“Julia, I apologize in advance,” he said, slipping his gloved fingers between mine, the fog cradling about us as we passed, “but I need to ask you about your earlier hesitation.”
“Hesitation?”
“When your father told you to have a good time, you hesitated. Answer me honestly: Has Eramus ever acted unseemly toward you?”
His question was so startling I stopped walking. Sharp, cold air stung my lungs as I wondered why Eramus so agitated Isaac.
My suspicions were confirmed when Isaac swallowed hard, his entire countenance changing. He clenched his free hand into a fist as if scarcely able to keep his composure. His words came out strained. “What has he done?”
“Nothing,” I assured him.
Isaac’s Adam’s apple bobbed above his cravat.
“Why does he worry you?” I asked.
His eyes looked lost in some troubled world of his own. Something about his manner stirred pity within me. Here was a soul locked in a private torment. Another pilgrim on the path I travelled. He peered over my shoulder as he acknowledged my question with a nod. “It’s my burden. Forgive me for troubling you.”
We heard a scuffing sound, and Isaac looked over. Mr. Billingsby and an elderly gentleman were staring at us, unsmiling. They tipped their hats.
“Surely this isn’t our Lord Dalry out with a young woman and no chaperone?” the white-haired man said.
With a sheepish expression, Isaac released me and called, “James? Where are you?”
“Ahead of you.” James’s voice carried from a distance. “Exactly as you ordered.”
Isaac deepened a shade, then with hands on hips, turned from the men. “Well, come back.”
“May I inquire as to the identity of your companion? Her parents need to be made aware of this situation.”
Mr. Billingsby laughed and leaned on his walking stick. “Can you not tell by looking at her, Grandfather? That’s Miss Julia Pierson, Lord Pierson’s daughter. She’s also the girl that Lord Alexander is courting.”
Thankfully, I felt too drained to blush and gave them a brief curtsy. “My father is perfectly aware that I’m with Isaa—Lord Dalry.”
Isaac winced, hearing my use of his first name. James came running. He flushed with guilt, spotting the gentlemen, but then whipped off his hat.
“I feel it is my duty to oversee the lot of you back to your house.” The elderly gentleman opened his arms like a mother herding her flock of children. “Turn about. I intend to see that Lord Pierson receives quite an earful.”
Mr. Billingsby chuckled. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow during sessions, for I saw Lord Pierson’s carriage not more than five minutes ago. Consider. If you take them home, you only give them privacy, and I’ll have to send Lord Alexander to chaperone.”
The elderly man pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. “Of all the hours for me to find such a shameful display.” He glared at Isaac. “Where were you taking her?”
Isaac huffed and finally looked in their direction. “I’m escorting Miss Pierson to her cousin Master Eramus Calvin. He’s staying with Lady Beatrice.”
“Shall I go with them, Grandfather?”
“Have you learned your lesson, young man?” Lord Billingsby eyed Isaac from beneath his tufted eyebrows.
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Billingsby tapped James in the chest with his walking stick. “A faithless servant never advances. Remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come, boy. We have guests to receive. Your parents are going to be furious at our late arrival as it is.”
Mr. Billingsby gave Isaac a smirk. “I hope for your sake Lord Alexander doesn’t challenge you to a duel to defend her honor.” He looked at me, trying to appear sincere. “He speaks of nothing except you, milady.”
“You’re as undisciplined as the lot of them,” his grandfather commented. “I hope Lord Alexander has more sense than to allow you to do his wooing for him.”
They turned the corner, so I did not hear Mr. Billingsby’s murmured response.
James pulled on his sleeves. “Imagine how furious his lordship is going to be when the Lord Alexander Kensington shows up expecting to take Miss Pierson for a stroll.”
Isaac looked at me but, perhaps thankful that there was no hope of resurrecting our conversation, simply nodded. “All right. Let’s go fetch Eramus and get this night over with.”
At Lady Beatrice’s house, James ran up the steps and pulled on the bell chain. With growing interest, I waited for Eramus to emerge from the blackness so I could study him anew.
