Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  “Miss Elliston.” A hand tapped my shoulder. “Miss Elliston.”

  I woke with a start, surprised to find I was crying.

  Reynolds leaned over me, the light of his candle casting a strange sheen over his face. “I beg your pardon, miss. Only there’s . . . a situation.”

  I stared, too dazed to answer. Then as I shut my eyes, the genuine pieces of my day fell into place. Macy and Greenham’s departure, listlessly following the party from room to room, my inability to eat, the endless hours of whist.

  “The time?” My stomach revolted from fatigue as I sat up.

  “You retired an hour ago,” Reynolds said. “I am truly sorry to wake you, only there’s a gentleman at the gate.”

  I waited.

  With the patience of a nursemaid teaching a toddler, he gave a bow. “What shall I do with him?”

  “Do?”

  “Yes. Mr. Macy placed you in charge of Eastbourne during his absence. He informed me of your felicitous tidings this morning.”

  “I’m in charge?” This news sobered me. “What would you normally do?”

  “Set the dogs on the rascal, only he insists Mr. Greenham invited him.”

  “Who is it?”

  Reynolds patted his vest, then withdrew a rain-spotted, cheap grade of card. I knew even before I touched it. With warbling emotions, I turned over the card and stared at Edward’s name, caught between guilt and joy.

  “Do you recognize the name, then?”

  I clutched the card to my chest, uncertain whether to laugh or cry at Reynolds’s question. My voice came out unsteady. “Yes. He . . . he’s a very dear friend. Have a room prepared. I’ll greet him.” I stood, but my head spun.

  Reynolds caught my arm. “Might I suggest you remain abed? Perhaps you’d rather greet him in the morning?”

  I shook my head, picturing Edward standing in the pelting rain refusing to leave the gate. Any other sensible person would go to the inn and send a letter up in the morning. But not Edward. “No. I’ll greet him tonight.”

  With a glint of surprise, Reynolds bowed and left.

  Alone, I slid from the bed and quickly donned my dress, then looked in the mirror. An apparition greeted me. When I’d climbed into bed, I’d allowed the pent-up fears over Mr. Macy’s departure to vent in the form of tears. My eyes were puffy, encircled in dark shadows. A wrinkled dress framed the macabre appearance. My throat tightened at the thought of Edward seeing me like this, but there wasn’t anything to be done.

  Taking a candle from a wall sconce, I hastened toward the entrance of Eastbourne. Compared to my bedchamber, the air was frigid. Here reason finally settled. I touched the places where Mr. Macy’s kisses and hands had wandered—my temples, the hollow of my neck and collarbone. My sudden rush of emotion over Edward’s arrival was madness, I realized. I was engaged to another man.

  I leaned against a cold pillar, biting my nails, imagining what Edward would say if he knew about the manner in which I had become engaged to Mr. Macy. The tender way in which Edward asked for my hand had been nothing like the scene in the greenhouse. It had been gloaming when Edward came up the hill near Am Meer and joined me where I sat reading under the ancient oak. At eighteen, he seemed so grown, so handsome. Carmine oak leaves were adrift in the air as he approached. One caught in his curls, which I plucked as he knelt beside me. How marvelous I thought it that a member of the peerage should look upon me with such love in his eyes.

  I bit my nail so hard it drew blood, forcing my attention back to Eastbourne. I slid that hand behind my back. Why, I wondered, did that memory surface right now?

  “Marry me.”

  Edward’s words, neither command nor question, had been husky with emotion.

  I shut my eyes and laid my cheek against the icy pillar as I recalled the chaste kiss we had shared. It brought to mind how very dissimilar Mr. Macy’s touch was. The very nature of that hunger was different. The desire that welled from within was base and carnal. The forbidden ebbed and flowed at the merest shimmer of Mr. Macy’s touch. He summoned an appetite that could never be sated, and he alone commanded every unchaste desire within me. I welcomed him.

  But Edward . . . I frowned, disliking the strange bemingling of emotions. What was it I sought from him? He had blotted himself from my story—so why was I here and waiting in the middle of the night for him? And why did I ache so much?

  I rubbed the nape of my neck, realizing how much matters were complicated by Edward’s arrival.

