Mark of Distinction

by Jessica Dotta

  Sniffling, she settled down and closed her eyes. I sighed and listened to her heavy breathing, wishing slumber were that simple for me. Yet it must have been, for when I next opened my eyes, it was no longer grey but bright with streams of sunshine.

  A soft knock sounded again on the chamber door.

  “Miss Pierson?” Lord Dalry called from the other side.

  I glanced at Kate. She slept amidst a gnarled mass of cinnamon-colored hair. With a sigh, I sat straight and waited for my head to catch up to the motion.

  Lord Dalry knocked again. “Miss Pierson, it’s rather urgent.”

  I eyed the door. He was the last person I wished to see or speak to. I shut my eyes, hoping that I could convince at least one member of the Dalry family to just go away.

  “Please,” he said again from the other side. “Lady Beatrice is demanding an audience with you. If you don’t open the door . . . well, forgive me, but I’ll have no choice but to open it myself.”

  Rolling my eyes, I slid from the bed, imagining how Henry would have roared with laughter at such a mollycoddle threat. “Spare yourself from such drastic action,” I called. “I’m coming.”

  I caught sight of myself in the looking glass as I passed. Wisps of hair had escaped my Quaker bun, reminding me of the plume on a young robin’s breast. Last night, I’d not bothered to change; thus once again my dress was creased.

  When I opened the door, more light streamed from the hall, filling in the gaps, softening the angles. Lord Dalry waited, dressed in a charcoal frock coat with a puffed black silk tie and gold waistcoat. My nose tingled with the scent of cedar blended with fuller’s earth. If I was stunned at how richly attired he looked, he was equally stunned at my mussy appearance.

  Concern etched his brow. “Do you always sleep in your dresses?”

  I cast him a resentful look. “No.”

  “This cannot be happening,” he murmured to himself as his panicked gaze swept over my form. “Remind me to check on your lady’s maid. But in the meantime, we cannot present you to Lady Beatrice like this. Have you a large shawl? Can you at least comb your hair?” Before I answered, he spotted his sister. “Kate! What on earth? Stop bothering Miss Pierson!”

  “It’s not her bothering me,” I muttered.

  Kate scrunched her mouth in a pout before pulling the covers over her head and turning away.

  Lord Dalry glared at her caterpillared form. “I am so sorry, Miss Pierson. I promise you, I shall speak to her.”

  “She’s fine. She had nightmares about someone named Ben.” I opened my trunk and selected the first shawl I found. A flush of pleasure rose through me that it utterly clashed with my dress. “Whatever she dreamed, it sounded awful. Do you know—?”

  I turned and found the blood drained from his stricken face. But whatever thought arrested him proved less urgent than his current mission. “We must hurry. Your father and Lady Beatrice should not be left together for any length of time.”

  Not certain how this gentleman had managed to step into my life and take charge, I donned the silk shawl, then released and recombed my hair into a loose bun.

  Lord Dalry scrutinized my appearance and, with reluctance, nodded. “We can’t afford to leave them alone longer. Do you understand the importance of this visit?”

  “I recall Lord Melbourne mentioned the name.” I desperately tried to coax the wrinkles from my gown by smoothing it. “But who is she?”

  “Your father’s mother-in-law. If she claims you are her granddaughter, then not a soul in London will dare question your heredity. Only there’s a catch.” Lord Dalry took my arm and started us down the stairs. “She has a particular aversion for your father, which is why Lord Melbourne required her sponsorship. We must not fail.”

  Warmth bled from the air as Lord Dalry slid open the pocket doors to the drawing room. My father sat sideways behind a writing desk. The nearby blaze cast an orange glow over his morning attire. He stopped midsentence and jerked his head in my direction. He glared at Lord Dalry a full second before saying, “Julia.” His abrasive tone cut the room. “Come in and shut the door.”

  Self-conscious about my creased gown, I drew myself to full height. My courage dissolved as I surveyed my surroundings. Mr. Forrester stood tapping his riding whip against his polished boots with a disdainful expression. The last occupant of the room, however, made me forget all else.

