Born of Persuasion (24 page)

“Is he waiting for me?” I asked, confused.

“No.” Mr. Macy’s voice was low and amused. “He waits for me. I have an identical chamber at the top of the stairs, just above yours.”

He unlocked my door and handed me the key. To my wonderment, the lamps were lit and a fire waited. Holding up a
finger to Reynolds, Mr. Macy stepped inside with me, though he didn’t close the door completely.

Feeling strangely shy again, I allowed him to pull me against him and tilt up my chin. He kissed me slowly but softly, teaching me to respond, and when I did, he deepened our kiss, pulling me close. Only when I had completely surrendered did he end our lingering kiss, keeping me loosely gathered in his arms.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he said, “and while you’re still tipsy, I’m going to ask. What on earth did you think you were doing with Adelia if you didn’t know I had asked her to escort you to me?”

It took a couple of seconds to realize he meant her ladyship. “I have an agreement with her.”

“Agreement?” His tone grew hard. “What agreement?”

I stared at the unfastened pearl button on his shirt. “To . . . to find me a husband.”

“She did wh—? In exchange for what, might I ask?”

I could not look at him. “Two thousand pounds.”

His shock was so complete he said nothing, though I felt his body cough. “Tell me you did not agree.”

I blushed, not responding.

To my relief, Mr. Macy laughed. “She was in earnest when she called herself my enemy. Good night! Must I protect you from my acquaintances as well as our enemies? No more agreements with her ladyship. In fact, avoid her ladyship completely if you can. She’s not what I consider a good influence.”

“But she is my chaperone,” I protested.

“And a very poor one at that, as evidenced by tonight.” He kissed my forehead. “Now go find some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

THE FIRST SOUND I became conscious of the next morning was tapping. Two top sheets were tangled about my ankles and a third had bunched under my stomach. Groaning, I kicked them off, then sat. Light stabbed my eyes while nausea twisted my stomach. The mantel clock marked the hour.

Six.

The knocking turned into pounding.

“Coming,” I yelled, then winced at the pain that shot through my head. I stood, increasing my queasiness. More pounding followed. Frantic, I searched the dishevelled bedclothing for something to wrap around my shimmy. I gleaned my wrinkled dress from the floor and fumbled with it. “Who is it?”

“Who does thou expect but mysell?”

Nancy. I sagged against the bed frame and called to the door. “It’s six in the morning.”

“Aye!” returned Nancy’s crabbed voice. “And if thou had seen fit to give me a key last night, instead of leavin’ all th’ work for morning, there’d be no want for me to wake thee this early.” She hammered again.

Realizing she’d not be deterred, I stumbled into the main chamber and yanked open the door. She stood, fist raised, ready to pound again. She appeared as annoyed as I felt, but faltered under my glare. I stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

Her gaze swept to the bedchamber, where last night’s dress and crinolines were spread over the carpet, and then to my pile of trunks.

“Well, ’tis a mercy thy fire is lit at least.”

“Oh, hush,” I said, in no mood for her. “You’re the one who wanted to come.”

She stomped into the bedchamber and bent, gathering the gown I wore last night, and then in the main chamber retrieved yesterday’s travel gown. While she spread them before the fire to inspect, I stretched out over the settee and hid my face from the light with a velvet cushion. Every noise seemed magnified as Nancy began to brush the dried mud from the hem of my travel dress. The hard swish communicated her ire.

“Thou best hasten,” she eventually said, “if thou wishes to be on time. Breakfast is at eight and thy hair weren’t set last night. Thou’ll have no curls today.”

Not particularly caring, I pulled a second pillow against my stomach. Memory of the previous night rushed in like flotsam caught in the morning tide. Like waves after a storm, memory pounded on top of memory as I sorted through jumbled scenes. Dinner. The dark chamber. Mr. Greenham. Only then, as if my mind were determined to cushion each awful blow, did I recall. My eyes opened of their own accord.

Mama. Murdered.

Nancy looked over from her work. “What?”

Feeling ill, I rested my head in the palms of my hands. “Hold your tongue.”

With a sniff, she continued the mad swishing of her brush. Knowing I couldn’t hold the contents of my stomach, I stumbled
to my feet and staggered into the room where I was sure to find a chamber pot.

Nancy’s voice carried. “Thou did well to ask me to learn about this household.”

I didn’t answer except to collapse over the elegant china bowl and retch the sour contents of my stomach. When I finished, I lay down and stared at the ceiling through a blur of tears. What sort of coward would murder Mama? I covered my eyes, recalling her pale face as she blew out the candle that final evening. What had she gone and faced alone? What would cause a person to writhe in so much pain?

“’Tis a strange house, to be sure,” Nancy continued, as if trying to bait me. “Never heard of such a thing as not allowing servants keys. Only that Reynolds chap is allowed to tend thy rooms. Can thou imagine? Me ma would say somewhat wrong with that, to be sure.”

The stench coming from the chamber pot was acrid. I sat up and raked my fingers through my hair, which felt damp. A basin waited on the nightstand. I dipped my cupped hand into the cool water, then drank to wash away the sour taste.

Nancy joined me, carrying a dress between her arms. She froze at the threshold. Following her gaze, I spotted Mr. Macy’s banyan half crammed into the corner.

Nancy stared at it with wide eyes. Like numbers being worked into an equation, she viewed my unmade bed, my clothing haphazardly strewn about the room before returning to the men’s robe.

“You needn’t bother starting servants’ gossip,” I said bitterly. “It’s not what you think.”

