“By jingo,” Eramus said in a quiet voice next to me. “Isn’t that Lord Melbourne approaching?”
I lifted my gaze to find the prime minister indeed making his way to us, spreading his gloved hands open as though he were about to gather Isaac and me into his fold. The crowd parted easily enough for him. Reporters trailed him, their eyes shining in anticipation as the prime minister approached. They scribbled furiously as they took in Isaac’s and my attire.
It was then I finally caught sight of Edward.
Behind the reporters, he charged up the stairs, using his elbow to clip through the crowd, his face determined. When our eyes met, he paused, gripping the banister. His very countenance asked whether I still welcomed him.
My throat tightened that he would even consider such a thought. It took all my restraint not to fly to him that very second, but it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t even reassure him with a look, for Lord Melbourne inclined. I turned from Edward and gave the prime minister my most polished and welcoming smile. I comforted myself with the thought that a few minutes hence, Edward would know the depth of my love.
“Lord Dalry.” Lord Melbourne extended his hand. “How delightful to see two of our brightest luminaries at Her Majesty’s Opera House.”
Two things happened at once. Unaware of our precarious position, Edward started toward me. Next to him, the tall form of Lord Alexander studied me with a knit expression before his gaze alighted on Edward, and he spoke the eleven words that crumbled my world.
“I say,” he cried out, “isn’t that the chap responsible for stealing Macy’s bride?”
Stunned that he had possession of that knowledge, I gaped as his question burst like thunder over the crowd, rippling out in the form of shocked cries of delight.
Edward alone failed to notice. His intense gaze focused on me, he battled the crowd. A Highlander brandishing his sword could not have appeared more fearsome.
Like a gear clicking into place, Lord Melbourne’s suspicion animated his features, and I could see he guessed that I could be Macy’s missing bride. His entire body froze as he took in Edward’s aggressive approach toward me. He bent, clutching his chest, before shooting me an accusing glare.
Thankfully, I’d seen his reaction, giving me time to compose my features. Months of Isaac’s painstaking training saved me. Keeping my arm looped through his, I watched Edward’s approach with the perfect urbane yet half-curious expression.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Lord Melbourne doubt his own suspicion and straighten again. He watched, fascinated, as Edward halted before me and stood panting.
Only then did Edward seem to realize the scandal he was creating. I saw the whites of his eyes as they slowly moved from right to left. All conversation died and everyone stared.
He tugged at his collar, then bowed—a public signal asking me to recognize him and grant the privilege of speaking with me.
Though we stood only feet apart, oceans and continents stretched between us. I could not acknowledge him without tipping over the first domino in a row. In less than an hour, society at large would guess I was Macy’s bride. There was no possible way Edward and I could manage to run off and hide with the entire opera house watching and blocking the exits. Later, reporters and spectators would descend on London House, for I was not one, but two newspaper sensations. When the last domino fell, my father and Isaac would be ruined and I’d most likely be returned to Macy. I’d already lost Edward forever, and knew it, for if all of London knew who I truly was, there would be no chance of building a new life with Edward. The only thing I might still be able to salvage was Isaac’s and my father’s reputations.
Casting Edward a look of scorn, I leaned closer to Isaac. “Darling, I don’t like this man’s manner. My head hurts. May we leave soon?”
“Of course.” Isaac’s voice sounded pale as he bowed to Lord Melbourne. “By your leave. Shall I see you at the club tonight?”
Lord Melbourne carefully searched my face, his relief apparent at finding what appeared to be annoyance toward Edward. Smiling, he broke into a nod. “Yes, yes. By all means take her home and find me later. Jefferies is in town, and I wish to introduce you.”
Gathering my skirts, I started to give my back to Edward.
“Wait, please!” Edward broke protocol and took a step closer. “I beg you!”
I froze and gave him a second glance, knowing if I shed so much as a tear, all was lost.
Edward ran his fingers through his curls, giving Isaac a heated look and leaving me in no doubt of the animosity between them. When Edward returned to me, his tone softened. “Please. Are you Miss Pierson, the Emerald Heiress? I’ve . . . I’ve read about your work with the orphans, and I have tried everything in my power to see you. If I could just have one moment of your time, please.”