  A matriarch, dressed in second mourning, sat upon the settee with two pugs snuffling around her feet. Tight ringlets frizzled in a pile over her forehead. Her bonnet remained tied tightly beneath her sharp chin. Judging from her carriage, the arch of her brow, and the refined way she turned to view me, she held the firm opinion that she was a great lady.

  Two fingers dented her craggy cheek as she tilted her head, observing me. Under her captious stare, my mouth grew parched. Her gaze travelled over my appearance, and I knew that she saw every flaw because one by one I became aware of them myself.

  Finally, my father stood, tugging his frock coat and clearing his throat. He frowned once more at my general appearance but gestured to the woman. “Julia, may I present you to Lady Beatrice, your maternal grandmother.”

  I scarcely managed to dip.

  “Have you any idea, Roy,” she said with a needled tongue, “how mortifying it is to have a granddaughter announced in the papers?” She rose and twisted to view him. “Did you actually think I’d play along? Do you even feed the sickly thing?”

  My father took his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Am I to understand you intend to deny your only grandchild?”

  The woman snorted. “Oh, come now! Do not disgrace yourself further. There’s not even a shred of resemblance. Whose whelp is this?” She circled me, her skirts crackling with each step. “Where have you housed your mistress all these years?” With her closed ebony fan, she lifted my chin. “Hmm, I take it your kept woman wasn’t very pretty.”

  Heat rose through my neck and cheeks.

  Lord Dalry stepped forward and removed her fan from beneath my chin. “If you don’t mind, Grandmamma.”

  When she met his gaze, she shrank to nothing more than an old, bitter woman, but she swept her skirts and faced my father. “Well, Roy? I think I deserve answers.”

  “Robert.” My father gestured to a glass-shaded lamp. “Will you be so kind as to light that? This room is rather gloomy.”

  Mr. Forrester made a point to stomp as he complied.

  “I believe your nephew is still interested in Northfield, is he not?” My father leaned forward and opened a leather portfolio, scarcely glancing at its contents. “Simmons tells me the rent this year should yield a healthy capital, but I regret purchasing the estate. Now that there’s better light in the room, look upon your grandchild again. I’m certain somewhere in the Kelsey or Browning line there’s a raven-headed ancestor.”

  Lady Beatrice pressed her lips shut and curled her clawlike fingers. “You wheedled that property for Isaac.”

  “I relinquish all claim.” Lord Dalry dipped beside me.

  I stood, scarcely able to draw breath. I had no desire to be placed under obligation to him.

  Lady Beatrice’s gaze shifted to the portfolio. With mincing steps she approached the desk, then spread the papers in a trail over the surface. “Now that you mention it—” her voice soured as she tugged off her gloves and started to untie her bonnet—“I might recall that Great-Aunt Sarah had darkish hair.”

  “And isn’t it a comfort to finally see someone who resembles Great-Aunt Sarah?” My father rested his chin in his hand, but his body remained taut.

  “I said she might bear a slight resemblance. Since you’ve already had the audacity to announce her in the papers, quite a bit rests upon my memory, does it not?”

  “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” My father’s chair creaked, and I turned to see him place a stack of opened letters upon the desk. “Eramus is over seven thousand pounds in debt, and that’s only what I’ve been made aware of. Every week a
new creditor writes me.”

  “Am I expected to believe you’ll allow him to go to debtors’ prison?” Lady Beatrice stooped and snapped her fingers. The pugs came bounding toward her, and she scooped up the larger one. “You’re grasping at threads, Roy. I cannot begin to tell you how much I’m going to enjoy seeing you squirm for once. By announcing your bastard child, you’ve finally made a mistake you can’t cover. If you expect me to keep the truth from the papers, it’s going to cost far more than a meager estate.”

  My father chuckled and gestured to Mr. Forrester. “Have I neglected to mention that Forrester is co-owner of the Morning Gazette?”

  Mr. Forrester curled his lip in distaste and turned from the conversation.

  “Depending on what happens during this meeting,” my father said, “tomorrow’s paper will carry either an announcement that you’re overseeing your granddaughter’s introduction into society or a detailed account of Eramus’s debts and the houses in which he amassed them.”

