I would have struck him again, had not Isaac grabbed my wrist. “You are the daughter of Lord Pierson.” His harsh whisper sounded in my ear. “And as such, you represent him. Cease immediately.”
Hudson’s eyes were round, but they beamed with pride, and for some absurd reason, that calmed me. I nodded, smoothing my skirts.
“He isn’t worth our time,” Isaac continued in my ear as he placed one hand on the small of my back. Then, looking over his shoulder at Eramus, “You’re not allowed to walk alongside us. You will follow.”
Shielding me, Isaac guided me through the embankments of fog that enwrapped us in our own private world. Even Eramus, only a few paces behind, was indiscernible.
“Are you recovered?” Isaac placed a hand about my waist as if to ensure I could not misstep in our dense cloud.
I nodded. Though we were surrounded by coughing and coarse laughter, I saw only thick mist, which the light struggled to pierce. Behind us, Eramus bashed his walking stick in rhythm to his steps—a resounding thwack, thwack, thwack.
“Must you?” Isaac looked over his shoulder, his hand tightening.
“I rather like it,” Eramus replied. “It’s sort of like the ticking of a clock. A steady marking of time, toward revenge, toward something you can’t stop, something that will eventually catch you, no matter how hard you try to hide.”
Isaac gathered me closer and stumbled on toward the opera house. “This is the last outing we’re taking with you. I can promise you that.”
Eramus thwacked his stick harder. “What makes you think I’ve not grown bored of these excursions myself? They’re not living up to my expectations either. It’s far past time I tried something new.”
Light spilled from the colonnaded theatre, defying the thick fog that swirled around us. Theatregoers alighted from carriages and arrived on foot, leaving behind the dank and rotted world of London. Cries of delight and laughter sparkled as the elite praised each other’s fortitude for battling the “beastly atmosphere.”
I gripped closed the velvet folds of my opera cape, hoping my color wasn’t too high, longing to remain in the fog, in obscurity.
“Steady now,” Isaac whispered, urging me forward.
Strains of an overture carried from deep within the building, but I scarcely noticed as the eyes of ambassadors and government officials turned to watch our approach. They offered Isaac smiles.
“I say,” an elderly man with an ear trumpet announced to his companion as we passed, “who is that girl with the raven tresses? Why are we all looking at her?”
The young man gave Isaac an apologetic grimace before speaking into the silver horn rather loudly. “That’s Lord Pierson’s daughter, Lord Dalry’s betrothed.”
Isaac tightened the hand on my arm upon hearing the declaration. My cheeks grew warm and I made an attempt to turn my head into Isaac’s shoulder.
“No, my dear.” The delicate fragrance of hyssop and roses filled my senses before Lady Northrum kissed my cheek. She whispered so low, the rustle of her dress hid it. She tipped my chin up. “Let them see you blush and delight in your virtue. Tonight London is meant to celebrate you, will celebrate you.” She touched Isaac’s chin, her expression motherly. “I thought you would never arrive. What happened? Where is your escort?”
Isaac indicated behind us with a roll of his eyes.
Even Lady Northrum cooled with distaste as she took in Eramus. “Ah, well, do not allow Master Calvin to ruin tonight.” She gathered my arm and rustled me down the gallery, but her words remained directed at Isaac. “The second program has started. I’d hoped you’d arrive during the promenade, but it can’t be helped now. At least the papers printed that you were attending tonight, and my acquaintances are on the lookout for you.”
Isaac nodded, unbuckling the gold clasp of his wool cape. Before he decided what to do with his outer garment, Lady Northrum motioned to one of her trailing servants. “Give your wraps to John.”
Isaac gave her another nod of thanks. “And our escort? Will you keep him occupied as a precaution, at least until our appearance, I mean?”
“Yes, yes, but hurry while the music is still soft.” Lady Northrum pressed her fan against his arm, urging him forward.
“What tier and box?” Isaac asked.
“The grand tier, next to the royal box.”
Nearby a young lady gasped as Isaac removed my cape. Lady Northrum’s eyes lit. She clasped her hands together with a lilting laugh. “I never would have thought Roy could manage the feat so well.”
