Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (42 page)

“I’m certain,” Isaac said, pulling on his gloves.

My father nodded permission for Miss Moray to leave, then stepped back to view me. Though I tried to no longer seek his approval, my heart rebelled and soared when he chucked the bottom of my chin. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”

I paused, tightening my mantle, before replying. “I will.”

Behind my father, Isaac pinned me with his stare, telling me he sensed my untruth.

I gathered my purse and fan, avoiding his direct gaze, disliking the idea of a marriage where one could never lie.

My father placed my hand on Isaac’s arm. “Son, take good care of her.”

“I promise, sir.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take our carriage?”

Isaac laughed, picking up his hat. “It would only offend Eramus. Since he thinks he’s Julia’s escort, he’d object to Lady Beatrice’s carriage not being used.”

“Are you armed?”

Isaac gave my father a sullen look, buttoning the top of his coat. “Yes. Against my better judgment.”

Frowning, my father spoke gruffly. “Watch that she isn’t exposed to Eramus’s gambling.”

“I’ll try, sir, but I can’t promise.”

My father grew silent, glanced at the clock, and then rubbed his palms over the pockets of his dinner coat. “What if you took Julia there, then joined me halfway through?”

Isaac’s jaw tightened. “Sir, I am determined in my plans. I ask that you not try to deter me.”

My father growled, “Fine. But if Eramus brings her back early, I expect you to attend me!”

He swung open the door, bellowing for one of the footmen to tell the coachman he was ready to leave for his club and to fetch his walking stick and cloak.

On Isaac’s arm, I stepped into the chilled air. A layer of fog bobbed over the street, no higher than James’s calf. Lamplight cast hazy circles over the gently moving mist. Above, it was impossible to discern more than four dimly lit stars. Sewage tinged the night air, but I breathed deeply regardless.

Isaac turned ever so slightly, the streetlamp revealing a worried expression. “James,” he suddenly announced, facing into darkness again, “walk a good distance ahead of us.”

“Sir?” James looked up from the bottom of the stairs.

“Give us privacy.”

“How can I chaperone her if I can’t see her?”

“Precisely. Now walk.”

James jammed his hands into his greatcoat, breathing heavier. “What if Lord Pierson learns of it?”

“Walk.”

James gave one last pleading glance before stiffly marching down the pavement. He stopped at the gate.

“Keep going,” Isaac called, holding me in place on the top step. “Go as far as the bend in the curb.”

“But, sir—”

“Shall I tell Lord Pierson that you kissed one of the upper maids?”

James audibly gasped and spun around. “That’s hardly fair, sir! I’d lose my post.”

“Then march.”

James squared his shoulders and turned. With arms rigid at his side, he announced to the mist-covered cobblestones, “Sir, under duress I will obey your order. But she is the daughter of my master, and therefore it is my duty to inform you that her father would highly disapprove. I think you’re being very unfair to me.”

He sounded so comical, I covered my mouth to suppress giggles.

“March,” Isaac ordered, his tone warming as I giggled harder.

The gate clanged shut, and after a minute, Isaac pulled me close and we began our descent into the condensation.

“Julia, I apologize in advance,” he said, slipping his gloved fingers between mine, the fog cradling about us as we passed, “but I need to ask you about your earlier hesitation.”

“Hesitation?”

“When your father told you to have a good time, you hesitated. Answer me honestly: Has Eramus ever acted unseemly toward you?”

His question was so startling I stopped walking. Sharp, cold air stung my lungs as I wondered why Eramus so agitated Isaac.

My suspicions were confirmed when Isaac swallowed hard, his entire countenance changing. He clenched his free hand into a fist as if scarcely able to keep his composure. His words came out strained. “What has he done?”

“Nothing,” I assured him.

Isaac’s Adam’s apple bobbed above his cravat.

“Why does he worry you?” I asked.

His eyes looked lost in some troubled world of his own. Something about his manner stirred pity within me. Here was a soul locked in a private torment. Another pilgrim on the path
I travelled. He peered over my shoulder as he acknowledged my question with a nod. “It’s my burden. Forgive me for troubling you.”

We heard a scuffing sound, and Isaac looked over. Mr. Billingsby and an elderly gentleman were staring at us, unsmiling. They tipped their hats.

“Surely this isn’t our Lord Dalry out with a young woman and no chaperone?” the white-haired man said.

