Born of Persuasion (43 page)

Shades of evening darkened the landscape that night as I turned from the looking glass and peered outdoors. Clouds enshrouded the sky, dimming the stars and moon with their murky wisps.

I recall Nancy walking on her knees, tugging the petticoats under my green taffeta dress. The pains she took were astonishing. The first time I sat, I mused, the dress would crease and her labor would be ruined. Nonetheless, I turned to the looking glass, pleased with the glittering emeralds at my throat and in my hair. They emphasized my green eyes and called attention to
my thick ebony braids, where jewelled combs held a bewitching style. I touched an earring, thinking it strange that Mama had never worn them.

“Nancy,” I asked, “would you like to work for me?”

She finally stood. “As thy lady’s maid?”

“Of course.” I turned sideways and viewed the back of my dress. “I shall not live with the Windhams very long. I . . . I . . . might have to leave you first.” I faced her and gave her my full trust. “I’m going to elope with Mr. Macy, but I shall send a servant to collect you during my honeymoon.”

Joy flooded her features. “Think on!” She looked around my chambers. “Me, a lady’s maid for the mistress of this house.”

Reynolds’s signature knock sounded on my door, and I placed a finger over my lips. “You mustn’t tell a soul. Are you willing to work for me then?”

“Aye, but what about Reverend Auburn? Does he know?”

The wall of denial I’d carefully constructed during the day tumbled.

“What of him?” I smacked her hand as she went to adjust my sash. “He has nothing to offer me. No more talk. Open the door.”

“Is Miss Elliston ready?” I heard Reynolds ask.

I cast a doubtful gaze at the darkening sky, but shook off my fears and joined Reynolds. His familiar face filled me with warmth.

“It’s good to see you,” I said. “I worried when you weren’t outside my door this morning.”

He tugged his white gloves tighter. “My apologies, Miss Elliston. There was a ghastly problem with the servants last night. I fear I overslept.” Reynolds looked over my elaborate dress. “Will you wait here a moment?”

When I agreed, he bounded up the stairs with a youthfulness that surprised me.

“Shall I ga or stay?” Nancy asked.

“You’re dismissed. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the terms of your employment.”

She curtsied and scampered down the hall. My thoughts turned to my own house. What would Mr. Macy choose to do with it? I also wondered if I could find Sarah. Surely Eastbourne could find something for an elderly servant to do.

Hearing footsteps, I turned to find Mr. Macy appraising me with a self-satisfied air. All day doubts had cobwebbed my mind, but like a maid with a broom, his presence cleared every one.

“Turn about,” he ordered.

I complied but blushed.

As he sauntered down the last few steps, his gaze rambled over my body. “Reynolds spoke correctly. You do need a proper escort to dinner.” He enfolded me in his arms. “Though my appetite is no longer for dinner.” He nuzzled my neck, then glanced toward my chambers with such dissatisfaction that I drew in a sharp breath of fear. His mouth curved in a sardonic smile. “It seems the adage of a blushing bride on my wedding night shall come true for me.” He circled my waist with his arm. “Come along, you. We’ll resume the conversation later, with far better results, I daresay.”

Mr. Macy opened the doors and escorted me into the dining room as if I were the queen herself. Heads swivelled in our direction. Seeing the first course under way, I almost retreated, but Mr. Macy kept a firm grip on my elbow, forcing me to stand.

Lady Foxmore placed her spoon down with a knowing chuckle. “I say, this is quite a surprise.”

“We . . . we . . .” Mrs. Windham stared, wide-eyed.

“We assumed you weren’t joining dinner.” Elizabeth squeezed her napkin. “And Julia, since you missed tea, we thought you had a headache.”

Mr. Macy laughed and nodded to his footmen, who looked
more nervous than the party. “You did well to begin.” He stepped away from me, holding my hand up. “It was just as well that I lost track of time. Look at the seraph I found wandering my halls, lost.”

Mr. Forrester snorted.

Lady Foxmore’s voice rang through the room. “You must have paid her some handsome compliments, Chance. You should have toned the adulation down. The child is positively crimson.”

“Call her Miss Elliston,” corrected Mr. Macy.

Edward, who had risen with the other gentlemen, now approached and removed my hand from Mr. Macy’s. “It’s ill-bred to make a spectacle of a lady.”

“I am thoroughly rebuked.” Mr. Macy bowed, then nodded permission for me to go with him. “Miss Elliston, please accept my apology.”

Edward stiffly bowed, but after holding out my chair, he sat with fist still clenched. “Of all the men to find you alone. Did he say something improper?”

There was no doubt Edward would consider improper most of what Mr. Macy had whispered between kisses on the way to the dining room. I smoothed my skirt, feeling certain all eyes were on me.

“I’ll address him tonight,” Edward promised, glaring in Mr. Macy’s direction.

I focused on the bowl of gingered-carrot soup placed before me, my stomach tightening.

“Where did you go after Henry left?” Edward asked.

Just looking at him, I found myself aching. “Lady Foxmore needed assistance.”

Edward frowned, looking in her direction, but returned his focus to me. Quietly, he said, “I spent the afternoon in prayer, and I have a proposition.”

I dipped the tip of my spoon into my soup, afraid to breathe.

“Go to Scotland, Juls. Let this be your first step of faith. Go with the belief that God will reveal himself to you there. Drop this nonsense about Lady Foxmore finding you a husband.”

I eyed him, ready to argue that impossibility when Edward stunned me with “You won’t go alone, either. I’m going with you. I’ll lower my status and find work as a curate. If the church is overburdened there, then surely some great house nearby will have need of a valet or footman.”

