There was a slight hush when Edward led me to the center of the dance area. From the corner of my eye, I caught Mama standing, her face white as chalk.
Edward and I took our places, not caring a whit what anyone thought. The sound of violin and quiet hum of chatter carried through the thick summer air as he moved us through the dancers. Bright, twinkling stars proclaimed their joy above us. No one wore pride like Edward. It was as if he’d chosen me for his peculiar treasure and nothing pleased him more than my delight.
When the final strains finished, he grinned. “If my tutor discovers me gone, he’ll whip me certain.” He pointed to a hole in his trouser leg. “Besides, I should be on hand when my father discovers I set loose several shingles.”
“Julia?” Mama’s voice sounded from the fringes of the party.
I looked askance at her, taking a fortifying breath. Edward gave me a grin before dipping his head and disappearing into the blackness outside the glow of paper lanterns.
As Lord Dalry and I reached the grand staircase, my steps faltered and a great sadness engulfed me. I didn’t want to be Julia Pierson.
“You’ll do perfectly fine,” Lord Dalry said, mistaking the reason for my hesitation. Then, surprising me with his boldness, he lifted my chin. “I’ll stay near you the entire evening. If you need help, you’ve but to look at me, and I’ll come. I promise.”
I attempted a smile, for he truly believed I would someday become as polished and refined as he was. But to me he was like a chained man, weathering the storms of life, beckoning me to come and take shelter beneath his silk umbrella. Yet how could I, when someone like Edward still waited, hand outstretched, drenched but unconstrained?
I shifted my gaze to the group of gentlemen staggered near the top of the stairs. Discordant strains of music carried through the wintry air as musicians tuned instruments. Tall and distinguished, my father rapped his stick on each step, announcing his presence. The men turned. A few hid cigars behind their backs out of courtesy to me. Lord Melbourne broke from their group and pattered down the distance between us.
“Pierson, welcome.” He bowed and took my hand, kissing it. “Miss Pierson, I hear the queen was rather pleased with you.”
I dipped, borrowing Lord Dalry’s serene expression. “Thank you for arranging it.”
He gave me a perfunctory nod, then turned to my father. “Have you taken my suggestion and arranged her dance card?”
Nodding, my father reached into his waistcoat and produced a gold book, which he rendered to the prime minister.
Lord Melbourne opened it and scanned the names, his breath rising in puffs. “The first two dances? On the night she comes out. Are you certain?”
My father tapped his shining shoes against the concrete step, looking down. “Yes, I’ve had two more offers since we last spoke, both members of my party. There’s only going to be ill will spread amongst them if we don’t establish their upcoming union tonight.”
Lord Melbourne handed me my dance card. His sideburns shone in the torchlight as he winked. “Yes, I heard about Barnes. Somehow I don’t fancy your daughter would relish a marriage with someone twice her age.”
I choked and began coughing.
“Allow me to escort you inside, Miss Pierson.” Lord Dalry’s face was bland, but his eyes shone with disapproval toward the prime minister.
“By all means, Dalry, take her.” Lord Melbourne wrapped his arm around my father’s shoulders, moving him toward the gentlemen. “Join us, Roy. Dalry will care for her. We were just beginning to discuss India.”
I could tell by my father’s face he had no desire to leave, but he went. Leading me inside, Lord Dalry lowered his head near mine. “There is the ladies’ dressing room.” He pointed to my left. “Go ready yourself. I’ll meet you here in a minute.”
Trying to walk as Lady Beatrice had taught me, I entered the indicated room. Scents of talc filled the space. Instead of the froths of tulle, silks, and satins I expected, the room was empty except for a row of maids, all of whom looked eager to assist. They removed my cape, and wonderment filled their faces as they viewed my gown.
“Shall I check your dress for loose—” the maid plumping my dress licked her lips as though trying to decide whether they were real or not—“pearls?”
I touched my neckline, feeling their coolness. Every pearl on this dress was exactly the size of every other pearl, making me wonder how much my father paid. I imagined an individual white jewel coming loose and rolling over the dance floor. A fortune lost. “Yes, please.”
