Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (13 page)

His lip swollen, James pulled at his ripped velvet greatcoat, then climbed aboard the carriage. Neither Kate nor I spoke but sat clutching each other’s hands. I ceased to watch the activity until we reached the richer section. Here the air felt less oppressive. Instead of shops, clusters of houses were lit. Bobbies walked the streets in lesser numbers. When the carriage halted, I breathed relief that we’d safely made it.

The door jerked open. To my surprise, my father stood outside. With an ungloved hand, he reached in and touched my cheek. Even in the dark, I could see relief replacing the fear in his eyes. He looked me over from head to toe before reaching out both hands to aid my descent. Fury filled his features as he faced the box seat. “What street did you take?”

“The same as you, sir.” The coachman alighted, rocking the carriage. “Only we were stuck at a crossing with cattle between us.”

“Could you not have gone around them?”

“Not if I was to take the exact streets as you ordered, sir.”

My father’s fierce look stole my breath. “When I entrust my sole child to your care, I expect better than that performance!”

The coachman turned his hat in his hands, not daring to look up. “Next time, sir, should I disobey your orders, then?”

“Are you questioning me?”

The poor man rubbed his balding spot, opening and closing his mouth.

I flinched at my father’s outrage, even while another part
of me thrilled that he’d been worried. I tapped his arm. “He couldn’t help it. There were cattle—”

My father’s ire turned on me. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

“If I may interject?” Lord Dalry stepped toward us, his voice serenity itself. “All’s well that ends well, sir. Your daughter is here, safe and sound. Hudson, thank you for your service. You did well to heed Lord Pierson’s exact instructions.”

My father glared a second longer at the coachman, then forcibly moved me toward Lord Dalry. “Take her indoors. Do not leave her side until all the baggage has been unloaded, the servants counted, and the doors locked.”

“Sir, I hardly think the precaution—”

“Isaac, now!”

Lord Dalry caught my father’s attention and nodded in my direction. “You asked me to remind you.”

My father’s brows knit, and he looked as though his temper was near giving way, but then he ran his fingers through his hair, looking awkward. “Julia, in London I’m a busy man; nonetheless, we should become acquainted. Would a nightly meeting work with your schedule?”

I still hadn’t recovered from the sting of having been yelled at; therefore I didn’t trust the sudden change. I felt my brow wrinkle as I tried to work out whether I wanted to agree to his plan or not.

My father frowned, deepening his jowl lines, as he shot Lord Dalry a look that asked what he was doing wrong.

Lord Dalry stepped forward. “What do you say to designating a time, sir?”

My father eyed him as if not trusting his take on the situation. “Fine. Ten. Now take her inside, Isaac.” Lord Dalry looked about to speak, but my father leaned in our direction, his voice a low growl. “Now, Isaac, now! I want her out of sight immediately!”

Lord Dalry placed his hand beneath my elbow but turned to
the carriage. “James, escort Kate and find the housekeeper. Ask her to allow my sister to wait in her chambers until I’m finished.”

Lord Dalry ushered me toward the house, and I drew in a stunned breath as I viewed my father’s London residence. The immense structure stood at least three stories high. Its breadth matched its height. Gabled roofs angled over every corner and stuck out past tall brick chimneys. My father apparently wasn’t afraid of the window tax, for his house boasted casements even below street level. My breath caught as I wondered exactly how rich my father was to be able to afford an estate as expansive as Maplecroft in the country and a house this size in the city. I clutched my skirt and turned in time to see an open carriage draw to the curb and stop.

Three men rose and tipped their hats at my father with solemn expressions.

“Who are they?” I asked, feeling mild panic. “What do they want?”

Lord Dalry glanced over his shoulder and laughed a wondrous, clear laugh. “Oh no! And your father wanted to keep our being in London a secret. Those men are our staunchest supporters. Each one hopes to be on my cabinet if I become prime minister.” His voice lowered. “They actually believe I’ll allow your father to choose my cabinet. Their obeisance is vain; nevertheless, commit their faces to memory, for you’ll see them often and need to recognize them.”

I dropped my skirt, too stunned to speak. “Prime minister?”

