Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (41 page)

“Oh, how could you say such a thing out loud, and with the Emerald—I mean, Miss Pierson present.”

“Because it’s true. That’s why.” Dahlia poked her head above the fans one more time before continuing. “But if you ask me, he deserved it. Nearly fifteen years ago, he used to be engaged to Phoebe Poole, who is now Lady Marcus. She nearly took her life in despair when one day he suddenly dropped their engagement.”

I tried to mimic their pleased yet shocked expressions but felt suffocated.

“Her family tried to sue him, to force the marriage. In the end, he sent a large sum of money with a scathing letter naming her every fault, telling her he detested her and ordering her to stop writing.”

Scandalized expressions succeeded squeals. My father looked over at our group, smiling.

“Mr. Macy said something about you.” Dahlia hit my wrist with her fan, bringing me back to her. Mischief filled her eyes, so I deemed it was shocking.

“Stop teasing Miss Pierson.” Anna Knight took my arm, defending me.

“But I’m not. Did you not see me standing near him while he spoke to Mr. McKinnett? He says he’s half-considering divorcing his wife.” She waited until that shock settled. “I heard him distinctly say he might marry the Emerald Heiress since she lived in a convent most of her life and wouldn’t cause him problems. That’s when you walked in the room. Did you not see the look he gave her? He was quite taken.”

I felt as though I were falling from the highest building in
London. The advice Reynolds once gave me at Eastbourne on how to handle the rumors cycled back from memory.
“Act bothered that your time was wasted.”
I forced what I intended to be a patronizing smile, but it felt strangled.

“You ladies look to be in such interesting conversation.” Isaac’s voice came from behind me, and I felt his warm touch on my elbow. “I thought I’d come and learn for myself what the ado is about.”

Amorous eyes greeted him.

“We were telling Miss Pierson about Mr. Macy.” Dahlia rested her fan over her heart, giving him a flirtatious look.

“Ah.” Isaac never changed tone or expression. “The poor man’s story has been splashed all over the country. Do you not think we could allow him some peace?”

Their heads drooped as though shamed, but I could see they were still admiring him.

“Miss Pierson, some of my friends from Cambridge are present. I should very much like to introduce you.” Isaac addressed the girls. “If you’ll excuse us, please.”

With mixed feelings I left the circle.

“I saw your discomfort,” Isaac said. “I’m sorry it took so long to rescue you. I was stopped along the way. There are the friends I spoke of.” He pointed to three men, who immediately struck me as wellborn. From across the room, they bowed.

Pride shone over Isaac’s face as we neared. A knowing look passed between the gentlemen as we were introduced. I gave them tight smiles, wondering how my life had gotten me here.

The gentlemen gave Isaac nods of approval when they thought I wouldn’t notice. I looked toward the girls, who still tittered and whispered and giggled. I nodded to them, feeling trapped and unable to speak my own truths. I studied them, wondering if everyone in this room was caught up in a charade, and we were all only playing our parts.

“Miss Pierson, may I persuade you to play for us?” Lady Koop offered me a cup of tea.

I froze and looked at the instruments with dread. Then in my panic, I blurted out the worst possible thing. “Which instrument were you thinking of?”

Isaac reached out and accepted my teacup when I made no move to take it. “I fear Lord Pierson doesn’t approve of his daughter being placed on public display. I must forbid it.”

Eyebrows rose, and I stared at the delicate cup Isaac handed me. Did their shock stem from my father’s undue strictness or Isaac’s display of mastery over me? I felt heat flush my body. Or did they all suspect I couldn’t play?

“Well, then perhaps you will entertain us, Miss Knight,” Lady Koop managed, still giving Isaac and me a horrified look.

“Yes, ma’am. I’d be honored.” Anna rose, smothering her delight.

I sat back, suddenly grateful Isaac had joined me. He insisted that cigar smoke gave him headaches, becoming the only male present here.

Anna chose a large harp. When she looked at Isaac, a deep blush filled her cheeks. Her fingers plucked out a lyrical song, which her vocals made achingly beautiful. No one whispered or fluttered a fan until she finished; then lavish praise poured forth. She tentatively looked at Isaac for his approval.

He continued to cool his tea until he realized she kept looking expectantly at him. “Oh, pardon me, Miss Knight,” he finally said. “That was truly enchanting.”

She floated to her seat and clung to her sister’s hand, burying her head in her shoulder. Pity swelled in my heart. How long had she fancied Isaac? I stole a glance to judge his thoughts, but he’d already forgotten her and was staring at the clock, looking miserable.

Dahlia, however, glared at Anna with a shade of jealousy, then adjusted her skirts. “Miss Pierson, has your father set your wedding date? You are marrying Lord Dalry, are you not?”

No one looked in our direction, yet I read their secret pleasure that someone dared to ask the question out loud.

Sensing her intent was to wound Anna with her question, I scathed her with a look.

