Born of Persuasion (6 page)

Glaring once more at Elizabeth, he shoved his crumpled hat onto his head, turned, and left.

“When did you last see Master Henry?” Mrs. Windham demanded again in an angry whisper as the door shut. “You know you’re not supposed to. If Lord Auburn and—”

“Oh, Mama, hush!” Elizabeth threw her sewing down. Tears filled her eyes. “Who cares about them?” Her face sympathetic, she turned toward me. “Julia, I am so sorry. I had not an idea that Henry would . . . No, you mustn’t leave. Dearest, we must talk; I must explain.”

But I would have none of it. I shook my head, dumping the contents of my lap to the floor. My self-restraint had left with Edward.

That night, I sat empty of faith, staring at the fire. My only comfort was one of the dogs I’d coaxed into my chamber an hour or two after Elizabeth stopped pounding on my door, demanding I come out.

Ordained,
my mind said over and again.
Edward is ordained.
The bulldog soughed and stretched in his sleep as I ran my fingers over his bristled fur. It was all just too horrible to believe.

Edward was now one of those churlish men who thought nothing of crushing others from their man-made pulpits. It was unthinkable. Nearly as unthinkable as Edward’s standing before me callous and impervious.

I envisioned him walking about in that ridiculous-looking cassock, visiting his parishioners while I’d been lectured and bullied by his brethren. I picked up the nearby poker and jabbed the fire with vigor, then when the dog jumped to attention at my motion, I rubbed his ears.

No vicar could wed William Elliston’s daughter. Edward had to have known that when he took his orders. He had known he was discarding me.

And what of Elizabeth?

I hugged my knees and stared at the ceiling lost to the dark, feeling a roiling of emotion. Her betrayal was beyond belief. How could she have remained silent all those years, allowing me to think my future was set, when in reality, it was falling apart? Her actions were unconscionable. Unforgivable.

A warm tongue licked my hand. Looking down I realized I’d ceased petting the dog. Red-rimmed eyes looked soulfully upon me.

“Et tu Brute?”
I hugged my knees tighter as my voice choked. “Are you just waiting around in hopes of seeing me cry?”

A long tongue and happy panting met my question.

No longer caring that it wasn’t proper, I lay on my side and accepted the dog’s warm kisses and energetic wagging of his tail. With nudges of his wet nose and high whines, he invited me to take consolation in his company and to have a good cry.

“Eh. Thou’ll have fleas now if thou didn’t before.”

I opened my eyes to find the girl from yesterday leaning over me, her nose inches from mine. Her red curls hung like curtains
on either side of her face. When she moved, sunlight flooded my face, forcing me to shield my eyes.

“Thou’ll smell, too.” Nancy wrinkled her nose before reaching down and grabbing the bulldog by the scruff of the neck. “Ga on, off with thee.”

As I struggled to a sitting position, the events of yesterday flooded back. I glowered at the maid, displeased she’d found me in yesterday’s wrinkled dress, lying brokenhearted on the floor with a bulldog.

Nor did she seem pleased with me. With the tone of a martyr, she planted her hand on her hip, saying, “And just this morn I gats permission to see me mam.” She stamped her foot. “Now look at thee. I need to wash your dress before I can ga.”

I opened my mouth to apologize but then clamped it shut, too forlorn to care. At least she was going to remain at Am Meer, while I’d soon be sent to Scotland.

Scowling, she opened the cedar wardrobe and gathered my second-best dress in her arms, but then to my surprise, her face softened as she turned and studied me. “Ye might as well be hearing th’ gossip from me first.” She nudged the door shut with her hip.

I wrapped my arms about my knees, looking toward the window, where sunlight streamed into the room.

“Th’ butcher boy tells me Lord Auburn’s sons gat in a row last night ’bout thee. Th’ reverend was hot ’cause Master Henry knew about thy mam and didn’t tell him. Chased Master Henry about the stable with a crop, he did.” The maid’s voice brightened. “Even though he’s the younger of th’ two, he whipped his brother soundly.”

I felt like crying as I tried to picture Edward so stern and angry he’d punish someone in such a manner. Then I groaned. If this maid knew as much, likely enough other servants also gossiped about it as they emptied chamber pots and stirred porridge.

Hot anger tingled through me. For three years, I’d taken care never to mention Edward’s name aloud, never to give Mama or Sarah the slightest hint that we were betrothed. And now, when marriage was no longer a possibility, when I’d be snickered at behind my back for entertaining such a great hope, Edward had made a spectacle of us!

Nancy cocked her head, waiting for a response as my fingers closed in fists. If I wasn’t careful, even my sleeping with the dogs in the ashes would soon be common knowledge.

“I don’t care for servants’ gossip,” I said, rising.

I ignored her scowl, then stood and brushed off my skirt, resolved to add no more fuel to the fire. At the washstand, I damped my face, careful to soak my eyes on a cool cloth to reduce the redness, then scrubbed hard to give my cheeks bloom and to make certain no trace of ash remained.