With a sheepish expression, Isaac released me and called, “James? Where are you?”

“Ahead of you.” James’s voice carried from a distance. “Exactly as you ordered.”

Isaac deepened a shade, then with hands on hips, turned from the men. “Well, come back.”

“May I inquire as to the identity of your companion? Her parents need to be made aware of this situation.”

Mr. Billingsby laughed and leaned on his walking stick. “Can you not tell by looking at her, Grandfather? That’s Miss Julia Pierson, Lord Pierson’s daughter. She’s also the girl that Lord Alexander is courting.”

Thankfully, I felt too drained to blush and gave them a brief curtsy. “My father is perfectly aware that I’m with Isaa—Lord Dalry.”

Isaac winced, hearing my use of his first name. James came running. He flushed with guilt, spotting the gentlemen, but then whipped off his hat.

“I feel it is my duty to oversee the lot of you back to your house.” The elderly gentleman opened his arms like a mother herding her flock of children. “Turn about. I intend to see that Lord Pierson receives quite an earful.”

Mr. Billingsby chuckled. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow during sessions, for I saw Lord Pierson’s carriage not more than five minutes ago. Consider. If you take them home, you only give them privacy, and I’ll have to send Lord Alexander to chaperone.”

The elderly man pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. “Of all the hours for me to find such a shameful display.” He glared at Isaac. “Where were you taking her?”

Isaac huffed and finally looked in their direction. “I’m escorting Miss Pierson to her cousin Master Eramus Calvin. He’s staying with Lady Beatrice.”

“Shall I go with them, Grandfather?”

“Have you learned your lesson, young man?” Lord Billingsby eyed Isaac from beneath his tufted eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.”

Lord Billingsby tapped James in the chest with his walking stick. “A faithless servant never advances. Remember that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come, boy. We have guests to receive. Your parents are going to be furious at our late arrival as it is.”

Mr. Billingsby gave Isaac a smirk. “I hope for your sake Lord Alexander doesn’t challenge you to a duel to defend her honor.” He looked at me, trying to appear sincere. “He speaks of nothing except you, milady.”

“You’re as undisciplined as the lot of them,” his grandfather commented. “I hope Lord Alexander has more sense than to allow you to do his wooing for him.”

They turned the corner, so I did not hear Mr. Billingsby’s murmured response.

James pulled on his sleeves. “Imagine how furious his lordship is going to be when the Lord Alexander Kensington shows up expecting to take Miss Pierson for a stroll.”

Isaac looked at me but, perhaps thankful that there was no hope of resurrecting our conversation, simply nodded. “All right. Let’s go fetch Eramus and get this night over with.”

At Lady Beatrice’s house, James ran up the steps and pulled on the bell chain. With growing interest, I waited for Eramus to emerge from the blackness so I could study him anew.

When he finally did, he scarcely glanced at me. He surveyed
his servant, who continued to polish his black leather cape as he exited. Eramus craned his neck over his shoulder as if to ascertain it was spotless.

“Start readying my bed at midnight in case I come home early. Make sure new warming pans are inserted every half hour.” He smacked the valet away and plodded down the stairs. “Cousin.” With half-closed eyes, he kissed my cheek. “I’m pleased to see your father has finally come to his senses.”

His hand closed around my forearm. “Look how the leech bristles when I touch you.” Eramus laughed and opened the door to Lady Beatrice’s carriage. “You may as well grow used to it, Isaac. Tonight Miss Pierson is under my care. Though I daresay we will be looking for our first chance to sneak away from you, shall we not, Cousin?”

Isaac gave him a bland look, seeming so disinterested that even I had a hard time discerning that he felt emotion. To honor him, I adopted the same bored expression, ignoring Eramus.

As we jostled down one street and then another, the feathers in my headdress vibrated against my neck. The outlandish quality of the evening increased as the carriage turned onto our street. I frowned at our nonsense. We had walked to Lady Beatrice’s only to ride back the way we came? Why, I wondered, hadn’t Eramus simply picked us up?