  As the jingle of harnesses and the thumping of hooves approached, I rose from my thoughts as one awakens from the watery layers of slumber and hugged my arms tight against myself.

  Men’s voices yelled instructions outside as someone threw open the front door. Edward entered with a sober, even grim look.

  Heartache pierced me as he paused in the doorway, taking in the hall, which did not gleam as it had upon my arrival. Rain made his boots and coat slick, as well as tightening his curls, something he hated. I felt a rush of affection as I recalled the rare occasions on which he’d grudgingly allowed me to extend one curl with my index finger so I could watch it re-form.

  I chuckled, recalling the day Henry had called him goldilocks, and in a fit of temper, Edward tackled his brother, causing them both to fall into the creek.

  Edward’s head jerked in my direction and he squinted into the dark. “Julia?”

  Not trusting my voice, I stepped forward. No twist of fate could have been crueller than that moment, for the man who met my gaze was my Edward—not the vicar I’d met in the Windham drawing room or at his parents’ dinner—but my Edward, matured and beautiful.

  Seeing him was so unexpected I couldn’t speak.

  He ran his gaze over my features, resting longest on my eyes.

  “What . . . ?” I had to swallow the lump in my throat as I pulled my arms tighter against my stomach. “What are you doing here?”

  Goodwill marked his features. His eyes were filled with expectation. His apology, his love, his chagrin were all wrapped in that hopeful smile.

  “I couldn’t do it,” he said in a low voice. “I couldn’t live with myself if you went away and I never saw you again. I couldn’t live with that.”

  Speech was impossible.

  He gently tugged me a step closer to him and touched his forehead to mine. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Juls, but I swear, we’ll find a solution. All right? I swear on my life.”

  Tears formed, which I did my best to contain. This I had not envisioned.

  With a caring expression, he pulled back and studied my features. “I don’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again. But please, I beg you, talk this out with me. I think we’ve both been operating under an enormous misunderstanding.” He shook his head. “I think—no, I am certain—Henry and Elizabeth only compounded it. I am so sorry, Juls. So sorry.”

  Pulling my shawl tighter, I gazed up at Edward, undergoing a thawing sensation—only I refused its balm. He’d ended our engagement and now I was betrothed to another man. How could I begin to explain this to him, to untangle this mess?

  Worse still, I felt like a blind fool. How could I have thought for even a moment he wouldn’t come? Even Henry and Elizabeth knew this moment was coming.

  How could I have not?

  Behind me, Reynolds cleared his throat, then stepped into view. I tore my gaze from Edward, feeling heat flush up my cheeks.

  “The gentleman’s key.” Reynolds’s lips pressed into a white line as he extended it to me. His face was hooded by the dark, giving the impression he had sockets instead of eyes.

  My fingers fumbled, and the key landed on the floor with a loud brattle.

  “Here.” I retrieved it, then pressed it into Edward’s hand. “I—I . . . I should warn you, our host is very particular about keys. He—he . . .”

  Edward’s hand fisted around the key as his eyes slid to Reynolds.

  “You are to keep it with you at all times,” Reynolds finished with
a clipped tone. “No one is to possess it except yourself.”

  Edward stared down Reynolds for a full half minute before finally giving the valet his back. Edward removed his coat and draped it over me. His lingering warmth soothed, but his hand was tense as it clamped my shoulder. “Juls, allow me to greet Mr. Macy, then let me escort you to your bedchamber.”

  With Edward’s back to him, Reynolds shot me an accusatory look.

  My hands felt so numb I could scarcely fold my fingers. “You can’t. He left.”

  Edward frowned, looking puzzled. “All right then, which way to your room?”

  I weakly gestured to the passage and we started toward it. Edward stiffened when the sharp click of Reynolds’s shoes sounded behind us. None of us spoke as we passed through the various corridors of the estate. When we passed the archway, however, Edward paused long enough to brush the walls with his fingertips, afterwards rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. At my chamber door, he exhaled, looking at the empty hall.

  “Are the Windhams up there?” He climbed up two steps of the murky stairwell. “You’re not alone in this section of the house, are you?”

  “No one is permitted on those stairs.” Reynolds’s tone was fierce, stopping Edward’s progress, though he continued to peer up the narrow stairs.

