Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (16 page)

“WELL, SHE’S KEPT her end of the bargain and then some.” The following morning, my father threw the
Times
of London on the table, placed his elbows over the front page, and rubbed his eyes. Dust filled the morning slants of sun that fell over his back. He turned toward Lord Dalry, exposing the silver threading the hair near his temples. “She knows we’re not prepared to handle this.”

Lord Dalry set his fork down, clinking the crystal saltcellar, something akin to a frown marring his normally placid features. “Handle what, sir?”

Ignoring him, my father seized the paper, scowled, then tossed it in my direction. Kate’s eyes widened with curiosity as I leaned forward to retrieve it and flattened it over my lap. The front page read:

EMERALD HEIRESS TO BE INTRODUCED

London is most pleased to welcome the return of her beloved son Lord Pierson and anxiously awaits the forthcoming of his
daughter, Miss Julia Pierson. We are pleased to report that last night, after a lengthy and heartfelt isolation, Lady Beatrice Kelsey and Miss Pierson were reunited with much mutual affection and pleasure. The shadow of Lady Pierson’s death marred their otherwise-joyous reunion, and many tears were shed as grandmother and granddaughter sought solace together. This matriarch and gentle lamb have endured a grievous and long separation, and while it remained necessary to sequester the girl, who is perhaps England’s richest heiress, from fortune seekers, Lord Pierson finally yielded to the relentless pleas of Lady Beatrice Kelsey and brought his most guarded treasure back to her native soil.

With no direct male heir left in the Pierson line, Miss Pierson stands to inherit a vast birthright, consisting of four estates; a London home; African emerald mines; holdings in India, which include three tea plantations; and numerous other profitable ventures. Lady Beatrice Kelsey hints at a possible attachment between her nephew Mr. Eramus Calvin and her granddaughter; however, equally trusted sources inform us to keep a close watch on Lord Dalry. We find it noteworthy that Lord Dalry’s sister has been chosen as Miss Pierson’s sole travelling companion. Thankfully, we shall not wait long to resolve for ourselves which young gentleman, if either, is favored by Miss Pierson. Lady Beatrice has set her presentation at court to be in three weeks. She has informed us that her granddaughter will likewise make her first public appearance that night, during Lady Northrum’s ball scheduled for the 30th of November, which Lord Pierson has generously offered to now host. London, we are pleased to predict that we have found the toast of the Season.

Three weeks!
The season wouldn’t even start for another two months. I folded the dreadful words, wishing I could so easily rid myself of this state of affairs. Not only had London learned that my father intended for me to wed, but so would Edward. I lowered the paper with disgust.

“What is it?” Lord Dalry asked, sounding alarmed.

“Such a long face for someone who just discovered her worth.” My father glowered at me, then yanked the paper from my fingers. He handed it to Lord Dalry, then tapped his broad fingers against the table, waiting for his protégé to finish.

Lord Dalry wore his urbane expression as he read the article. The slow ticking of the mantel clock carefully measured the passing seconds of silence, each one lasting longer than the previous.

This situation had turned into nothing short of disaster. Surely, I reasoned, somewhere Mr. Macy leisured over breakfast, reading this very article. I eyed the stack of papers placed at my father’s side, wondering which one Mr. Macy had used to plead for information for my whereabouts. I knew better than to ask.

Across the table, Lord Dalry lifted a brow, making me wonder if he’d reached the part with his name.

“Well?” My father cut the silence.

Lord Dalry lowered the newspaper and slowly folded it. “This is quite a bit sooner than expected. I daresay her ladyship is punishing us.”

Kate stretched out her hand. “May I see too?”

Lord Dalry studied me as he passed the paper to his sister.

“Can you have my daughter ready on time?”

“It’s not an issue of her performance.” The tightening of the muscles around Lord Dalry’s mouth was the only visible sign of his stress. “But rather whether she’ll be sufficiently recovered from prior events.”

Beneath the table, I bunched my scarlet skirt into my clammy fists, recalling the words my father had spoken our first night here:
“She’ll be wed before the finish of the season.”

“Time heals all wounds, Isaac,” was my father’s dry reply.

My chest heaved in silent protest.

“It’s scarcely been a month—”

“I’m not discussing this.” My father’s voice rose, as did
his color. “The sooner her engagement is settled, the better. Besides, this isn’t your decision; it’s mine.”

Lord Dalry’s eyes narrowed. “I beg to differ—”

“Isaac?” Kate’s horrified whisper interrupted their conversation.

Lord Dalry shot his sister a warning glance. “Not now, Kate.”

Paling, she set down the paper. “But did you read it all?” She met her brother’s eye with a look of horror, making me wonder what she’d seen that I hadn’t. “It mentions—”

“Kate!” Lord Dalry’s voice rang sharp. “We’ll discuss this later.”

A cool anger glinted in my father’s eyes. “Am I to expect interruption at my own table every morning?”

“She’ll not interrupt again, sir,” Lord Dalry stated.

“See that she doesn’t.”

I gripped the edge of the table as I considered just how precarious my situation was. The fact that my father could act indulgent with Kate one moment and be impatient the next didn’t speak well.

Before I could sort out how this would affect me, the door opened and James poked his head inside. “Excuse me, sir, but a carriage has arrived from Lady Beatrice. Her driver says she expects your daughter within the next quarter hour.”

My father’s face grew dusky. “Take that silver platter, James; go to the stable yard and collect the freshest pile of—”

“Sir!” Lord Dalry winced as if picturing it. “Be reasonable. We still need her sponsorship.”

My father gestured to the morning paper. “If that woman wants to play games, we’ll play games. She can’t very well back out now. After that jugglery, let’s allow her time to stew on whether or not she’ll be humiliated alongside us.”

“Honestly, sir.”

