Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  “You lack understanding, Reverend Auburn.” Mr. Macy said. There was something in his languid voice that soothed and assured. “It greatly pains me to make this request, but I fear you need to marry us tonight. I’ve obtained a special license.”

  I buried my face against Mr. Macy’s chest. “No, not Edward. Not him.”

  “There isn’t time to go to anyone else.” Mr. Macy drew me close, speaking into my hair. “Your guardian lives in the house that crests the hill. He will arrive any moment.”

  Panic made it hard to breathe.

  “I’m not marrying the two of you.” Edward’s voice filled with ridicule.

  My world closed in with terror. I slid my arms around Mr. Macy’s waist and clung to him. “Please, Edward. You must. I’m begging you.”

  “She’s in grave danger,” Mr. Macy said. “If you’ve ever loved her, then do what’s right by her. She’s confessed her flirting with you since the night of our engagement. I know you’re not ready to hear this, but I love her. You’re incapable of offering the protection she needs. Her guardian is a powerful—and dangerous—man.”

  “I’ll not marry the woman I love to another man.” Edward yanked me from Mr. Macy’s grip and forced me to face him. “Nothing will induce me to marry you to him. You’ve scarcely been here a week. You have no knowledge of him, nor the woman who matched you to him. We’re going to wait for your guardian and let come what may.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Edward.” Mr. Macy gathered my long curls to one side of my neck. “She’s spent every night with me since her arrival. It would be to her great benefit to solemnize our union.”

  There was such a long silence, I finally dared to look at Edward. He stared at my neck with loathing, and I realized the fading marks had been exposed.

  “Who is her guardian?” Edward took a seat, looking nauseated, and pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I’m required to make certain she has permission to wed.”

  Mr. Macy moved me aside and went to the drink table. “He destroyed her family and seeks her life. He killed her mother.” Mr. Macy poured brandy, which Edward accepted. “Reynolds is bringing the license. As you’ll see, the archbishop granted us dispensation from the law. I know you care for her. I promise to make her a worthy husband.”

  “A man without honor cannot make a worthy husband, sir.” Edward placed his drink aside. “The only reason I’m marrying you is to cover her shame. If she’s with child, no one will be able to prove it was formed out of wedlock. Though God knows what sort of life I give her.”

  The misunderstanding was more than I could bear. “Edward—”

  He silenced me with a look.

  Mr. Macy likewise gave me a warning look. “Will you marry us now, then? Time is important.”

  Reynolds entered with a footman, holding a document. Mr. Macy pointed at Edward. “Give him the license.”

  My legs felt made of sand instead of flesh and bone. I sank into a chair while Edward perused the paper, surprised to find tears running down my cheeks.

  “Get up!” Edward tossed the parchment on the table, then forced me to my feet. “Do not sit and weep. How dare you? It’s my heart that’s been trampled on, not yours.” His voice lowered to a hiss. “Does your future husband know how far you allowed my advances?”

  I cried harder.

  “Just because you have lost interest in the girl—” Mr. Macy sauntered to my rescue and removed Edward’s hand from my arm—“doesn’t mean I have.”

  Edward glowered a moment longer. “Kneel. I want this over with.”

  Sailors say to capsize in arctic water is the worst of all deaths, for when one is plunged into the shocking temperatures he is immediately disoriented and breath is driven from his body. Icy fingers and limbs make it impossible to grasp wood or ropes, or even to climb aboard wreckage. Invisible needles pierce every part of the body, driving back all rationality, all sanity. The only hope of survival is for another to reach down and pluck one out from such a fate.

  That night, as Mr. Macy pressed my hands between his, I felt as callous as a person sitting in a lifeboat watching another drown—for no one struggling in arctic water could have appeared more frantic than Edward.

  His face was whiter than parchment as he worked to keep composure. “I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment as to why you should not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, do now confess it.”

  As Edward recited the vows to Mr. Macy, I studied Edward’s face, wondering whether he would have refused to marry us if I had confessed everything to him. An intense desire to transfer my care from Mr. Macy to Edward overtook me.

  “Wilt thou have this man—” Edward turned toward me—“to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinances in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him; love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  When I made no reply, Edward frowned. I prayed he understood my plea to give me another chance. His expression became haunted; then his features hardened.

  Mr. Macy’s hand tightened around mine.

  “I will take this man,” I whispered.

  “Who gives this woman away in marriage?”

  “I do, sir.” Reynolds stepped forward and placed his hand on my shoulder.

  Edward finished the ceremony without looking at me, then placed a hand over each of our heads. “Eternal God, send thy blessing upon this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant between them made—”

  Mr. Macy shook Edward off and gathered me to his chest. “Reynolds, get the paperwork. I want it signed immediately.”

