Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  There was no proper answer.

  Amusement twinkled in her eyes before she whispered, “Disappointed?”

  “Well, no,” I found myself replying too quickly. “Not at all.”

  She laughed loudly, then turned and announced to him in a loud voice, “Poor John. You’re spurned and rejected at every corner. Not even the orphans want you.”

  “Eat so you can retire early,” was his reply. “We rise before dawn.”

  Chuckling, she returned her attention to me. “Do you truly know nothing about our host?”

  “Only that he is your acquaintance.”

  “My acquaintance?”

  I swallowed. “Well, yes.”

  Her bitter laugh grated the air. “You greatly misunderstand the nature of our affinity if you think that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fifteen years of being a recluse and what? I bring him an ungrateful toadeater who hasn’t the sense of a gnat.”

  “Fifteen years?” I asked, determined to ignore the insult. “Am I to take it, then, that Mr. Macy’s parents kept him from society?”

  Her ladyship’s eyes grew hard and small. “I know not whether I should berate or congratulate you for being the stupidest girl in England. In the future, you will make it your duty to learn everything possible—oh, why am I bothering. Just sit there and hold your tongue. Even dolts can accomplish that much.”

  As a shy person, it was already a daunting task to join a dinner party, but her ladyship’s harshness scattered my ability to retort.

  Elizabeth, however, felt up to the occasion. “Never mind her, dearest. Mr. Macy is Mama’s age and highly unsocial.” Her eyes directed toward her ladyship. “Although not as unsocial as some.”

  “He’s not unsocial,” Lady Foxmore snapped. “He’s reclusive. The fancy seized him one night. When he was throwing a ball, no less.” She skewered her goose with a knife. “He refused everyone at the door. It was the scandal of the season. Imagine, leaving the cream of society standing in the snow. Not even I was admitted.”

  “Why?” Henry asked. “What happened?”

  “It’s no use asking me. Did he ever tell you, John?”

  Mr. Greenham’s eyes slid to me, as if inquiring what I made of this conversation, but then retreated to his brooding self.

  Her ladyship humphed. “Never mind, I forbid you to speak. In fact, I forbid all of you to speak. I may be forced to travel with this mangy, ragtag circus. However, nothing dictates I must listen to your ignorance.”

  “Well, I for one agree with you,” Mrs. Windham said. “I even said to Elizabeth this morning that I thought the horses looked mangy. My exact words, were they not, my dear.”

  Elizabeth shut her eyes as Henry quickly buried his mouth in his napkin.

  “And I would never dream of speaking after such a day of travelling in disagreeable weather. For goodness’ sake, Julia, hold your tongue and stop pestering her ladyship. In my day, we knew better than to assault our betters. It isn’t likely Mr. Macy would take note of you regardless, even with your new wardrobe.”

  Henry’s eyes were all merriment, but Elizabeth met mine with a look that questioned whether I truly understood what I was getting myself into by aligning myself with her ladyship.

  I stabbed a roasted brussels sprout, ignoring her. I had little doubt that if she realized Edward had broken our betrothal, her look would have been one of pity.

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure which was worse. To be pitied or to have them think I willingly submitted to such treatment.

  My pride won.

  PEOPLE HAVE ASKED whether I was in ferment during that journey, I suppose because we were travelling to one of Bedfordshire’s most prestigious estates to be entertained by the elusive Mr. Macy.

  The simple answer is no.

  As our carriage slogged through muddy roads, I had no appreciation of the rarity of my situation. I had no inkling Lady Foxmore was about to accomplish what would one day be hailed as her greatest feat. I was ignorant that I was about to meet the only person in the whole of England brash enough to pit himself against my guardian.

  Nor was there anyone to educate me; Mrs. Windham, Henry, and Elizabeth being equally unaware and Mr. Greenham having reverted back to his taciturn self. My only indication that something larger was afoot was the manner in which Lady Foxmore occasionally studied me before shaking her head in disbelief.

  Little needs to be said about our second day of travel except that we arrived at dusk. Wet cobblestones reflected our carriage lanterns as we rattled down the lanes of the town bordering Eastbourne. The streets appeared uninhabited, except for the lights of those retiring for the evening. Past the village, I continued to catch sight of cottages tucked willy-nilly amongst the hollows.

