Mark of Distinction

by Jessica Dotta

  “The Lord and Miss Pierson,” the butler announced to the room.

  We’d taken no more than two steps inside before my father halted so suddenly, I nearly lost my balance. In the nearest corner, flipping through a book, sat Mr. Macy.

  I WATCHED my father’s neck turn from flushed to pallid before he reached behind him and pulled me to his side. Keeping a tight grip on my wrist, he bowed to our hostess, who had risen. “Lady Northrum, thank you for your invitation.”

  I followed his example, trying not to look at Mr. Macy, but I tasted fear regardless.

  “Roy!” At the far end of the gallery, Lord Northrum rose from his card game and waved. “Here I feared you weren’t going to show, and after we all made a point to join you. We’re having a beastly discussion about the Reform Bill, of all things. It’s amazing how after all these years no one is tired of blathering about it. You had best come here, though, for if you remain there, they’ll force you to discuss last night’s ball.”

  “Coming.” My father’s voice sounded weak compared to his normal confidence.

  I grasped his sleeve, wanting to cling and beg him not to leave me mere feet away from Mr. Macy. Taking my hand and giving it a tight squeeze, my father kissed my cheek and looked me square in the eyes before leaving.

  “Come along, dear.” Lady Northrum took my arm. Her hyssop perfume gathered around me along with her skirts. “We were all discussing your lovely gown last night. Weren’t we, Mildred?”

  “Indeed, indeed,” the young lady cried. “Was it from Quill’s?”

  I sat on the tufted couch. A short distance from me, Mr. Macy crossed his legs. “Yes, Quill’s.” My voice sounded foreign. “That is correct.”

  “Did the queen really kiss you?” another girl asked.

  “Yes, she did.” I tightened my fist over my fan as Mr. Macy propped his foot against the rung of his chair and bit his thumb, still considering the passage he read. It was maddening. How could I keep my composure with him ignoring me?

  “I say, Chance,” said a gentleman sitting amongst our group. “Your frightful behavior is disturbing Miss Pierson. She’s not stopped staring at you since she’s entered the room. Don’t sit there all morose. Come greet the girl.”

  “Am I disturbing you, Miss Pierson?” Mr. Macy looked over the pages of his book, then shut it with an irritated sigh. “I forget my manners as well as the rule that gentlemen are expected to keep the young ladies entertained.” He held up his book. “Very well. Shall I read you the poem I am looking at?”

  I stared, mesmerized, afraid to voice a word. I’d not seen his face since the night of Churchill’s murder. He was more captivating than I’d remembered—more dangerous, more fierce.

  Dark eyes met mine as he stopped before me. A small twist of a smile registered over his lips before he attempted to dismiss Lady Northrum with a wave. “If I’m going to be forced to amuse a child like a paid jester, the least you can do is lend me your seat.”

  “Oh, stop.” She batted his leg with her fan. “You’re alarming Miss Pierson with your odd manner.”

  “Then I’ll kneel at her feet to read to her.” He did, leaning so close his elbows sank into the cushion on both sides of my legs, pinning my dress. As he leaned near with a provocative gaze, scents of sandalwood and fine cigars brought a rush of memories.

  “Good gracious, Chance.” The voice of the gentleman who’d started this squeaked. “You’re going to cause a scandal.”

  “Nonsense.” If it were possible for words to caress, Mr. Macy’s did. “She’s the exact age as my wife, and I want her opinion of this poem. Now do I have your full attention, Miss Pierson?”

  Like one fighting a trance, I slowly turned my head toward my father for help. He stared, his hand halfway over the table, holding the card he’d been about to play. The men at his table fidgeted, shifting their eyes between my father’s hard, angry face and Mr. Macy’s scandalous proximity to his daughter.

  “I begin to see my problem,” Mr. Macy said, teasing high in his voice. “It’s no wonder I failed to keep my wife at my side, if my best charms are incapable of holding Miss Pierson’s attention more than a few fleeting seconds.”

  “Chance, please stop,” Lady Northrum whispered, then tittered in my father’s direction. “I fear our friend’s humor isn’t understood by many.”

