Born of Persuasion (28 page)

THE NEXT MORNING, blinding light caused me to bury my face. The draperies rattled as Nancy spread them further apart. I groaned, realizing Reynolds must have allowed her in.

“Best move on,” she said. “Thou should have roused before now. As it is, thou’ll be th’ last to breakfast.”

I squinted at the clock. Half of the morning had passed. “You are the most useless abigail!” I slid from the bed, taking the counterpane with me. “How could you let me sleep so late?”

“Let thee sleep? I banged on the door for ten minutes, I did, before Reynolds fetched Mr. Macy. I daresay, not havin’ guests for fifteen years thou must’ve given him a fright. Last thing he wants is a sick guest—or worse.”

“Or worse!” I glared as she gathered the coverlets on the floor.

She bent to collect my scattered petticoats, then turned and gave me a wide grin. “Has thou seen Mr. Macy?”

“What do you think?” I combed my hair from my forehead with my fingers.

“’Tis a comely man, to be sure. The maids twittered about his looks, but before today I thought ’twas all air.”

“Enough chatter. Hurry,” I snapped.

“Wait on the rest.” Nancy pulled another petticoat over my head. “Mr. Macy bursts into thy room. Made bold to touch thee, he did. He stood a full minute, watching thou sleep, then brushed thy hair off thy brow with a glint of a smile. He tells Reynolds, ‘Give her another hour. If she’s disturbed, you’ll answer to mysell,’ and stormed out.”

I paused, my arm halfway through my sleeve, doubting he’d said it in
that
accent. Realizing it was Mr. Macy’s doing I had overslept, I plodded to the washbasin.

My mind recycled last night and I wondered how far things might have gone with Mr. Macy had I allowed it. Then, as I dried my face, it occurred to me that Nancy might have learned something of use.

“You never did tell me what you learned about this house,” I called to Nancy.

I heard her give a cough of annoyance. “Aye, that I did. Only thou was too boozy to hear.”

I tucked wet hair behind my ear, frowning. “Well, tell me again.”

“There isn’t anything worth repeating,” Nancy argued. “Nor have I learnt more. These servants are th’ most closed-mouth group I’ve ever seen. Not one word over dinner.”

I chuckled, envisioning that the servants’ dinner must have been eerily similar to ours.

“Don’t see why thou would grin about that,” Nancy said with a frown.

“Oh, hush.” From my seated position I faced the vanity again. “Why should I care if domestics talked over dinner? All the servants can drown in the Thames for all I care. Have you learned anything useful?”

Nancy yanked on a section of hair as she narrowed her eyes.
“Aye! Only thou art too grand to hears about servants. So never mind it.”

I grabbed that section of hair, then gasped at her in the mirror.

“A knot,” she said, growing suddenly contrite. “If thou must know, I learned Reynolds is a tyrant about having things ready for thy chambers. Only he can touch thy dishes. Not even th’ housekeeper can launder thy sheets. What does thou think o’ that?”

I frowned, wondering how on earth Reynolds managed it. I knew for a fact he handled the menus as well. Then with a tingling chill, it occurred to me that I might not be as secure as Mr. Macy presented. Why else would his valet personally oversee my every detail—if not to ensure my safety? Had not Mama been poisoned?

I refused to consider it further. If I wasn’t careful, soon I’d be afraid of my own shadow. Somehow it increased my desire to learn more about Mr. Macy apart from what he told me. With a frown, I realized how difficult that would be. Not even his servants could provide much, if they were barred from practically every chamber.

I crossed the threshold of the breakfast chamber and fulfilled Nancy’s prediction. I was the last guest. Mr. Macy and the gentlemen rose in unison. I stepped forward to greet him, but with a slight shake of his head, he reminded me that in public, we were casual acquaintances, at best. He’d had even less sleep than I, but he showed no sign of fatigue.

“Miss Elliston, I’m pleased you’ve finally decided to make an appearance. I’ll have to ask you not to be late again. I find it rude.” His eyes twinkling, he pulled out a chair for me.

I wanted to say something amusing, but a witty comment eluded me. Even Lady Foxmore seemed to expect it. She hovered
her fork over her hard-boiled egg, waiting. When I remained silent, she looked at Mr. Macy, shaking her head. He didn’t seem amused.

It was impossible not to glance at Elizabeth and Henry to gauge matters between us. Arms crossed, Elizabeth refused to look in my direction as she spoke to Henry. It seemed to me she avoided looking at me, but Henry cast me a dark look.

I returned it with one of my own, not particularly enjoying his company either, now that I believed him traitor to Elizabeth.

Directly across the table, Mr. Forrester glared at me with suspicion.

My temper plus my lack of sleep got the better of me. I was tired of the treatment I’d received thus far and scorned his look with one of my own, not caring that Mr. Macy watched our exchange as he sipped coffee.

“Gentlemen, what say you of a hunt today?” Mr. Macy set his cup aside.

Rooke dropped his fork. “Whatever for?”

Mr. Greenham shifted his eyes to Mr. Macy and studied him a second. “I’d welcome it.”

“And you, Mr. Auburn?” Mr. Macy smiled at Henry.

Henry stabbed his eggs, glanced at me, then gave a curt nod. Whether he approved or despised the idea was impossible to read, even for me.

“Robert?” Mr. Macy turned fully in his direction and paused before asking, “What say you? Will you exchange picking my locks for something more honorable?”

With a menacing look, Mr. Forrester shrank against his seat.

“Good. We’ll hunt,” Mr. Macy concluded.

As soon as breakfast ended, the gentlemen excused themselves to change. Mr. Macy rose and bowed to Mrs. Windham. “How do you ladies plan to spend your day?”

