It was then that I first noticed the glint of quince yellow, bright blues, and aqua greens in a small painting. The bright colors so greatly contrasted with the sober hues in the other artwork that I felt compelled to cross the chamber in order to study it.
Further inspection heightened the art’s impertinence. Clearly this artist’s work was nothing like the other prodigies that hung in their grandiose frames.
But it was the subject matter that held me mesmerized. It contained a single sunflower, off center, showing a blue-green center. The petals blazed like the sun, uncontainable and free. I stood riveted, sensing the wild soul of the artist. I was so captivated, I touched one of the fiery petals before noticing the initials at the bottom: LC.
A chill tingled through my arms as I stared at the first letter and realized the painting was Mama’s. I knew the distinctive way she looped her Ls. And her maiden name was Cames. I had once seen it scrawled in a book.
I stared, frozen. How was it possible that Mama had once been a painter? The idea was so ludicrous. I wanted Elizabeth or Edward there so I could show them this impossibility.
Then sadness engulfed me as I lifted my gaze to the blazing petals. There had been so much passion, so much life. What could have quenched her soul?
“Your father,” Lord Dalry said, approaching, “can stare at that painting for hours.”
“Where did he get it?”
He shrugged, giving Mama’s nonesuch only a casual glance. “Bath, I believe?”
I considered telling him it was my mother’s work, but then decided against it. I liked having knowledge about my father that he did not.
“Here, may we sit and talk?” Lord Dalry asked when I’d been silent a minute. “I’m anxious to open a certain subject that I wish to be frank with you about. Please, be seated.”
Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from the work. I glanced at the couches, having no desire to talk. A day in the carriage with Kate was nearly as trying as one with Mrs. Windham.
I glanced at the door but decided it was better to have whatever he wanted to discuss over all at once, like swallowing a spoonful of castor oil. I dropped to one of the couches.
His eyes widened, giving me a dart of satisfaction. Likely, Henry would have snickered too, that my plopping onto a couch had tongue-tied this proper gentleman.
Giving his trousers a slight tug, Lord Dalry took the seat, but for a minute he did nothing other than look thoughtful. “Your father asked me to discuss with you the terms of this . . .” His mouth moved as if he were tasting the word before releasing it. “This . . . arrangement.”
I narrowed my eyes, not following him.
He spread his hands. “On the night you arrived, I fear I may not have fully appreciated how matters would turn out. I assumed, of course, that by the week’s end, Mr. Macy would be exposed and an investigation launched. But as it turns out, the evidence was stolen and your father had to make some hard decisions.”
I waited, knowing he’d expound.
“Had your father managed to expose Mr. Macy, we could have easily handled the few people who learned about you and, with some slight embarrassment, swept this entire affair beneath the carpet, allowing you to return to your prior life.”
My mouth dried. “And now?”
He paused, reminding me of the way the apothecary hesitated before revealing his opinion that Mama had committed suicide. “Our efforts to expose Mr. Macy were vain, leaving your father in a rather difficult position to know how to protect you. He decided upon a rather bold campaign, and, as such, he has declared to the newspapers that his legitimate daughter has recently returned home from finishing school.”
I nodded, as this was not a surprise to me.
“I don’t think you fully grasp what I’m saying.” He leaned forward. “Consider the implication of what it means to be Lord Pierson’s daughter. In order to keep you from Macy, this is no halfhearted effort. This alters everything.”
I kept my gaze fastened on him, not certain what gravity he waited for me to discover.
“Think upon what it means to be the sole child of Lord Pierson and what the next step would be,” he prompted. “You’re an heiress, just returned home from school. Everything you do is now a matter of politics with a vast fortune connected to it.”
I placed my hand over my bodice, unwilling to even allow my mind to go there. I shook my head. “No. This is a temporary arrangement only!”
“Yes, well, that brings us to my point. There’s no undoing a measure like this. Before your father took this step, he wrote to ensure he had my full support.”