  “Fine, but I want Miss Elliston moved.”

  “You may take up the matter with Mr. Macy when he returns.”

  “I would—” Edward slid off the step, wiping his hands—“but this part of the house is damp, and I fear she’s ailing.”

  “I am not in the habit of moving guests without permission. I assure you, her room is not damp.”

  “Yes, it is exceedingly comfortable.” I laid my hand over Edward’s arm, then to cover the gesture, quickly removed his coat and offered it back. “I assure you.”

  Edward took his coat, still eyeing the stairwell. “Do you not sense it, then? Let me take you to the Windhams. I’m certain Elizabeth would let you sleep with her.”

  I shook my head, certain that by morning Henry would have filled him in on my doings. “No, I shouldn’t fancy that. Besides, she kicks in her sleep. Really, my room is fine.”

  Edward seemed to debate internally a moment, then pressed my hand in his. “All right, sleep well.” And lowering his voice, “Tomorrow let’s finally talk about our predicament.”

  “Allow me to show you to your room, sir.” The anger in Reynolds’s voice was dim compared to the fury in his eyes.

  As they retreated, I placed my palm on the door handle, glad Edward hadn’t insisted on seeing my room. I waited until they disappeared, then unlocked my door. Before the hearth, I sank into one of the chairs and tried to collect my thoughts.

  Our predicament, I thought.

  Edward had no idea. Feeling a headache forming, I rubbed my temples, wondering if that meant that Edward still considered us betrothed. Why that thought gave me the mad desire to cry, I no longer cared to explore.

  Yet something that was a cross between a sob and a laugh escaped in disbelief that Edward, my Edward, had come—now that it was too late.

  WHEN I AWOKE, weak daylight seeped through my bedchamber as memory of Edward’s arrival crashed upon me. Uttering an oath, frustrated that Nancy hadn’t awoken me, I consulted the mantel clock. Its hands marked an hour far past lunch, nearer to tea.

  The previous night, my emotions had been a wild tangle, but now, like a deft seamstress sorting through her mending basket, slumber had restored my sensibilities. She’d darned the fears, hemmed up confusion, and ironed out my faculties. Without anxiety ruling me, I was in a better position to handle my quandary.

  Two men had good reason to consider themselves engaged to me.

  One of them, and I knew which one, needed to be disappointed.

  Desirous of fresh air, I faltered to my feet and cracked open the window casement and leaned out. At some point, the constant drizzle had ceased, leaving the air sodden. Lichen, made more visible by the damp bark, clung to trees the patina of aged copper. Above, dun-colored clouds layered the skies, promising rain despite the current respite. I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and then turned.

  My chambers, at least, offered a cheerier outlook. Fresh roses, arranged amidst sprigs of holly and boxwood, nodded in the cool breeze. I touched their velvety petals, amazed Reynolds had still bothered after what he’d witnessed last night. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the report he’d make to Mr. Macy as to what had transpired during his absence. And by now, I reasoned looking at the clock, Henry had likewise given Edward an earful. Best to go face him, I decided, and have it over with now.

  Not wishing to hear Nancy’s opinion on top of everything else, I pulled and shook out the first dress I found. Thankfully Mama and I had lived without a lady’s maid, so I was accustomed to donning my own attire. Afterwards, I brushed and arranged my hair. Satisfied with my simple toilette, I hastened from my bedchamber.

  In the main entrance hall, maids and menservants measured oil for sconces and replaced spent candles. My presence brought panic, for they scurried the moment my shoe clacked against the marble floor. Inside the dining room, the maids unfurling table linens nudged each other to look at me as I passed.

  Mrs. Windham’s loud voice echoed from the conservatory, indicating where to find those of my own station. Drawing a fortifying breath, I braced myself to see Edward and entered.

  Mrs. Windham looked up from her knitting. It looked as though she’d been babbling to Henry and Elizabeth, who seemed to be concentrating on a game of chess. From the back of the room, Lady Foxmore held Reynolds captive as she instructed him in low tones. Edward sat in a high-back chair. The moment I met his gaze, he rose, tucking a book beneath his arm.

  It hurt to meet his eyes, so I dropped my gaze.

