While he resurrected a wall of paper and ink, I picked up the linen stationery and frowned. It was completely improper for Lord Dalry to write when we had no formal understanding. Twiddling her fork, Kate feigned disinterest, but her gaze flitted to the note between my fingers. Even James rose up and down on his tiptoes.
I peeked at my father, who watched me from the side of his newspaper, his eyes twinkling, too overjoyed at the prospect that Lord Dalry and I were exchanging notes. I bit the inside of my cheek. It would serve him right if I ordered James to burn it. Yet my curiosity was too piqued for that extreme measure. With all his propriety, it was unlikely Lord Dalry would write unless driven by need.
The seal crumbled easily, and I unfolded the letter, aware of everyone’s scrutiny.
Miss Pierson,
Forgive this letter, yet I feel remiss leaving without finishing what I intended to say last night.
Should something greatly distress you at Lady Beatrice’s house, you have my permission to refuse to attend her. Tell your father that you are acting upon my direct instruction. He will honor my wishes until I can arrive home to defend them for myself.
Please take no such measure unless circumstances merit a drastic action. I trust your judgment on this matter, despite your Pierson temperament.
Until next we meet,
Isaac
I read his letter twice, puzzled over its entire tone. He’d ended with his Christian name. A hint that he wished me to use it? The paper crinkled as I folded the note. What on earth could he mean about refusing to attend Lady Beatrice and trusting my judgment on the matter? I found it insufferable. Pierson temperament, indeed! I’d never suffered from ill temper a day in my life.
James stepped forward to serve me, but I shooed away the steaming teapot he held. Looking up, I found my father waiting for comment. Did he actually hope I was pleased? Or did he think my moods were as fickle as his? I shivered, realizing how cold it was this morning, then beckoned the footman back. “James, I think I will take that tea.”
Kate’s lower lip protruded in a pout. “You mustn’t be too hard on Isaac. Perhaps he’s not very good at writing love letters yet. Practice might help him. I’m sure his next one will be better.”
James’s mouth contorted like an acrobat as he poured my tea. He turned the second he could.
“I can assure you, it’s no love letter,” I said, placing it aside.
My father laughed aloud. “I would have hoped that with as much money as he squandered on those woeful poetry volumes, he could have produced something better than that scowl. James, is there a problem?”
A red-faced, watery-eyed James turned and with a closed fist pounded his chest. “No, sir. Just a bit of dust caught in my throat.” He squeezed his eyes shut and with great effort resumed a normal stance.
“May I be excused?” I asked.
“No. If I allow you to stay after you have the audacity to arrive late—you eat.” My father nodded at the letter, and his voice softened. “What did Isaac say?”
I pushed the note farther under my plate. What if it had been a love letter? Did my father assume the right to monitor every aspect of our relationship? “It was a personal note to me . . . which . . . which I’d rather not share.”
Crow’s-feet crinkled around my father’s eyes as he smiled and turned a page. “Fine. A little intrigue might lighten the mood around here.”
Frowning, I glanced over the table, but my stomach was tied in knots. It was bad enough knowing I had to go face Lady Beatrice without the addition of Lord Dalry’s strange instructions.
Fifteen minutes before the o’clock, my father exchanged newspapers. “You’d best leave now, Julia. The last thing I want today is Lady Beatrice on my doorstep.”
I gave a nod and stood, suddenly wishing I never had to leave the walls of London House.
The distance to Lady Beatrice’s residence was scarcely worth the climb in and out of my father’s barouche. Little distinguished her street. The houses mimicked one another, patterned after their owners’ attempts to mimic each other. The street’s only distinction was a row of mossy elms that stood sentry. I eyed them, fearing for their lives. All it would take was a stray comment from a countess, a note that their existence differentiated the street, and down they would go.
Elaborate scrolled handrails flanked both sides of the wide stoop. From there, I plunged into Lady Beatrice’s world, leaving James and daylight behind.
