than once he made a point of publicizing that he and I were having meetings in private. Remember us climbing into his carriage at Lady Northrum’s? I believe he’s going to claim that he tried privately to negotiate with me for your safe return in order to avoid his public humiliation.”

  I glared at him. If that was the case, Macy was telling the truth. “That’s not just an empty claim.”

  My father said nothing for a long moment as he looked me in the eye. “Macy did try to talk legalities to me, but in the past he’s broken troth so many times, it was impossible to assign belief to anything he said.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “And if I am charged with bigamy before your countersuit takes place?”

  The lines over my father’s jowls deepened. “If he has any sense, Macy will plead guilty on your behalf. If you’re guilty of bigamy, it legally establishes your marriage to Macy. In which case he’ll take you into his custody and likely continue his lawsuit against me for causing detrimental harm to you.”

  I took a deep breath, unable to believe this was actually happening. “What if I refuse and plead innocence?”

  “Since Macy is claiming this was his doing and that you’re frail, you have no legal status.”

  This was insane, and for a moment I said nothing, trying to wrap my mind around the implications. “But what about him? Won’t he go to jail, then? He can’t claim he masterminded my crime and not have to pay for it!”

  My father picked up a small tin of white, chalky tablets near his plate. With care he picked out two, chewed them, then pounded on his chest as he cleared his throat. “Which brings us back to why he seems to be claiming he supported your remaining where you were—because of your weak constitution. As far as Simmons can find, there’s no recorded punishment for a man who accidentally cuckolded himself in this manner, so the punishment would be created uniquely. There isn’t a juror or justice alive who would dare touch Macy. Adolphus is part of the reason grand juries have been nicknamed ‘the hope of London thieves.’”

  Rooke’s lanky personage rose to mind as I twisted the cuffs of my dress. Lady Foxmore once said he should have been jailed for thuggery except for a technicality. That probably should have been my first hint something was amiss. Somehow I suspected my father did not exaggerate Macy’s influence in the courts either.

  My father waited to see if I had any comments, so I asked the only question I cared about. “And Edward? When are you paying his bail?”

  Astonishment spread over my father’s features before he glowered. “I’m not. For obvious reasons, we’re leaving him in the jail until the trial.”

  “What!” I rose to my feet. “Why?”

  “Because we’re trying to stall your being charged with bigamy. London will not look kindly on Edward’s being here with us. Nor Macy, for that matter.”

  “Can you get him a room somewhere else, then?”

  “And give the papers another soul to follow everywhere? No. The next sessions are in July, and it’s not that far away, considering he lived on the streets before this. Right now we want the public focused solely on Macy and me. Your marriage is now a matter of public opinion, and we don’t need Edward interfering. Now if you haven’t any other questions . . .” He started to remove his napkin from his lap.

  “Wait.” I leaned forward and gripped the table, hating our barrier. I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t planned to overthrow him and Isaac with that newspaper article, but as he nailed me with an angry look, the words lodged in my throat.

  “Yes?” he demanded.

  I gripped Mama�
�s shawl and kept the topic to the trial. “If Macy claims he ordered me here, wouldn’t that rip shreds through his argument that you’re the person who ruined his conjugal happiness?”

  My father angled his head as a look of hope crossed his face. Then his eyes narrowed. “Which male servant dared speak to you about the case?”

  “No one.”

  “You’re lying.” Red blotched his face as he stood. “Where else would you have come up with that idea? Was it James? Jameson? Who dared disobey me?”

  “No one discussed it,” I whispered.

  His face contorted with anger as he tugged on his waistcoat. “I can’t prove that you’re lying, but we both know you are. No woman could come up with a legal argument like that on her own. So help me, if I catch any member of the staff talking about this, I’ll dismiss him. Is that clear?”

  A retort immediately flew to my mind. I wanted to demand that he explain how Mama found herself with child but without an offer of marriage. I wanted to scream that he had no honor—that he’d never had any, so far as I could tell—so how dare he presume to question mine. I was so angry that tears filled my eyes. But even before the words reached my lips, I saw our future stretch out.