When he finally did, he scarcely glanced at me. He surveyed his servant, who continued to polish his black leather cape as he exited. Eramus craned his neck over his shoulder as if to ascertain it was spotless.
“Start readying my bed at midnight in case I come home early. Make sure new warming pans are inserted every half hour.” He smacked the valet away and plodded down the stairs. “Cousin.” With half-closed eyes, he kissed my cheek. “I’m pleased to see your father has finally come to his senses.”
His hand closed around my forearm. “Look how the leech bristles when I touch you.” Eramus laughed and opened the door to Lady Beatrice’s carriage. “You may as well grow used to it, Isaac. Tonight Miss Pierson is under my care. Though I daresay we will be looking for our first chance to sneak away from you, shall we not, Cousin?”
Isaac gave him a bland look, seeming so disinterested that even I had a hard time discerning that he felt emotion. To honor him, I adopted the same bored expression, ignoring Eramus.
As we jostled down one street and then another, the feathers in my headdress vibrated against my neck. The outlandish quality of the evening increased as the carriage turned onto our street. I frowned at our nonsense. We had walked to Lady Beatrice’s only to ride back the way we came? Why, I wondered, hadn’t Eramus simply picked us up?
I turned slightly to study him. The dull-yellow light of a streetlamp flooded the carriage, emphasizing Eramus’s grotesque features. Goblin-lidded eyes stared in my direction; fleshy cheeks sagged on either side of his overlong mouth. “Isaac, tell your future bride to stop her incessant flirting,” Eramus said in a monotone. “She keeps giving me the most eliciting glances. If she keeps it up, I won’t be responsible for my—”
Isaac had Eramus by the collar before I blinked. “I am not going to allow our war to resurface.” Isaac twisted the wad of material in his fist. “You are finished tormenting me. If I have to—”
The carriage door opened, and Lady Beatrice’s coachman shifted his gaze between Isaac and Eramus.
“Phillip,” Isaac said in a calm voice, “escort Miss Pierson to the front door. Julia, go greet our hosts. Eramus and I will join you in a moment.”
The coachman held out his hand for me and practically had to lift me over the two gentlemen in midfight. As soon as my feet touched the ground, Phillip hesitated, looking between the two men. Something about his stance, his hesitation to interfere, made me wonder if he hoped Eramus was about to receive his comeuppance.
Isaac met my eyes. “Julia, go inside.”
For a moment, I stood, rising above the sea of fog—lost.
Music and laughter flooded from the house, and light cascaded down the stairs, stretching in a wide rectangle over the concrete. My dress felt heavier than normal, stealing my breath as I ascended the stairs. Reflecting over the last few months, I realized how hard Isaac had worked to learn even the minute details of my life—how I drank my tea, if my shoes pinched, what my varying expressions meant. Yet, I scarcely knew anything about him. Shame filled me. Here was another soul who surely suffered this life too.
“Whom should I announce?” The butler came down four steps to greet me.
“Miss Pierson,” the coachman said and, after bowing, hastened back to the carriage.
“This way, please.”
On the arm of a butler, I entered the home. The tinkle of glasses and laughter rang from the next room. Vases of honeysuckle an
d roses tangled with ivy clustered over tables and out of wall pockets, filling the air with their sweet scent. While the maid removed my cape, I braced myself for the shocked expressions I’d encounter when the other guests learned I had arrived alone. The butler opened the door and whispered my name to a waiting footman.
“Miss Beerson,” the footman called into the room.
Only those playing whist nearby heard, but they did not bother to look up. Huddles of conversations dotted the room; strains of Mozart—played on violin, cello, and pianoforte—drifted from the archway leading into another large gallery.
I breathed easier. Etiquette demanded that I greet the hosts and correct my name without stressing my importance. With the refinement I’d learned at Lady Beatrice’s hand, I turned about, praying I could spot them in this crowd. I wasn’t even certain what our hosts looked like.
“Good heavens, it’s that girl again,” said a familiar gruff voice. I looked up to find Lord Billingsby’s tufted brows narrowed at me. “Where is your escort? Where is young Dalry now?”
I weakly gestured to the window.