Her drawing room was a cerise nightmare, and though my only memory of it is from those weeks, I recall it with clarity. Drapes of that shade adorned with gold tassels matched the exact color of the stripes that alternated over the wallpaper. Red carpets stretched beneath the clawed feet of scarlet upholstered furniture. The only relief was an immense gilded crystal chandelier—yet even that was so disproportioned, it squatted upon the room like a giant toad amidst a faerie gathering.
Lady Beatrice sat near the window, taking the only shaft of light that managed to penetrate that chamber. Bitter lines etched her face, particularly around her mouth, as I entered the room. Though her knuckles looked rheumatic, she plied a large embroidery hoop that was situated near her.
“You will sit there,” she instructed me, nodding toward a chair at the opposite end of the chamber beneath an arrangement of brown wax roses. “Study the book on the seat, and do not speak. Today is the day I receive callers. Expect to be removed from sight at a moment’s notice.”
I picked up the mildewed book and to my dismay found it was in French.
The look of pleasure on her face told me all I needed to know. I opened the useless book, knowing it was pointless to argue. This was part of her revenge on my father—to spend his money and then watch us flounder.
It made me feel defensive of my father. Her desire to see me fail became my fuel to succeed. She gave me a far greater gift than that, however.
Though it was her day for callers, no voice hailed in her hall, no footstep sounded at her door. She speculated that the rain or weather must be keeping everyone away, but we both knew better.
Dreadfully long hours passed, hours during which I looked at meaningless pages, my back ached, my neck cricked, and my feet alternately fell asleep. Whenever I dared to circle my head to stretch it, Lady Beatrice glared over her embroidery. Occasionally, she’d question me in French and then berate me for not knowing the answer.
By the time the sun cast long shadows over the room, I’d memorized the flaking crown molding, the art on the wall, the Bohemian glass collection, and the dying plants. When the clock chimed five, I rose, not caring if she commanded me to sit back down. I wouldn’t.
Nonetheless, I felt pity for her. I’d witnessed firsthand the cost of bitterness on a life.
It was no wonder to me that Lord Dalry chose to continually forgive offenses. He, too, must have spent time there.
The windows of my father’s house were aglow with welcoming light. During my absence, rain had washed the streets, so that as James helped me alight from the carriage, the wet brick shimmered like glass beneath my feet. Leaves, gathered along the cement stiles at the bottom of the wrought-iron gate, offered their dying fragrance—a respite from the city air.
“Careful, now.” James supported my arm as I stepped firmly onto the ground. His kind tone alleviated the painful hours of her ladyship’s scissored tongue.
London House once more displayed her enchantment. Inside, the ornate staircase and spindles shone and gave off the fragrance of beeswax. The polished floors looked wet with puddles of hazy light beneath the sconces. Two suits of armor glinted near the door, brave knights guarding the house during its slumber. I paused to view them as Kinsley approached, wondering if men had ever really worn them in combat.
“Did you enjoy tea with the duchess, Miss Josephine?” Kinsley’s eyes creased in a kindly smile as he removed my fur mantle.
I could have kissed his wrinkled cheek as I breathed in his peppermint smell. Though I wanted to savor the moment, I remind
ed myself not to grow attached to this life.
He bundled my cape in his arms. “Come and warm your feet before the fire. You’d best pray your mother doesn’t learn you’ve snuck out again.”
“I’m quite certain she’ll never learn of it,” I replied.
“You always claim that right before you’re caught.” His cloudy eyes lit in expectation of a familiar retort.
Only I did not know my grandmother’s reply. I gave a heavyhearted smile. At least the world Kinsley wandered in seemed pleasant. The idea that my grandmother used to sneak out of the house was both shocking and satisfying. Perhaps I wasn’t the first who risked scandal.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re home.” Kate’s plaintive voice carried from the parlor. Before I turned, she’d raced to me and flung her arms around my waist.
I pressed my cheek against her glossy curls, gladsome for her presence.
“Goodness! I can hear your stomach growling. You must be starving.” Kate stepped back and grinned. “I’m so glad!”
I wrinkled my nose at her as I peeled off my gloves.