Lord Melbourne watched, as tense as a bowstring.
A lump rose in my throat, which I didn’t dare to swallow. I gave Edward a look of disdain before turning my back to him. “Isaac, dear heart, give that man a shilling or two, will you?”
Isaac’s horrified gaze swiveled my way, but I tightened my clutch on his arm, begging him to remove me. Seemingly bewildered, he fumbled around in his white waistcoat and withdrew two pound notes, which he crumpled into Edward’s pocket.
How I managed to escape, I know not. Tears weren’t enough. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream and rend my dress, but Isaac’s firm grip on my elbow kept me from anything other than a graceful exit.
Outdoors, scalding tears refused to stop as we stepped into the blinding fog. Thankfully, Isaac gathered me to him and with swift steps hastened me toward the carriage, back into the swirling mist.
HEARING ISAAC’S RAP on the door, I buried my face in a pillow to muffle the sound of my harsh weeping. But it was of no use. My shoulders heaved as my sobs deepened.
“Julia.” The door handle rattled; then Isaac rapped again. “Let me in.”
I turned over, hugging the pillow to my stomach, reliving the stricken look on Edward’s face as I turned my back toward him. It was worse than the one he wore the night I married Mr. Macy. I keened anew.
“Julia, please. Open the door,” Isaac said. Then his voice lowered as he spoke to someone else.
I closed my eyes, which burned. It was past three in the morning. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? I didn’t want him. I never wanted him again.
The lock on my door clicked, and I buried my face in the pillow as the door groaned. Two seconds later, the mattress sank as Isaac crawled onto my massive bed. Wet, sticky strands of hair were brushed from my cheeks and tucked behind my ear. “You’ve not stopped weeping since we’ve come home. Enough.”
I sobbed harder, turning my face into my curled fist.
He lifted me and tried to pull me to his chest, but I resisted. “Crying is not going to take it back; it’s not helping. I can help you, however.”
Trying to abate my tears, I finally looked at him. Earlier, after we’d left the opera, he’d refused to so much as glance at me as our carriage carried us home, whereas Eramus had openly gloated.
“Are you angry with me?”
Isaac rubbed his tired-looking eyes. “I was.” He leaned forward and pulled a shawl from a nearby chair, reminding me I wore only a thick chemise. “I wondered what sort of woman I was marrying. But since you’ve been unable to cease your tears, I see you had no desire to hurt Edward like that. Not even Kate can cry five consecutive hours.”
Empty, I looked over the chamber. The dress Miss Moray had spent hours primping lay on the floor, rent. In my haste to be removed from it, I had torn at it. One citrine and gold earring remained in my ear; the other I’d flung into the ashes, along with the choker.
The image of hurt gripping Edward’s face as I uttered those dreadful words came back, and I began to cry anew. “I’m lost, Isaac. I am so lost.”
“You are not lost.” He drew me to him and cradled me against his chest. “I have you in my keeping, and I know where we’re going.
”
I clung to his silk and velvet dressing gown, accepting the comfort of his embrace, if not his words. I’d seen the way Edward had glared at Isaac. They were enemies, and I was in the wrong arms. New sobs rose. What did any of it matter? I’d betrayed Edward in every way a person could.
“No!” Isaac gave me a small shake. “Collect yourself before your father finds me unchaperoned in bed with you. Even my influence doesn’t carry that far.” Isaac produced a handkerchief. “Here.”
I shook my head. I’d cried so long that even silk would irritate my eyes.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but the pounding of servants running down the hall alerted us. Isaac wasted no time disentangling himself from the covers and bed. My father’s heavy voice carried from the foyer as Isaac opened the door and slipped from my bedchamber.
I shut my eyes, praying he wasn’t spotted. Already the situation was more than I could endure. Was it possible for a person to become undone? Instead of my father’s ranting, however, I heard Isaac greet him as he started down the steps.