  “Then allow me to read my poem,” Mr. Macy said. “Now pay attention, Miss Pierson. I’m thinking of sending this message to my wife. I desire your honest opinion.

  “Can a maid that is well bred,

  Hath a blush so lovely red,

  Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet,

  And a nature passing sweet,

  Break her promise, untrue prove,

  On a sudden change her love,

  Or be won e’er to neglect

  Him to whom she vow’d respect?”

  “Really now, Chance.” The gentleman pulled his cup of tea closer to his chest. “You’ll have to forgive him, Miss Pierson. He’s had a bad spell of love and has been in this humor for some time. I had not a thought he would act in this manner when I engaged him.”

  “I’m not finished.” Mr. Macy gave him a silencing look. Then closing the book, he recited,

  “Such a maid, alas, I know.

  Oh that weeds ’mongst corn should grow,

  Or a rose should prickles have,

  Wounding where she ought to save!

  I that did her parts extol,

  Will my lavish tongue control.

  Outward parts do blind the eyes,

  Gall in golden pills oft lies.

  “Reason wake, and sleep no more,

  Land upon some safer shore;

  Think on her and be afraid

  Of a faithless fickle maid.”

  He paused, adding emphasis.

  “Of a faithless fickle maid

  Thus true love is still betray’d.

  Yet it is some ease to sing

  That a maid is light of wing.”

  Mr. Macy retreated slightly. “Your cheeks grow scarlet, Miss Pierson. Either you’ve read the gossip of my unfortunate marriage in the papers, or perhaps, like my wife, you’ve broken a solemn promise to someone who loves you dearly.”

  “Never mind him, dear.” Lady Northrum patted my hand, causing me to jump. She laughed in a choking manner when my father stood. “My apologies to you, Lord Pierson. Our friend has been rather morose lately. We hoped to cheer him.” With a pleading look at Mr. Macy, she frantically signalled him to rise.

  “Oh, but I am cheered,” Mr. Macy said. “Perhaps this room thinks me rude. We’ll have to tell them our little secret, won’t we, Miss Pierson?” His eyes twinkled at my sharp intake of breath. “Our families are well acquainted. Her father and I have a very long history.” He turned and smiled at my father. “Is that not so, Roy? Miss Pierson is rather used to my strange manner too, I daresay. You see, I am Pierson’s closest neighbor and probably the only person aware that Roy had a daughter he’d hidden. I’ve not seen her since she was a mere slip of a girl.” Mr. Macy took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Did you think I’d forgotten about you? Were you offended when you entered the room and I ignored you? Nay, I have not, nor will I ever. It does my heart good to see you well.”

  I thought of Lord Dalry and tried to borrow one of his political faces. With a slight nod and a refined smile, I attempted to withdraw my hand as he caressed my fingers between his. His touch still heightened every sense in my body.

  “What’s this?” Mr. Macy chided. “You used to sit on my lap and speak to me quite openly. And now you sit there, so sober.”

  “So you’ve known her since her childhood?” Lady Northrum recovered speech first and placed a hand over her heart.

  “I’m closer to this girl than an uncle.”

  The gentleman replaced his teacup in the saucer with a clank. His laughter filled the room. “I say, Chance, that wasn’t very sportsmanlike of you. Here I feared Lord Pierson’s wrath was about to fall on m
e.” He turned and looked at my father, who gave a tight smile.

  The gentlemen around my father laughed and resumed their card game. My father excused himself, laying his cards on the table to join us.

  “Where did you attend school, sweetheart?” Mr. Macy asked, taking the empty chair next to mine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to practice one of my languages. I wager I can speak the native tongue without accent.”

  “Without accent?” The gentleman snorted. “How would that be possible?”

  Mr. Macy smiled and lifted his hand in a gesture toward me. “I assure you, it’s completely possible. We’ll test my experiment on Miss Pierson. I assume you speak the language since you’ve been there most of your life.”

  All eyes including my father’s turned on me. My heart beat hard. “I went to school in America.”

