Lord Dalry visibly started as I finally admitted such a possibility. Even so, instead of becoming indulgent, he remained as austere as my father. “No, we shall not repeat the mistakes of the past. You might think you want this child now, but it is a selfish desire. Her life would be miserable. I know; trust me. I’ll give you anything in my power to make you happy, but I cannot and will not watch my history repeated. Set her down, now.”
Praying that the girl would understand I had no other choice, I placed the child on her feet, compelled to obey without further argument.
“More people have gathered.” He replaced his hand against the small of my back. “Stay near me.”
At the gate, everyone crowded us. Dirty, frozen hands begged for alms. Wares were shoved in our faces. One man stepped suddenly into our path. “Who are you?”
Lord Dalry drew me closer and craned his neck to see my father’s carriage across the street. “Do not delay me, sir. Move.”
“Please.” The man looked at me. “Just your name, then?”
“You do not address her, do you understand!” Lord Dalry sounded fiercer than I’d ever imagined he could.
The man’s eyes flicked in his direction with fear, but he addressed me again. “Please, miss. All I need to learn is your name. Please.”
“I’m Julia Pierson, Lord Pierson’s daughter,” I said, sensing he was not dangerous.
“Miss Pierson!” Lord Dalry sounded dismayed and angry at once.
“Then you must be Lord Isaac Dalry?” Excitement threaded the man’s voice.
Lord Dalry shoved me behind him. “I am. Now that you know our names, who are you?”
I doubted the man heard, as he began laughing so hard. “Merry Christmas,” he cried, clapping and running down the street. “A merry Christmas to the both of you.”
I stared after him, amazed.
“You are under my care,” Lord Dalry said in a displeased voice as he retrieved me. “Do not remove yourself from it by taking charge of a situation yourself. You have no idea how much you’re worth. By confirming who you are, you’ve just placed us both in considerable danger.”
He shielded me as we crossed the street and refused to allow the coachman to help me into the carriage, instructing him to keep away the crowd pressing us.
“What is happening?” my father asked, pulling me inside.
Isaac collapsed next to my father and glanced out the window at the growing crowd. “Do you remember telling me that if I saw something I thought your daughter would want for Christmas, to purchase it and send the bill to you?”
My father made no reply as thunder gathered over his face.
Isaac looked bland as he adjusted his cape. “Well, sir, you’ve just increased your donation to the orphanage considerably.”
Joy lit my father’s face as he peered at the front page of the Times the next morning. First his eyes widened, then he smiled, and lastly he threw back his head and laughed long and hard. “Good show, Isaac, good show.”
Isaac blinked, having been lost in one of his books. “Sir?”
My father laughed again but handed the newspaper to me with a twinkle in his eye. “Julia reads it first.”
I touched my fingertips together; they were syrupy from my sweet roll. But fearing my father’s impatience, I took the article. Instead of waiting, Isaac rose and crossed his arms over the back of my chair. The headline read:
CHRISTMAS ANGEL VISITS ORPHANAGE
The article embellished the story of how Lord Dalry and I secretly went to a girls’ home and lavished time and money. It reported how I moved about the children, keeping a little girl in my arms. The story made me sound saintly, beautiful, and it painted a picture of Lord Dalry as my protector and moral guardian. His political views were mentioned, along with the country’s eager anticipation for him to take his seat. It steered the reader to believe that my father’s wealth combined with Isaac’s sound views would lead to a marriage rich with humanitarian efforts.
I took a slow breath, my emotions varied. How would Edward feel reading about Lord Dalry being painted as my protector when it was Edward who had ruined himself to preserve me? Moral guardian indeed! Yet another part of me swelled with hope that Edward would see I hadn’t hardened while here, but I was becoming more like him. Charity was becoming as dear to my heart as it was to his.
“That man must have been a reporter for the Times,” Isaac said softly over my shoulder. “No wonder he was so pleased to learn our names.”
“What man?” my father said. “You never spoke of a man.”
“I meant to.” Isaac returned to his seat and retrieved his book. “My only complaint is his descriptions of Julia. It’s shameful a man of words didn’t manage better compliments.”
