Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (59 page)

“He’s . . . You mean Mr. Macy is a Gypsy!”

“If you consider, his complexion should have given it away years ago.”

I remembered all of Macy’s kisses, feeling amazed I’d been kissed by a Gypsy. Mama and Sarah wouldn’t even allow me to wave to them in the marketplace. “Your father knew this?”

Forrester gave a curt nod. “Yes, all those years he was reclusive, that was my father’s doing. It was his means of keeping Macy’s blackmail in check.”

“If he’s an imposter, why didn’t he discredit him years ago?”

“If you were Macy, a man without conscience, and someone learned you were an imposter, what would you do?”

I still hadn’t been able to comprehend that Macy wasn’t legitimately amongst the elite. It didn’t seem possible. I gave a disbelieving laugh, recalling that I didn’t belong there either.

“My father was wise enough not to take everything that matters from Macy. He left him his dignity. But my father hadn’t comprehended Macy’s next step.”

I cocked my head. “Which was?”

“To find out who the real owner of Eastbourne is. Which, legally, upon the death of your father, is you.”

“Me?”

“It’s willed to Roy and, in the event of his death, his offspring.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t even seen as his daughter until this year.”

Forrester breathed out a laugh. “You don’t know Macy as well as I do. I guarantee you, locked away somewhere in that estate are papers, evidence—something that proves you’re the daughter of Roy Pierson.”

I was silent as I recalled the mass of papers in Mr. Macy’s study and how he’d said he possessed his own copy of my parents’ correspondences. I shook at the thought. “So what happens next?”

“Despite the fact you bungled it tonight, he knows we mean business. You watch; he’ll remain tucked inside Eastbourne. We won!”

Nothing is rarer in life than a true idiot, and I take great pleasure in saying that Forrester was the chief stone in my collection.

I held in my exasperation. “What about Edward? How will you keep your end of the bargain?”

He snorted as he stood and brushed off his clothing. “Yes, yes. I took care of that as soon as you agreed to help me.
Tomorrow morning, at the breakfast table, I’ll begin my campaign to aid your marriage to your vicar. Don’t be late.”

The following morning, my father surprised me by greeting me with a kiss before ensconcing himself in his chair. He even paused to study my tired eyes before spreading the napkin over his lap.

“Julia, I’m sorry about yesterday. When your friend awakens, I’ll allow you to visit him. I’d like for you to properly thank him for his past service to you. I think, perhaps, it would ease you later in life, if we explain to him, too, why you must marry Isaac.”

I stared at him, certain he’d see my guilt, but he gave no hint. I glanced at the clock, feeling sick, wondering where Forrester was. I couldn’t begin my counterarguments without him. Isaac smiled at me as he took his seat, making me wonder if he’d helped my father reach his decision. I gave a faint nod of thanks as Isaac drizzled honey over his pears.

James entered with the tray of newspapers. Blanched, he gave me a horrified look before he set the stack beside my father. I narrowed my eyes, uncertain what he’d tried to communicate. Instead of remaining, James turned and left.

I stabbed a bite of melon as my father skipped the
Times
and selected the second paper. I did not raise my fork, however, for I feared the queen had died as I caught sight of his face.

He aged a decade in the span of a minute, then speechlessly laid down the newspaper and withdrew to the window.

Wide-eyed, Isaac and I leaned forward. The front page of the
Morning Gazette
had a likeness of Isaac and me. The artist had a good hand, for the images were true. The article that followed outlined how Isaac learned that I had a secret engagement to a vicar and had heroically stepped aside, sacrificing his happiness for mine. The story highlighted Isaac, praising
and congratulating him on this act and on his political views. Edward’s name wasn’t mentioned.

My composure broke as I read it. I frantically shook my head, trying to communicate that I hadn’t known about this. My father came back and laid a hand on Isaac’s shoulder before I’d finished. My father looked broken. Isaac was worse. I’d never seen him so pulverized. He looked at me, and I knew then he had wanted me as his wife, not for my money, not because of my father, but because he loved me in his own way. Stunned, anguished, he met me with a look that asked how I could do that to him.

Forrester entered and scowled. “What is she sobbing about now?”

Instead of roaring and throwing Forrester from the house for the article, my father pointed at it as though he couldn’t speak or move.

Forrester grabbed the pages from Isaac and read. Anger contorted his face before he screamed, “You little hussy! You switched the articles in my saddlebag, didn’t you!”

I stared at Forrester, absolutely flabbergasted. “You know I didn’t! Tell them! Tell them the truth!”

“When this reverend fellow wakes,” my father finally said, “let him have her. Let him remove her from my house. Let me never lay eyes on her again.”

“Sir,” Isaac said, his voice strained.

“Isaac, I’m sorry,” my father said. “I have nothing to offer you now.”

“That’s not what I meant. She needs you, sir.”

I cringed, feeling more wretched than if he had shouted at me. My father didn’t answer but exited the room, leaving a carved-out feeling in my chest. Isaac scooted his chair back and attempted to speak but failed. Though he worked to stay composed, he managed only a nod before he left.