  Edward followed Reynolds and wrote the necessary information, then sat at the table with his head resting on his arms while the footman and Reynolds added their names.

  Reynolds brought the inkwell to us, and Mr. Macy added his signature with a flourish, then pulled me to him when I avoided his gaze. “Sweetheart. There was no choice. I had to remove you from the legal care of your guardian.”

  My hand shook as I added my name. “Tell Edward, then. This is more than I can bear. He has to know.”

  Mr. Macy gave Edward a doubtful look. “I fear you don’t know what you’re requesting. He isn’t going to take the news well.” When I pleaded again, he nodded and rose, brushing his hands alongside his coat. “Edward, my wife refuses to rest unless I inform you that she’s still a maiden.”

  Edward lifted his head. Every tendon in his neck rose as he pivoted his head in my direction. Then, like a fire moving from the kindling to the log, his eye blazed on Mr. Macy. He stood. Yet before he could advance, Mr. Forrester and six clamoring men bustled in. All wore tailcoats, one with a napkin tucked in his collar. The man next to Mr. Forrester halted midstride and viewed me with a wince.

  I instinctively knew him, though I’d never laid eyes on him before. Middle-aged, he stood at a good height, with greying hair near his temples.

  He glared at Mr. Macy. “Why is my daughter here? What is it you hope to gain?”

  I lost my ability to breathe. I had his features. My eyes, my hair—they matched his. I covered my mouth and almost lost my stomach, only Edward’s hand gripped my elbow before I could.

  “Your father?” he whispered, kneeling beside me. “Lord, forgive me; oh, God, what have I done?”

  Unable to take my eyes off the man, I couldn’t respond. My breath came in short gasps.

  “I think you mean my wife, Roy.” Mr. Macy lit a cigar he’d withdrawn from his waistcoat.

  THE MAN STANDING before us appeared too angry to find his voice. He made choking noises, while red splotches spread over his neck. Every feature gnarled in his face.

  Mr. Macy glanced over his shoulder and realized I’d sunk to the floor. He set down his cigar and knelt before me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Julia
, are you all right? Your support is still necessary. I never intended for you to learn he was your father. Do not lose faith in me now.”

  Edward backed from us, his mouth twisting with grief. “Sir—” his voice shook as he addressed my guardian—“I’ve wronged you. I joined them in marriage just now.”

  My guardian glowered at Mr. Macy. “I forbid it. As her legal guardian, I forbid it.”

  “Are you able to sit if I bring a chair?” Mr. Macy addressed me, ignoring everything else. He held my gaze with a steadying look. “Rooke, fetch my wife a seat.”

  I silently pleaded for explanation as the walls seemed to close in upon me.

  Rooke appeared, lugging one of the heavy chairs from the table. He hovered, apparently waiting for further directions, but was waved away.

  Mr. Macy lifted me and placed me on the cushion. Reaching behind me, he poured a brandy.

  My guardian gripped his walking stick like a weapon, eyeing Mr. Macy. “Step away from my daughter.”

  Mr. Macy pressed the glass in my hand. “Sir, I grow weary of repeating this. We are speaking of my wife, my legal wife.”

  “What is it you want?” My guardian’s voice sounded flat.

  “Want?” Mr. Macy looked over his shoulder. “What do I want? You charge into my estate, then dare ask that! For the moment, I want time alone with my wife. It is our wedding night, after all.”

  Edward clenched his fist and started toward us, but one of the men grabbed him.

  “Stop playing, Macy, and give your demands.”

  “I’ve had enough.” Mr. Macy took my arm and lifted me from the chair. Despite the tension, his touch was gentle and caring. “We’re leaving.”

  I clutched his sleeve as we passed the gawking men. My guardian—for I still could not call him my father—slid both hands to the bottom of his walking stick and held it over one shoulder, ready to strike. “I forbid you to take one more step,” he screamed. Spittle landed on my cheek.

  I clutched Mr. Macy’s dinner jacket in terror.

  “What the devil are you trying to do, Roy?” Mr. Macy pulled me close, shielding me. “Don’t you know anything about the fairer sex? Are you trying to scare my wife witless, approaching her like that?”

  “Take him captive,” my guardian said. “I want this marriage investigated.”

  Two men approached Mr. Macy. They exchanged glances that dared each other to be the first to seize us. When a stout man finally gripped Mr. Macy’s arm, Rooke reached inside his waistcoat.

  “No, Rooke,” Mr. Macy warned. “This one’s mine.”

  My guardian approached, looking ready to yank me from Mr. Macy, but I shrieked and clung tighter to my husband.