I looked up from the print. It was the boldest compliment he’d ever paid me. I gave him no smile. My father grinned, pretending not to hear, and dug through the other papers. I passed the paper to Isaac, wishing I’d never mentioned the possibility of our marrying.
The door swung open and Mr. Forrester entered, holding aloft a copy of the Times. “I thought we agreed she was to remain indoors at all times.” He threw the paper on a chair and unclasped his mud-spattered cloak. “Not only did you risk her making contact with one of his spies, but you took her to an orphanage and gave someone else the story! The public is eating this up, and I don’t even have a mention of it.”
He threw his muddied cloak on my father’s upholstered chair. My eyes widened in horror.
“What are you staring at?” he challenged me. “Do you have a problem with where I lay my capes?”
“Only your muddy ones,” I said.
“I think you’d be happy for a glimpse of nature, for it’s more than you’re going to see for a while.” He grabbed the last sticky bun, and his words became garbled as he chewed. “Of all the nasty things to do to me, Roy. There hasn’t been one story of the heiress in ages. The next one is mine. What are you giving her for Christmas?” He swallowed. “I’ll cover that.”
“You can have the exclusive on her betrothal to Isaac.” My father turned a page of the Penny Post. “Now remove your cape from my daughter’s sight since it disturbs her.”
“Gladly.” Mr. Forrester yanked his cape from the chair and threw it at my feet. Grime splattered the hem of my dress. He smirked.
Before I could object, my father asked, “Did you receive my request?”
“I did.” Mr. Forrester flopped in a chair. “But there’s no chance you’ll gain Moore’s support.”
“Just deliver what I asked and keep your opinions to yourself.” My father gave him an angry glance, then turned another page.
“Sir, may we be excused?” Isaac rose, giving Mr. Forrester a nasty look. “I prefer for Julia not to hear the conversation.”
“Wait.” My father set his paper down. “Daniels is in from Africa. I’m planning a visit today. Be ready to join me in an hour.”
Isaac shook his head. “I won’t go, unless Julia does.”
I shifted, uncomfortable that Isaac had used my given name for the second, third, fourth time this morning. My father must have noticed too, for instead of flushing red, he considered the idea. Thankfully, Mr. Forrester had shoved a serving spoon of baked eggs into his mouth and couldn’t object.
“All right, we’ll take her,” my father said.
Mr. Forrester spat out the food. “Well, don’t expect me to stay behind, then. I’d hate to miss a story if they stop at an almshouse along the way.”
Trying to appear prim and dignified, I studied Mr. Daniels as he shivered before a roaring fire. He must have adjusted to the climate of Africa because he’d spread a wool blanket over his legs, and a plaid shawl covered his shoulders. Firelight flickered off his gold-rimmed spectacles. With curiosity, I eyed the top of his balding head, which was tan, making me wonder if they wore hats in Africa.
“What is this?” My father’s angry tone shocked me as he held up a page and flapped it. “Tell me you did not sell
gems of that quality for that price?”
Mr. Daniels wiped his nose on a handkerchief. “I sent word twice she could do better if she waited until I met with buyers from Dartmoor, but she insisted I sell them.” He took off his glasses and polished them. “Who is Miss Elliston?”
I nearly choked on my astonishment. They were speaking of me?
“She doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned,” my father said. “From this point forward, I’ll handle her mine. Send the paperwork back to me.”
“Eh?” Mr. Daniels gave a leering grin. “Tired of her bed already? She must not have—”
“My daughter is present.”
“Eh?” Mr. Daniels looked in my direction. “Oh yes. Sorry.” He certainly didn’t sound apologetic. His eyes took on a vacant look as they roamed over the wrong parts of my body. I felt so uncomfortable I inched closer to Mr. Forrester.
“You’ve about fallen out of my graces,” my father said to Mr. Daniels. “I prefer to finish the paperwork without your presence. Go to the back room.”
Mr. Daniels looked both startled and annoyed to have been ordered by my father. He eyed his fire as though regretting losing its warmth, then rose, taking his blanket with him.
