The conviction was so heavy, I marveled that the entire world was not crushed beneath the weight of it, and yet so full of mourning and grief that no wail or requiem could ever capture the full dolor of it.
I’d heard stories of revivals and awakenings, where mankind touched the untouchable and birthed a resurgence of religious zeal. But those, I knew, depended upon the charisma of the speaker and the contagious fervor of the crowd.
But this! What could explain this?
It was.
I had to take a deep breath to contain the rush of the knowledge of the gravity that surrounded my situation. Mine was a different story, with a different purpose, and therefore woven in darker colors. There was no gradual revelation. It was stark and plain before me. Nothing less than a full surrender would suffice. If that meant losing Edward, marrying Isaac, or even returning to Mr. Macy—the choice wouldn’t be mine.
THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS found me agitated. While servants hung mistletoe and holly, I paced London House in silence, my thoughts burdensome. The scent of fir filled the air as I mentally wrestled with the phenomenon I’d experienced.
I disliked that I couldn’t prove it; it annoyed me that had someone told me he’d experienced such an anomaly, I would have dismissed him; and it chafed me that I had felt it and knew it was real.
I paid no heed to my father and Isaac as they hastened to engagements with empty promises that perhaps later they’d visit me. I only pulled my shawl tighter and watched them leave, feeling out of sorts. It was easier to accept the unnameable sensation I’d felt in Eastbourne—that, at least, was almost marvelous, like a dream one wanted to walk into.
But this?
Who wanted this? Too much exposure would drive any soul to wearing camel’s hair and eating locusts. How easily I now pictured Edward tearing down pews and rending his garments. Foolish was it to mock him, and wise to join him. But who had joined him? Elizabeth and Henry despaired, while Lady Foxmore taunted. How could anyone join him without experiencing what I had?
And that, too, agitated me.
The fact that the experience was personal, and not transferrable, galled me. If this was how the universe worked, and we were going to be held accountable to that, then how dare the rest of humanity be left in blindness for lack of experience!
I longed to reject God on that idea alone.
I longed for Edward to explain. It seemed such a monstrosity. Yet he had managed to bridge it, while I still couldn’t. How could I? Here was a God who forced prophets to marry prostitutes, and the only terms of my acceptance involved a full surrender to him and his plan?
I was in such a state of mind when my father summoned me to join him in the library.
I’d been in the parlor, sitting in the window seat, staring outdoors. When James fetched me, I stood, trying to remember when my father and Isaac had returned home, for I had not heard them.
I entered the library and found Isaac and Mr. Forrester taking leave of my father. Looking grave, Isaac tried to catch my eye, but I avoided him.
He lingered, placing his hand on the doorjamb. “Please, sir, with your permission, I’d prefer to be here for this talk.”
My father released a long sigh, staring at the papers. “Thank you, but no, Isaac.”
Lord Dalry shifted. “All right, then I object. I think I have as much right to hear what’s said—”
“Thank you, Isaac. Your request is noted but denied.” My father straightened the papers by tapping them on the chair arm. “You’re dismissed. I’ll fetch you when we’re finished.”
“Sir—”
“No arguments. She is not your wife but my daughter, and I’ll do as I see fit.”
Isaac briefly frowned but left, softly shutting the door.
Alarmed by that introduction, I pulled my shawl tight.
Settled in a high-backed chair, my father thumbed through a sheaf of parchment. He thumped the papers in his hand twice with his thumb and set them down. Looking as though his arms were weighted, he poured himself a drink, then acknowledged me.
“Here.” He blew out the candle on the desk, stood, and retreated to the window with his drink in hand. Once there, he motioned me to join him. When I reached him, he tapped the glass. “Now watch. These are the people who are affected by the choices Parliament makes.”
I looked at the befogged streets, but there wasn’t anyone there. I glanced back, but his gaze was fixed on the emptiness. I pulled my shawl as tight as it would stretch and tucked in my arms, uncertain how to act. A few carriages rattled past, stirring the mist. Still he said nothing but sipped brandy and waited. Eventually, a young girl carrying a broom ran by. She clutched a ragged shawl to her chin.