I stared at my hands, which were scraped from climbing the
hill last night and still dirty, even though I’d scrubbed them for ten minutes.

Forrester moved near me and said in a soft voice, “The worst is over. Go to your vicar. Sit with him. Your father will come around eventually. He’ll like Edward once he learns his nature.”

Too stunned to do anything else, I followed his advice.

Edward’s room felt humid as I slipped inside and pulled a chair near his bed. His hair was damp and his breathing abrasive. I rested my head on his shoulder, then took his hand and intertwined my fingers in his, waiting.

There was no end of surprises those next three days. Edward awoke that night to the news that he was to marry the richest heiress in England, and that Lord Pierson had paused dinner—something hitherto unheard of—as he wished to interview his future son-in-law.

Word that my father had granted me permission to marry the vicar from my school—and that a hasty but private wedding was planned—spread through the neighborhood. Maplecroft was besieged by curious busybodies and genuine well-wishers.

Lady Dalry presented me with her mother’s tatted veil.

Kate picked my bridal bouquet, a handful of crocuses tied with ribbon.

My wedding dress, however, was the most unexpected and extravagant gift of them all. Evelyn Greenley arrived past gloaming the eve of my wedding. Her fingers trembled as she peeled back tissue paper, revealing a billowing ivory gown of silk from the House of Doucet in Paris. Agony scripted her face as she handed over what was to have been her wedding dress. Trembling, she fled back into the night.

The next morning, my veil fluttered against my face as I climbed the church steps and entered the chapel. In vain I
searched for Isaac. His absence was palpable, but I had no chance to dwell on it. My father started me down the aisle.

Edward waited, bathed in the golden rays of the sun at the front of the small chapel. Honey-colored curls fell over his brow as he gave me a slight bow. Here was the one soul I could not endure separation from and, indeed, I think I was not meant to live without.

The warmth of his hand imbued mine as we knelt to be wed.

I find it humorous that I spent both of my wedding nights in a carriage, travelling. Immediately following our wedding, Edward announced that Henry and Elizabeth’s nuptials were forthcoming and we were leaving posthaste. My father, though he had declared he wished me removed from his life, did not approve of Edward’s plans, but there was nothing he could do.

Thus, Edward and I presently disembarked from one of my father’s unmarked carriages to the homey sight of warm, yellow light spilling from Am Meer’s windows. The cottage looked so minuscule, compared to the great houses I’d lived in, that at first I laughed.

Through the open drapes, I spotted Henry, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Windham in animated discussion. Mrs. Windham was having some sort of a crying fit, and no amount of coaxing seemed to be helping.

“No wonder they didn’t hear the carriage,” Edward said, approaching.

I had to bury my face in his chest, I was so happy. The room was shabby but unplagued by the worries of society. I could almost smell the lilac of Mrs. Windham’s powder and feel the lumpiness of the maroon chair.

I picked up my skirts, ready to pound on the door with its chipped blue paint and demand entrance, but Edward caught my arm. “If we go inside, we’ll be trapped for hours. We’re only
here to tell them I’m back and can marry them, if they still wish. They must be wondering what happened to me.”

“You mean you didn’t tell them where you were going?” I asked.

“No. Henry was already insisting we barge into your father’s house and kidnap you, so I did it my way.” He grinned, then bent and scooped up a handful of pebbles, which he threw lightly at the window.

As the pebbles skidded off glass, Mrs. Windham ceased her tears and gave the window an angry glare. A second later, Henry stuck his head out the window, squinting.

“Stay here,” Edward whispered, then stepped out from the shadow of the carriage.

Henry gave a whoop, and a moment later, he emerged from Am Meer, followed by Elizabeth and Mrs. Windham. “Have you any idea what you put us through! Elizabeth and I have spent days searching for someone to marry us. I have half a mind to box you. Don’t just stand there with that daft smile. Explain yourself.”

Edward gestured in my direction. “Henry, I’d like to present to you my wife.”

Feeling suddenly shy, I stepped forward.

I had not realized how much I’d changed until I saw Elizabeth and Mrs. Windham gaping at me. Then, after taking a tentative step forward and studying me, Elizabeth screamed and flung herself into my arms. Our foursome talked all at once. I was passed from Elizabeth to Mrs. Windham, who thankfully remained too shocked to speak.

Henry received me last and lifted me in a bear hug. “I should have known Edward went after you.” Setting me on my feet, he turned to Edward. “You should have told me!”

Edward reached out and pulled me back toward him as if he couldn’t bear the distance either. “It’s of no matter. It’s done now, and I kept my promise to be back for your wedding.”

“Oh, you must leave Julia with us for the night,” Mrs. Windham said, finally recovering enough to speak and signalling with her handkerchief for me to come to her. “It will give you time to explain it to your parents. Besides, she and Elizabeth must have a lot to talk on.”

“Not a chance.” Edward wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer.

Henry was the only one who chuckled, guessing the reason. “Where are you going now?”