Born of Persuasion (10 page)

“Well, have the goodness, at least, to tell me whether or not it’s a gentleman,” Mrs. Windham demanded, frantically signalling for Elizabeth to continue smiling.

Before more could be said, Edward entered, securing gold cuff links to formal attire. His jaw tight, his gaze darted over the room’s occupants, stopping on me before proceeding to Lady Auburn.

“Mother.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “May I join tonight’s dinner?”

I shut my eyes to regain composure, so I only heard Lady Foxmore thwack her cane as Edward’s footfall struck the floor behind me. “So, you’ve finally decided to come back from the dead, have you, boy?”

“Not yet,” was Edward’s measured reply. “Although someday I intend to. Lady Foxmore. Mr. Greenham.”

“Do not presume to greet me, Edward.” Lady Foxmore’s words were sharp. “There is no excuse for interrupting a conversation. I suppose you’re fishing for an introduction to the girl so you can try to save her soul next.”

Edward said nothing but stooped, placing his hand on my
elbow. “No, Juls,” he whispered in my ear, using his pet name for me. “You’re not sitting on a stool, not in my house.” Then louder, looking directly at Lady Foxmore, “I need no introduction to Julia. I daresay she has a far stronger claim on me than anyone else here, thank you.”

Were he not supporting my elbow, I should have doubted my ability to stand. The shocked silence intensified as Edward led me near the door and took his stance next to me.

My face burned. Edward’s use of my first name combined with his speech was as good as an announcement of our betrothal. With a sternness I’d never seen him exhibit, he returned their stares, one by one, with a glower of his own.

“Well, Edward,” Lady Foxmore said, recovering first, “you certainly are amusing, if nothing else.” Turning to Lady Auburn, she said, “Perhaps you’d best start dinner, dear.”

Lady Auburn seemed unable to move. Wide-eyed, she clutched her husband’s arm, her gaze circling between Edward and me.

When his parents did nothing, Edward presented me his arm. “May I have the honor?” He nodded to the footman to open the door. During that short walk to the dining room, there was little I could say or do with everyone watching except construct a mask and retreat behind it.

Candlelight bedecked the room we entered. A mahogany table, easily large enough to accommodate thirty, was lavished with china, fine linens, and crystal. Green boughs decorated the mantel, filling the chamber with the fragrance of spruce.

Within a few minutes, curls of steam, laced with scents of lemon, thyme, and sherry, escaped from the tureen carried in by the butler. While the footman ladled soup, Edward sat rigid, staring at his soup bowl with such intensity it was a marvel the fragile china did not crumble.

“Well, boy,” Lady Foxmore eventually said, tearing apart bread, “no one wants to inquire why it is that you are so familiar
with Miss Elliston. By and by, we shall uncover this mystery, but not just yet. Give us at least the first course. In the meantime, since you stole the conversation before dinner even started, have the decency to supply us with a new one.”

He lifted his head as if with great effort. “Dinner conversation? You want dinner conversation?” He glanced over the table occupants and settled on Lady Foxmore. “This very moment I was thinking of how callous we are, to gather and eat seven courses, when less than a mile from here, six cottager’s children shall go to bed with empty stomachs.”

Lord Auburn stirred, his cheeks ruddy with anger. “Son.”

“Remain with us awhile longer, Miss Elliston.” Lady Foxmore pointed her spoon at Edward. “That one is full of dreary statements nowadays. Only take care he doesn’t steal your appetite. You’re too thin as is.”

Edward seemed to recall me and looked at my untouched food. Compunction softened his features. “No, not you,” he whispered. “Eat, Juls.”

Lady Foxmore laughed outright. “You disappoint, Edward, for I refuse to believe you remain unaware of her heritage. Why is the atheist allowed to eat unharassed?”

“Leave her be.” Edward took up his wineglass. “At least she does not claim to embrace Christ while ignoring his teachings, as most here do.”

Both Lord and Lady Auburn stared anew at me, and I saw they were puzzling out my name. In an effort to compose myself, I placed my hand over my bodice. My father was notorious for retaining his composure while under attack. Yet I knew I’d lose steadiness of mind should anyone mention the other scandalous topics my father wrote about.