  “I recognize those very trees.” Lady Foxmore indicated a line of elms arching against a gloomy sky above the carriage. “We should arrive at Eastbourne any moment. Time stands still. I recognize every landmark.”

  I leaned forward with Mrs. Windham and Elizabeth.

  “There.” Lady Foxmore pointed out the rain-flecked window.

  Below, in the valley, a massive house sprawled in every direction, a patchwork of crumbling architecture. Ivy and creeping plants obscured much of the stonemasonry. Towers and spires, seemingly ready to topple, pierced the darkening sky.

  My eyes traced the ancient structure as loathing fluttered through me. That someone lived there seemed impossible. Were it not for the few windows that twinkled amidst the derelict estate, I’d have assumed Eastbourne an uninhabited ruin.

  “It must have a hundred rooms.” Elizabeth sounded breathless.

  “Over two hundred and fifty.” Lady Foxmore joined me in peering through the window. The lines about her mouth softened as she viewed the estate the way a mother might look upon a favorite child. “It started life as a monastery, but over the centuries the estate has also become an influential house. If I know Macy, I warrant he’s vastly improved it since I laid eyes on it.” She turned in my direction. “Here we shall see whether or not I can raise you from your pitiful state.”

  I stared, horror-stricken, thinking her mad if she believed this mass of stones to be an influential great house. It was a devastating moment.

  Her ladyship had brought me to a moth-eaten estate—not one of her grand acquaintances, not London, not Bath. For one wild moment, I feared I’d risked my guardian’s wrath for naught.

  A large gate forced the carriage to a halt beneath dripping pines. We waited several minutes before a guard admitted us, then proceeded down a winding lane. As we passed the first section of the house, gargoyles stippled with colored lichen and moss leered from their various perches.

  Lady Foxmore inclined near me and in a low voice asked, “Well, what do you make of Eastbourne, child?” Her eyes shone with a softness I did not understand as she gazed up at the rustling ivy.

  I measured my voice to hide my thick disappointment. “I wait to see the master.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, I’m rather waiting for that myself.”

  The percussion of rain ceased under the porte cochere. Mrs. Windham paled as she attempted to revive Elizabeth’s curls.

  “No need to worry over her appearance,” Lady Foxmore said in an amused tone. “I’m certain Chance shan’t care how she looks.”

  The driver opened the door and Lady Foxmore departed the carriage with a grace and bearing I could only hope to achieve. “Adelia?” A voice just outside the carriage took us by surprise.

  I glimpsed her ladyship’s face as she turned in its direction. Her expression was novel. Titillation, loathing, fear, and delight all seemed to coexist. Her hand flew to her chest, but it was impossible to tell whether the action denoted horror or delight.

  “There you are,” she said, recovering. Though she sounded shrill, her tone differed, bringing to mind a dog’s last and desperate bark as its master jerks its collar. “Well, at least you’re still sound in body—” her voice grew tart—“though I am convinced madness has
seized your mind.”

  The most beguiling laugh was followed by an equally bewitching voice. “Do not presume to berate me, Adelia. Take satisfaction that after all these years, you’re seeing your fondest wish for me fulfilled.”

  The full tone of the voice enthralled me. Each word was carefully enunciated, calling attention to the man’s good breeding. Despite myself, I felt the delightful sensation of hope spread through me. Perhaps not all was lost.

  “And since when,” demanded Lady Foxmore, “was it my fondest wish to see you rendered insane?”

  Another hypnotic laugh responded. “Is this not how it is supposed to happen? I thought rationale was always the very first thing to go.”

  Lady Foxmore stamped her stick, then stepped away from the carriage. “Well, it certainly fled in this case. Honestly, Chance. Miss Elliston, kindly step down from my carriage so I can make proper introductions.”

  I had not anticipated exiting before Mrs. Windham and cast her a guilty glance. The good woman gasped at the slight to her station while Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.

  A hand reached into the carriage. Embarrassment burned my cheeks as I gathered my skirts. There was no helping it. I grasped the hand in order to alight.