Lord Dalry looked all astonishment and halted. “Did you not know our aim?”

I felt my nose wrinkle. “But . . . you’re not old enough!”

His laugh was genuine. “Well, I was rather hoping time would amend that problem.”

Confused, I glanced back at my father. “I don’t understand. Why would you do this, then? Why would either of you risk such consequences by pretending I’m his daughter?”

“Because you are. Now if you’ll please follow me. He’ll have my head if we remain on this stoop one more minute.” Lord Dalry urged me up the stairs.

The moment we stepped inside, I felt my fate change.

Some sort of hidden magic seemed to rise from the streets of London, through the brick and cobblestone, and into this mansion. Entranced, I took a few steps forward. A fireplace of hewn stone—fashioned to look like a castle, complete with turrets—warmed the entrance hall. Dark polished staircases ascended on both my right and my left. The vestibules of the second and third stories could be viewed behind ornate spindles, so that a person could stand on the third floor and look down on the second and entrance hall. From our vantage point, I saw room after room spilling from behind arched doorways. The walls were a mixture of bold colors and Gothic stone.

“I knew you would feel it too,” Lord Dalry said. “I knew it.”

I felt too amazed to speak.

“Your father could have afforded a house on Park Lane, but he chose Audley because of this house. The housekeeper didn’t get notice of our arrival, so your bedchamber is being readied even now. While we wait, I’ll show you the library, where you’ll meet nightly with your father.”

“Why didn’t the notice arrive? What could have waylaid it?”

Lord Dalry shrugged. “It happens occasionally.”

“It shouldn’t,” I pressed, wondering if Macy could have intercepted it. “Who was responsible for overseeing it?”

His shoulders lifted, as if such a detail were of little concern, before I was distracted from the thought by an agitated voice crying behind me. “Josephine!”

I spun and beheld an ancient man, who, with shaking hands and feeble steps, reached out for me. Cold hands clutched mine. Tears streamed from his cataract-clouded eyes. “You’ve finally returned.”

“This is not Lady Josephine, Kinsley.” Lord Dalry placed a
steadying hand on my shoulder. “This is her granddaughter, Julia.”

“No.” The man tightened his grip, looking angry. “’Tis Josephine. I would know her anywhere.”

Lord Dalry didn’t argue. “She’s had a long journey and needs time to recuperate.”

“Shall I have your special tea made?” Kinsley asked me.

I nodded and smiled, sensing he needed some reassurance from me. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.”

Chuckling to himself, the man pattered away. Lord Dalry went as far as the end of the hall, watching the old man’s progress for a full minute. When he turned, his brow was creased with grief.

“Wh-who is that?” I asked.

“Kinsley, the London butler.”

“He manages to run a household?”

Lord Dalry swallowed as though burying sorrow. “No. Yes.” Sadness tinged his voice. “Your father is going to take this news hard. Will you please allow me to inform him of what just transpired? It would be better coming from me in private.”

I agreed, glad not to have the duty, as Lord Dalry directed me toward a stairwell on the right. Beneath the stairway, there was a small door, just large enough to enter, but once past the alcove, it opened to a vast room.

Glowing lamps welcomed us, their light reflecting off the wood. Massive mahogany shelves, protruding in rows, held volumes of calfskin books with gilded words. Buttoned sofas with fringed pillows filled the sitting area. Warm light brightened the space, making it as lovely as anything I’d encountered before. I stepped to a large desk situated near the fire and ran my hand over its smooth surface. The clean scent of linseed oil greeted me. This house had a more magical effect than Eastbourne. For some reason, I felt free, almost on the verge of a faerie tale.

It was then that I first noticed the glint of quince yellow,
bright blues, and aqua greens in a small painting. The bright colors so greatly contrasted with the sober hues in the other artwork that I felt compelled to cross the chamber in order to study it.

Further inspection heightened the art’s impertinence. Clearly this artist’s work was nothing like the other prodigies that hung in their grandiose frames.

But it was the subject matter that held me mesmerized. It contained a single sunflower, off center, showing a blue-green center. The petals blazed like the sun, uncontainable and free. I stood riveted, sensing the wild soul of the artist. I was so captivated, I touched one of the fiery petals before noticing the initials at the bottom:
LC
.