Eyes up and down the gallery admired my exterior. I wanted Mama’s locket to hold, though I knew I looked faultless. Tonight, Miss Moray had spent hours ensuring that I looked regal for my first appearance at the opera. My father had surprised me with a gold moiré silk gown he’d had commissioned from Quill’s. Rounded sleeves made of tulle scarcely veiled my bare arms, and the neckline was low. Large cut citrines glittered over my milky throat and were woven throughout the thick coils of my braided hair.
I placed my free hand on Isaac’s arm, alarmed at the attention being paid us, realizing how legendary we’d become.
Lady Northrum chuckled. “The wonderment in her eyes alone shall make her the toast of London. Tonight will be the sensation we planned. Tomorrow every paper will carry the story.”
Isaac gave her a quick shake of his head, indicating I wasn’t aware of the plan. My marvel at being at the opera faded. Was this why my father paced the hall before we left, barking orders at the servants? This was nothing more than a ploy to keep our names in the papers?
I glanced behind me to deem whether Eramus knew. He eyed my stones with a hungry fascination but remained dressed in his cape. He twisted his mouth, ready to give me an ugly look, but before I could finish my observation, Isaac whisked me toward the wide staircase.
Step after marble step, we climbed to the backdrop of percussionists knelling doom on their kettledrums. The intensity of the sound rose, until volumes of music crashed over us.
Outside one of the farthest boxes, we stopped. Isaac peeked through the heavy satin curtain, then allowed it to drop back into place. “We’ll wait until the decrescendo before entering. Are you ready?”
I turned my head instead of answering. This morning during breakfast, Isaac and my father had passed the morning papers back and forth with looks of significance. I had assumed, until now, it was political matters, not an announcement for London to come and see me at the opera tonight.
All the tension crested at once. I felt an impending catastrophe, the same as I had before that fateful dinner that ended with my marriage to Mr. Macy. The feeling grew stronger with each rise and fall of the frenzied notes. Something was very wrong. Something worse than Eramus’s vile temper. Something worse than making a fool of myself in front of everybody.
To my right, someone started down our passage, but I felt so stressed, I didn’t care who it was. I bent over, placing my fingers on my temples.
“Julia?” Isaac asked.
The stranger halted so suddenly, I glanced in that direction and deemed him to be a servant, as the tips of his shoes were scuffed. Shadows veiled his face, but something in his manner tugged at me like a misplaced memory.
“Are you ill?” Isaac dropped on one knee and studied me.
I shook my head. “I don’t want them to see me.”
“Who?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, continuing to feel as though I were spinning. Disaster was creeping along, one spider leg at a time, but who would believe my premonition? “Everyone. I can’t do this anymore.”
“We’ve done this a hundred times, and have I ever let you fall? Tonight is no different than any other. Well, except perhaps for the fact that Lady Northrum has made it her pet project to oversee that you finally attended the opera.”
My voice became strained, but I managed, “That’s not what I mean. Take me home. Please. Take me away from here.”
“Julia, of all the requests.” Cupping my elbow, Isaac for
ced me to straighten, then buried the tip of his cold nose in my hair. “Whom would you rather face? Your father tomorrow morning when he learns we were on the verge of making our appearance but changed our mind, or a few busybodies viewing us through the lenses of their opera glasses?”
I crossed my arms, refusing to answer.
“One hour. That’s all. We’ll enter. We’ll sit. We’ll leave.”
I surrendered with a slight nod. The ostrich feathers nestled in my headdress brushed my throat and shoulders.
“I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t know you could do it,” Isaac said softly. With the back of his finger, he traced the curve of my cheek, and I knew he was curbing his desire to kiss me, as I remained stone-faced. “You won’t even have to speak. I swear it. Just leave this to me.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath.
“That’s my girl.” Isaac released me and crept back to the curtain. Peering through the slit, he resumed waiting for the right moment.
Still feeling heavyhearted, I pressed my back against the cold marble wall. What was wrong with me? I unfurled my fan to circulate the air near my face. Why must it be so hot here? I glanced down the hall where Eramus would soon appear and bit my lip.