  “You wouldn’t have the audacity.” Each word came out distinct and gnarled.

  “Shall we test that theory?”

  “I’ll expose you, and you know it.”

  “How? She is your blood granddaughter, whether you acknowledge it or not. Society will find it rather curious that you only denied her after I refused to pay your nephew’s debts. You didn’t deny she was your granddaughter when the story first ran.”

  Lady Beatrice’s chin quivered in anger, and her nostrils flared with every breath.

  I tried to wet my lips, but my mouth was too dry.

  “If I parade her as my own, I’ll tolerate no interference from you.” Lady Beatrice spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Fair enough. All I require is that she comes out, and then you’ll be free from our agreement.”

  “She’ll need better clothing.”

  “Done.”

  An unkind smile spread over her lips. “I alone will oversee that part.”

  “Agreed.”

  She circled me again, bringing to mind a carrion bird looming over its prey. She clutched my chin, pressing her nails into my skin. “What foreign languages can you speak?”

  I swept my lashes down, fighting panic. “None.”

  Mr. Forrester looked over his shoulder, returning to the conversation, wrinkling his nose in aversion.

  “What instruments do you play?”

  It felt like Lady Foxmore’s interview all over again, although my ill opinion of her lifted under Lady Beatrice’s predatory gaze. “None.”

  The brown of her eyes slithered in my father’s direction. “What did you do, Roy? Raise her in a dungeon?” To me, nearly inaudible, she added, “He’s never cared for anyone but himself, has he, child?”

  Her statement sliced as intended, and an odd anguish fell over me.

  “I take over her education.” Lady Beatrice released me and gathered her gloves and bonnet.

  “I’ll not question it.”

  “I choose her husband.”

  My father’s deep chuckle resonated. “I think not. You know full well I’ve already selected her husband.”

  I tried to swallow as I shot Lord Dalry an accusing look. His jaw tightened.

  Lady Beatrice gave us both a withering glance, then slid her fan over her wrist. “She’s to live with me until her introduction. It’s the only way I can have her ready on time.”

  “Ready on time?” My father frowned and pushed back his frock coat, exposing his tailored vest. “She spent her life at the best finishing school money can buy.”

  Lady Beatrice swished her skirts to the side. “Yes, that much is evident, Roy. We can only hope it’s not too late. My carriage is outside. I’m taking her home with me tonight.”

  “No. She does not leave the protection of my household.”

  “Protection? From what?” Lady Beatrice laughed as she tied her bonnet. “She’s lowborn, positively vulgar. Look at her posture, her movements, her expression. What do you expect me to do with her except hide her from view and pray I have no callers?”

  I turned my head to keep from seeing my father’s embarrassed response.

  “You may work with her here,” my father said.

  Lady Beatrice shook her head and cackled. “I think not, Roy. You’ll interfere too much. No. You’re not invited to our little tête-à-tête.” Lady Beatrice walked over to the desk and picked up the portfolio. “I shall educate your daughter at my house or not at all.”

  “I’ll allow it only if Simmons accompanies her.”

  “No,” Lady Beatrice said. “That killjoy never sets foot under my roof again. Never. Send your footman, since your butler is decrepit.”

  “I’ll allow you the hours between breakfast and tea. No more.”

  Lady Beatrice smirked and paused on the threshold. “I fail to see how you are in a position to make demands. I’ll fetch the girl tomorrow and decide for myself the hours I keep her.”

  When the hem of her skirt disappeared from sight, the pugs lifted their flat, wrinkled faces from the carpet and scampered after her, their curly tails upright.

  “WELL, SHE’S KEPT her end of the bargain and then some.” The following morning, my father threw the Times of London on the table, placed his elbows over the front page, and rubbed his eyes. Dust filled the morning slants of sun that fell over his back. He turned toward Lord Dalry, exposing the silver threading the hair near his temples. “She knows we’re not prepared to handle this.”

  Lord Dalry set his fork down, clinking the crystal saltcellar, something akin to a frown marring his normally placid features. “Handle what, sir?”