  “Ah, here she finally is.” Mrs. Windham set her knitting in her lap. “How can you say she is ill, Edward? All that ado and Julia looks perfectly healthy to me.”

  With eyebrow arched, Lady Foxmore turned. Merriment abounded in her expression, calling to mind the scandalous stories involving her. My current situation was the exact sort of amusement she was rumored to feast upon.

  Edward sidestepped a chair, approaching me. He broke into a smile. “Yes, you do appear much better, for which I’m thankful.” Reaching my side, he kissed my cheek.

  His mouth thinning, Reynolds tugged at his collar, and Henry exchanged a sly glance with Elizabeth as he moved his queen.

  I froze, mentally trying to adjust my opinion as to what Edward had—and had not—been told. Apparently not much.

  Only later did I learn of Henry’s reunion with Edward—how Henry had whooped and nearly dove over the table when he found Edward sitting wan, crouched over a breakfast plate, his lips pressed tight.

  I did not see Edward shove off Henry’s salutations, nor witness Edward dragging him into the hall to admonish him over his utter lack of care for me. Those events were only added to my repertoire of knowledge years later—years too late to matter.

  All I had at that moment was a cold, needling sensation that for reasons of his own Henry had decided against telling Edward about Mr. Macy, just as he and Elizabeth had conspired to keep knowledge of Edward’s ordination from me. Judging from Lady Foxmore’s mirth, she’d gone right along with them.

  “Yes, yes, we’ve all been aflutter with disagreements over whether you’ve been eating.” Mrs. Windham’s voice pulled my horrified gaze from her ladyship back to her. She beckoned me to come assist her so she could wind her yarn about my hands. “No one could remember, which annoyed Edward to no end.”

  Her edict gave me the excuse I needed to escape. Twisting my left ring finger with my right hand, I dropped into the chair she’d indicated.

  Mrs. Windham gestured for me to spread my hands apart, then started winding mohair yarn about them. “Edward claims you’ve lost weight. Such nonsense! As if you didn’t arrive on my doorstep looking more starved and beaten than a drunkard’s wife. I’ll thank
you, missy, not to go wandering about Eastbourne in the dead of night, too. Indeed, you should have heard the lecture I endured for allowing your chambers to be so distant from mine.” She puckered at Edward.

  “What’s this?” Lady Foxmore’s cane tapped the floor. “I had not heard of this.”

  “Had you breakfasted with us,” Mrs. Windham continued, “you would have witnessed your vicar lecturing me most dreadfully. My poor heart has not yet recovered. It appears last night Edward found Julia wandering about the estate in the dark.”

  Lady Foxmore chortled. “And here we assumed you safely abed, child. Tell me, has this happened before?”

  My chest constricted as I met her eye. I felt the spasm of muscles twitching in my cheek. Lady Foxmore shook her head, shaking with silent laughter.

  “Leave Julia in peace.” Edward appeared with tea and a filigree plate containing delicate finger sandwiches. He still recalled my favorite foods.

  I paused, stunned at the depth of feeling awakening in me. I’d been so angry with him after discovering he’d become a vicar that I hadn’t properly grieved him. Thus emotions I thought dead flickered to life.

  I gritted my teeth, determined not to feel anything.

  Kneeling at my side, Edward slid his hands into the skein of yarn to take over for me. When our hands grazed, his hazel eyes met mine. With our own silent language, he communicated for me to remain silent in present company.

  Head bent, I ate a few bites of the refreshments. Between Henry, Elizabeth, Lady Foxmore, and Reynolds, I was an actress on stage with critics waiting to peck apart the performance.

  “You missed a note from Chance while you slept,” Lady Foxmore said after I’d forced down a few bites. “Only I can’t seem to recall it now.” She snapped her fingers at Reynolds.

  He stepped forward. “Yes, Mr. Macy sent a note stating he hopes his guests remain comfortable and anticipates resuming his visit. To memory, he cannot recount ever having spent such pleasant nights.”

  Nothing except the perfect lilt, the complete boredom in which Reynolds said it could have saved me. As it was, only Henry and Elizabeth’s accusatory eyes lifted from their ivory-and-ebony chessboard toward me. The lemon bread turned to sand in my mouth, but I could not afford to choke.