When she determined everything was in place, I stepped out of the dressing room and found Lord Dalry waiting where he promised. An elegant smile curved his lips as he looked in the direction of the ballroom. His ivory waistcoat offset his gleaming white shirt, which notched over his jawline. When he spotted me, his expression changed to relief.
“Look at ease,” he whispered, taking my arm, “and they’ll think you are at ease. After paying our respects to our host, we’ll address the highest-ranking peers first. I’ll make certain to use their titles so you can’t make a mistake. Hold your head high. You’re the distinguished daughter of Lord Pierson.”
A long gallery stretched before me. The walls were gilded, so that every flicker of the candles made them ripple like golden water. Heavily waxed parquet floors reflected glittering chandeliers. Screens of ivy, holly, and roses hid musicians still adjusting their instruments.
Scattered groups of people looked in our direction. Most, seeing who we were, inclined their heads in acknowledgment. Lord Dalry urged me in their direction.
“It’s roped off for the elite,” he explained as a servant unhooked a scarlet cord, allowing us to pass. “This space will be filled to capacity. On the other side, we’ll still be able to move about at ease.” Under his breath he added, “God help us if there’s ever a fire.”
A group of elegant ladies with large headdresses swanned themselves with ostrich-feather fans in slow, hypnotic movements. Their jewels glistened and shimmered with every graceful turn of their necks. Lord Dalry headed straight toward them. At our approach, the middle-aged woman in the center stepped forward.
“Isaac.” She kissed his cheek, then turned to kiss mine. The tulle of her gown rustled and the sweet scent of hyssop filled the air. “So this is Lady Pierson’s daughter. How do you do? Your mother was one of my dearest acquaintances. I quite see you as one of my own.” She took my hands and spread them. “Isaac, I’m hosting a small gathering at my house tomorrow afternoon. I insist she be there. I will not take no for an answer. The poor child has been in London nearly a month, and no one outside of Lady Beatrice has even seen her.”
“I fear I am already engaged tomorrow,” Lord Dalry replied. “Perhaps another day?”
She slipped her hand to my back and gave a beautiful, lilting laugh. “Have Lady Beatrice accompany her, or Miss Moray. For I already told you, I shall not take no for an answer. Lord Pierson owes it to me for turning my first ball of the season into her debut. It’s the very least he can do.”
Lord Dalry bowed. “No one could refute that argument. Lord Pierson shall personally escort her there himself.”
A sprinkling of delighted claps came from the ladies. The circle of men who had their backs turned to the conversation looked over their shoulders. “I say, Dalry, did I hear that right? You volunteered Pierson to one of my wife’s parties? You’re in for it tonight. However will he survive the chattering females?”
The men laughed, and the ladies within reach batted the speaker with their fans, one exclaiming, “Oh, hush, or Lord Pierson will learn of it.”
The man turned completely from the group and made his way to us. “I hope he does. Miss Pierson, you have my permission to repeat this word for word.” He bowed. “Tell your father I shall attend the party myself, just to see him playing tea with the debutantes.”
This declaration was met with a hearty roar of approval from the men, and two more swore to attend as well.
> I dipped slightly, wishing for the life of me I had managed to free both my father and myself.
The woman smiled at me and gave my hand a light squeeze. “Go and enjoy yourself, my dear. Tomorrow we shall become acquainted at leisure.”
“Lady Northrum.” Lord Dalry bowed, and I took his lead and curtsied. “Lord Northrum.”
For the next hour, Lord Dalry kept his promise and never left me. I learned a new side to Lord Dalry. He was universally loved.
Matrons affectionately patted his cheek and sought compliments. Husbands whispered assurances they would support him next year and asked which side of a political matter they should take. Young men invited him to join them at their clubs and tried to persuade him to ask their sisters to dance. Young ladies switched their fans to their left hands, a sign they desired his attention. One girl even boldly pressed her fan over her heart, declaring her love.