“Sir, I propose we cut ties with Daniels.” Isaac placed a hand on my shoulder.
“When you run the mines, you can find your own dealer,” my father growled. “In the meantime, he outperforms the rest combined.”
“But did you not see the way he just looked at Julia?”
“I have to agree with Isaac here,” Mr. Forrester said, giving me a snide look. “He just proved he’s not much of a connoisseur.”
“That’s it.” Isaac grabbed the back of Mr. Forrester’s collar and tried to force him to stand.
“Are you witnessing this, Roy?” Mr. Forrester rasped, his face growing empurpled.
“Will you all be quiet?” my father roared, slamming his hand onto the table. “You’re worse than a pack of monkeys. Julia, where are those papers I gave you? Why did you send word to sell gems for that price?” He threw a paper at me. It fluttered to the floor, and Lord Dalry released Mr. Forrester to retrieve it for me.
I remembered how my father handed me papers for an emerald mine the night I married Mr. Macy. I felt my brow wrinkle as I tried to remember what exactly had happened to the papers. The last memory I had of them was right before Edward and I visited Churchill.
“It’s my name, but not my hand. I don’t understand.”
“Where are the papers?” My father’s voice increased in volume.
I swallowed, trying to recall. “I think Henry’s carriage is the last place I saw them.”
“Henry?”
“Henry Auburn—Edward’s brother.”
My father’s face contorted. “Well, apparently your vicar has decided to make himself quite a profit on your misfortunes. I have half a mind to sue him for this.”
I found my feet. “How dare you accuse him!”
Mr. Forrester snickered, rubbing his neck. “Don’t tell me a Macy girl had the wool pulled over her eyes.”
“Shut up already,” Isaac snapped, spinning to face him.
My father grew red, but not at Mr. Forrester. He leafed through more papers. “They’ve hit a vein in your mine, and the stones have been sold for a tenth of their value, and uncut, so you’ve lost potentially more!” He was near screaming. “How could you have allowed this to happen?”
“Do I have to defend her from you as well?” Isaac stepped in front of me. “Who gave her the mine in the first place?” His voice rose. “If you want to scream at someone, then scream at me!”
“Isaac, she’s allowed an entire fortune to be lost.” My father stood. “There must be at least twenty thousand pounds lining someone else’s pocket.”
Mr. Forrester chuckled. “Can I have that story?”
My father shook a fistful of paper in my direction. “Did you never even notice it was missing?”
I felt like crying and yelling too but refused to answer him.
“Did you even once check on your daughter!” Isaac matched his volume. “Have you considered that? Or were you so anxious to cover your sin that you tossed her to Macy or any other wolf, leaving her to fend for herself? Don’t you dare shout at her! If you’re mad about a lost fortune, then you take it out on me. Not her!”
Mr. Daniels stuck out his balding head from the back room. “Is everything all right in here?”
My father’s nostrils flared. “Robert, take Julia to the carriage and wait there with her.”
“Gladly.” Mr. Forrester’s fingers hurt my wrist as he yanked me from my chair. “Come on, dearie.”
Outdoors, I attempted to twist my arm free from Forrester’s rough grasp. Anger and humiliation followed me from Mr. Daniels’s office. I would not tolerate more today. “Release me,” I demanded.
Across the street, my father’s coachman spotted us and extended his neck to see around the passing vehicles. With a sudden yank, I managed to wrench myself from Forrester but stumbled into a jaunty-looking young gentleman. “Beg your pardon, miss.” He stooped to pick up his tumbled hat. “I am quite sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s entirely her fault.” Forrester dove forward in an attempt to grab my arm. “Stop misbehaving, Julia.”
I evaded his grasp, hitting the back of my head against the cold iron of a streetlamp. For a second I only saw light, as if I’d looked directly at the sun. When my vision cleared, perspiration streaked down Forrester’s brow as his mouth twisted in anger. It was satisfying to see him flustered for once.
“May I be of any service?” The young man dusted his hat on his sleeve, sounding puzzled by our strange behavior.