I opened my mouth to demand that he take his words back, but instead kept shaking my head. If I was truly the daughter of a peer, debuting and finding a husband was the expected next step. Which meant that my father had written Lord Dalry beforehand to ensure that the gentleman in question would marry me.
The concept was so jarring that angry tears rose in my eyes. Lord Dalry was saying something, but the words dissipated around me in a murmur. I held out my hand for quiet, wishing he would disappear too, so that I could think.
I tried to recall exactly what I’d overheard my father and Mr. Forrester discussing that first night. Yes, I had gathered that they’d failed to entrap Macy, but what on earth made my father assume I’d be his pawn? It was one thing to act as though I were legitimate within his own household, but quite another to carry it through among the elite and powerful.
And Lord Dalry? I paused to stare at him in disbelief. His presumption was unparalleled. He’d seen Edward and me together. He knew of our troth. He’d been to Am Meer—and probably slept in my bed there, for heaven’s sake. He must have met Henry and Elizabeth and realized the depth of our bond. I challenged Lord Dalry with my eyes. “How dare you!”
The door swung open.
“Isaac, what the deuce are you doing?” My father’s booming voice added to the already-present tension in the room. “You can’t be alone with her. We’re fighting an uphill battle as it is. Leave no room for servants’ gossip.”
“Sir, forgive me; I—”
“Don’t!” My father’s left hand shot up, silencing Lord Dalry, while he rummaged through a desk drawer with his right. “It’s not an issue of trust. Just call Kinsley in the future.” He grabbed a stash of papers. “Your duty is finished here anyway. The house is locked. I want you in the smoking room. We have a problem.”
“Now, sir?” Lord Dalry asked, rising. “I would much rather not leave our conversation off where we did. May I not at least finish it?”
“There’s not time for it. Within the hour, all of London will know we’re back.” My father strode away, one of his papers falling to the floor. “Say good night. No delays.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door banged shut.
Lord Dalry sighed but kept a refined expression as he bowed. “Forgive me, but I must leave. I did not wish to add to your distress. Perhaps tomorrow we can finish our conversation in private.” Anger rippled through me, but before I could assure him we’d never finish this conversation, he continued. “In the meantime, wait here. I’ll have a servant fetch you when your chamber is ready. Don’t forget your meeting with your father at ten. He doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”
I glared as he withdrew and shut the door. Alone, I sank beside the fire, my dress ballooning about me. The entire situation felt insane. Shutting my eyes, I rested my forehead against one of the marble columns that flanked the fireplace, wondering if I had correctly interpreted where Lord Dalry was leading me.
Part of me couldn’t put stock in my understanding. Surely, Lord Dalry hadn’t been hinting for me to expect a marriage between us. Considering that I was already married to one man and engaged to another, he’d have to be mad to believe such a possibility existed. As would my father.
I glanced at the clock, increasingly anxious for an audience with him. There were at least two hours to wait. I folded my arms over my churning stomach, not certain I could last that st
retch of time with this desire to vehemently argue with him.
Fingers tucked a stray curl behind my ear. Memory of Mr. Macy’s arousing touch woke me. I opened my eyes and pushed against the velvet upholstery. At first, I only saw flickering shadows dancing in slow adagio over the books. Then my gaze fell on Lord Dalry, kneeling at the curved arm of the settee.
“Why are you not in bed?” he asked.
I felt too confused to answer. Just a moment ago, I’d been sitting with Edward atop a hill, overlooking his parish. I shut my eyes, wanting to go back.
“Why is she here? Did you not give her my message?”
“I passed the message to Kinsley,” James said behind me.
I reopened my eyes to find Lord Dalry’s squeezed shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, making me wonder if his head throbbed.
“Well, sir?” James asked.
“I don’t know. I’m thinking,” Lord Dalry said. “There’s a good chance they are coming here next. Imagine if Lord Melbourne were to stumble over her now. But I can’t sneak her upstairs without them noticing.”