Weary, I removed my remaining earring, then leaned against the headboard. Isaac had calmed me but had not extracted the deep ache. Nothing ever would.
On the landing, I heard my father say, “Is she still awake?”
“Yes, sir. I just checked on her.”
The door opened and my father entered. His eyes narrowed as he took in my swollen nose and red-rimmed eyes. “What happened?”
Isaac shifted behind him. “Reverend Auburn was at the opera, sir.”
My father drew to his full height. “Julia, how shameful. You’re as good as married to Isaac. Control yourself.”
Isaac wedged himself between my father and the threshold in order to gain entrance to my room. “It wasn’t seeing Reverend Auburn, sir. He tried to speak with her, and she . . . she had to cut him.”
My father yanked off his silk scarf, his scowl relaxing. “Well, if he was foolish enough to approach her, then he deserved it. He knew better, Julia. You only did what you had to.”
Isaac frowned but didn’t dispute my father.
My father gave my face another glance, then flushed red. “It’s just a combination of nerves.” He came to my bedside and drew back one corner of the covers. “Too many things all combined into one night. Sleep now, Julia. Tomorrow you’ll stay home.” He waited until I slipped my feet into the cool pockets of the sheets, then looked thoughtful. “For the next week or two, I’ll keep you here.”
I set my teeth and silently accused him with my gaze. His decision had nothing to do with my welfare. He feared I would meet Edward again. We both knew it. I had sacrificed my happiness for him, and this was the height of our relationship?
“It works out well,” my father continued, ignoring my tacit assault and keying off my lamp. He backed toward the door. “With Eramus’s brash actions, I’d rather not keep their names paired. Rumor has it, he lost a fortune tonight at the tables.”
When I next opened my eyes, my room was filled with sun. I glanced at my gown, still crumpled on the floor, then realized that my father must have ordered Miss Moray to allow me to sleep without disturbances. Having no wish to see her either, I slid from the bed and saw to my own toilette.
Tears rose as I touched Edward’s pin. Though there wasn’t any hope for us now, I couldn’t bear the thought of becoming betrothed to Isaac the morning after betraying Edward. Pinning it on, I started down the steps.
Mr. Forrester emerged from the library as soon as my shoes clacked against the wooden floor. “Oh, it’s only you.” He lowered the open book with a sneer. “Young ladies shouldn’t wear hard-soled shoes. It’s unbecoming.”
“And old men shouldn’t try to have wit, for it reveals the depth of their stupidity!”
Mr. Forrester’s steps rang through the foyer. “If you had any sense, you’d confess your knowledge about what happened last night.”
I spun, despising him for daring to talk to me about the opera.
Mr. Forrester wrinkled his face in disgust. “So you did know. I knew you weren’t to be trusted. Get out of my sight.” He threw his book at me, but it sailed over my left shoulder.
Rage boiled over. I might have ruined my life, but I was done putting up with this buffoon. I ran, snatched up the book, and hurled it back. The corner hit him just above the eye.
“I hate you!” I screamed, picking up the closest object—a rare vase. I hurled it at Forrester, but he stepped aside and it smashed against the wall.
He scrambled to use the library door as a shield. “Here now! There’s no call for—”
I attempted to throw a bust of Caesar, but it was too heavy and landed with a thud near my feet. It cracked. I grabbed my father’s walking stick from where it rested against the table.
“Give me that!” Mr. Forrester left his sanctuary and lunged for the stick.
I swung at his head and missed just before Isaac’s face appeared over the second-floor banister. He took the stairs by threes and caught me from behind, wrapping strong arms about my waist, lifting me from my feet. “Julia. Stop this. Right now.”
When my anger broke, there was only grief. I sobbed anew as Mr. Forrester plucked the cane, midswing, and towered over me.
“What did you do to her?” Isaac screamed, pulling me close.
Mr. Forrester touched the forming goose egg on his head. “You’re taking her side? That banshee of yours tried to kill me. That’s what’s going on. I just proved once and for all she’s working for Macy. Where’s Roy? He’s going to hear this.”