  If I screamed at him, his fury would unleash, for he looked truly angry. I doubted any crony of his had ever seen him this full of choler. Red mottled his face as he waited for me to shout back. Unlike William, his hands weren’t forming fists, but there was a look of near glee in his eyes—one that said he wanted an excuse to berate someone, anyone. If I responded with anger, he’d lash out, and I’d be hurt. And in turn, I’d respond with anger. Where would it ever end?

  I took a step backwards, unwilling to step foot on this path. It was far too slippery.

  “Yes?” he demanded.

  I studied him, not certain if I needed to stand up for myself in order to make him stop. Yet on more than one occasion I had stood up to him, and each time it had the opposite effect. He only grew angrier. I released my breath. Let him think me weak. I had no fight anyway. I’d simply seen too much pain in my lifetime and saw it wouldn’t benefit either of us to perpetuate a never-ending cycle.

  Seeing he still waited for me to react, I shook my head. “It was nothing.”

  Clearly he expected more, for his mouth slashed downward. He glared at me, seemingly unbalanced by my decision, mistrusting even. Then he demanded, “No disturbances today! Am I clear?”

  I gave a nod, finding it odd that he’d tacked on that command. Who ever willingly disturbed him?

  As his footsteps pounded away, it occurred to me that he’d made that last command out of a need to prove he had control.

  I sank into my chair and heaved a sigh. What did I care if he thought me a liar? So did the rest of the country. Who knows—maybe he even believed me but just wanted something to fight about. Edward had said I needed to see my father for myself before I’d understand. I glanced at his empty seat, wondering why he was so angry anyway. I no longer believed it was me. From what I could tell, he was wick with anger long before I ever arrived.

  “I saw your father stalk to his library.” Jameson’s voice carried from the threshold behind me.

  My voice was too thick to respond, so I swallowed twice and smoothed my skirt.

  Shutting the door behind him, Jameson entered. He plucked a single white rose from the bouquet arranged at the center of the table. He sat in Isaac’s spot, then slid the rose across the table and bowed his head. “May I petition to speak, O queen?”

  Instead of looking at him, I fastened my gaze on the dish of hard-boiled eggs nearest me. They were a soft blur of blues, greens, and browns.

  “I take it your meeting with your ursine father didn’t go well?”

  As if determined I would acknowledge him, his aged hand crept into view as he selected the topmost egg. From across the table, the sound of his shelling it reached my ears. “Ah, well, sometimes faerie kings choose the wrong animal to transform into. Be glad he chose a bear instead of a crocodile. I know of one who accidentally ate all his children in a single night.”

  Despite myself, my lips twisted in a smile. “I’m not playing today.”

  “Well, neither am I! Good heavens, there’s far too much magic in this house to let your guard down, even for a minute.” He split the egg in half with Isaac’s unused knife, filling the air with its pungent scent. After salting the two halves, he picked up one. “Come on. Tell me what passed.”

  Instead I whispered the truest desire of my heart. “I miss Edward.”

  His affection for Edward must have been great, for his kindly eyes radiated with love as he nodded approval. “If the boy insists on getting arrested and thrown in jail, what can we do except wait for him to finish his prison ministry?”

  I smirked, then wiped aside the wetness of my eyes. “What if I’m not here when that happens? What if I truly am forced back to Macy?”

  “Pshaw!” He waved half of his egg through the air. “Surely, being a vicar, Edward carries some influence with God. We’ll let those two argue it out. I warrant heaven is getting its fill of Edward’s prayers, even now.” He bit into his egg, chewed, and swallowed before saying, “Now tell me what happened with your father. For the very air was tainted when I entered. Something happened. It is my role as your fetching butler to figure out what.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fetching?”

  His eyes twinkled. “I give you your dignity, so give me mine.”

  I felt my shoulders loosen. “Fine, you can be the fetching butler, so long as I’m not Jonah.”

  “Well, that’s hardly my call.” He checked his uneaten portion of egg for shells. “Tell me what passed and we can determine your role after that.”