A woman sidled next to him and asked in a loud whisper, “Who is it, Harold?”
“Of all the nuisances. It’s Lord Pierson’s daughter, only now she has no escort.”
Her hand fluttered to her heart. “Good merciful heavens.”
I waved again in the direction of the window. “M-my escorts . . . have been detained.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, my.” The woman looked over the room, trying to ascertain who had seen me. “There’s going to be scandal.”
“Not in my house, there won’t.” Lord Billingsby thumped his walking stick. “Jonathan!”
Mr. Billingsby’s large frame turned from a nearby group of people. A smug look fell over his face, and he immediately came. “Yes?”
“Well, you know the girl; now she’s your problem.”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “I fear I cannot understand your meaning, Grandfather. Are you saying you’ve arranged a marriage? That’s rather unfair. You’ve just destroyed my political career before it even started.”
“She needs an escort,” the woman whispered, pulling me near Mr. Billingsby. “She came without one. Keep anyone from learning it.”
He bowed. “I’ll place her under the care of Lord Alexander.”
I held in my sigh.
As we left, the woman called for a servant to fan her, then weakly asked Lord Billingsby what I meant to accomplish by such recklessness, and at her soiree of all places.
Mr. Billingsby led me through the room, which was swelling with music. As we threaded toward the end of the gallery, people gave each other glances of significance, telling their acquaintances to look who had arrived.
Lord Alexander stood amongst a group of gentlemen, a half head taller than the rest. So deep were they in discussion, he failed to note our arrival.
Mr. Billingsby tapped Lord Alexander from behind. “You’ll never guess who is with me.”
Lord Alexander turned his head slightly, so as to be heard but not bothering to look. “It’s bad form to introduce someone so awkwardly. Your friend will have to pay for your ill manners, for I am not going to greet him. Had you half a wit, you’d be participating in this conversation, instead of philandering about the room.”
“Oh-ho-ho,” laughed Mr. Billingsby. “Very well, then. Shall we leave, Miss Pierson?”
My name had the effect he desired. Lord Alexander spun, nearly dropping the sherry between his fingers. He cast Mr. Billingsby an incredulous look, then blurted, “What is she doing here?” He squinted at his friend. “And why are you escorting her?”
Mr. Billingsby’s smirk increased. “Sheer luck. Dalry lost her and she stumbled in here.”
The gentlemen surrounding Lord Alexander shifted with an odd reaction. No one pasted a smile and bowed as I’d grown accustomed to. Instead, their glances at Lord Alexander were pregnant with fear, contrasting with the jaunty atmosphere, making this group stand out like a sharp angle.
Lord Alexander viewed me with dismay but was the first of his friends to recover. “Miss Pierson, here; allow me to find you a glass of sherry.” He looked at a well-dressed gentleman to his left and hesitated before saying, “Fred, go fetch her one.”
The gentleman appeared jarred by the order but turned and headed toward a footman.
Lord Alexander bowed, finally managing a smile, though his eyes remained alert. “I’m glad you landed amongst us, Miss Pierson. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to wander into the wrong house with your . . . past connections?”
Even had I been in a normal frame of mind, his statement would have disturbed me, but already troubled about Eramus, I stiffened, staring.
“Here, you’re frightened. Forgive me, Miss Pierson.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve nothing to fear from this group. Let’s just say that you’ve fallen amongst . . . his friends.”
I stared, doing my best to appear nonchalant.
“There’s Dalry,” a man said, pointing. “She ought to be safe enough with him. Look at his expression. I wager tomorrow Lord Pierson is going to rip him to shreds for losing the girl, and he knows it.”
“Pierson would be the least of his worries if something happened to her.”
Isaac stood under the archway, frantically searching for me. When he spotted me, he adopted his high-cultured face and made his way toward us.
“Well, do we let him take her?” the blond gentleman asked.
“I’m thinking,” Lord Alexander said between gritted teeth. “The fact he lost her once is evidence enough she needs another protector, but I doubt he’ll take kindly to my assuming the role.” He glanced sideways at me. “Yet it’s not Dalry I fear offending.”