“He’s out.” Isaac stepped away. His face burned with anger, and shaving lotion ran down his chin and neck. He lifted the front of his shirt, revealing a line of hair down his stomach as he wiped his face.
“Make him leave.” I pointed to Mr. Forrester. “Make him leave this house.”
Isaac wiped his eyes with his sleeve and repeated, “What did you do to her?”
“Has this entire household gone mad?” Mr. Forrester pointed at the shilling-size egg on his head with an exaggerated motion. “I’m the injured party here. Have I ever laid a hand on a woman? Do you really think that of me?”
“You threw the book at me.”
Mr. Forrester leaned near. “And I’m beginning to wish I had aimed.”
Isaac held up his hands for peace. “Julia, please. I cannot send Mr. Forrester away until I get to the bottom of this.” He wiped his neck again, frowning. “I’m hardly dressed for this conversation.” He turned and shouted, “James!”
“Sir?” He appeared so quickly it was clear he’d been eavesdropping.
“Take Julia to breakfast, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
In the dining room, James fussed over me, pouring tea, setting the fruit dish before me. He ignored Mr. Forrester’s request for coffee.
“Just wait until your father arrives.” Mr. Forrester shook out his napkin and grabbed a pear. “If he shies from beating you for that shameful display, I’ll volunteer.”
I stared at my plate, wondering where Edward was this morning and if he felt as heartbroken as I did.
Isaac entered wearing linens instead of silks, so I knew he had no plans to leave this morning. He took his seat and held his coffee cup between his hands. “James, tell Pierrick I want poached eggs with kippers and tomatoes. I’m not eating one of his blasted French breakfasts. Not this morning.”
“Have him send the croissants, though.” Mr. Forrester continued to probe the bump over his eye. “Bring plenty of preserves with those too.”
“I want both of your attention,” Isaac said, watching his cup as James poured coffee. “I want to know what happened. Julia, I’m allowing Forrester to speak first. I’m asking you to remain silent until he finishes.”
“I’ll talk when he leaves.” Mr. Forrester pointed to James, who took the hint and shut the doors. Mr. Forrester stood and leaned so far over the table, his frock coat touched our dishes. He selected the Times, the Morning Gazette, the Penny Po
st, and the Daily Tidings. “See the headlines? She knew Macy was going to set those fires but said nothing.”
I gave him a shocked look. “You can’t actually believe that.”
Isaac snorted and scanned the front page of the Times. “Of all the stupidity! Of course she had no knowledge. And for that matter, how do you even know it was Macy? Do you have proof?”
“She’s the proof. When I mentioned last night to her, you should have seen her face.”
Isaac’s expression suggested he found Mr. Forrester to be a half-wit. “I thought you were in the news business. How can you not know what’s truly upsetting her?”
Mr. Forrester wasn’t listening. “If it wasn’t the fire, why should she have a violent reaction because I said I knew about last night?”
“Isaac, he threw a book at me,” I cried, unable to sit silently.
“You deserve far worse.”
“You’re despicable and—”
“Julia, even if he refuses to, you will act genteel.” Isaac looked at Forrester. “We are at Lord Pierson’s table. We are not barbarians, we are not Americans, and every person here is capable of worthy conduct.”
“Did she send or receive any messages last night?” Mr. Forrester asked. “Find out that much.”
“She was at the opera with me.” Isaac’s voice was black.
James chose that moment to enter with a squeaky-wheeled cart.
“James, last night did Miss Pierson send or receive a message?” Mr. Forrester asked.
The pitying look James gave informed me he knew what had happened at the opera. He laid croissants on the table. “No, sir.”
Mr. Forrester folded his arms over the table and leaned forward. “Well, did anything out of the ordinary happen last night, James?”
James paused, and I held my breath. “Yes, sir, but I’ve been waiting to tell Master Isaac about it in private.”
“What is it?” Mr. Forrester demanded.
James nodded in my direction. “Sir, if I may request, I would rather not say with a lady present in the room.”
Mark of Distinction Page 33