Being the daughter of William Elliston had its advantages. The role of outcast was familiar enough. While I did not relish the hard look that would settle upon my face, nor hearing whispers as I passed vendors, at least it wouldn’t break me. I knew better than most how to maintain a frost around my heart. Only until that day, I’d never needed its protection at Am Meer.

In the mirror, my green eyes glinted with steely determination. I recognized the girl staring back, but disliked her. She was the girl my parish vicar had termed “shockingly wicked and hard-hearted.”

I turned from the looking glass, determined that no one would see how crushed and how deadened I felt.

It was difficult, however, to remain aloof at breakfast.

Mrs. Windham said nothing about Edward’s strange visit yesterday, but instead chatted about a thick letter she’d received from her cousin who was visiting London. She read aloud the bits concerning the latest fashion of bonnets and shawls, then
moodily declared that had it been Elizabeth in London, she would have managed to find more dance partners than her cousin’s daughter. Elizabeth waited for my acknowledgment, wearing a bruised look upon her face.

With a growing sense of shame, I kept my gaze as far away from her as possible.

“Mama,” Elizabeth interrupted Mrs. Windham midspeech. “After breakfast, will you excuse Julia and me so we can walk?”

Mrs. Windham didn’t stop reading her letter. “To be sure. Now, where was I? Listen to this part. . . .”

But Elizabeth, with her own brand of communicating, silently demanded I acknowledge her. I finally turned. She wasn’t laughing. She looked as anguished as I felt. My wall crumbled.

Once I became willing to speak with Elizabeth, breakfast stretched long.

Mrs. Windham continued to read from her pile of mail, well after the dishes had been cleared. She finally collected her posts, declaring her morning would be spent answering them.

In the hall, Elizabeth selected two heavy shawls from pegs, one of which she handed to me.

“Are you not wearing a bonnet?” I asked as she opened the door to a swirl of wind.

“No. We shall not be seen. We’ll go over the hillock by the oak.”

I grabbed mine regardless and hastily tied it beneath my chin, then draped my black crepe mourning veil over it. A young widow in my parish had trimmed her gown with color a fortnight early and had been shunned for months. I would not risk my reputation, not with servants’ gossip on my heels.

With heavy feet, I followed Elizabeth to the top of the knoll and gazed at the vast farmlands sprawling in every direction. Brown cows picked their way across the fields. Sheep clustered near haystacks, like ships at harbor amidst a sea of grass.

“It’s my fault. I debated telling you yesterday afternoon when
you arrived.” Elizabeth’s shawl fluttered in the wind. “I should have warned you, only I hadn’t the heart. I saw you’d been through an ordeal and needed at least one night’s rest. Edward hasn’t come to Am Meer in over a year. I swear it. I never would have allowed that to happen. I thought Henry had more sense than that.”

Weary, I leaned against the boulder and twisted to observe Am Meer. The brim of my bonnet blocked the view of the lovely gardens I should soon have to leave. “Why did you not write me about it long ago?”

She faced me, her voice and face pleading. “Because you never would have come back here if you knew. Because you are our only hope of bringing Edward to his senses. You have no idea. He’s completely absurd now. He can deny Henry and me, but he can’t deny you.”

I frowned, for the situation sounded like one of Henry’s harebrained schemes. “You honestly think I have no more pride than that? That I wish to force myself upon Edward?”

“Force yourself? Ha! Surely even you could not have missed his great joy at seeing you yesterday.”

I gasped. “Joy? If that was joy, then you’ve all gone mad during my absence. I saw only anger. Someone who no longer wants—” The rest of my words were choked.

“Julia, I swear it’s not you, dearest.” As gentle as her voice, Elizabeth’s hand came to rest upon my shoulder. “I swear on my life. There are scarcely words to describe Edward’s . . . his . . . well, fanaticism.”

I pinched my mouth shut, wishing I had never come to Am Meer, wishing I’d never learned this. It would have been better if I’d believed Edward had died. Then at least I could have comforted myself with the thoughts of what could have been.

“You must believe me.” A gust of wind freed wisps of hair, which she pushed back with determination. “Dearest, he’s not, well . . . simply put, he’s not normal anymore.”

“Are you saying he’s softheaded?”

Elizabeth frowned. “Soft? If only. He’s harder than nails nowadays, but he’s miserable. You’ve not been here to see for yourself. There’s no explaining.” She jerked her head and stared moodily at the landscape. “One Sunday Edward commanded the upper crust move to the back of the church and give their seats to the poor. Had you seen him when we refused . . . well, he wept, calling upon the mercy of God for our hard-heartedness.”

I stiffened at that particular word, but Elizabeth failed to note it.

Her face and neck turned scarlet as she admitted the next part. “He tore his robes when we refused, claiming he’d set the example himself. It’s why he never visits the upper class anymore, why I could not have fathomed that he’d call on us yesterday. The next week, he’d removed the dividers from the pews.”

I tried to imagine Edward—the boy who’d swung me in circles and tormented the local butcher by setting his pigs loose in the garden—rending his garments. “Did anyone sit anywhere different?”