Born of Persuasion (56 page)

I nodded my thanks, turned, and took flight.

“We’ve got to hurry,” I told Edward, holding the shawl above my head in order to wrap it around me as I hied down the stairs.

He nodded and held out his hand.

We burst onto the frost-covered grounds that dazzled beneath the rising sun. Our breath curled above us, dancing in a song of thanksgiving as we hastened around a garden path.

“Here,” Edward said, releasing me. “We mustn’t be seen holding hands. I’m not certain how it started, but the staff thinks I’m your teacher. I’ll pull out my Bible and read aloud; you follow. Keep your head bent. That way if any servants look out the window, they’ll assume we’re keeping the school’s morning routine. They won’t like our school very much, nor will they think us proper, but nonetheless . . .”

As long as we remained in sight of the house, Edward held his Bible before his face, reading—a psalm, I think—waving his free hand as if preaching, too.

I followed, thinking us ridiculous, but I didn’t care. It was so like the old days. I imagined Henry and Elizabeth laughing in Am Meer’s drawing room when Edward recounted our escape from my father’s house.

Once we were free from view, Edward slowed and caught pace with me. Hand in hand we walked in silence, tromping across ground from which an early mist rose.

I shoved aside heartache, knowing that later I would drown in it. But for now, for that moment, I was determined to savor every minute with Edward.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Edward said as we entered a pasture. “I found it this morning, during my prayer walk.”

By this time, I was breathing hard and my body was a strange mixture of temperatures—cold nose, ears, and toes, but warm elsewhere. I lifted my gaze to an ancient oak that stood near the entrance of the pasture.

A few rays of morning sun broke through the clouds and fell
aslant on the tree. I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling tears rise. “How can this be?” I asked. “How is it possible?”

“I have a theory,” Edward said in a quiet voice next to me, “but you won’t like it.”

My breath curled in the frosty air as I laughed. Were it not impossible, I would swear that this was our ancient oak. It was identical in nearly every way.

Moss clumped over its massive trunk and up the centuries-old divide of its first two boughs. Straggles of leaves still clung to its twisting, meandering branches. Below, their fallen comrades carpeted the ground, looking as dry and as pitiful as corn husks. I covered my mouth, laughing at the bittersweet feeling, then grew teary. Just like our tree, one massive root still pulled up violently from the ground, as if the tree once took a mind to change locations but couldn’t manage it.

I felt the release of more tension than I thought possible. How many times during the past three years had I daydreamed I was at the ancient oak? Then I laughed for the sheer absurdity of life. How could I have married Mama’s murderer and yet still receive a gift like this moment? No jewel, no vase, no painting inside the halls of Eastbourne could ever compete.

Edward kept his fingers twined in mine, not speaking.

And somehow, illogical though it may be, the joy of that moment unlocked the pain. I covered my mouth and tried to stifle a sob. Embarrassed, I turned from Edward, not wanting him to hear. Not if this was our last time together. But it was for this reason he’d brought me here.

“Here.” He tugged on my fingertips.

He led me to the tree, and then, taking a giant step up, he hoisted himself onto the lowest recumbent ledge. I gave him my hands, and with a shake of my head recalled how the soles of my shoes always slipped over the moss. Thankfully I found a knotty hole that the toe of my shoe could fit into. The initials
BD + EG
were carved next to it.

The next moment found us cradled in the massive bough, stretched out over the cushions of moss, looking up at the rambling crown of the tree. I settled my head against Edward’s chest and shut my eyes, content just to be there, to be held.

For a half hour, we spoke no words—not needing to.

“I don’t think Henry and Elizabeth are going to believe you,” I eventually said as a flock of crows passed, “when you tell them about this tree.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest, filling me with an unspeakable happiness. It had been so long since I’d heard it. “Hmm, I don’t think they’re going to believe me when I tell them I took tea with Lord Dalry at three in the morning and spent the night in Lord Pierson’s estate.”

I groaned, recalling the debonair gentleman. “Who is he, anyway?”

I felt Edward move, as if he were shaking his head. “A lord I’ve read about in the paper multiple times, though I don’t think he’s taken his seat yet.”

I frowned, wondering when Edward had taken an interest in politics, but then realized it must have started after he gained a parish. How many of those laws directly affected him now?

Silence followed, but now that a reminder of reality had cropped up, I disliked it.

I twisted my head to view him. “What are you thinking about?”

Again he chuckled. “Well, I’m thinking that we just had—at least, I hope we just had—our worst fight. It was bad. You ended up married to someone else, and I broke the law and ruined Henry’s carriage.”

I laughed at his description. My thoughts turned toward my first morning at Am Meer and how different he’d acted, so I said, “You’re a horrible vicar, you know.”

His breath curled in the air, he laughed so heartily. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that from someone
who has never heard me preach. Admittedly, I do have one parishioner who causes me more problems than you can imagine. Her family was somewhat famous—”

“Her ladyship?” I said, smiling, as I squirmed to become comfortable.

“Hmm, make that two parishioners, then. No, this particular one comes from a family that is known for its animosity toward the church. But fear not.” Edward shifted his arm, allowing him to touch the top of my head. “I think I’ve made some progress with her. The last time I spoke to her about God, she neither pitched an apple at me, shoved me in a creek, nor made a most unladylike display of herself by screaming and running away.”