In a trice, Kate bounced on her toes and clapped her hands with delight. “Isaac made certain tea would be waiting for you the moment you returned from Lady Beatrice’s. Come see!”
Confused, I picked up my skirts and allowed Kate to tow me toward the parlor.
The sight that awaited me, however, caused me to pause at the threshold, amazed.
A full tea with shimmering crystal and sparkling teacups was set before a roaring fire. A three-tiered stand was adorned with a fully poached pineapple perched atop a glistening display of candied oranges, plums, grapefruits, and even a bowl of rubied cherries. Sugarcoated leaves nestled between the glazed fruit, adding to the glittery display. Lemon-curd tarts and pound cake sat alongside roasted chicken and herbed asparagus. Candles glimmered at varying heights, their flames adding luminosity to pink tulips that spilled from their vases.
“What on earth,” I finally managed.
Kate plopped onto a settee, knocking a tapestry pillow to the floor. “Last night before he left, Isaac instructed the staff to have this prepared today. You should have seen it. It took hours! Your father’s chef was here, screaming in French, calling everyone imbéciles, demanding this tea be perfect because it’s part of Isaac’s courtship.”
From my side vision I saw the brown of James’s eyes flick in my direction.
Tightness gathered in my chest. To refuse to laud the effort behind this tea would hurt the staff, yet neither could I afford to encourage Lord Dalry.
Thankfully, before I could speak, Kate turned toward me with shining eyes. “Shall I serve?”
I nodded, then turned to James. “I know you’ve had a long day too. Please extend my thanks to the staff for this lovely surprise. I am beyond amazement.”
James’s disappointment was evident as he bowed and ducked from the room.
While Kate warmed the pot, I took the settee across from her, trying to pinpoint the source of James’s disappointment. Did it mean the staff was caught up in the possibility of a love story happening beneath their roof? This entire situation was growing more ludicrous by the moment.
The air was redolent with the scent of lavender as Kate poured.
“Isaac told James he wished you to try this tea.” Kate licked a dollop of plum jam from her finger, then pointed to my teapot. “James asked your father for permission, and your father told him to charge it to the household account.”
I frowned. “Your brother wanted me to drink this blend of tea? Why?”
Kate radiated with too much happiness to notice the sharpness of my tone or my question. “When your father left this morning, James pulled on his cape and left too. He came back from Exchange Alley not just with this blend but with this teapot too!” She leaned over the table, her eyes shining with delight. “It caused the most horrific row. The housekeeper said he had no business spending the master’s money without his say-so. That’s when Miss Moray joined in and said she wouldn’t go out in the rain and risk her position on the likes of you—”
I struggled to maintain a composed expression, lest Kate leave out a detail. “She dared to say that in front of you?”
Kate’s curls danced as she gave her tinkling laugh. “No, I was hiding in Isaac’s snuggery. You can hear all sorts of servants’ talk if you crouch near the door.”
I gave her a disapproving look, which she discarded.
“James insisted that this teapot be used today. Can you imagine such audacity? Mama would be shocked and advise Isaac not to be so free with him, but I like James.”
I stared at the yellow teapot with hand-painted roses. Poor James. No wonder he’d waited. And I hadn’t so much as glanced at it.
“The teapot cost over thirty pounds! Mrs. King says Lord Pierson is going to be fit to be tied, but James threatened to expose all the secrets he knew about them if anyone tattles before he can give Isaac the bill to add to his monthly expenses.”
Kate had dumped so much information on me, I scarcely knew which piece to consider first. I touched the teapot, and despite myself, my spirits lifted. A tiny piece of me finally existed here. There was no portrait of me amongst the hundreds of ancestors. I had not chosen the color of my room, the materials for my dresses, the style of my hair, nor any other of myriad details, but I had a teapot.
I turned it so that I could watch steam pipe from the spout.
No, I realized, James and Lord Dalry had a teapot. And a rather girlish one at that.