  I sighed and reached into the fruit bowl, where I pinched off some grapes. It wasn’t until a slight smile crossed Jameson’s lips that I realized he’d hoped to coax me into eating by setting the example. I plucked off and rolled the first grape between my fingers. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise not to lecture me about using my words. I’m not going to speak and tell my father that I’m angry at him.”

  His white brows scrunched with concern. “Perhaps in his case we can make an exception about the need for words. Mr. Forrester tells me your aim is quite good and your arm is strong. Perhaps your father will understand what you’re trying to say if you just threw a few things at his head.”

  I laughed outright, warmed by Jameson’s presence, then popped the grape in my mouth and crushed it in my teeth, imagining my father’s shock were I to scream and pitch every dish and utensil at him. But just as before, I saw how I would feel afterwards, how the emptiness would only deepen. I shook my head, feeling pained. “No. I would ache and hurt all the more if I did that.”

  Jameson’s eyes quickened with surprise. “Explain that.”

  As best I could, I tried to describe what had transpired between me and my father. Turning over the grapes in my fingers, I explained why I didn’t respond. “I’ve seen so many versions of this path. I’ve seen my stepfather beating Mama, and Sarah boiling over with rage, muttering about the things she hoped would befall him. I’ve seen Mama, as cold as ice, resist being broken. But even that form of anger didn’t work. Melancholy would utterly consume long periods of her life. But it’s all the same, isn’t it? I mean, none of them were ever happy.” I glanced up and found Jameson’s eyes riveted on me. “I don’t know. It’s like the more anger you drink, the thirstier you become.” I lowered my eyes. “I’d rather just stop here, thirsty as I am, than continue trying to fill something bottomless.”

  “But you need anger,” Jameson countered. “It’s meant to awaken you to respond to danger.”

  My smile felt rueful. “Somehow it becomes a danger unto itself. If I said something hurtful in return and saw that my arrow found its mark, I would feel no satisfaction. How can anyone stand seeing the pang of hurt on someone else’s face, knowing they caused it? I just can’t.”

  Jameson sat back
in his chair, looking at me anew. He considered my words a long time; then, in a half whisper, “No wonder the boy is so smitten.” Looking helpless to counsel me, he asked, “So what is it you hope to achieve with your father, then?”

  Feeling sad, I remembered the way my father had chucked me beneath the chin before I went to the opera, the pride in his eyes as he scanned the headlines after I came out, and the way he looked at Edward and Isaac with deep pride. I gave a sad shake of my head. “Nothing I seem to be able to keep.”

  Jameson sighed but nodded. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back. “Did I ever tell you about the farm I grew up on?”

  I arched my brow.

  He grinned, perhaps sensing he’d finally earned my trust. “Well, it was a dairy farm on which my great-great-grandfather had built a swinging bridge over a ravine with a river beneath it. It was rather high, and in its day, about a hundred years before my birth, it was used quite frequently.”

  “My word!” I teased. “Was it a Roman bridge?”

  The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled as he covered his heart. “Spare the bear but insult the butler! No, Mrs. Auburn, it wasn’t Roman. They had enough sense to build things out of stone. By the time I was ten, my great-great-grandfather’s bridge was all rotted wood and frayed rope. My mother hated it because, as a young boy, it fascinated me to no end. She even demanded that my father tear it down, but he refused because it was part of our heritage.”

  My eyes widened, expecting a story of tragedy and why nostalgic feelings about one’s family will only betray you.

  Jameson surprised me with, “If you want to keep a bridge open between you and your father, go ahead. Only place no weight upon it. Have no expectations, for it will never sustain you.”

  I said nothing as I considered that.

  “And if—” he leaned forward and placed his laced fingers on the table—“one day we see he’s working to repair his half of the bridge, we can vote whether to trust the bridge again.” Then, with a grin, “Edward and I will vote no and to cut down our half.” His voice softened and he grew serious. “But he’s not our father, and your vote will be the only one that counts.”