Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (46 page)

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.

“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.