I turned slightly to study him. The dull-yellow light of a streetlamp flooded the carriage, emphasizing Eramus’s grotesque features. Goblin-lidded eyes stared in my direction; fleshy cheeks sagged on either side of his overlong mouth. “Isaac, tell your future bride to stop her incessant flirting,” Eramus said in a monotone. “She keeps giving me the most eliciting glances. If she keeps it up, I won’t be responsible for my—”

Isaac had Eramus by the collar before I blinked. “I am not going to allow our war to resurface.” Isaac twisted the wad of material in his fist. “You are finished tormenting me. If I have to—”

The carriage door opened, and Lady Beatrice’s coachman shifted his gaze between Isaac and Eramus.

“Phillip,” Isaac said in a calm voice, “escort Miss Pierson to the front door. Julia, go greet our hosts. Eramus and I will join you in a moment.”

The coachman held out his hand for me and practically had to lift me over the two gentlemen in midfight. As soon as my feet touched the ground, Phillip hesitated, looking between the two men. Something about his stance, his hesitation to interfere, made me wonder if he hoped Eramus was about to receive his comeuppance.

Isaac met my eyes. “Julia, go inside.”

For a moment, I stood, rising above the sea of fog—lost.

Music and laughter flooded from the house, and light cascaded down the stairs, stretching in a wide rectangle over the concrete. My dress felt heavier than normal, stealing my breath as I ascended the stairs. Reflecting over the last few months, I realized how hard Isaac had worked to learn even the minute details of my life—how I drank my tea, if my shoes pinched, what my varying expressions meant. Yet, I scarcely knew anything about him. Shame filled me. Here was another soul who surely suffered this life too.

“Whom should I announce?” The butler came down four steps to greet me.

“Miss Pierson,” the coachman said and, after bowing, hastened back to the carriage.

“This way, please.”

On the arm of a butler, I entered the home. The tinkle of glasses and laughter rang from the next room. Vases of honeysuckle and roses tangled with ivy clustered over tables and out of wall pockets, filling the air with their sweet scent. While the maid removed my cape, I braced myself for the shocked expressions I’d encounter when the other guests learned I had arrived alone. The butler opened the door and whispered my name to a waiting footman.

“Miss Beerson,” the footman called into the room.

Only those playing whist nearby heard, but they did not bother to look up. Huddles of conversations dotted the room; strains of Mozart—played on violin, cello, and pianoforte—drifted from the archway leading into another large gallery.

I breathed easier. Etiquette demanded that I greet the hosts and correct my name without stressing my importance. With the refinement I’d learned at Lady Beatrice’s hand, I turned about, praying I could spot them in this crowd. I wasn’t even certain what our hosts looked like.

“Good heavens, it’s that girl again,” said a familiar gruff voice. I looked up to find Lord Billingsby’s tufted brows narrowed at me. “Where is your escort? Where is young Dalry now?”

I weakly gestured to the window.

A woman sidled next to him and asked in a loud whisper, “Who is it, Harold?”

“Of all the nuisances. It’s Lord Pierson’s daughter, only now she has no escort.”

Her hand fluttered to her heart. “Good merciful heavens.”

I waved again in the direction of the window. “M-my escorts . . . have been detained.”

“Oh, dear. Oh, my.” The woman looked over the room, trying to ascertain who had seen me. “There’s going to be scandal.”

“Not in my house, there won’t.” Lord Billingsby thumped his walking stick. “Jonathan!”

Mr. Billingsby’s large frame turned from a nearby group of people. A smug look fell over his face, and he immediately came. “Yes?”

“Well, you know the girl; now she’s your problem.”

He gave me a lopsided smile. “I fear I cannot understand your meaning, Grandfather. Are you saying you’ve arranged a marriage? That’s rather unfair. You’ve just destroyed my political career before it even started.”

“She needs an escort,” the woman whispered, pulling me
near Mr. Billingsby. “She came without one. Keep anyone from learning it.”

He bowed. “I’ll place her under the care of Lord Alexander.”

I held in my sigh.

As we left, the woman called for a servant to fan her, then weakly asked Lord Billingsby what I meant to accomplish by such recklessness, and at her soiree of all places.

Mr. Billingsby led me through the room, which was swelling with music. As we threaded toward the end of the gallery, people gave each other glances of significance, telling their acquaintances to look who had arrived.

Lord Alexander stood amongst a group of gentlemen, a half head taller than the rest. So deep were they in discussion, he failed to note our arrival.

Mr. Billingsby tapped Lord Alexander from behind. “You’ll never guess who is with me.”