Amongst the other guests, he wore a highbred mask, nodding and making necessary replies. With me, however, he whispered details about each person we’d just met and congratulated me for my performance. Each compliment was like a spun-sugar dainty, for I knew his aim. He hoped to bolster my confidence and, by so doing, convince me that I was capable. Yet like candy floss, his compliments offered no true substance.
However, even the sharp pangs of hunger can be staved off temporarily with delicacies. Time and again, I found myself pausing, waiting to see if my previous action, too, met his approval and then berating myself for caring.
“Thank you, son.” My father touched Lord Dalry’s shoulder, breaking us from the conversation we were in. Crowds of people now filled the space, and the loud hum of voices made it difficult to hear. “It’s almost time for the grand march. I’m going to accompany my daughter. How was she?”
“Splendid, sir.” Lord Dalry transferred my arm to my father’s. “You’ve reason to be highly pleased.”
While my father spoke in low tones to one of his friends, I quickly swept my eyes over the ballroom. Amongst the elite, matrons and daughters cast furtive looks in my direction. Outside our area, girls pressed together, relishing every detail of my dress and hair, squealing with delight when I glanced in their direction.
To move from rejection to acceptance is far more difficult than one can imagine. There was a marked difference between me and the other girls that night. They had not faced my earlier struggles and therefore wore a different persona. It was in the arch of their brows, the angle of their heads. I studied them, baffled, amazed that they too needed to obey protocol, but they scarcely seemed cognizant of it.
As they strove to catch my attention, I couldn’t help but recall how it felt being shunned as Julia Elliston. I eyed them, wondering how cold they’d grow if they knew the truth.
Yet the most curious emotion of all was the rush of pain I felt upon realizing I was adored as Julia Pierson. For she didn’t exist.
“Ready?”
I returned my attention to my father, glad he couldn’t read my thoughts. “Yes. Ready.”
Pride shone over his face as we stepped into the open area. As we made our grand promenade, he stared at the sea of faces, declaring to all of Britain that I was his daughter and that we had nothing to hide. When the march ended, he remained on the dance floor while everyone else emptied.
In the gap of silence, while violinists raised bows and cellists bent over their instruments, he rapped his walking stick on the floor. The musicians paused, and patrons turned their heads. Expressionless, Lord Dalry negotiated his way through the press of people and stood just on the edge of the crowd.
“Lord Dalry,” my father declared in a voice so bold even the outermost had to hear it, “tonight, I give to you my daughter.”
Fans snapped open and whispers of “shocking” and “scandalous” undulated over the ballroom. Girls’ mouths dropped and matrons cut each other looks. As my father led me to Lord Dalry, a hush settled over the room and society waited to see how we would respond.
“May I have the honor of your first dance, Miss Pierson?” Lord Dalry bowed, thankfully not twitching a muscle.
I curtsied, having little choice but to accept. In the next moment, my hand was in his.
I avoided my father’s gaze as I slid into my seat at the breakfast table the next morning. Neither did I acknowledge Lord Dalry, but I did give Kate’s outstretched hand a squeeze. Once settled, I shuffled my feet. Blisters had developed over my heels, and the soles of my feet felt as though they’d been rubbed by carpenter’s paper.
“It’s about time,” my father said. “We’ve been waiting for you to read the headlines.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. Every muscle ached. Given the choice, I would have slept another hour or two. Why should anyone care whether I was present when they read the paper? My father’s moods tended to be mercurial, but I sensed this morning he was jovial as he thought he was finally getting his own way. It irritated me enough to speak plainly. “You could have started without me.”
I winced, waiting. But my father merely gave Lord Dalry an indignant look, then, with a huff, dug through the stack of newspapers.
Realizing that Lord Dalry had forced them to wait, I glanced at him. He appeared disappointed by my cold reception. I lowered my gaze, knowing he deserved better. The previous night he alone had been my saving grace.
Selecting the Times, my father unfolded it. James stepped forward, craning his neck, ready to refill my already-full water goblet. My father scanned the front page. His lower lip pushed out and his nose wrinkled.
