Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (28 page)

Our carriage pulled before a large residence with a round-pebbled path. My father exited and offered his hand. When I’d found the ground, he backed me against the carriage. His arm, pressed over my shoulders, shook with anger. “I know you think you love that other boy. You are young and have proven that you are very foolish. Whom you marry is now my choice. If you drive away Isaac, then I’ll only choose another husband for you. One who, unlike Isaac, will make no request that I give you time to grow accustomed to him. Learn to accept my choices, or I’ll place you with a husband you deserve.”

He released me, his words worse than a physical blow. With a tight grip he forced me toward the house, his anger kindled and his face red.

At the door, he handed the butler his card and never glanced at me while we waited.

“Lady Northrum is expecting you,” the butler said, returning with a smile. “If you’ll follow me please.”

Palms filled the narrow gallery. Branches and leaves whipped my face and body as my father strode through them first. Happy murmurs of conversation drifted from the chamber ahead. I blinked to hold back tears.

“The Lord and Miss Pierson,” the butler announced to the room.

We’d taken no more than two steps inside before my father halted so suddenly, I nearly lost my balance. In the nearest corner, flipping through a book, sat Mr. Macy.

I WATCHED my father’s neck turn from flushed to pallid before he reached behind him and pulled me to his side. Keeping a tight grip on my wrist, he bowed to our hostess, who had risen. “Lady Northrum, thank you for your invitation.”

I followed his example, trying not to look at Mr. Macy, but I tasted fear regardless.

“Roy!” At the far end of the gallery, Lord Northrum rose from his card game and waved. “Here I feared you weren’t going to show, and after we all made a point to join you. We’re having a beastly discussion about the Reform Bill, of all things. It’s amazing how after all these years no one is tired of blathering about it. You had best come here, though, for if you remain there, they’ll force you to discuss last night’s ball.”

“Coming.” My father’s voice sounded weak compared to his normal confidence.

I grasped his sleeve, wanting to cling and beg him not to leave me mere feet away from Mr. Macy. Taking my hand and
giving it a tight squeeze, my father kissed my cheek and looked me square in the eyes before leaving.

“Come along, dear.” Lady Northrum took my arm. Her hyssop perfume gathered around me along with her skirts. “We were all discussing your lovely gown last night. Weren’t we, Mildred?”

“Indeed, indeed,” the young lady cried. “Was it from Quill’s?”

I sat on the tufted couch. A short distance from me, Mr. Macy crossed his legs. “Yes, Quill’s.” My voice sounded foreign. “That is correct.”

“Did the queen really kiss you?” another girl asked.

“Yes, she did.” I tightened my fist over my fan as Mr. Macy propped his foot against the rung of his chair and bit his thumb, still considering the passage he read. It was maddening. How could I keep my composure with him ignoring me?

“I say, Chance,” said a gentleman sitting amongst our group. “Your frightful behavior is disturbing Miss Pierson. She’s not stopped staring at you since she’s entered the room. Don’t sit there all morose. Come greet the girl.”

“Am I disturbing you, Miss Pierson?” Mr. Macy looked over the pages of his book, then shut it with an irritated sigh. “I forget my manners as well as the rule that gentlemen are expected to keep the young ladies entertained.” He held up his book. “Very well. Shall I read you the poem I am looking at?”

I stared, mesmerized, afraid to voice a word. I’d not seen his face since the night of Churchill’s murder. He was more captivating than I’d remembered—more dangerous, more fierce.

Dark eyes met mine as he stopped before me. A small twist of a smile registered over his lips before he attempted to dismiss Lady Northrum with a wave. “If I’m going to be forced to amuse a child like a paid jester, the least you can do is lend me your seat.”

“Oh, stop.” She batted his leg with her fan. “You’re alarming Miss Pierson with your odd manner.”

“Then I’ll kneel at her feet to read to her.” He did, leaning so close his elbows sank into the cushion on both sides of my legs, pinning my dress. As he leaned near with a provocative gaze, scents of sandalwood and fine cigars brought a rush of memories.

“Good gracious, Chance.” The voice of the gentleman who’d started this squeaked. “You’re going to cause a scandal.”

“Nonsense.” If it were possible for words to caress, Mr. Macy’s did. “She’s the exact age as my wife, and I want her opinion of this poem. Now do I have your full attention, Miss Pierson?”

Like one fighting a trance, I slowly turned my head toward my father for help. He stared, his hand halfway over the table, holding the card he’d been about to play. The men at his table fidgeted, shifting their eyes between my father’s hard, angry face and Mr. Macy’s scandalous proximity to his daughter.

“I begin to see my problem,” Mr. Macy said, teasing high in his voice. “It’s no wonder I failed to keep my wife at my side, if my best charms are incapable of holding Miss Pierson’s attention more than a few fleeting seconds.”

“Chance, please stop,” Lady Northrum whispered, then tittered in my father’s direction. “I fear our friend’s humor isn’t understood by many.”

“Then allow me to read my poem,” Mr. Macy said. “Now pay attention, Miss Pierson. I’m thinking of sending this message to my wife. I desire your honest opinion.

“Can a maid that is well bred,

Hath a blush so lovely red,

Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet,

And a nature passing sweet,

Break her promise, untrue prove,

On a sudden change her love,

Or be won e’er to neglect

Him to whom she vow’d respect?”

“Really now, Chance.” The gentleman pulled his cup of tea closer to his chest. “You’ll have to forgive him, Miss Pierson. He’s had a bad spell of love and has been in this humor for some time. I had not a thought he would act in this manner when I engaged him.”

“I’m not finished.” Mr. Macy gave him a silencing look. Then closing the book, he recited,

“Such a maid, alas, I know.