At first, I didn’t think I had heard him correctly. I thought it one of those rare occasions when your mind twists what you’ve heard into something you’ve wished for, but when you clarify, you feel like a fool.

Yet the manner in which Edward met my eye told me I hadn’t misheard him.

“I say,” Lady Foxmore called. “What are you two being so secretive about? If your conversation is worth having, share it with the table. We lack on this end.”

“We are speaking about God.” Edward placed his hand along the back of my chair. “Perhaps from amongst all my parishioners, you ought to join us.”

With a laugh, Mr. Macy turned from his conversation with Mr. Greenham. His eyes rested on Edward’s hand, then shifted to face us. “I agree with Adelia. The conversation is dull. I’ve heard fascinating things about you, Vicar.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “May I pose a few questions about your work?”

“You may.”

Mr. Macy proceeded to ask about Edward’s daily duties, drawing the questions repeatedly to the hours he worked and how it affected his social calendar. “It will help when you wed someone, will it not? Tell me, Edward—” Mr. Macy gave me a mischievous glance as he used Edward’s first name—“What sort of requirements must your wife meet?”

I felt Edward stiffen. “Sir, I cannot see the point of your question.”

“Yet I think you do.” Mr. Macy began to slice a joint of roast beef with his knife. “Does not your religion teach not to undertake a task without counting the cost? Why are you dissembling it?”

Edward made no reply but stared.

“Your wife must be confirmed in the church; am I correct?”

Edward still made no reply.

“I imagine it must be trying to be a vicar’s wife.” Mr. Macy placed the cuts of meat on a platter for his footman to distribute. “Will your wife attend the sick? The curate’s wife in this parish spends most days going between her duties at home and those who are ailing.”

Silence.

“However, I commend the woman,” continued Mr. Macy. “It’s not easy to stand side by side with grief. She’s always spending nights with women who’ve lost husband or child. I’ve been informed she’s required to spend an hour a day reading Scripture, since women seek her out with questions they are too embarrassed to bring her husband.”

Edward did not remove his eyes from the table.

“Adelia, this will interest you.” Mr. Macy turned toward her. “Recently, the curate purchased his wife a new bonnet. The thing caused an uproar. Apparently, members of the church thought her vain.” He laughed. “The poor woman isn’t even allowed one luxury, lest she cause unrest amongst the congregation.”

I signalled for my soup to be removed, too stressed to eat.

“I, for one,” said Mr. Forrester in a wry voice, “wonder why you’re so intimately acquainted with the details of the curate’s wife.”

Mr. Macy smirked in his direction. “Don’t assume I’m entirely without religion, Robert.”

Mr. Forrester waved his wineglass in my direction as if to
make a comment, but when he locked eyes with me, he choked. Red wine spewed from his mouth over the tablecloth. He coughed into his napkin, shoving his chair from the table. He stared at me with such a look of disbelief, I laid hold of Edward’s arm.

Mr. Macy stood. “Something bothering you, Robert?”

Trembling, Mr. Forrester glanced at the door, then at Mr. Macy. “I’m leaving. Don’t try to stop me.” He reached into his waistcoat.

In unison, Mr. Greenham and Mr. Rooke rose.

Mr. Forrester pulled out a revolver with shaking hands and pointed it toward Mr. Macy, then glanced at me. “If anyone moves, I’ll shoot.”

Mr. Greenham pushed back his chair.

A gunshot rent the air. Edward dove under the table, pulling me with him. My ears rang from the sound of the shot, and the sharp scent of gun smoke filled the air. Clutching Edward, I watched muddy boots backing toward the door until Mr. Forrester himself came into view. When he reached the door, he opened it with his hand behind his back, then spun and pounded down the hall.

Footmen were the first to recover movement, and Mrs. Windham sound. Her wailing voice crowned the uproar of noises.

The tablecloth lifted, and Mr. Macy knelt into view. I sobbed with relief and stretched out my arms. He slid me toward him and enfolded me in his arms.

“I’m all right, sweetheart.” He pressed the side of his head against mine. “Can you explain what just happened?”

“I—I don’t know. He was looking at me, and . . . and then . . .”

Mr. Macy sighed, then craned his neck. “John, come,” and when the gentleman arrived, “Forrester guessed and has gone to fetch her guardian.”

“I told you—” began Mr. Greenham.

“Take everyone to the art room.” Mr. Macy withdrew a key from his pocket. “Lock them inside. No one leaves until I say, understood?” He pulled me closer, his voice like one trying to calm a spooked horse. “Julia, shhh. I need you to gather your wits. I swear, nothing will harm you as long as I own breath.”

I shook my head. We both knew that legally my guardian owned me. There was no course of action we could take.

“I’m not leaving!” Edward shouted behind me. “Get your hands off me.”

I cringed, recalling his presence, then peeked in his direction.

He looked as though he’d been pierced, his face as white as chalk as he watched Mr. Macy cradle me. His eyes pleaded for answers.

I couldn’t bear to look longer. Mr. Macy, however, stared with a calculating expression. “John, allow him to remain.” Mr. Macy placed a hand on my head. “She’ll need the protection he can offer. Send Reynolds to me as well. Quickly.”

I looked toward the guests. With the help of the footmen, they were being ushered to the hall. Mrs. Windham must have finally fainted for the first time in her life. She clung to a servant, who kept putting smelling salts under her nose. I surveyed the room, looking at the place where Mr. Macy had stood, and saw how close he’d come to death. Mr. Forrester couldn’t have missed by much. A chunk of plaster was missing from the damaged wall.