  Those of you who have seen Macy, even from a distance, can well imagine my wonder upon lifting my eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the captivating master who waited in the thickening fog. It was as though a dark angel had swooped in and landed at my feet.

  My shock at his appearance was so complete, I stood agog, halfway between the carriage and the ground. Lack of beauty had not played into his decision to withdraw from society. His symmetry was not that of classic proportions, but exotic and dangerous. Black hair, longer than generally accepted, curved over his brow.

  The figure he cut was likewise devastating. There was nothing middle-aged or sagging. His frock coat was oxford grey but did not flare out in gathers, as was the style then. Rather it was a revival of an earlier cut, squaring at his ribs before tailoring into a single coattail, which fell to his knees. His waistcoat was pewter-colored and featured pearly buttons that ended with a silvery cravat amassed about his throat.

  During our journey, our carriage had been suffocating, so that by the time of our arrival, I was gloveless and hatless. Heat registered over my cheeks as I realized my bare hand rested in his.

  “Chance, I believe you need a formal introduction,” said Lady Foxmore. “Miss Julia Elliston, may I present Mr. Chance Macy.”

  His gaze lingered longer than was proper before he bowed.

  I opened my mouth, but shyness seized my words.

  A hint of a smile dented the corner of his mouth as he finished his study and helped me to the ground. He stepped nearer, pleased. “You know, then?”

  “She knows nothing. You’ve been away so long, you forget the effect you have,” Lady Foxmore’s scowling voice said beside me. “Honestly, Chance, if this is some perverted joke on me, cease now. It is sickening to watch. Of all the undeserving people!”

  How Mr. Macy would have responded, I know not, for at that moment Mrs. Windham’s voice hallooed him. “Oh, oh, my dear Mr. Macy!”

  I turned and caught sight of her stooping in the doorway of the carriage.

  She started to alight on her own, then grumbled over her shoulder, “Elizabeth, for heaven’s sake, your foot is on my dress!”

  One dark brow arched as Mr. Macy faced Lady Foxmore.

  A slow, catlike smile spread over her features. “John’s doing. Certainly not mine. I utterly detest them. She insisted her presence will satisfy prerequisites set for Miss Elliston’s visit.”

  An incredulous-seeming Mr. Macy searched for Mr. Greenham and found him a short distance away.

  Rain had dampened his hat and oiled coat to a rich brown that matched the circles shadowing his eyes. Whether it was his mood or the way the shadows pitched his face, he looked like the unhappiest man in England. Behind him, Henry slid from his mount.

  “Lord Auburn’s eldest, as well?” Surprise laced Mr. Macy’s voice.

  It was at that moment Mrs. Windham managed to free herself. Lifting her skirts, she stumbled from the carriage, nearly stepping in a horse dropping. “I cannot begin to tell you how flattered we are to have been invited! Indeed, we are the envy of our entire neighborhood! You have no idea how greatly you honor us!”

  Behind us, Elizabeth’s pale face emerged from the darkened carriage. Sighing, she took the footman’s hand and hopped down.

  “Such a trip,” Mrs. Windham panted, fanning herself. “Upon my word, but I am fagged. Such bumping and swaying! I thought we should never arrive.” Over her shoulder she called, “Hurry, Elizabeth, my smelling salts. Mr. Macy, I fear I shall need your arm. I feel faint.”

  “Mrs. Windham.” Mr. Macy duly offered his arm, giving Lady Foxmore a bedazed look. “I daresay, we shall have an atmosphere that Eastbourne has not seen in many years.”

  “Know,” said Lady Foxmore, “that I am opposed to this in every possible way.”

  Mr. Macy gave another beguiling laugh. “And yet here you stand.” To everyone else, he said, “Shall we adjourn inside, then?”

  “Elizabeth,” Mrs. Windham hissed, pointing to Mr. Macy’s free arm.

  I blushed for Elizabeth’s sake as Mr. Macy gave Lady Foxmore a second incredulous look, but offered his free arm.

  “I think, perhaps—” Lady Foxmore clutched my arm and leaned her weight upon me—“I may yet learn to like the Windhams. And to think that I berated John when he included them.”

