Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (25 page)

I finally looked to Lord Dalry for explanation. He, however, stared blankly at the wall, looking weary and deep in thought. He didn’t seem to think my father was acting radically different. Was it possible that this was how my father acted when not stressed?

“Isaac, I’m sorry,” my father said, returning his head to the back of the chair, “but after that display, Kate is returning home. I know you wanted to finally spend time with her, but she’s a liability at this stage. Write your mother and arrange it.”

Long after the house was silent, I sat before my hearth, staring at the embers, unable to reconcile the side of my father I’d witnessed tonight. I buried my fingers in my hair as I rocked silently. Somehow it awakened more pain, though I couldn’t comprehend why. I pressed my hands against my heart, not sure I wanted to think or feel anymore.

Hearing my door open, I leaned forward and peeked around my bed. A young girl with a pale face and pink eyes blinked back, before nervously dipping. “Oh, do excuse me! I beg your pardon, miss!” She bobbed, showing her muslin cap, which ranked her no higher than a laundry maid. “I-I didn’t know you were here.”

I pressed my lips together. Here at least was a soul I understood, a salt-of-the-earth sort of person. Here was the type of folk Edward was lucky enough to be surrounded with, while I, on the other hand, was stuck with people who might face a debacle with resignation or burst like a thunderclap without warning.

My eyes trailed down to the copper pan she clutched. “Are you here to warm my bed? Where’s Betsy?”

The girl fell to her knees like a prisoner before a queen. “I meant no ’arm, miss. I swear it. Betsy has fever and tried to rise, but I told her, sleep. We share a room, so I told her I’d do it.”

I rose, imagining Lady Beatrice and Miss Moray dying of shock to see me addressing a laundry maid, but visions of Edward filled my mind. Surely he wouldn’t allow someone to cower before him. “If you share a room,” I asked, “aren’t you feeling ill?”

“Not enough to affect my work, miss.”

I crouched and touched her chin, causing her to flinch. Sadness filled me, for my own status barred any hope of knowing her. It made me long for Nancy with intensity. She wouldn’t have been put off by pretenses.

I touched the girl’s cheek and forehead with the backs of my fingers. She burned with fever as she watched me with glassy eyes. “I’ll warm my own bed,” I said. “You are dismissed.”

Her face scrunched. “I can work, miss; I swear it. Please!”

“I’m not relieving you of your duties,” I said, rising, tugging her up with me. “If you’re sick, I want you to rest.” The crocheted lace on her cap dropped over her forehead, as she looked unable to comprehend me.

“Go to bed.” I pointed toward the door. “That’s an order!”

She swallowed; then finally sensing that I was in earnest, she dropped the warming pan and ran from the room, arms stiff at her sides. I pulled on a woollen robe, intending to locate the housekeeper and communicate my orders that the girl be given bed rest, but in the hall, muffled sobs carrying from Kate’s chamber stopped me.

I touched my forehead against the door, trying to use logic instead of emotion. These were not my people; this was not where I belonged. Entering to comfort her would be one more step away from my old life, embracing this new life.

All at once Kate’s keen became so heartfelt it was impossible to resist going. I would untangle this later.

“Kate?” I rapped on her door. “It’s me, Julia. Open the door.”

Clumsy movement sounded behind the wood, and a moment later the lock clicked open.

Kate stood in her nightgown, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m being sent home!” Her mouth gaped with an ugliness that would have been comical were her grief not so apparent. “I . . . I wanted to spend time with youuuu and Isaac. You have no idea how little I see him.”

My heart bade me to reach out and hold her, while my head warned me to stay detached from the Dalry family. “You’re not leaving straightaway.” I took her hand to lead her back to bed. “Isaac said your mother had gone north to visit family. You’ll be here a little while longer yet.”

“Yes, but your father says . . . he says . . .” New tears welled. “I can’t go to the ball or anything! Isaac is supposed to find cousins for me to stayeeee—” Her words turned into a wail.

“Hush.” I pulled her inside the room toward the bed. Our bare feet left impressions on the thick carpet. I pulled down her counterpane and nodded for her to climb in. “Sleep. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

I shifted, not comfortable with my own lie. I couldn’t remember the last time something had looked better the next day.

“Sleep beside me?” Kate rested her head on my shoulder, and I felt dampness. “Please.”

I looked toward the door but then considered there was already so much sadness in this house. Could I truly leave her here crying alone? “All right, just for a bit.”

Twenty minutes later, Kate’s steady breathing filled the room. I snuggled beside her under the warm covers, staring at the fire, wondering how I was ever going to manage this household without the snippets of sunshine that Kate gave me.

I shut my eyes and conjured Edward’s face to mind.
“You can do this,”
he’d assured me. But how? Without losing him, how? I curled my fingers into the pillow, determined I’d find a way, for his sake, if for no other reason.