I sank against the pillow and focused on the rings of lights that rippled along the ceiling from the candles as the frightening realization overcame me of how quickly one could become lost in this sphere. I had nearly delighted over a teapot, forgetting that my entire life had been snatched from me.
All at once, I missed Edward so much I grew homesick. He would never do this to me. He would never, under any circumstances, take away my freedom, my choices.
A vision of Am Meer with its smoking chimneys and annoying chickens clucking beneath my bedchamber window rose in memory. There one didn’t pass hours in silence. One could always hear Mrs. Windham or the clack of Elizabeth’s knitting needles. There the rooms weren’t so huge that they always felt freezing no matter how the fire blazed. Who wanted a tea such as this when the alternative was walking side by side with Edward beneath billowing clouds in a sparkling-sapphire sky?
Tears I hadn’t had time to cry welled, but I took deep breaths to abate them. I needed to keep my head. To remain steady, I faced Kate.
The picture she created would have warmed even Lady Beatrice’s heart. Kate held her saucer exactly twelve inches from her chin and kept her head perfectly straight.
What if I never found a way to escape this? I thought. What if Lord Dalry was right? There was only duty now. The dainty china cup in my hand suddenly felt too heavy to lift.
I eyed the august tea that testified to my father’s distinction, wondering why everyone sought so hard for wealth, fame, position, and power. It was all a trap.
“Julia?” Kate’s use of my name startled me. “Are you listening?”
“Forgive me.” I retrieved my cup. “You were saying?”
“May I go with you to Lady Beatrice’s tomorrow?”
I had to struggle to shift my thoughts. “I don’t think your brother would allow it.”
“Isaac?” Her nose wrinkled like a hare’s. “What has he to do with it?”
“I don’t know, but it seemed to me he feared something at her house. Have you any idea what he meant?”
Kate’s brow crumpled in thought; then all at once horror lit her face. “Oh!” She touched her lips. “You don’t suppose . . . ?”
“Suppose what?”
She set her cup down and placed her hands over her stomach. With gravity she said, “Eramus Calvin.”
I angled my head, recalling the name from the newspaper article. “Her ladyship’s nephew? What about him?”
There was a long si
lence, and then Kate turned toward me. “I overheard Isaac tell Mama one night. She cried, and he kept saying he shouldn’t have told her.”
“What did he say?”
Kate shook her head. “When Isaac found out I heard . . . If I told you what I learned, he would never trust me again.” She shook her head. “Isaac never talks about his past to anyone except Mama, not even Ben.”
“Ben?” I repeated softly. If I couldn’t solve one mystery, perhaps I could solve another.
Kate’s look was solemn. “Our missing brother. He disappeared one night, trying to help Mr. Forrester keep someone safe from a dangerous man.”
I sat, too stunned to speak, though my gaze swept to the portrait of my grandmother that occupied the chamber. In this painting, she looked over her shoulder as her loosed black hair cascaded down her back. She wore her ever-present coy smile.
“Your brother disappeared helping Forrester?” I heard my voice as if through a fog. “How long ago was that?”
“Three years ago.”
I felt as if my stays had been tightened to the point of my being unable to breathe. For I suspected the dangerous man was Mr. Macy. And if my father and these men had tangled with him before, yet he still roamed free, then it was highly possible my current situation would not soon be over.
KEEPING MY CHIN LIFTED and the book atop my head balanced, I turned in a slow, refined manner and glanced out the rain-speckled window, where I caught sight of a horse that had not been there the moment before. Behind it, fog curled over murky carriage tracks crisscrossing the cobblestone. The far streetlamps appeared as little more than glowing orbs, lost amidst swirling mists.
“A lady of good breeding does not shift her eyes. Keep them fixed straight ahead.” Lady Beatrice tugged fiercely on her thread, puckering her embroidery, then allowed her work to fall to her lap. “Come, come. Now is not the time to dawdle. We’ve scarcely a fortnight and you cannot even walk right. Start anew. Step, pause. Step, pause. Now with a grand sweep, turn. No, not like that; your shoulders are slouched. You look positively common.”
Mark of Distinction Page 16