  Mr. Macy laughed. “Since when is it fashionable to send our elite to that barbarous country? You show me how out of touch I am with young ladies. I would have guessed France or Germany. My curiosity is highly aroused. Roy, where in America is a school worthy of one of our heiresses?”

  “Boston.” The anger in my father’s voice made everyone shift. From his stance behind me, he laid a hand on my shoulder.

  Mr. Macy reclined with a catlike smile. “I’d love to hear her imitate a Bostonian accent.”

  “I’ll not allow my daughter to muddle the Queen’s English for amusement.”

  Mr. Macy twisted the black onyx ring on his finger. “What was the name of your school, sweetheart? I have an acquaintance who wishes to find a reputable place to send her daughter. Your father’s tastes are impeccable. I’ll recommend yours.”

  I swallowed and said the first name that came to mind. “The Boston Ladies’ Finishing School.”

  Mr. Macy shook his head with amusement at my father. “How original.” Then to me, “I fear I’ve not played the part of gentleman by questioning you for my own entertainment. We all know that every young lady wishes to display her skill at music.” He turned to Lady Northrum. “I don’t see your pianoforte. Where is it? It has been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of hearing an accomplished pianist.”

  “Against the bay window.” She turned and pointed at the instrument behind her.

  I looked up at my father, pleading.

  “Will you grant me the honor, Miss Pierson?” Mr. Macy stood and extended his arm. “I’ll turn the pages for you.”

  “Some other day, perhaps.” My father opened his pocket watch. “Chance, since we both seem to be free, there’s some business I’ve been waiting to discuss with you.” He turned to Lady Northrum. “I fear our visit must be cut short. Mr. Macy and I have been trying for ages to find a time to meet.”

  Seeing an escape, I rose, seized my skirts, and hoped my legs would carry me as far as the carriage. While my father assured Lady Northrum he’d not been offended, Mr. Macy acquired my arm and pulled me from the room. “Darling,” he said, gathering me in his arms. “There’s no need to shake. I am not angry with you, I swear it.” He halted, then touched his forehead to mine as tears rose in my eyes. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m too overjoyed to find you safe and well.”

  It was so absurd that I laughed, only it came out a sob. “Please.”

  With his right hand, he cradled one side of my face. “Don’t cry, dearest. I’m not going to expose you yet. I’ve been trying to send your father a message for some time now.” He chuckled, glancing toward the room we’d been in. “I think he finally received it.” Then to me, “While I’m not angry, we do need to have a little talk. I’m arranging a private rendezvous for us.”

  I looked toward the doorway that my father should storm from any second.

  “Why this intense look of fear?” Mr. Macy whispered gently.

  My stomach hollowing, I lifted my gaze to where his white, square-cut shirt framed his face. A knowing smile graced his lips as his mesmerizing eyes claimed me.

  “I’ll not even punish you,” he said, hooking my chin and tilting it up, “though you probably shaved ten years off my life, running away from me like that. Have you any idea what Bradshawl’s men would have done to you had they found you?” With closed eyes, he leaned toward me.

  My father grabbed his wrist. His knuckles were white. “Do not ever touch my daughter again.”

  Mr. Macy raised his brows. “Won’t producing an heir become difficult? Come now, Roy, at least try to keep your demands reasonable, or we’re already off to a bad start.”

  “Give her to me.”

  I kept my chin tucked as my father pulled me from Mr. Macy’s embrace. With the jumble of collecting our outer wrappings, my father managed to keep me separated from Mr. Macy. Sunlight blinded me as he opened the door and trundled me down the steps.

  “Take my daughter home,” he said to James, placing me in the care of our footman. “Fetch Isaac. Tell him I need him to return to the house immediately. Tell him what I’ve been fearing just happened.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Coming, Roy?” Mr. Macy’s voice sounded a short distance away.

  Gritting his teeth, my father left me. James escorted me into the barouche, giving me only a fleeting glimpse of my father climbing inside Macy’s black landau.

  Again and again, I wrung my hands as I paced the foyer. For at least an hour, neither my father nor Lord Dalry returned. My eyes stung from the tears I’d shed while pacing. I wanted to know what Mr. Macy was telling my father, or what my father was agreeing to.