“No, we’re fine, thank you.” Forrester gritted his teeth. “Julia, you will come here this instant.”
A throng of pedestrians, carriages, and street sellers separated me from my father’s barouche, which shone in the morning sun. Everyone else seemed to thread their way through the busy streets. “I will not.” I lifted my skirt, stepping over a pile of manure, intending to make a dash for my father’s carriage.
I took two steps before feeling Forrester’s fingers grab the neck of my collar. He yanked me backwards so hard, I fell against him. A curricle, whose path I’d almost stepped into, sped by. In the bombilation of London, I’d not even heard the hooves.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Forrester shouted.
The young man tugged his hat into place and gave us both an indignant stare as punishment for our uncouth behavior.
“Take my arm and stop acting like a Macy girl,” Forrester hissed in a low voice. “Or at the very least, use some intelligence.”
I elbowed him hard in the ribs and pulled away again. All this time I’d tried to please my father, remaining locked indoors, only to be yelled at about the emerald mines. I was finished cooperating. I felt a storm of tears rising.
“You!” A Gypsy woman appeared out of nowhere, putting me in mind of a mother hen as she flapped her arms. She brought her leering face near Forrester’s. “You stole my amulet. You are trying to curse me.” In a loud banshee voice, she wailed, “You put a curse on me!”
It drew a circle of hard stares.
I stepped backwards, away from her. Dirt crusted the bottom of her orange skirt, and she wore a stained green chemise. A sapphire-colored shawl cast a blue tinge upon her wrinkled face. “You curse my family; you curse my children and their children’s children.”
Two Gypsy men, wearing blue jerkins and red boots, stepped on either side of her, glowering at Forrester.
“Here now.” A man whose armband and embroidered collar identified him as a bobby stepped into the midst of us, sticking his baton between the woman and Forrester. “Back away from the gentleman.”
“He has stolen my amulet, forever cursing my family!”
“I said step away,” the bobby commanded.
“Our family line will dry up if it’s taken. He snatched it from my neck and placed
it in his waistcoat. He’s a thief, no gentleman.”
“It’s true,” I cried out. The idea formed, and I took action before determining whether I should. “I saw him place his hand in his waistcoat; then he tried to force me to come with him, but I don’t even know him.”
“I saw her struggling with him, sir,” the young gentleman offered, giving Forrester an angry stare.
Forrester looked ready to kill me, but I didn’t care. Let him for once suffer being misunderstood. I glanced at Mr. Daniels’s office, where I knew my father was screaming at Isaac. “My name is Julia Pierson,” I said, then blushed at the response it drew from the crowd. I pointed to my carriage. “See, there’s my father’s crest. This man is no gentleman, I assure you.”
If Forrester distrusted me before, he hated me now. “I’ll show you,” he said with decided calmness, glaring in my direction. He unbuttoned his frock coat and opened it.
A silver necklace with an amethyst-colored stone fell to the pavement. Even in the din of London I heard its clink.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then Gypsies pressed about me, yelling and furiously waving their hands. Gentlemen hastened their ladies into buildings; commoners pressed toward the fray, jostling me away.
“Here you are.” A dry voice sounded behind me, and I felt a death grip on my shoulder. “Come easily, because I assure you, whether you struggle or not, I’m not leaving without you.”
CLUTCHING MY PURSE, I turned to view a lanky gentleman I’d not seen since the night I wed Macy. Mr. Rooke’s cheeks appeared gaunter, and his face tan, as though he’d recently spent many hours outdoors. Two men stepped in front of me and another two stepped on either side, closing me in a circle.
“He said you knew better than to go with someone unfamiliar to you,” Rooke said, not looking directly at me, but at Forrester surrounded by a screaming crowd. “Come along now. Macy requires an audience.”
Fear snaked through my limbs, but with prodding from one of the men, my feet managed to shuffle behind Rooke’s steps. Daylight deepened into cold shadow as I was directed into an alley, where Macy’s black landau was lodged. I stopped, balking at the thought of being forced into the carriage.
Mark of Distinction Page 22