“What? Is it bad, sir?” Lord Dalry asked.
“No. Kinsley forgot to iron the papers.” He displayed ink-smudged fingertips. “He didn’t cut them either. James, henceforth this is your duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
Instead of waiting for the problem to be amended, my father pulled out his penknife and slit the pages. He flipped to the society section and never changed expression as he read. I watched Lord Dalry to see if he could read Lord Pierson’s mood, but he only stared, waiting.
“She did well. Here.” He shoved the paper to Lord Dalry, who devoured the article. “You’re mentioned several times too. We’ll need you to make rounds at the club to further bolster your career.”
I drew an offended breath. My father might have protected me from Macy, but in reality this was becoming all about what suited him and his ambitions. I was of no consequence, provided I obey. Without asking to be excused, I pushed back my chair and stalked from the room.
“Open the top of the barouche,” my father commanded four hours later, tapping the carriage with his stick.
Eyeing the branches rattling in the wind, I tucked my hands farther into my muff. It was too brisk to ride in the open.
“It will give you some color,” my father said as the top was clipped down. “Your cheeks haven’t had any bloom since you arrived home.”
Wordlessly, I slid in. James’s face remained neutral, but his eyes evinced his disapproval as he handed me an additional robe. Miss Moray must have been spying from the window, for she ran from the house with an armful of tulle. While my father glared, she stood tiptoe on the rung and draped the gauze around my bonnet and face.
“Enough of this nonsense. A little cold won’t kill her.” My father thwacked his coachman. “Drive on.”
We lurched into motion, and I settled into my seat, sensing that his mood had turned dangerous. Whether because I’d left breakfast early, or because Lord Dalry had failed to inform him until a half hour ago that he needed to escort me to a gathering, I wasn’t certain, but I had learned enough about Lord Pierson to know to keep silent.
“You were rude to Isaac at breakfast this morning,” my father said. “Last night should have spelled out my intentions for the both of you well enough. I’ll not have you treating your future husband as you have been.”
I fixed my eyes on my father’s. “I can assure you, Lord Dalry is not my future husband.” There, I thought. I’d finally locked horns with him.
Well, let him rant and rave. I was ready to battle.
“He is risking as much as we are. Is that really the best you’re going to offer him? A spoiled brat for a wife?”
“No.” I felt as contrary as the first night I met my father. “I can offer him emerald mines and whatever inheritance I’m set up to receive.” My voice caught, making me sound near tears, although I was far too angry to cry. “And you can offer him a daughter, though she loves another. You can announce to your peers your intentions, all the while never once asking me for my thoughts on the matter. However, if you think I’m going to marry him or pretend to be in love with him for the sake of the papers—”
The driver turned enough that I could see the tip of his red nose, so I ceased.
My father’s stare bored into me, with that same silent wrath I’d encountered before. Only now I lacked Lord Dalry’s protection. Pedestrians noted my father’s coat of arms painted on our carriage and waved to me. I was too upset to respond and didn’t care if they thought me uppish.
Our carriage pulled before a large residence with a round-pebbled path. My father exited and offered his hand. When I’d found the ground, he backed me against the carriage. His arm, pressed over my shoulders, shook with anger. “I know you think you love that other boy. You are young and have proven that you are very foolish. Whom you marry is now my choice. If you drive away Isaac, then I’ll only choose another husband for you. One who, unlike Isaac, will make no request that I give you time to grow accustomed to him. Learn to accept my choices, or I’ll place you with a husband you deserve.”
He released me, his words worse than a physical blow. With a tight grip he forced me toward the house, his anger kindled and his face red.
At the door, he handed the butler his card and never glanced at me while we waited.
“Lady Northrum is expecting you,” the butler said, returning with a smile. “If you’ll follow me please.”
Palms filled the narrow gallery. Branches and leaves whipped my face and body as my father strode through them first. Happy murmurs of conversation drifted from the chamber ahead. I blinked to hold back tears.
Mark of Distinction Page 19