“She’s the new street sweeper for the corner of Audley and Chap,” my father said, watching her. “It’s extraordinary that she hasn’t been chased away by the stronger lads. She’s had three black eyes, but thus far she manages to keep her post. I instruct James to pay her an extra penny when we pass. Never forget how lucky you truly are to be amongst the privileged. There are far worse things than having to follow protocol.”
I felt pulled down by heaviness as I watched. The temperature was low tonight. The girl looked scarcely eleven. Too young to be out in a city in the dead of night. Yet I didn’t understand why my father had me here.
My father took a piece of touchwood from the fire and returned to the desk, where he relit the candle, set down his drink, and rubbed tired eyes. “You’re here because Isaac insists that you agree to the terms set forth for your betrothal before he signs it.”
Trepidation swept over my body, turning my extremities to ice. “What?”
My father strummed his fingers. “It’s high time this matter was settled, and tonight I intend to see it through. Are you going to accept Isaac as your husband, or should I look for another?”
Astonished, I raised my gaze. “Is that why Forrester is here? So you can announce it to the papers? What about Mr. Macy?”
“Unless that is your way of asking me to consider Macy’s offer seriously, he does not figure into our plans.”
I bent my head, feeling sick. “Our plans? What about what I want? What about Reverend Auburn?”
My father removed his gold pocket watch and opened the face. “Privilege comes at a price. You are my heir, my continuation. This is your last chance to have any say in the matter. You have one minute to decide if you will marry Isaac. When I leave this room, I will either announce your willingness to become engaged to Isaac or seal a marriage contract to another.”
I coughed to cover my shock. “And I have no say in the matter?”
My father stopped strumming and consulted the clock. “You still have fifty-five seconds left of it.”
“What if I refuse to marry anyone except Reverend Auburn?”
“I am not going to quibble about the finer points, but do you seriously doubt this matter will end to my satisfaction?”
The idea had seemed so certain when I spoke it aloud to Henry, but as I stood before my father, it appeared almost naive. I felt ready to fragment. If I agreed to marry Isaac, there would be no easy way to back out. Ten precious seconds passed. A tear strayed down my cheek, and I folded my hands over my stomach. “Tell Isaac I will marry him.”
“Do you wish to see the terms?” He slid the papers on his left toward me.
I shook my head, despising him.
My father rose, the rich scent of cloves surrounding him. “Then endeavor to make him a good wife. Do not make him regret his willingness to marry you, despite your circumstances.”
I fixed my gaze on my father’s boots, wishing I’d never met him. Behind him, Mama’s sunflower painting reminded me that I still didn’t know their story, but I knew he’d managed to douse the fire that once burned in her too.
A white silk handkerchief appeared in my view. “Wipe your nose and eyes. Smile when Isaac asks you.”
“He’ll know it’s not genuine.”
“Just obey. He’ll respect your
attempt. It will serve to assure him you’ll play your part.”
I crumpled the handkerchief in my hand; then when he left, I tossed it into the crackling flames. Desperate to feel removed from this situation, I flung myself into a nearby chair.
Everything had happened so quickly. I scarcely understood life anymore. My beliefs had just been toppled, and I was no longer sure what I should or shouldn’t do.
I hadn’t even surrendered myself to God. If I had, would I have known what to say to my father?
“Julia?” Isaac’s voice sounded from the door.
Crumbling, I buried my face in my hands.
He must have grabbed the blanket slung over a nearby chair and brought it with him. For he gently wrapped it about my shoulders, then knelt before me. He took my hands in his and kissed the backs of them.
“Your father tells me you accepted the engagement. Speak truthfully. Were you coerced?”
I sobbed a desperate, wild sob.
He sighed, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. “Be honest with me, Julia. Have I any hope of ever gaining your love?”