Before anyone could speak, Lady Foxmore held up an authoritative hand and announced, “The light in this breakfast room is excellent for embroidering. We shall sew here.”

My face fell at the prospect.

Mr. Macy gave me an amused look before nodding his consent and bowing from the room.

Servants were summoned to run and fetch our baskets. Lady Foxmore ordered that a larger, more comfortable chair be brought into the chamber; then, with the air of a martyr, Mrs. Windham declared herself to have a headache and to be in need of a better chair. Lady Foxmore wanted to sit in the sun; Mrs. Windham declared her eyesight failing and herself in need of sun, despite her headache.

It was no easy task to settle into the wooden chair placed between the two ladies to sew. Lady Foxmore demanded I stay put while Mrs. Windham declared it was a pity her ladyship hadn’t chosen Elizabeth as her companion as she would better suit her ladyship.

Warmed by the sun, her ladyship lost no time in napping, but Mrs. Windham lost no time in lecturing me. As she plied her needle, she plied her tongue about my ingratitude.

Her words gnawed at me. All I wanted was to escape, to work out my thoughts, to puzzle over Mr. Macy. I wanted to consider Mama’s death and how to avenge her. I desired to find a moment alone with Elizabeth to tell her about Henry. Being at Eastbourne only deepened my impatience. Commonplace things, such as hours bent over sewing, are tiresome enough under ordinary circumstances, but when surrounded by the mystery and intrigue of Eastbourne, the task was tedious.

Thus, when Reynolds entered the room and threaded his way to me, I felt relief.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said, bowing, “but there seems to be a slight miscommunication with your maid’s schedule. If I might borrow you to unlock your door.”

I stared at him, knowing perfectly well he had a key to my chamber, but then realized what he was doing. I stood, dropping my sewing, which I quickly bent to collect. “Oh yes. Yes, of course.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Mrs. Windham said beneath her breath, “the schedules got mixed up. The poor child would make a terrible housekeeper, simply terrible. Elizabeth manages our household like clockwork. You would do well to communicate that to your master.”

Reynolds ignored her, then escorted me into the hall and around the corner, where Mr. Macy took my elbow and chuckled, cornering me. His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Pray, Reynolds, that I am never a sick man.”

“That I already do, sir,” Reynolds said.

“What?” Mr. Macy turned. “Are you a praying man?”

“As was your father,” came Reynolds’s staunch reply.

“Yes, but we both know that my father was a fool,” Mr. Macy said softly, before turning to me. “Though now I’ve seen what a mean little nurse our Miss Elliston would make in a sickroom, I am most grateful for your troubles on my behalf. I thought her about to cry when she found out she’d be trapped sewing.”

“I should imagine, sir, Miss Elliston would feel quite differently, were she attending a sickbed.”

“There we disagree,” Mr. Macy said smiling, tracing a finger down the side of my face. “Especially if it is my sickbed, for I intend to pursue this young lady into marriage. Don’t you think most wives would be most grateful for an opportunity to be rid of their husbands if there’s enough wealth on hand to sustain them?”

“There you are wrong, sir.” Reynolds gave his master a chiding look as I bent my head, color filling my cheeks.

“Think you I can trust her, then?” Mr. Macy chucked my chin. “But see for yourself how silent she is on this subject, though I must say, she blushes beautifully.”

“I hope her too sensible to respond to such nonsense. If I may make bold, sir, you promised your land agent you’d return straightaway, and that was nearly a quarter of an hour ago.”

Mr. Macy made a noise of disgust. “Yes, business. Even now, as I try to woo myself a wife, business. What? Shall I hand you the task of courting her?”

“Certainly not!”

Mr. Macy gave a good-pleasured laugh, as if amused his servant took him seriously. “Yet you might, Reynolds; you still might. What say you, little one?” He turned his focus back on me. “Now that I’ve rescued you, how shall you redeem your time? I daresay Mrs. Windham seems to be in one of her finer sulks. If I may recommend it, avoid her for the rest of today, lest you are returned to your cage.”

His presence was like stepping into the warm sun after a dark winter night. Some sort of rarity in him buoyed my spirits.

“Well?” he coaxed. “An entire day lies before you, and I wish to know how my freed captive will spend it.”

“Are you not hunting, then?” I asked, recalling breakfast.

“I haven’t even yet asked for her hand,” Mr. Macy said, showing his teeth in a smile to Reynolds, “but look how she practices tracking my schedule. You may have an ally.” Then to me, “Yes, little one! I shall hunt soon. Business came up and I promised the men I’d join them within the hour. In the meantime I have done you the favor of freeing you from her ladyship, Forrester, and our dear Mrs. Windham in one fell swoop. Reward me by telling me how you shall bide your time.”

All at once, I saw my opportunity to gain the information about Mr. Macy that not even Nancy could gain. “Will you allow me to explore Eastbourne?”

“Explore Eastbourne?” Mr. Macy acted insulted, but his eyes betrayed pleasure. “There you see, Reynolds, I told you. You’ll woo her for me regardless. She wishes to inspect my prospects. No, do not blush again, Miss Elliston. You wouldn’t be female if
you weren’t itching to see my estate. Here, Reynolds, you may testify on my behalf.” He removed a key ring from his waistcoat. “My personal keys, Miss Elliston. The only complete set which will open every lock and every door.”

Reynolds visibly startled as Mr. Macy pressed the metal ring into my hands.

“I want you to swear to me,” Mr. Macy continued in a stern tone, “you will not touch my papers or any other personal matters. Do not enter the study we were in the other night, either. Do you understand?”