“Aye, is that what thou thinks? I gossip about thee? As if I haven’t gat better things to talk about.”

“Oh yes,” I replied, feeling none too charitable, “I forgot. You have other domestics to chitchat about.”

Her freckled cheeks rose as she scowled. “Thou wants
gossip? How about this? I have it on th’ best authority, one of th’ young ladies spent th’ night with a gent.” She leaned over and snatched up Mr. Macy’s robe, which she shook at me. “I warrant she weren’t up to no good. Then she was daft enough to insult her maid, atop of everything.”

“Oh, hush!” I covered my eyes. Everything hurt.

“Come on with thee.” Nancy gripped my upper arm. “Th’ least we can do is make certain thou art first to breakfast, case word of this leaks out.”

There is a sense of comfort in pain, when it has been one’s companion long enough. There’s a familiarity to the sensation of being pulled down from rapturous dreams and having our feet mingle with the dust once more. I found myself on familiar territory that morning as Nancy dressed me. Mama had been murdered. No longer did I believe my starry-eyed dream of Lady Foxmore lifting me from my circumstances. Yet strangely, I found the heavy ache in my chest comforting. I knew far better how to navigate stormy waters than calm ones.

Even the throb of my head and the agitation in my stomach were a boon—they added to my collectedness. Who can indulge in fantasies of Adonis when suffering? Questions I’d been too inebriated last night to consider now accumulated. How had Mr. Macy known about me? He had said he’d be absent today, but where had he gone? What was the footing of our relationship?

I touched the dark crescents under my eyes as Nancy shoved the last comb into place. When she opened my jewelry case, a white box caught my eye.

“Eh? What’s this?” Nancy picked it up.

“Here, give it to me.”

She placed the cold ivory box in my hand. Inside, an assortment of bracelets waited, gold, pearls, sapphires—each
seemingly more costly than the last. I clamped the lid shut, ignoring Nancy’s stunned expression. That a gentleman had given me a gift, and of this value, was exceedingly improper; yet I felt a dart of delight.

I found Reynolds waiting outside my chambers, looking exactly as he had yesterday. Whether he had slept or changed clothing was indiscernible. Upon spotting him, Nancy paled and curtsied, hurrying from the room and down the corridor, giving him no time to speak.

He watched her leave with a decided frown before turning to me with a slight bow. “Please accept my deepest apologies, Miss Elliston. It was Mr. Macy’s orders that you not be disturbed. She came without permission. I can assure you, it will not happen again.”

I nodded, wrapping my shawl tightly about me. Nancy was the least of my concerns. “Is he still here? I wish to speak with him.”

The blue of Reynolds’s eyes was startling as he faced me, like frost against a brilliant blue sky. “I am sorry, Miss Elliston, but he’s already absented himself. Shall I fetch Mr. Greenham? I daresay he can answer any question that Mr. Macy can.”

“Mr. Greenham?” Already the name was foreign on my lips. In less than twelve hours, I’d forgotten the man who’d accompanied me here. I shot Reynolds a puzzled look. “He knows too?”

“Knows, Miss Elliston?”

I lowered my voice. “About last night?”

Reynolds shifted his eyes to a place over my shoulder. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elliston, but whatever did or did not happen last night is none of my business. Shall I fetch Mr. Greenham?”

I grew sullen as I wondered what exactly he thought had occurred in his master’s study. “Yes, please.”

Near the entrance hall, Reynolds stopped before a carved wooden door and opened it for me. “If you will wait in the breakfast chamber, I’ll have him fetched straightaway.”

Large windows framed the far wall and displayed dapple-grey skies. Rain hammered the grounds, so that the garden topiaries protruded like islands from amidst puddles. Inside the chamber, thick-framed Renaissance paintings dotted the walls. The largest of the set hung above a massive buffet where fruits, pastries, tea, and coffee waited.

I poured coffee into a Russian cup patterned in blue and gold, then sat at the immense table and shielded my eyes from the feeble light.

The sound of footsteps ended my musings.

Like spirit met like spirit as Mr. Greenham ducked into the chamber. In his grave manner, he studied my eyes, then stepped to the sideboard and poured tomato juice.

“This will help,” he said, taking the seat next to me. He pulled a flask from his waistcoat and added its contents to the drink, then slid the glass to me.

I opened my mouth to protest.

“Trust me,” he said.

To refuse, I saw, would greatly offend him. I took up the glass and smelled it, vaguely wondering what Mama would have thought to know I’d found protection amongst chronic drinkers. Like a father encouraging his child, Mr. Greenham nodded for me to drink.

The concoction tasted horrible.

“I should have warned you that Macy never feels the effect of drink and easily forgets himself,” Mr. Greenham said. “He shall feel remorse when he learns you’ve suffered this morning.”

I nodded, unwilling to examine why that statement brought so much comfort.

Over the next quarter hour, I came to believe Mr. Greenham had been in my condition a great many times. He said nothing as if sensing how each noise jolted my ears, how light stabbed my eyes. When he finally spoke, it was after my headache became manageable.

“Reynolds told me you were looking for Macy? Is there something I can help you with?”

I nodded but then felt tears rising, so I shook my head. He simply waited.

“How much do you know?” I finally managed.

He heaved a sigh. “I should imagine a great deal.”

“About my guardian?”

“Yes.”

“And that my mother was . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say the ugly word.

There was a slight pause followed by “Yes.”

No tears,
I thought, blinking them back. I would not cry. Not until I’d seen Mama avenged.