  Questions pressed upon me as we trudged past two stone lions guarding the estate’s grand entrance. By then, of course, I’d gained an inkling that something bigger was happening behind the scenes, something Mr. Macy and Lady Foxmore took no pains to hide from me in their private snatches of conversation.

  The exterior of Eastbourne belied its interior. I braced myself to enter a downtrodden hall lit with rushlights and padded with bundles of reeds on the floor. Instead, the massive, pillared hall looked like a relic from the Byzantine Empire. The floors were inlaid with various colors of marble and resembled carpets. A pattern of animals—elephants, deer, and monkeys—all marched in a circle around a tree laden with fruit.

  My amazement only grew from there. The hall was at least sixty feet in length with arches between the pillars, and above those a second story of arched pillars supported a third level, which cambered into a cathedral ceiling, where glistening gold-and-blue mosaics competed against frescoes of vengeful angels.

  Servants lined the hall, at least sixty in number, all standing in perfect unison.

  I gaped, experiencing my first sensation of being amongst the highest sphere. We all know wealth. As we sit to our china tea, it is not difficult to imagine silver, and as we don our serviceable dresses, it is not too far a cry to imagine silks. But it is quite another to be dressed in the best attire you’ve ever owned and still feel little better than the meanest maid. Gone was the dismay I’d experienced with my first glance at Eastbourne. I now felt Lady Foxmore had pulled me up far too swiftly.

  Her rasping laugh brought me to my senses. “You always were ostentatious. Good heavens, Chance, what on earth have you done? Tell me, does it only grow worse from here?”

  Mr. Macy never glanced at his servants as he dispensed orders. “Randal, find a chamber suitable for Mr. Auburn and give instructions concerning dinner.” He turned to Rooke. “I need to look at your documents within the hour. Carry them to the library, then house in your usual quarters. John, accompany them.”

  Frown lines appeared over Mr. Greenham’s brow as he glanced at me, but then he waved for the gentlemen to follow. Their dripping capes left shimmering trails of water. Mr. Macy waited until they disappeared, then dismissed his staff with a flick of his left hand. His black-and-gold onyx ring caught the light. He turned and nodded at the rest of us. “I shall personally escort you to your rooms.”

  His pace left little time for glancing at the wonders surroundi
ng us. Collections of family portraits mingled with elaborately framed watercolors. The polished floors peeking from beneath foreign carpets were inlaid with rare woods. Priceless collections of artifacts and paintings were masterfully arranged. Cabinets contained vases, statues, and ancient-looking treasures. Later I learned Etruscan, Greek, Egyptian, and Roman treasures were numbered amongst them.

  To my surprise, Lady Foxmore kept up with Macy’s fast stride, though she dug deeply into my arm.

  Stopping before a mahogany door, Mr. Macy unlocked it and handed Mrs. Windham the key. “These two adjoining rooms should suit you and your daughter.”

  He swung open the door, revealing a chamber with a bed surrounded by peacock-blue satin panels, stitched with silver crewelwork. The French furniture grouped in the large space appeared costly.

  “Such a handsome apartment.” Mrs. Windham stepped over the threshold. “Beyond a doubt, there is not a nicer bedchamber in all of Britain. I am certain of it.”

  “You are very kind.” Mr. Macy bowed, releasing Elizabeth. “Now if you’ll both excuse me.”

  “Mama!” Elizabeth blushed, then whispered in her mother’s ear.

  Mrs. Windham’s eyebrows shot up. She motioned to the remaining door in the passage. “I beg pardon, but is that Julia’s room? I need her key too. My mother always said—”

  “No. I’ve arranged different quarters for Miss Elliston.”

  Elizabeth gave her mother’s arm a violent tug, widening her eyes.

  Mrs. Windham licked her lips. “Ah, yes . . . but . . . well, you see, ha-ha, I am Miss Elliston’s chaperone—”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Foxmore interjected. “Miss Elliston is under my care. John was quite plain in his terms. She is my charge, and for the record, I care not where Chance places the child, nor what he does with her.”

  Mrs. Windham straightened her shoulders. “Nonetheless—”

  Arms spread like someone driving a flock of geese, Mr. Macy ushered the Windhams into their chamber. “Yes, yes, your objection is duly noted. On my word, no harm will come to Miss Elliston.”