Lady Foxmore’s eyes twinkled as if reading my thoughts, but she took mercy and steered the conversation elsewhere. “Edward, I insist you come along the next time I go to Bath. You may make all the dreary statements you wish. Indeed, I hope
you’ll preach at us as we dine, rend your clothing as we dance, and at the opera, you can stand upon your seat and call down fire and brimstone. My friends pay well for their amusement. I personally promise a thousand pounds if you convert one, or even one of their servants.”

Edward turned deaf, his eyes not so much as flickering in her direction as he returned his attention to his soup bowl.

Lady Foxmore chuckled as she salted her soup. “Tell me, boy, by any chance am I correct in assuming that all six of those starving children drank tea today?”

Edward’s head reared up. “And what has that to do with anything?”

Satisfied that he’d taken her bait, she made him wait until she’d set down her salt spoon. “With such a high duty on tea and sugar, one would hope they’d forgo the pleasure and buy food instead.”

“You know full well—” his voice held a cold fury—“they’re buying your secondhand leaves.” He grated his mother next with his gaze. “As they do yours, madam.”

“Yet,” Lady Foxmore persisted, “if they were truly starving, a little gruel should prove more useful. As far as your demands we give away our used leaves, I never shall. I do not condone the waste. During the tea hour, every field and every garden is empty, and for what? So they can sit, doing nothing?”

Edward clenched his teeth, though his voice sounded calm. “You take the only respite offered them in their miserable, unhappy lives—the only hour they gain a moment’s rest from backbreaking labor, and you dare to condemn them for it?”

Lord Auburn leaned forward, seemingly ready to unleash a rebuke, but Lady Foxmore held up a hand for peace. “When it steals my guests’ appetites because their children starve, yes.”

Edward fell silent, casting his gaze back upon his empty bowl. To anyone who knew him less well, it might have seemed he had no argument in reply, but I knew he was too angry for words.

“Well,” Lady Foxmore said after an awkward silence, “are we empty of conversation so soon? How delightful. Dare I ask you to try again?”

A bell jangled in the hall, as though someone were clamoring on it with all his might.

Edward cringed, shutting his eyes.

“What’s this? Surely we are not expecting more visitors.” Lady Foxmore turned to Lady Auburn. “Who dares to call upon you at this hour in such vulgarity?”

“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth. “It’s almost as vulgar as waking someone in the dead of night for a mere trifle.”

Mrs. Windham tittered, while Lord Auburn glared at Edward. Less than a minute later, his accusation was confirmed by the appearance of a footman slipping into the chamber to bend over Edward.

“Sir.” He breathed as if able to feel his master’s displeasure boring into his back. He presented a soiled note between our chairs. “I beg pardon, but this just arrived.”

For a moment, it seemed Edward would not pick up the paper, but then, moving as if he had to break invisible ropes tying his arms to the chair, he took up the note.

“Thank you, John.” Edward met the footman’s eye before unfolding the page.

With everyone else’s attention focused on Edward, I finally had my first opportunity to study him myself. His face, though hard and set like flint, also revealed strain. Lines of worry etched his brow. He blinked tired eyes as though he fought valiantly to force them to remain open. His hands were not the smooth white I remembered, but were stained, nicked, and scarred. Even his shoulders drooped with fatigue. I doubted he’d have looked more battered had he been drawn out of the sea after being cast adrift for days.

Compassion stirred me, and I understood Henry and Elizabeth’s compulsion to stop him. If he continued this
madness, he’d work himself into an early grave. Were we alone, I’d have implored him to fill his stomach and then stretch before the fire to sleep with his head upon my lap, where I could guard his slumber from interruption.

“Has something happened?” Lady Foxmore asked. “Worthy enough to disturb dinner?”

Edward nodded, then crumpled the paper, his features tight.

“Well, what is it? I demand to know.” Lady Foxmore set down her spoon with a clatter. “I may have made you vicar, but this is still my parish.”

“An infant died at the workhouse.” His tone was hollow as he placed his napkin on the table. “If I may be excused.”

“Lovely.” Lady Foxmore beckoned her soup to be removed. “Starving cottagers and dying infants. I’d rather forgotten how delightful your company was. ’Tis a pity you don’t join us more often. Honestly, Edward, if the child is dead, what difference is another hour or two? My last incumbent never even held services for those under the age of eighteen, much less tramped through a stormy night to mark their passing.”