“No one would be to fault, sir.”
“No.” Lord Dalry sounded annoyed. “It would be mine. I told Lord Pierson she’d gone to bed.”
“On my honor, sir, Kinsley swore he’d tend to it.”
Lord Dalry waved for James to hush and looked toward me. He seemed relieved to find me alert, but before he could speak, the library door creaked and a ribbon of light striped his face.
It was nearly imperceptible, but Lord Dalry winced.
“Isaac?” My father’s voice carried from the door. The room flushed with light as the door opened farther. “What is this?”
“Sir.” Lord Dalry stood. “It’s my fault. I failed to deliver the message that you wouldn’t be joining her this evening. She must have fallen asleep while waiting.”
“Is that so?” The displeasure in my father’s voice settled upon the room with a chill.
“It’s just as well, Pierson,” came a voice behind my father. “No more excuses why we can’t see the girl tonight. Let us settle this matter once and for all.”
“Lord Ramsden.” Lord Dalry gave a nod and rose.
A walking stick rapped the floor as two men entered.
“Lights. Bring in lights. I wish to view her face.”
Like chess pieces returning to their rightful places after a game, everyone moved at once. James ran about the room, touching his candle to the lamp wicks. My father went straight to his desk, uncorked a decanter, and poured whiskey. He shot Lord Dalry a glowering look.
Having already sensed that Lord Dalry was my best resource, I looked to him for help. His expression was serious.
Two gentlemen entered and stopped before me. They were well dressed, their clothing tailored to fit, the material costly.
Lord Dalry placed a firm hand under my elbow and impelled me to rise. “Lord Melbourne, may I be the first to have the honor of presenting Miss Pierson?”
The gentleman bowed his head and waited. Etiquette demanded I give him some token greeting. “Sir . . .” My legs went trembly. The name Lord Melbourne pounded against my memory as someone terribly important, only I could not place him.
Finally, Lord Melbourne’s companion grunted with impatience.
“So this girl is your daughter, Roy?” Lord Melbourne asked at last, turning to my father.
“She is.”
Lord Melbourne frowned, clasping his hands behind his back. For a length of time he studied me, then shook his head. “Why did you not consult me? We could have found some way around this.”
“Consult you? About what?” My father shrugged before taking another sip of his drink.
Lord Melbourne’s mouth slanted downward before he stepped toward me. His voice grew gruff. “Are you, or are you not, the daughter of Lady Pierson?”
Caught off guard, I glanced at Lord Dalry for my answer, but when my father set his drink on the desk with a plunk, my gaze went to him. Grey tinged his face, making him look stricken.
It wasn’t possible to destroy him in that moment. Regardless of the fact he’d virtually ignored me since birth, something inside me stirred with compassion. Henry always claimed there were more solutions than problems if you were willing to take paths no one else would. Whatever lunacy Lord Dalry and my father planned, I could handle later.
“Well, girl, have you no voice?”
“I—I—have no memory of my birth. Like everyone, I rely on others to tell me who my parents are.” I swallowed. “I’ve never known my father to lie.”
Splotches crept up Lord Melbourne’s neck. “Pierson, if you’re expecting to present an illegitimate child to the queen, you know I can’t allow it.”
“Forgive her hesitation.” My father stopped leaning against his desk and straightened. “This is all new to her. Until recently, to keep her from fortune seekers, she thought herself orphaned and living on the charity of her boarding school. I can furnish records of her birth and witnesses to this peculiar arrangement. But imagine being wakened in the dead of night, by a person of your status. Who wouldn’t be flustered?”
Lord Dalry’s hand perspired where he supported my elbow, but he kept a refined, bored expression.
Lord Melbourne ran his gaze over me again, as though trying to find any semblance at all to my father’s wife. “Take no offense at this, but if you’re lying, confess it now.”
My heart pounded in my chest, uncertain as I was whether I wanted my father to confess or not.