“Ready?” Isaac’s voice pierced my melancholy thoughts.
I stirred and realized the music had softened. Isaac waited with his gloved hand extended. He looked handsome tonight. His white collar and white waistcoat brought out his blue eyes.
I filled my lungs, taking a deep breath, catching Isaac’s distinct scent. If anyone were capable of carrying me through tonight, it would be he. Tilting my chin at the exact angle Lady Beatrice taught me, I gave him a slight nod, feeling the weight of my earrings sway with the dip of my head.
Isaac’s eyes filled with pride, as though he sensed my willingness to trust him and continue regardless. He parted the satin curtain and led me into view. The warmth of his hand over the small of my back bled through to my skin, instilling me with a sense of calm.
In the dim light, I perceived a theatre superior to any other in the world. At least five tiers spread in a horseshoe, which rose into a large oval arch with sunken coffers. An immense chandelier hung from the archivolt, and from the center of every box dripped a miniature crystal chandelier, a jewel on the forehead of a queen.
I clutched Isaac’s sleeve and looked up at him, stunned. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. A sea of sparkling, starry people clothed the house. Expensive French perfumes mixed with scents of talc powder and the hypnotic fragrance of flowers. Here were collected the powerful, the affluent, the beautiful, and they all welcomed us. Men stood and bowed to Isaac, while their ladies gave me their most affecting head nods. For one magnificent moment, I belonged amongst them.
Joy shone in Isaac’s eyes as he watched me. This was his world. His arena. He looked as eager to introduce me to it as a child on Christmas morn. Keeping my hand in his, he slowly led me to my chair, then pressed my hand to his lips—giving London the show of affection they desired. Programs rustled as partners nudged one another, urging them to watch Lord Dalry’s wooing of the Emerald Heiress.
Isaac held my fan and opera glasses, taking review of the floor and nearby tiers as I adjusted my skirts. After returning my accoutrements, he gave me a reassuring smile, then ensconced himself in his own chair.
It took several minutes until my heart stopped pounding, but the worst was over. I had succeeded, and nothing terrible had happened. Adopting Isaac’s untroubled expression, I set my gaze toward the stage, but it took several more minutes until I’d settled enough to pay attention to the singers.
I squinted at the heavily made-up women who strutted up and down the stage, drowning the atmosphere with their magnificent voices. They sang in Italian, which I could not follow. Isaac did, however, and became fully absorbed. With an index finger curled over his mouth, he seemed to hang upon every word of the drama. I remained poised, granting even the most curious of onlookers enough time to have their fill of the Emerald Heiress.
Eventually, the curtain behind us rustled, and Eramus clomped into our box. The scent of cheap wine and tobacco accompanied him as he flopped into his seat. I hid my grimace of disgust and tried to stifle the reek by holding my hand under my nose. I frowned, wondering how he’d found a tavern and partaken in that short span.
He poked my shoulder. “Here, give me your opera glasses.”
I glanced at Isaac, but he was so transfixed he hadn’t noted Eramus’s arrival. With a sigh of surrender, I handed over the gold and mother-of-pearl frames.
The music fell to silence, and a few people smothered their coughs. A new concertino began. The haunting lullaby of uilleann pipes warbled out a melody that hung suspended in the air before strings slowly undergirded its sad tune with their own heartsick cry. It brought to mind the night Edward crept over the wall at Am Meer and asked me to be his wife.
I pressed my hand against my collarbone, brushing my jeweled choker, feeling my sorrow tenfold. Had the composer read my heart and felt my anguish before penning the morose notes? It was the first time I’d heard music mimic my sentiments, and it unnerved me.
“That is one presumptuous fellow,” Eramus muttered as he leaned over the box, looking over the audience instead of the stage. He prodded me with his elbow. “I caught him trying to spy on the leech and you earlier as I entered our booth. Now look. He’s down there on the edge of the pit, still spying. Look.”
Eramus returned the glasses and pointed his podgy fingers to an arched entrance below. My stomach soured as I recalled the man standing in the dark prior to our taking seats. I wet my lips and raised the glasses.