Isaac prodded me with his elbow, telling me to behave, but when he spoke, his voice was almost bored. “Soon we shall make our wedding date public, but not yet. Lady Koop, would you mind asking Miss Jameson to sing next? I’ve heard her voice is excellent but have not had the opportunity to judge for myself.”

That evening, as Isaac settled into the carriage, he beamed at me. “I cannot tell you how delighted I was to have you at my side!” He handed me back my fan and gloves. “My friends adored you.”

I smiled but could not accept his praise nor return his compliment. I disagreed with his assessment. And so I changed the conversation, mimicking what he’d done all night. “You are well received amongst the ladies.”

He wrinkled his nose and removed his hat to comb his fingers through his hair. “Yes. It’s rather strange, isn’t it, and even more awkward when they act so silly with you there. I assumed their attention would end this season, when they realized there is no chance I might be your father’s heir.”

I spread my gloves over my lap, feeling weary. “Well, at least you know it’s not your inheritance they’re after. That much is nice.”

He didn’t warm to my compliment as I intended. Instead he gave me a sharp look. “Is that what you think of me?”

There wasn’t time to answer, for my father climbed into the barouche and ordered the driver to start. As we passed the bonfires that dotted various streets, Isaac stared out the window
with a perturbed expression. For a mile, I refused to speak as well. It wasn’t as though I had asked for any of this. Yet when we passed from light to shadow, I couldn’t bear the tension.

“No, Isaac,” I said. “I don’t think that of you.”

“What’s this?” My father roused, sounding angry.

“It’s nothing, sir. She’s just finishing a private conversation we were having before you entered the carriage.”

Something must have unsettled my father at the party, because he snapped, “You dare disturb my peace for that? Julia, never again wait so long to answer a question. It’s positively ill-bred.” He turned his head. “Isaac, I didn’t ask you to answer for her. You’re acting just as uncouth as she is now.”

It is no easy task to write about that time in London. Those were the weeks when I silently screamed and screamed, unheard by anyone. I was drowned out by the busy rattle of carriages, the never-ending cries of street vendors, the murmur of voices, but most of all, the clamor for prestige.

I danced on numbed toes, wearing paper-thin smiles, carefully observing the faces around me. Each bite of my life tasted bitterer than the last. I moved through crowds, stammered through chitchat at soirees, and waltzed through ballrooms, wondering how long it would be before I choked.

The girls continued to intrigue me the most. They all seemed so adapted, content to be in my exact position—resigned to remaining under their fathers’ rule, happy to rely on the gentlemen for their fate. It was as though they’d forgotten how to run through meadows barefoot with blades of grass stuck to their legs, or lie outdoors at night beneath a star-filled sky with a friend like Elizabeth. It dawned on me once, as I stopped dancing and stood still amidst a swirling ballroom, that maybe they hadn’t forgotten—maybe they’d never known.

I wanted to believe that my life would be rectified—that I
would find my way back to Edward. But as each day passed, that hope became a guttered candle, sitting in a draft.

For the first time, I searched the Scriptures. My belief was intact before I began, for I did not doubt my experience. It was my trust that needed won. Therefore, I scoured them to learn what would happen if I surrendered.

Edward must have been drawn to the paradoxes and hard truths in Scripture, for he’d underlined the passages that bade children to obey their parents and triple-underscored the verses about remaining where you are called. I found little comfort there, yet other passages brought unexpected emotion and yearning. The idea of never being forsaken or alone again held me transfixed. Thankfully, Edward had mapped out and correlated those verses too.

Isaac watched, bemused, as I struggled through Edward’s Bible. The first time he saw me reading it, he studied its distinctive cover as if intuitively understanding it belonged to Edward. He spoke no word but gave a nod of approval and somehow seemed to relax at the sight.

Thereafter, he watched patiently from the outside as my brow knit in frustration. I noted that as I pored over those pages, Isaac would often pause his reading, his gaze lingering on me with a growing respect and admiration. To his credit, he never commented, though I am certain he longed to. I refused to ask him questions. By then, I relied on him for every area of my life—relationship with my father, connection to the staff, and support during our outings. Furthermore, our shared existence had only served to heighten our friendship and attachment. I grew to love him fiercely, but only as a brother. To make him my spiritual mentor, too, was more than I was willing to yield, for that was Edward’s rightful role. Somehow I felt that seeking Isaac’s aid on that subject would tip the last domino of my resistance to marrying him.

Those of you familiar with my story may wonder how Eramus
fit into that season of my life. He was there, on the fringes. My father disliked him, but not nearly as intensely as Isaac did.

Eramus might have set me loose into society, but he benefitted little from my popularity.

For several weeks, he’d turn up at the same functions, but Isaac always steered us clear of him or insisted we leave early. It wasn’t until Lady Beatrice complained, in early February, that my father ordered me to write Eramus a note, telling him he might be my escort for the next fortnight.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind, son?” My father adjusted the hood of my velvet opera mantle around the ringlets Miss Moray had piled over my shoulder. “Eramus isn’t taking her far, and I could use you tonight.”