  Ignoring him, my father seized the paper, scowled, then tossed it in my direction. Kate’s eyes widened with curiosity as I leaned forward to retrieve it and flattened it over my lap. The front page read:

  EMERALD HEIRESS TO BE INTRODUCED

  London is most pleased to welcome the return of her beloved son Lord Pierson and anxiously awaits the forthcoming of his daughter, Miss Julia Pierson. We are pleased to report that last night, after a lengthy and heartfelt isolation, Lady Beatrice Kelsey and Miss Pierson were reunited with much mutual affection and pleasure. The shadow of Lady Pierson’s death marred their otherwise-joyous reunion, and many tears were shed as grandmother and granddaughter sought solace together. This matriarch and gentle lamb have endured a grievous and long separation, and while it remained necessary to sequester the girl, who is perhaps England’s richest heiress, from fortune seekers, Lord Pierson finally yielded to the relentless pleas of Lady Beatrice Kelsey and brought his most guarded treasure back to her native soil.

  With no direct male heir left in the Pierson line, Miss Pierson stands to inherit a vast birthright, consisting of four estates; a London home; African emerald mines; holdings in India, which include three tea plantations; and numerous other profitable ventures. Lady Beatrice Kelsey hints at a possible attachment between her nephew Mr. Eramus Calvin and her granddaughter; however, equally trusted sources inform us to keep a close watch on Lord Dalry. We find it noteworthy that Lord Dalry’s sister has been chosen as Miss Pierson’s sole travelling companion. Thankfully, we shall not wait long to resolve for ourselves which young gentleman, if either, is favored by Miss Pierson. Lady Beatrice has set her presentation at court to be in three weeks. She has informed us that her granddaughter will likewise make her first public appearance that night, during Lady Northrum’s ball scheduled for the 30th of November, which Lord Pierson has generously offered to now host. London, we are pleased to predict that we have found the toast of the Season.

  Three weeks! The season wouldn’t even start for another two months. I folded the dreadful words, wishing I could so easily rid myself of this state of affairs. Not only had London learned that my father intended for me to wed, but so would Edward. I lowered the paper with disgust.

  “What is it?” Lord Dalry asked, sounding alarmed.

  “Such a long face for someone who just discovered her worth.” My father glowered at
me, then yanked the paper from my fingers. He handed it to Lord Dalry, then tapped his broad fingers against the table, waiting for his protégé to finish.

  Lord Dalry wore his urbane expression as he read the article. The slow ticking of the mantel clock carefully measured the passing seconds of silence, each one lasting longer than the previous.

  This situation had turned into nothing short of disaster. Surely, I reasoned, somewhere Mr. Macy leisured over breakfast, reading this very article. I eyed the stack of papers placed at my father’s side, wondering which one Mr. Macy had used to plead for information for my whereabouts. I knew better than to ask.

  Across the table, Lord Dalry lifted a brow, making me wonder if he’d reached the part with his name.

  “Well?” My father cut the silence.

  Lord Dalry lowered the newspaper and slowly folded it. “This is quite a bit sooner than expected. I daresay her ladyship is punishing us.”

  Kate stretched out her hand. “May I see too?”

  Lord Dalry studied me as he passed the paper to his sister.

  “Can you have my daughter ready on time?”

  “It’s not an issue of her performance.” The tightening of the muscles around Lord Dalry’s mouth was the only visible sign of his stress. “But rather whether she’ll be sufficiently recovered from prior events.”

  Beneath the table, I bunched my scarlet skirt into my clammy fists, recalling the words my father had spoken our first night here: “She’ll be wed before the finish of the season.”

  “Time heals all wounds, Isaac,” was my father’s dry reply.

  My chest heaved in silent protest.

  “It’s scarcely been a month—”

  “I’m not discussing this.” My father’s voice rose, as did his color. “The sooner her engagement is settled, the better. Besides, this isn’t your decision; it’s mine.”

  Lord Dalry’s eyes narrowed. “I beg to differ—”

  “Isaac?” Kate’s horrified whisper interrupted their conversation.

  Lord Dalry shot his sister a warning glance. “Not now, Kate.”