ONCE, A TROUPE of performers traveled through our village, and I had the privilege of watching a tightrope walker suspended between heaven and earth, with nothing more than an open fan in each hand to assist him. Unlike the crowd, who marveled at his balance, I was most awestruck by his first four steps. I knew once he took those fateful steps away from his platform, his only choice was to finish. The wire was too high for him to jump.

The next two weeks of my life were much like that performance. My focus was narrow, my aid nothing more than social props. I did my best not to think of Edward, Am Meer, Mr. Macy, or even Mama. Mornings were spent in numerous fittings at Quill’s. Afternoons took place at Lady Beatrice’s house, where I practiced every imaginable social situation. I quickly learned my best defense was to act devoid of emotion, like a marble statue, pale and cold. When I spoke, no matter how much passion churned beneath my breast, I responded only in the most bored tone.

Hours were spent on my walk and my curtsy for my
presentation. Kate had stayed with me those days, always watching from the pin-striped chair under the ugly wax flowers while Lady Beatrice played the role of the queen. I wondered with each failed attempt if I’d ever have another image of a monarch other than that of an old woman, scowling.

It took two days just to balance with my knee near the floor, and another three to bow in that position. Nothing I did pleased Lady Beatrice when it came to my retreat. In the end, it was Lord Dalry’s tireless work late into the evenings that helped me to manage my exit. He had me walk backwards with a tablecloth pinned to my shoulders, looking him in the eyes as he held my hands, matching his forward steps to my backwards ones.

When the dreaded day arrived, ice tipped the bare branches and made rooflines glitter as our carriage pulled in front of St. James. My breath came in vapors as I studied London’s towers rising into the cloudy sky.

In the seat across from me, my father stirred and unfolded the newspaper he’d brought. He gave me a curt nod. “You’d best remove your cape now.”

“She’ll freeze.” Lady Beatrice pulled our mink robe higher. “Whoever heard of arranging for a private presentation?”

My father disappeared behind Forrester’s
Morning Gazette
, displaying headlines that anticipated my coming-out. Just staring at the print brought a new wave of unease. “Ah, well,” my father said. “I’ve better things to do than sit around waiting for Her Majesty.”

Lady Beatrice clutched her heart, horror-struck. “Of all the audacity. Someday you will regret your bulldog personality.”

My father scowled and turned the page.

Wind caught Lady Beatrice’s crepe veil and outlined her puckering face as she climbed from the carriage. With difficulty, I followed. My beaded train weighed nearly forty pounds, and black patches of ice spotted the ground. I felt so nervous, I scarcely noticed the cold as I gathered my skirts. It was probably
the most expensive dress I’ve ever worn, yet my anxiety that day has erased almost any memory of wearing it. I was minutes away from deceiving my sovereign. Divorced people were forbidden from being presented. Nor were women of scandal or illegitimate children allowed. I eyed the imposing building, wondering if I’d be thrown into prison if they knew I was Julia Macy. My slippers crushed frozen leaves, making my steps sound like a dry rustling. Somewhere Edward walked under billowing clouds on his way to attend the needs of his poor.

Edward.

A familiar lump formed in my throat. Surely
he
would advise me not to lie to the queen. Yet, like that tightrope walker, what choice had I now except to continue on? Court attendants opened massive, creaking doors. The palace offered us relief from the biting wind, but a strange malodor filled the hall.

“For goodness’ sake, hold still.” Lady Beatrice dropped my train and fussed with the veil of my headdress.

I did my best to appear emotionless as an attendant waved for me to follow.

My steps faltered as I approached the grand drawing room. My walk was nothing like the glide I’d practiced for hours before Lady Beatrice; my legs felt too much like India rubber.

When I entered, Her Majesty watched me at a distance from her dais, surrounded by lords and ladies. I handed my card to the lord chamberlain but scarcely heard my name announced. For an eternity, I approached.

Only a year older than myself, Queen Victoria gave me an encouraging smile. I curtsied, managing to keep my balance, and waited for her to present her hand for me to press to my lips. Instead, cool fingers lifted my face, and I found that she had stood.

“I am well aware of your father’s loyalty and dedication to
me,” she said in a lilting voice. She kissed my forehead. “For that, I honor him by honoring you.”

Dread that she had kissed me, the same as she would a daughter of an earl or duke, filled me. “Your Royal Highness,” I managed.

Her eyes widened before I remembered the correct form of address was
Your Majesty
, then twinkled as she nodded permission for me to leave.

Remembering my last brief curtsy, I dipped, and the lord-in-waiting gathered my heavy train and draped it over my arm. Step by step, I backed away. My last glimpse of the queen was of her still watching me with amusement.

Outside, my world caught up with me again. Blood rushed to my ears, and I braced myself against a wall. There was no turning back now. I’d been presented to the queen. A uniformed man clutched my arm.

“You looked ready to faint,” he said in a chuckling voice. “For a moment, I feared I’d have to carry you out.”

I touched my gloved finger to my forehead. “She . . . she kissed me.”

The man chuckled and led me toward the gallery, where Lady Beatrice waited with an arch expression.