  I was pressing the palms of my hands against my forehead, as though I could prevent the fearful thoughts, when a series of raps sounded outside. I spun, facing the door.

  My father stepped into the hall looking like a lion deprived of its mane. He scarcely noticed me as Kinsley removed his silk-lined cape. Pinching the bridge of his nose, my father said, “Bring me laudanum. One of my headaches is upon me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kinsley retreated.

  “Where’s Isaac?” My father winced as he looked in my direction, then shielded his eyes.

  “He hasn’t arrived yet.” My insides soured as I imagined how much money my father must have paid to make him look this stricken. Or did he plan to return me? I sank to the bench. “What did Mr. Macy say?”

  My father’s jaw clenched. “You’re not allowed to speak of that man. Why do you continue to test me? So help me, the next time his name crosses your—”

  The front door opened. Lord Dalry rushed into the hall with Forrester at his heels. A swirl of London’s stale air accompanied them. While Mr. Forrester shed his coat, Lord Dalry rushed to me and inspected me from head to toe. Relaxing, he pulled off his gloves and whispered, “What’s happening?”

  “Macy was at the Northrums’.” My father rubbed his eyes. “We had a talk.”

  Kinsley entered with a small glass on a tray. My father drank the milky liquid, then waved the butler away. “Robert, Isaac, join me in the smoking room.”

  “May I stay with your daughter instead?” Lord Dalry set his cape and gloves on a chair.

  My father glowered at me. “Actually, bring her. I have some questions for her.”

  I placed my hands over my churning stomach, feeling shamed. Doubtlessly, my father’s questions had to do with the things Mr. Macy revealed to him about our time together.

  “Are you all right?” Lord Dalry grasped my hands and helped me to my feet.

  I nodded, allowing him to take my arm.

  “All I want to know is how much he asked to keep silent about the matter,” Mr. Forrester said as he stomped after my father.

  “He didn’t.” My father lowered his voice, but I still heard what he said as they turned down a passage. “He offered to buy her from me.”

  Mr. Forrester didn’t try to stifle his bark. “What?”

  “Blast it, man, not so loud.”

  “Surely you jest! How much did he offer?”

  I returned my gaze to Lord Dalry, but he likewise followed their conversatio
n.

  “More than I thought he could afford.” My father unlocked and opened a door I’d never seen before. Stale tobacco and smoky scents drifted into the hall. Tall windows lit the space. Brown leather chairs and couches were spread throughout the room, set at odd angles. Different ports and spirits lined the tables between the settings, ready to be served. On the far wall, there were several mounted heads—boar, lion, and bear, amongst others.

  While my father poured a huge tumblerful of whiskey, Lord Dalry led me to a couch. “That’s the last time she leaves this house.” My father took a swig from his tumbler. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Honestly, sir!” Lord Dalry placed a hand on his hip. “She just came out. Aren’t you overreacting a bit? You can’t remove her from society because of one man.”

  “We’ll have an occasional dinner. She can invite some of her young lady friends for tea.”

  “What young friends? She hasn’t even had a chance to form attachments.”

  My father shook his head. “Isaac, I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to advancing her. Not now. Not yet.”

  “Sir, you must at least hear me out. You’re going to make her seem odd, draw suspicion that there’s something wrong—”

  My father held up a hand to him and turned to me. “What did Macy say to you while you were alone?”

  “How delightful!” Mr. Forrester poured himself a drink. “Now she has her next set of orders. How could you have left her alone with him?”

  I hesitated. What if my father considered it an option to give me back to Mr. Macy? What if I answered incorrectly?

  “It’s all right,” Lord Dalry said as if reading my thoughts. “You have nothing to fear. No one is going to become upset.”

  Mr. Forrester laughed. “You’re wrong there, Isaac. She’ll have us all screaming at each other before the interview is finished, but do go on, Julia. Do tell.”

  My father cocked his head, showing that he was waiting, so I smoothed my skirt. “H-he said he was arranging a private rendezvous for us.” Heat rose through my face as I realized how it sounded. “To talk, I mean.”