A chill tingled through my arms as I stared at the first letter and realized the painting was Mama’s. I knew the distinctive way she looped her
L
s. And her maiden name was Cames. I had once seen it scrawled in a book.

I stared, frozen. How was it possible that Mama had once been a painter? The idea was so ludicrous. I wanted Elizabeth or Edward there so I could show them this impossibility.

Then sadness engulfed me as I lifted my gaze to the blazing petals. There had been so much passion, so much life. What could have quenched her soul?

“Your father,” Lord Dalry said, approaching, “can stare at that painting for hours.”

“Where did he get it?”

He shrugged, giving Mama’s nonesuch only a casual glance. “Bath, I believe?”

I considered telling him it was my mother’s work, but then decided against it. I liked having knowledge about my father that he did not.

“Here, may we sit and talk?” Lord Dalry asked when I’d been silent a minute. “I’m anxious to open a certain subject that I wish to be frank with you about. Please, be seated.”

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from the work. I glanced at the couches, having no desire to talk. A day in the carriage with Kate was nearly as trying as one with Mrs. Windham.

I glanced at the door but decided it was better to have whatever he wanted to discuss over all at once, like swallowing a spoonful of castor oil. I dropped to one of the couches.

His eyes widened, giving me a dart of satisfaction. Likely, Henry would have snickered too, that my plopping onto a couch had tongue-tied this proper gentleman.

Giving his trousers a slight tug, Lord Dalry took the seat, but for a minute he did nothing other than look thoughtful. “Your father asked me to discuss with you the terms of this . . .” His mouth moved as if he were tasting the word before releasing it. “This . . . arrangement.”

I narrowed my eyes, not following him.

He spread his hands. “On the night you arrived, I fear I may not have fully appreciated how matters would turn out. I assumed, of course, that by the week’s end, Mr. Macy would be exposed and an investigation launched. But as it turns out, the evidence was stolen and your father had to make some hard decisions.”

I waited, knowing he’d expound.

“Had your father managed to expose Mr. Macy, we could have easily handled the few people who learned about you and, with some slight embarrassment, swept this entire affair beneath the carpet, allowing you to return to your prior life.”

My mouth dried. “And now?”

He paused, reminding me of the way the apothecary hesitated before revealing his opinion that Mama had committed suicide. “Our efforts to expose Mr. Macy were vain, leaving your father in a rather difficult position to know how to protect you. He decided upon a rather bold campaign, and, as such, he has declared to the newspapers that his legitimate daughter has recently returned home from finishing school.”

I nodded, as this was not a surprise to me.

“I don’t think you fully grasp what I’m saying.” He leaned forward. “Consider the implication of what it means to be Lord Pierson’s daughter. In order to keep you from Macy, this is no halfhearted effort. This alters everything.”

I kept my gaze fastened on him, not certain what gravity he waited for me to discover.

“Think upon what it means to be the sole child of Lord Pierson and what the next step would be,” he prompted. “You’re an heiress, just returned home from school. Everything you do is now a matter of politics with a vast fortune connected to it.”

I placed my hand over my bodice, unwilling to even allow my mind to go there. I shook my head. “No. This is a temporary arrangement only!”

“Yes, well, that brings us to my point. There’s no undoing a measure like this. Before your father took this step, he wrote to ensure he had my full support.”

I opened my mouth to demand that he take his words back, but instead kept shaking my head. If I was truly the daughter of a peer, debuting and finding a husband was the expected next step. Which meant that my father had written Lord Dalry beforehand to ensure that the gentleman in question would marry me.

The concept was so jarring that angry tears rose in my eyes. Lord Dalry was saying something, but the words dissipated around me in a murmur. I held out my hand for quiet, wishing he would disappear too, so that I could think.

I tried to recall exactly what I’d overheard my father and Mr. Forrester discussing that first night. Yes, I had gathered that they’d failed to entrap Macy, but what on earth made my father assume I’d be his pawn? It was one thing to act as though I were legitimate within his own household, but quite another to carry it through among the elite and powerful.