My father sat ensconced in his chair like a fabled god. Tall, strong, immovable. But I saw through the illusion and despaired.

ONE OF THE MOST jagged paths I know is that of rebuilding a life that has been completely riven. Few understand the difficulty of such a task. Not everyone will understand my actions on paper, even though it is the human experience.

That first morning, after gaining a clearer view of my father, I quietly withdrew and sought a private space for myself. I had long been in the habit of seeking solitude in which to work out solutions. It has ever been my personality not to speak, or act, before I have devised a plan. In addition, my soul required release after tragedy—and tragedy I’d already had in full measure.

As I left the breakfast chamber, heaviness gathered in my chest, denser and weightier than stone. I needed to vent the ferment. I needed to cry as desperately as I needed air. And for that I wanted privacy.

Generally a person can collect himself without such extreme measures, especially the elite. Though I’d not been raised in that sphere, had I been given enough time between catastrophes to adjust and heal, I believe I might have carried myself more nobly.

The past eight months of my life, however, had contained one blow after another. The fact that Mama had been murdered was enough to make any person reel emotionally; never mind that I’d married the man responsible. Add to the equation the heartbreak of being separated from Edward, the longing for Elizabeth and Henry, and the fact that I’d just lost my identity by telling Her Majesty’s government a falsehood.

It was none of these concerns, however, that drove me to seek time alone. I’d seen enough to make me believe my father would trample me underfoot, and much as I loathed agreeing with Lady Beatrice, it seemed she was right that no one’s welfare mattered to my father except his own.

That was what I wished to mentally address, but each time I tried to logically map out how to contend with it, my desire to cry became so sharp that I couldn’t focus. To be able to think again, I needed to purge some of the pain.

I checked the nearest room, fearing Kate would follow me if I didn’t disappear quickly enough. Near the entrance, I found a chamber that looked unused. A table with ornate legs sat in the middle of the space, with an upholstered green velvet chair behind it and two others on its flanks.

Hearing Kate’s voice emerge from the breakfast chamber, I slipped inside.

I waited near the door until all voices and footsteps receded. Then, convinced I was alone, I sank into a chair, covered my mouth, and silently keened.

To my dismay, within three minutes, footsteps sounded outside the door. It was too late to do more than swipe my cheeks. The door opened to reveal Lord Dalry and Kate, who both gaped to find me crying.

“Must I trip over a Dalry everywhere I go?” I shouted, dabbing my eyes with my shawl. “Are the pair of you incapable of leaving a body alone for ten minutes!”

Kate’s face went from sunshine to storm before it crumpled
and she, too, burst into tears. She turned and fled down the hall, her hard-soled shoes clattering toward the back of the house.

Lord Dalry hesitated, seemingly torn as to which one of us to pursue; then with a slight sigh, he slipped into the chamber and shut the door. He divested his waistcoat of a silken handkerchief, which he extended toward me.

All at once, I felt contrary. No, more than contrary. I felt positively obstinate. I’d had enough of him and my father. I made movement to rise, but before I found my feet, he spoke.

“I know this may be difficult to accept, Miss Pierson, but I truly am your friend. When you’ve been hurt enough, it’s not always easy to tell the difference between those who wish you harm and those who intend you good. But I am on your side. So is your father.”

I scoffed before I could help it. “There you are wrong. I mean nothing to my father!”

His astonishment could not have been more complete. “I grant you,” Lord Dalry said slowly, tugging on his trouser legs as he took a seat, “your father is acting a bit surly, but certainly you can make allowances, considering the direness of the situation we’re currently—”

“A bit surly?” My voice closed in on itself. “That man cares for no one except himself! He is selfish, mean, and a bully.”

Lord Dalry angled his head, assessing me. “I fear you do not yet understand your father, Miss Pierson.”

“Oh, I understand him! I can see him exactly as he is.”

“Can you?” His voice held a mild rebuke. “Because I am looking at a very different portrait. When I look at your father, I see someone who risked his life and reputation to shelter his daughter, which I find courageous. I see a man who stepped into the path of one of London’s most notorious criminals, despite the high risk. I see a man willing to accept the anger and wrath of Lady Beatrice to gain sanctuary for you.”

His views were so disjointed from my own, my tears dried as I stared at him.

“I also see a scarred and broken man, one who needs healing as desperately as his daughter obviously does. Lastly, I see a man who fears to love his daughter, who fears facing his past failures.”

His speech was jarring. It reawakened desire and unleashed hope that I feared to accept. “He told you that?”

Lord Dalry frowned slightly, then rubbed behind his ear. “Not directly. Call it an innate ability, if you will. I’ve always been able to see people as they were intended to be—not merely who they are now, but what their full potential is. Your father has the capacity to be one of the greatest men in my acquaintance.” Lord Dalry leaned forward, making certain our gazes met. “If I may remind you, you did seek his protection, did you not? Was it truly your life that was disrupted or his?”

I stared at the fire, wrestling with this new concept. Some of what he said made sense, but I needed time to examine it for the flaws.

“Imagine the insult it would be to your father to learn that his daughter left the breakfast table in order to sit alone in a parlor to cry, when he’s offering you all that he has to give.”

I viewed my hands, badly wanting to believe him.

“You are the one choosing your own unhappiness just now,” Lord Dalry said. “If you wish, I will leave you here to your melancholy, but you are the
daughter
of Lord Pierson. It is not fitting for you to weep here. I hope that instead you will put aside tears and allow me to see you to the library, where your father has tasks he wishes to assign to you.”

He rose, expressionless, and studied me as if waiting to see if I would willingly join him.

My nose tingled and felt runny as I stared. To be frank, I wasn’t certain what to think. But before I could fashion a sensible thought, the doorknob rattled, followed by a pounding fist.