Our eyes met. His manner, his expressions reminded me of Mr. Rooke or Mr. Greenham. Only Lord Alexander lacked the mastery Mr. Greenham commanded. It was almost as if Lord Alexander were a fledgling, stretching his wings for the first time.
“He would instruct you to take me back to Lord Dalry,” I said with a cold pit in my stomach.
Without even considering whether I spoke truth, Lord Alexander took my right arm and guided me in Isaac’s direction.
Isaac halted and waited with a face of stone. “Kensington,” he said upon our approach.
“Billingsby brought the poor, terrified girl to me,” Lord Alexander whispered in anger. “I have half a mind to keep her with me. I’d hate for Lord Pierson to learn his daughter was left in incompetent hands and I failed to assist her.”
“Neither Lord Pierson nor I require your help, thank you.”
Lord Alexander folded his arms. “Then why is she in my care and not yours?”
“I had a debt to settle with Eramus.”
“Calvin? Don’t tell me that toad is here as well.”
“He’s Miss Pierson’s primary escort.”
Lord Alexander snorted, then turned to me. “First your father guards you, and now he sends you out with a cad and an escort who loses you. Know that I shall remain at this party as long as you do. Feel free to call upon my services, for in good conscience I cannot leave you alone. Dalry.”
Isaac and Lord Alexander gave each other stiff bows.
While Lord Alexander retreated, Isaac watched him with annoyance, then turned toward me. In a rare display of public affection, he drew my hand to his lips. “You look pale. What happened with Eramus had nothing to do with you. Had I known Alexander Kensington was inside waiting, I never would have sent you alone.”
Behind Isaac, Eramus stormed into the room, anger boiling over, twisting his already-ugly features. I turned to find Lord Alexander’s group all watching me with sharp and sober expressions. I slid my fan over my wrist, considering the dark irony. One side of the room was filled with Macy’s men, and on the other was Isaac’s tormentor. I slid my arm beneath Isaac’s and leaned into him, realizing how unisonant we actually were. For all his polished manners, he was exactly like me, completely secluded
in the crowded room, haunted by his past.
I resisted my desire to lay my head on his shoulder. With discomfort, I realized that if my father forced me to marry Isaac, I could grow to truly love him. He already was my teacher and comforter.
“Julia?” Isaac asked, and I felt his light touch at my elbow. “Did he offend you?”
Bitterly I laughed, avoiding looking at him. “No.”
“Something has changed. What?”
“If I try to talk about it, I’ll cry. Can we go home?”
Isaac glanced about the room, his polished expression gone. “Tell me.”
The first tear trickled down my cheek. “Why? You won’t tell me about Eramus. Why should I tell you what is disturbing me?”
With a gentle touch, Isaac moved me to an empty corner. “Sit.” He withdrew an iris from a vase and held it up as if he were showing the bloom. “You mustn’t cry. I won’t ask another question tonight—I swear it—but you must pull yourself together. I can’t take you home; I’m not your escort.”
I concentrated on ignoring the rising sadness at our situation and nodded. “Will you tell me about Eramus?”
He gave a soft chuckle, then made a noise of distress. “Why that?”
“I want to know.”
His chest filled with air, though I never heard him sigh. “If you wish, but not until this fortnight has ended and we are free of our obligation to him. But you’ll tell me what disturbed you tonight, at home.”
Understanding that I wouldn’t get a better offer, I nodded.
“That’s my girl.” Isaac took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll tell you what. Look in that far corner. See those four men? We’ll start by socializing with them. They are so enwrapped in their scientific pursuits, their conversation will revolve entirely around a new species of plant or some other tiresome topic. It will help you collect yourself. Do you think you can manage that?”
Toward midnight, the dull buzz of the surrounding conversations reminded me of a drowsy afternoon at Am Meer by the beehives. Beneath my sweltering dress, my chemise clung to my body. I glanced at Isaac, still deep in conversation with a gentleman about the Corn Laws. We’d gone from science to England’s financial concerns, then lastly to politics about an hour ago.
Mark of Distinction Page 30