Tears welled as I clutched his hand. “If I refuse you tonight, one way or another, my father will see me engaged.”
“Have I any chance of winning your heart?”
I spread my hands. I no longer understood the universe or life. Everything was off course. “I don’t know. How can I possibly know under these circumstances?”
Lord Dalry’s thoughts were his own as he considered my words. “No true gentleman could accept an engagement under these conditions. Allow me to court you, Julia. All I ask is a chance to win your love.”
I could scarcely read his face between the blur of my tears. “But my father—”
“I’ll handle your father. I have my ways. If the situation grows dire, we’ll discuss changing our agreement. Meantime, at least allow me the chance to gain your trust and devotion.”
Prior to Henry’s visit, I would have refused. But nothing made sense anymore. I had been wrong in my beliefs. What if I was wrong about everything? What if this was what was supposed to happen?
“Do you agree?” he asked.
Sniffling, I nodded.
He reached out and touched Edward’s pin. “Is this a gift from Reverend Auburn?”
My eyes widened as I wondered how he knew. “Yes.”
“The first morning I see you without this pin, I’ll know that you are truly ready to accept a betrothal. On that day, I will ask you to marry me. Agreed?”
How could I not agree? It was more time. I nodded.
The blanket fell from my shoulder and he replaced it. He rose, kissed the top of my head. “I’ll go speak with your father now.”
“Miss Pierson.” Miss Moray shook me.
In the grey of dawn, she looked like an angular shadow holding a beeswax candle. The draperies of my bed parted around her, allowing a draft of cold air. My head felt thrice its usual weight. “Yes?”
“Master Isaac bids me to dress you and have you downstairs. I have ten minutes.”
I sat, groggy. “Ten minutes? Why?”
She made no reply as she withdrew a woollen dress from my armoire. I frowned at her but threw off my coverlets and stepped into the freezing air. I owed Isaac anything he wanted for his kindness toward me. Near the hearth, I shivered as Miss Moray exchanged my nightgown for the dress. Keeping her eye on the clock, she managed to button me quickly for once, then twisted my hair into a simple bun.
“Go without jewelry,” she stated, draping a cashmere scarf over my head. “Now hurry. There’s no time for more.”
“No!” I opened my jewelry box and started to sort through its contents for Edward’s pin. The last thing I needed was for Isaac to think I wished an engagement on Christmas Day.
The sound of servants scurrying about their duties filled the house as I exited my bedchamber. Lord Dalry stood in the foyer, dressed in a cape so long it brushed the floor. It made him look like a prince in a faerie tale. It was Isaac as I rarely saw him. Natural and at ease. It was impossible not to smile, especially as I’d promised to make an attempt. I leaned over the banister. “Sir, why have you awakened me?”
He grinned up. “You look as beautiful as the Madonna herself with that scarf over your head. No, don’t remove it. I like it. Hurry downstairs, for we haven’t much time.”
Lifting my long skirt, so as not to trip, I obeyed. When I reached him, his eyes fastened on Edward’s watch and his smile tightened. “Here.” He held my white cape open for me. “We’re going outdoors.”
“Outside?” I slid my arms through the satin-lined cape. “My father is allowing it?”
Isaac laughed, wrapping his arms about me as he buttoned my cape. Near my ear he whispered, “He doesn’t know.”
I did my best not to stiffen. “And our chaperone?”
“We’re not going far.” His warm fingers took mine, and he drew me toward the front door. “I want it to be just us.”
Even the air smelled different as he opened the entrance. I tightened my fingers around his. A new London glittered under a milky sky. It had snowed during the night. Snow softened every roofline, every cobblestone, harmonizing the city, concealing the drab browns of London. The white blanket had muffled the sounds of the city so that only faint bells and gentle noises greeted us.
“You won’t often see snow in London, so take a good look,” Isaac said, but his eyes were on me. “Soon servants will tend fires and horses will stir up the streets and our world will be brown again. Since it’s going to be marred, let’s be the first to make tracks.”