“There’s no deception here.” My father jammed the glass stopper into the decanter. “And I do take offense—great offense—that you suggest such unsuitable things within the hearing of my daughter.”
Lord Melbourne tapped his walking stick, in turn looking uncomfortable. “What else is a body to think? Why in mercy’s name would you hide a daughter at a finishing school and then shock the whole of London by bringing her home unannounced and unexpectedly? Explain yourself.”
“She attempted to marry a rogue without my permission.” My father crossed his arms. “The elopement was scarcely prevented, and I was forced to remove her immediately.”
Heat seared my cheeks and ears. This was humiliating—and too close to the truth.
Lord Melbourne stroked his chin, studying me before slowly nodding. “Then she’ll keep up with the blue bloods?”
“Her manners are faultless,” my father said.
“Yes, as I saw by our introduction.” Sarcasm coated Lord Melbourne’s companion’s voice.
“She’s travelled all day and woke in a new place,” Lord Dalry said. “You can scarcely expect Miss Pierson to perform.”
A ghost of a smile played on Lord Melbourne’s lips as his gaze moved to Lord Dalry. Respect shone in his eyes. “So you bolster her claim as well?” He gave a huff, lifting his shoulders as he considered Lord Dalry intently. “All right, if Dalry supports this, so will I.” He turned to my father. “Send me the paperwork. Have Lady Beatrice write and request a private court presentation. As long as she confirms your story by sponsoring her, I’ll allow it.” Lord Melbourne moved his gaze to Lord Dalry. “It would be wise to settle the issue of her marriage sooner rather than later. I’ve already been approached by three members of the gentry, hoping I’ll persuade you in their favor.”
“She’ll be wed before the finish of the season.”
Chilled by my father’s words, I lifted my eyes and met his with a defiant stare. If he understood me, he gave no acknowledgment. He knew as well as I did there was still Macy to contend with. I had no choice but to aid the ruse. Nevertheless, I felt like a bird that had been lured into a cage with an offer of rest, only to have the door lock shut behind it.
“Allow us to leave you gentlemen in peace.” Lord Dalry escorted me toward the hall.
To my surprise, my father advanced, laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and gave it a squeeze as he opened the door.
THAT NIGHT I tossed relentlessly between my sheets as the clop of h
ooves and jingle of harnesses carried from the cobblestone below. The few times I managed to slumber, my dreams were a tumult of images, primarily Edward and me trying to hide from an angry sunflower sun.
Each time I awoke, my conversation with Lord Dalry in the library came to mind. That I had unwittingly been forced into such a position vexed me to no end. I desired to be angry. Then I could at least vent. Yet I felt too rational to blame my father. He obviously hadn’t planned on this either. And anger toward Lord Dalry went nowhere. There was little point in disliking a gentleman who politely warned people to be on their guard against him.
Sometime after dawn, when the last of the raucous laughter and wine-slurred songs died on the streets below, a tangled-haired Kate creaked open my chamber door. Puffy eyes evidenced that she, too, had wept.
She sniffled, wiping her nose. “May I sleep with you?”
I sighed, debating. I hadn’t invited her into my world; she’d just barged in. Furthermore, I knew my desire to befriend her stemmed only from my own misery. It wasn’t fair to her. Who wished to be befriended only because there was no alternative? It went against every principle I had always stood for.
Kate’s lower lip protruded when I made no response.
“Oh, dash it all!” I lifted the counterpane and waved her to me. Henry and Elizabeth were always this reckless in their treatment of others. Maybe just once I could bend my own rule.
I laugh now at the measures I took to shield myself from the knowledge that I, too, was vulnerable and needed love and friendship.
Kate bounded toward my bed and clambered over the side. She rested her head against my shoulder and closed her eyes. “I dreamed Ben kept screaming in pain, and I couldn’t find him.”
I tucked the covers about her, warmed more than I liked to admit. “’Twas but a dream. Sleep.”
Mark of Distinction Page 10