“Yes, and so the sheep were scattered because there was no shepherd.” Edward rested his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, as if trying to summon the energy to rise from his chair. “Was it not you who instructed me on the sacred duty of tending this flock?”

Lady Foxmore snorted. “Bosh. It was the standard speech I give all incumbents. Unless you have a particular tie to the bastard child—one strong enough to compel you to venture out into this muck—remain. I wish you here. It’s not as though this were an uncommon occurrence.”

I hadn’t thought it possible for Edward’s appearance to grow more austere, but it did. “My tie to that babe is no more and no less than that of any other member of my parish. Shall I so easily break troth with them in order to dine with you?”

“Me?” Lady Foxmore spread her bejewelled hands in mock
surprise. “Well, now I am flattered, indeed! And here I thought it was that scrawny girl sitting there who lured you back to civilization.” She clutched the ermine mantle at her throat, her voice deepening with anger. “At least you’ll find that I am free from paltering. I shall be direct. Be aware, Edward, I summoned the girl in order to judge for myself whether I’ll allow her to marry Hugh Kellie—for you know, do you not, that he’s agreed to wed her for the dowry Mrs. Windham is offering?”

Edward, it appeared, did not know. His countenance grew so still, so severe, he could have been a statue of Mars. Even Elizabeth drew back in her seat.

“Have no fear on that account.” Lady Foxmore dipped the tips of her fingers in her finger bowl. “No one here likes Hugh Kellie, least of all me. I have decided to replace her matchmaker with myself. This scarecrow of a girl promises quite a career and requires an equally extraordinary chaperone. Already she’s managed the feat of reintroducing you into society, and she has utterly captivated Mr. Greenham, has she not, John?”

The silent giant roused long enough to give her a scathing look.

“Well, she has,” Lady Foxmore said with humor. “He just has yet to discover it. So, Edward, will you really so willingly abandon your lady to me?”

I scrunched my skirt as once more the company’s shocked stares focused on me.

“You waste your breath,” Edward eventually said to Lady Foxmore, rising. “Only a fool would invest further trust in you.”

“Edward!” Lord Auburn rose in rebuke to his son.

“Father—” Edward bowed—“if you’ll excuse me.”

His hand skimmed the top of my chair as he left the room while I sat mute in disbelief. Through the closed door, I heard him bid a servant to have his coat and Wellingtons fetched.

“Go bring him back.” Lady Auburn looked at her husband. “There is nothing he can do tonight. We need him here.”

While Lord Auburn followed his son into the hall, where their voices carried in uproar, Mrs. Windham declared herself a fit of nerves.

“Well, child?” Lady Foxmore asked, drying her hands with her napkin and ignoring the others. “What have you to say on the matter?”

Still stunned that Edward had abandoned me to such a pit, I opened my mouth but remained at a loss for words. I had no doubt Edward expected me to rebuff Lady Foxmore with cold disregard—and after days of contemplating what to expect from him, I finally had an answer. He was hard and unyielding, all fire and ice with little else between.

He’d not asked one question or sought after my health. He’d made us a spectacle and then waltzed away, leaving me to explain. Ignoring everyone else in the room, I drew a deep breath. There had been no pledge to keep his betrothal, no discussion about our grave differences.

Did he think me that desperate for him? That he could treat me thus and still retain my favor?

“Well?” Lady Foxmore’s age made it impossible for her to keep her head perfectly still, and as a result, her diamond earbobs swayed, casting sparkles of light. Her mouth curved in roguery. “I was not in jest. Shall I find you a husband? Surely I can offer better than the Windhams or . . .” She punctuated her thought with a nod at Edward’s empty chair.

I felt so jarred by my sudden change of circumstance that my chair felt as if it were floating. I stared. Compared to the rumors circulating about her, spiting her own vicar by finding a husband for his love interest was mild.

I do not know what I would have said were not the threat of Scotland looming over me. As I sat in my chair that evening, I saw possibilities open that had never been offered me before. Edward had already proven himself traitor by joining the church.

Why, I asked myself, should I not explore every possibility provided?

As I opened my mouth to accept her offer, Elizabeth silently shook her head.

“I should very much like to continue the conversation,” was my simple reply.