“What a scandal we could make,” I said, glancing at the windows of residences as we walked down the street, holding hands. “The Emerald Heiress and Lord Dalry playing in the snow.”
He laughed outright, his breath frosting the air. “My uncle lives in the north. Ben, Kate, and I used to take sleds up his hills and fly down. We were too old last visit, so Kate and I snuck out and went sledding after dark.”
“You! I’m surprised you allowed her to act so unladylike.”
His eyes sparkled. “Don’t think I’m not going to insist my wife join me next time. Yes, you may as well look that horrified because I’m perfectly serious. You need more merriment in your life.” He turned toward me, placing his hands on my waist, under my cape. “I look forward to hearing your shrieks of laughter when we spill into a snowbank. I’ve not forgotten the way you jumped on that settee with Kate. I know merriment is still inside you, and I intend to find the key.”
He leaned near, his eyes closing, about to kiss me. My heart pounded, but not with adoration. Since that unutterable experience, my world had turned chaotic, but to kiss Isaac would still be to betray Edward. All at once, I recalled Macy’s last words to me. I had only to step outdoors when I was finished with my father, and his men would find me. My breath curled in the air as I panicked.
“Take me back. Take me back, please.” I clutched Isaac’s cape at his chest, nearly crying. “Please. Do not delay.”
Seemingly disappointed, he drew me close. “All right. We’ll return right now.”
Clumps of snow clung to the bottom of my skirt as we hastened homeward. As we neared, I caught sight of my father peering from his library window. His jaw dropped upon spying us, and from his angry expressions and the movements of his mouth, I deemed that he shouted.
Isaac laughed and waved, then tugged my hand. “Come on. We’ll enter through the servants’ door, giving him a chance to cool before dealing with him.”
“He’ll be livid.”
“Have I ever led you wrong, even once?”
“No, but—”
Isaac removed his hat, leading me down to the lower entrance. “Believe me, your father will not lecture either one of us today. Tomorrow, though, is another story.”
We stepped into a dank corridor. Linens and aprons dripped from a clothesline just over the door, making the first steps icy. Scents of oyster, poultry, parsley, and butter filled the n
arrow hall along with the clang of pots. Each step toward the noise increased the amount of grease built up over the floor. I clenched my skirt, holding it above the grime, casting Isaac anxious looks. It was unheard of for a lady of my station to enter the servants’ world.
When we reached the kitchen, haze from the fires made me want to sweep an invisible veil from my eyes. The dense air became choking.
“I’m going to introduce you to Pierrick,” Isaac said as we drew closer to the clatter of pots rattling and knives chopping.
We rounded the corner. My father’s kitchen occupied at least a quarter of the lowest level of the house. Bowls, pots, and cutting boards spread over long wooden tables. High-backed chairs were pushed against walls. The walls were lined with long shelves holding serving platters and plates. Copper measuring pitchers and utensils hung upon brass hooks. In the far corner, there were two beds with straw pushing through the ticking.
The scullery girl at the opposite end of the room spotted us first and stopped working, her hands still plunged into the wooden sink. Piled around her were dirty dishes. Her drenched dress clung to her bony body, and perspiration streaked her face.
On my right, upper and lower maids sat around a table set with bread, cheese, and what looked like a weak tea. They rose, wide-eyed, and bobbed, stumbling over various forms of greetings which equated to “Merry Christmas.”
“And a merry Christmas to you.” Isaac rested his fingers on his lips and signalled for them to sit back down. Then catching my eye, he pointed toward a burly man with his back toward us. He was cutting apart a lamb with a cleaver, leaving splatters of blood on the wall. Next to him, underchefs paused in their work, leaving the lids of copper pots to rattle, as steam and bubbling water lifted them.
“Pierrick, how dare you ignore me!” Isaac yelled to be heard over the cacophony of noise. “Did you make it?”
The chef turned, holding his cleaver. “Did I make it? Did I make it?” He threw his hands in the air. “No ‘Merry Christmas’; just did I make it?”
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