I laughed, turning on my side, ignoring the fact that I was wearing ivory and lying on moss. I wanted to see Edward’s face.

“I’m not so certain,” I said. “I have it on good authority she convinced her vicar to elope with her, even though she was already a woman of scandal.”

Edward said nothing, but the laughter faded from his eyes.

“What made you decide to risk your faith by taking me to Scotland?” I asked him.

He shifted position, turning to place his back on the opposite branch. When he spoke, his voice was thicker. “I don’t fully know. I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I needed to take care with Churchill, that he was a bit on the legalistic side. Henry was so certain what I needed to do.” He frowned. “Juls, I really would like to know. What did Churchill say to you?”

“He told me only the most selfish person pulls someone else down with him as he drowns, that I needed to release you.”

Edward frowned, a deep sadness filling his eyes. His jaw tightened as he looked at me anew. “I feel as though I’m responsible for Churchill’s death, somehow. On the day he told me about Adolphus, he forbade me to repeat that name. He said something terrible would happen if his association with the man became known.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” I said. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. Macy knew we’d been to Churchill’s office.”

Edward shut his eyes, as if pained. “Yes, well, that was my grand idea too.”

Knowing the best way to shift Edward from this mood wasn’t to give him comfort, I said, “If Macy is this Adolphus, what on earth do you think he wants with me?”

Edward smiled. “Well, for starters, your father is the most powerful man in all of England, and it looks like he’s been actively fighting this crime syndicate.”

I tried to reconcile the dark rumors with what I’d experienced under Macy’s care. Every emotion twisted.

“For starters?” I asked, wondering what else Edward suspected.

He grinned. “Well, I can’t argue with his tastes.”

I furrowed my brow, not understanding at first, but then laughed. “So what happens to us now?”

“We wait, just as we always have.”

I cast him a curious look.

“If Macy is connected to even a fraction of the crimes associated with Adolphus, then it’s only a matter of time before justice catches up with him.” His voice sobered and grew tender, even. “He’ll be hanged, Juls. I want you to be prepared. There may be some infamy connected to being the wife of such a famous criminal.”

I smile now at the irony of Edward’s words, though his guess was as good as any other as to what would happen.

That day, however, I folded my hands and tried to mentally adjust to the possibility that I might see Mr. Macy dangling from a scaffold. Only once had I witnessed a man being publicly executed, and I had no wish to ever repeat the experience.

Edward took my hands in his, pulling my thoughts from such a gruesome possibility back to him. “Hear me, Juls; really hear me. Let this sink deep into your memory. I am coming back for
you. No matter what happens, no matter how long this takes. I swear it.”

I nodded, feeling my throat thicken. “But what are we going to do about the difference in our beliefs?”

Edward laughed. “How different are they at this moment? Are you at least willing to admit perhaps there’s more?”

I swallowed, considering his question. Everything in me twisted anew at the idea of having to admit I might have wrong beliefs. I considered the sensation I’d felt in Eastbourne’s chapel and the impossibility of all that had happened. My fingers took in the carpet-like moss and rough texture of the bark.

How strange,
I thought,
to base faith on a tree.

But I laughed at the happy and foolish idea. “Yes, perhaps I can concede
that
much.”

Grinning, Edward slipped down from the tree. Strong hands grasped my waist, and a second later I joined him on the ground.

“What happens next?” I asked.

“I leave this afternoon.” He tucked my arm beneath his. “My parish needs me, especially in light of Churchill’s death. I can only imagine how anxious Henry and Elizabeth are.”

“I forgot to tell you,” I said, lowering my voice. “Mr. Macy had asked the bishop to come to determine if you should be allowed to remain in the church. I should have told you last night.”

Edward shrugged. “I’ll figure out something to tell him.”

“Or maybe you can allow Henry to explain it.”

He smiled at my jest. “No. I think not.”

We fell silent as Maplecroft loomed into view. Edward stood, his rebellious curls dishevelled over his forehead as his vestments undulated in the autumn wind.

“It doesn’t look any less imposing in daylight, does it?” Edward asked. His hand tightened over mine. “You can do this, you know.”

I nodded. I had family again. A father. And apparently a father who wasn’t as unfeeling as he first appeared. That would
take some getting used to. And I had so many questions—questions about Mama, how they’d met, the circumstances surrounding my birth, why she had married the notorious William Elliston, and if it had been Lord Pierson writing to Mama in those final months. My throat ached as I acknowledged my truest wish. “Do you think I can make him love me?”

Edward grinned. “All I know is, Lord help the man.”

I squeezed his hand as tightly as I could, never wanting to let go. Yet I knew if I didn’t, I would never discover the other side of love.

I took my first step of faith.

THE EIGHT MONTHS that followed my arrival at Maplecroft have been called one of the greatest cozenages of our age. My father and I have endured endless speculation as to the amount of hours poured into its plan and execution.

Truth comprised of bare facts is rarely more flattering than legend. In reality, our sham was little more than a mad-dash scramble, composed of one improvisation after another. Events kept unfolding, forcing us to take new action, making it impossible to steer from collision.