Right where Eramus had pointed, I saw an outline of a man who indeed seemed to be watching our box. As if waiting for me, he stepped from the shadows and allowed the dim light to highlight the curves of his face.
I blinked, scarcely believing my own eyes. My body hollowed as I stared, afraid to trust my senses, afraid the vision would vanish. I wiped my eyes before raising the glasses again to make certain.
Edward stood rooted amongst the tide of glittering jewels and feathered headdresses, looking straight at me. The sight of him held me spellbound. One sensation after another washed over me. My entire body trembled as I viewed him. I could have wept; I could have laughed. How was it possible?
My fingers tightened over the gold case as I gasped back a sob of joy. Never had Edward appeared more purified than here. The ground beneath his shoes was hallowed, unworthy to feel his tread, and yet the people around him had no knowledge of his existence. Edward was actually here, at the opera!
“By Jove, you know the fellow.” Eramus nudged my shoulder. “Give those back.”
I tightened my grip, preferring death to losing sight of Edward. He looked ragged and thin, making me suspect he’d been in London for some time. Had Henry convinced him he needed to come for me? That was so long ago. Surely, he couldn’t have—I squeezed my eyes shut, lowering the glasses. How much had a ticket to the opera cost him?
They say I was a vision of elegance and refinement as I watched from our box. The image everyone recalls is that I was so moved by my first opera that I sat spellbound with tears streaming down my cheeks. The truth is I wasn’t at that opera.
My soul knew its mate and could scarcely contain its joy. It soared; it laughed; it screamed its delight, taking flight over that crowded auditorium, paying no mind to the stage. My love, my only love, had come. Unable to contain the fullness of it, I had little choice but to lean forward, pressing my hands against my heart as if enchanted, so I could weep with the joy.
My mind spun with possibilities. That Edward had come for me, there was no doubt. And though it was likely he had a plan, I devised one of my own, in case he’d overlooked an element. My thoughts were that when the opera finished, we would run, fleeing hand in hand through London’s fog-enshrouded streets. If I could publicly disappear with Edward, it would give us bargaining power. I felt heartache for Isaac,
knowing how torn he would feel returning to my father empty-handed. But the following morning, after it was too late not to marry, Edward could approach my father and negotiate with him. I would remain hidden until we had his support. It was so clear in that moment, I marveled that I’d not thought of it before. If my father could protect me as Isaac’s wife, then surely, surely he could protect me as Edward’s.
My hope was so apparent, that to this day my reputation as an opera enthusiast reigns. Dignitaries and nobility have ever hoped to court favor with me by including opera as entertainment. Yet here is the rub: I despise the opera. It has ever served as a reminder of this night.
Isaac was the opera enthusiast. When the last notes washed over the audience, he was on his feet and insisted on remaining until the last curtain descended. It took him another five minutes to gather our glasses and check beneath the seats. I could scarcely breathe with impatience.
By the time Isaac took my arm, the opera boxes surrounding us had emptied and all tiers had drained. Heat radiated through the building as I tried to push through the mass of bodies.
Isaac tightened his grip on my arm and gave me a questioning look as he held me still. “Your father expects us to tarry a bit,” he whispered. “Just stay with me and smile. I’ll handle the small talk.”
Because we were seated so close to the stage, everyone was in our path. Frantically, I stood on tiptoes but could catch no sight of Edward. Stiff satin skirts, heavy perfume, and dithering fans webbed us in. Gloved, feminine hands reached out to pat my cheek, and men slapped Isaac’s back as we tried to thread through the mass.
“Yes, it was wonderful. As you can see, Miss Pierson was quite moved. If you’ll please allow us to pass,” Isaac said again and again, until he sounded like a trained parrot.
Instead, the crowd tightened around us, and more questions poured forth.
“How soon until the happy announcement?”
“Are you both free Friday?”
“Where’s Pierson, old boy?”
I tightened my hold on Isaac’s arm. In another minute, I would dissolve into tears. I’d read accounts of people being trampled in large gatherings, and for one desperate moment, I felt in danger of it.
Mark of Distinction Page 32