Oh that weeds ’mongst corn should grow,

Or a rose should prickles have,

Wounding where she ought to save!

I that did her parts extol,

Will my lavish tongue control.

Outward parts do blind the eyes,

Gall in golden pills oft lies.

“Reason wake, and sleep no more,

Land upon some safer shore;

Think on her and be afraid

Of a faithless fickle maid.”

He paused, adding emphasis.

“Of a faithless fickle maid

Thus true love is still betray’d.

Yet it is some ease to sing

That a maid is light of wing.”

Mr. Macy retreated slightly. “Your cheeks grow scarlet, Miss Pierson. Either you’ve read the gossip of my unfortunate marriage in the papers, or perhaps, like my wife, you’ve broken a solemn promise to someone who loves you dearly.”

“Never mind him, dear.” Lady Northrum patted my hand, causing me to jump. She laughed in a choking manner when my father stood. “My apologies to you, Lord Pierson. Our friend has been rather morose lately. We hoped to cheer him.” With a pleading look at Mr. Macy, she frantically signalled him to rise.

“Oh, but I am cheered,” Mr. Macy said. “Perhaps this room thinks me rude. We’ll have to tell them our little secret, won’t we, Miss Pierson?” His eyes twinkled at my sharp intake of breath. “Our families are well acquainted. Her father and I have a very long history.” He turned and smiled at my father. “Is that not so, Roy? Miss Pierson is rather used to my strange manner too, I daresay. You see, I am Pierson’s closest neighbor and probably the only person aware that Roy had a daughter he’d hidden. I’ve not seen her since she was a mere slip of a girl.” Mr. Macy took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Did you think I’d forgotten about you? Were you offended when you entered the room and I ignored you? Nay, I have not, nor will I ever. It does my heart good to see you well.”

I thought of Lord Dalry and tried to borrow one of his political faces. With a slight nod and a refined smile, I attempted to withdraw my hand as he caressed my fingers between his. His touch still heightened every sense in my body.

“What’s this?” Mr. Macy chided. “You used to sit on my lap and speak to me quite openly. And now you sit there, so sober.”

“So you’ve known her since her childhood?” Lady Northrum recovered speech first and placed a hand over her heart.

“I’m closer to this girl than an uncle.”

The gentleman replaced his teacup in the saucer with a clank. His laughter filled the room. “I say, Chance, that wasn’t very sportsmanlike of you. Here I feared Lord Pierson’s wrath was about to fall on me.” He turned and looked at my father, who gave a tight smile.

The gentlemen around my father laughed and resumed their
card game. My father excused himself, laying his cards on the table to join us.

“Where did you attend school, sweetheart?” Mr. Macy asked, taking the empty chair next to mine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to practice one of my languages. I wager I can speak the native tongue without accent.”

“Without accent?” The gentleman snorted. “How would that be possible?”

Mr. Macy smiled and lifted his hand in a gesture toward me. “I assure you, it’s completely possible. We’ll test my experiment on Miss Pierson. I assume you speak the language since you’ve been there most of your life.”

All eyes including my father’s turned on me. My heart beat hard. “I went to school in America.”

Mr. Macy laughed. “Since when is it fashionable to send our elite to that barbarous country? You show me how out of touch I am with young ladies. I would have guessed France or Germany. My curiosity is highly aroused. Roy, where in America is a school worthy of one of our heiresses?”

“Boston.” The anger in my father’s voice made everyone shift. From his stance behind me, he laid a hand on my shoulder.

Mr. Macy reclined with a catlike smile. “I’d love to hear her imitate a Bostonian accent.”

“I’ll not allow my daughter to muddle the Queen’s English for amusement.”

Mr. Macy twisted the black onyx ring on his finger. “What was the name of your school, sweetheart? I have an acquaintance who wishes to find a reputable place to send her daughter. Your father’s tastes are impeccable. I’ll recommend yours.”

I swallowed and said the first name that came to mind. “The Boston Ladies’ Finishing School.”

Mr. Macy shook his head with amusement at my father. “How original.” Then to me, “I fear I’ve not played the part of gentleman by questioning you for my own entertainment. We all know
that every young lady wishes to display her skill at music.” He turned to Lady Northrum. “I don’t see your pianoforte. Where is it? It has been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of hearing an accomplished pianist.”

“Against the bay window.” She turned and pointed at the instrument behind her.

I looked up at my father, pleading.

“Will you grant me the honor, Miss Pierson?” Mr. Macy stood and extended his arm. “I’ll turn the pages for you.”

“Some other day, perhaps.” My father opened his pocket watch. “Chance, since we both seem to be free, there’s some business I’ve been waiting to discuss with you.” He turned to Lady Northrum. “I fear our visit must be cut short. Mr. Macy and I have been trying for ages to find a time to meet.”

Seeing an escape, I rose, seized my skirts, and hoped my legs would carry me as far as the carriage. While my father assured Lady Northrum he’d not been offended, Mr. Macy acquired my arm and pulled me from the room. “Darling,” he said, gathering me in his arms. “There’s no need to shake. I am not angry with you, I swear it.” He halted, then touched his forehead to mine as tears rose in my eyes. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m too overjoyed to find you safe and well.”

It was so absurd that I laughed, only it came out a sob. “Please.”

With his right hand, he cradled one side of my face. “Don’t cry, dearest. I’m not going to expose you yet. I’ve been trying to send your father a message for some time now.” He chuckled, glancing toward the room we’d been in. “I think he finally received it.” Then to me, “While I’m not angry, we do need to have a little talk. I’m arranging a private rendezvous for us.”

I looked toward the doorway that my father should storm from any second.