  Mr. Macy wrapped his free arm around me and gave me an assuring squeeze. “Reverend, would you be so kind as to look after my wife while I’m occupied? I believe these gentlemen alarm her.”

  For a moment, it did not look as though Edward would comply, but as he studied the faces surrounding us, he stepped forward and grudgingly offered his hand. Mr. Macy nudged me in his direction.

  “Who are you?” my guardian asked as Edward wrapped his arm around my back. “How do you know her?”

  “She is no one to me.” Edward sounded worn.

  “Then leave. You’ve done enough damage.”

  “Not until I’m convinced she’s safe,” Edward said, leading me to a chair.

  My guardian narrowed his eyes but turned toward Mr. Macy. “I demand to see the marriage license.”

  With a careless gesture, Mr. Macy reached into his frock coat and retrieved the document. “I think you’ll find everything in order.”

  The paper crackled as my guardian shook it. The longer he stared at the paper, the more human he became, even glancing up once with an expression akin to pain.

  “Instruct Isaac to oversee the guests from the house,” my guardian ordered someone. “Have him make any excuse he sees proper. Then ask him to go to my library and find every clandestine marriage that’s been questioned since the Marriage Act of ’53.” He paused and looked at me over the page again. “Tell him I want every ecclesiastical exception he can find, every common law that has been upheld or broken in the courts, even if it takes all night.”

  “Rooke,” Mr. Macy said, “tell Reynolds to have our guests packed and sent home within the hour. As soon as everyone has safely left, tell John to fetch the magistrate.”

  No servant entered the chamber after the commotion began, so Mr. Macy’s lavish second course remained on the table. For what felt like an eternity I watched as the candle on the sideboard dripped to a waxen mound. By the time someone returned, the fire had burned to ash, leaving the air chilled.

  A man entered with a stack of handwritten papers, which he gave to my guardian, who moved near the wall sconce. In the dim light, he squinted. I leaned as far as my lacings allowed, catching a glimpse of Mr. Macy. He stood between captors but gave me a slight nod that I did not return. My fear had played itself out, leaving me numb.

  My guardian noticed. “Sit up straight, and act like a young lady.” His eyes constricted. “Why aren’t you in mourning for your mother? When did you discard it?”

  I cringed.

  “When I ask a question, you answer me.”

  Edward gave a dark chuckle, rubbing his forehead at the thought of anyone handling me, before answering for me. “She stopped wearing it about a week ago.”

  “You’re her vicar? You allowed it?”

  Edward accused me with his stare. “She knew of my disapproval.”

  Mr. Greenham slipped into the room that moment with a man whose shirt hung open at the top, revealing a flabby chest, and whose red boots didn’t match his attire. He blinked at Mr. Macy, then rubbed his eyes. “’Ere now, what’s happening?”

  My guardian finished glaring at Edward, then stood with a scowl. “There’s been a marriage. She’s been stolen from her legal guardian and forced to wed.”

  “Lord Pierson?” The sleepy stupor left the man’s expression and he fumbled with his mismatched trouser buttons. He turned toward me, tucking in his shirt. “That so, miss?”

  I denied it with a shake of my head.

  “I’m the one who called you, Harry,” Mr. Macy said. “These men have forced their way into my home, and as you can see, are holding my wife and me captive.”

  “You married Mr. Macy?” The amazement in the magistrate’s voice washed me with fear. He shook out a purple handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Blimey.”

  Mr. Macy gestured to the men holding him hostage and the magistrate recovered.

  “This is Mr. Macy’s residence, isn’t it? You can’t hold a man hostage in his own home. Release him.”

  “Thank you, my good man.” Mr. Macy rubbed his arms where he’d been held.

  “No one leaves this room without my permission.” My guardian spoke while keeping his attention on the papers.

  “I fear you’re not going to find this as cut-and-dried as you hope, Roy.” Mr. Macy strolled to his drink table and poured an amber drink, which he handed to the magistrate. “Scotch is your preference, I believe. For the record, no force was involved. That ravishing creature you see there came to my home under the protection of a mutual friend. She married me for protection from Lord Pierson. I also would like to defame the notion that he’s her legal guardian. After the death of her mother, he forged papers and illegally assumed that role.”

  My guardian stumbled backwards, as if he’d suffered a blow.

  Mr. Macy lifted his glass. “In the future, pay more attention to whom you hire to forge documents.”

  I buried my trembling hands in my skirt, knowing my face looked wry.

  To my surprise, Edward rose and took a protective stance behind me.

  Mr. Macy also looked over and frowned. “John, take my wife from the room. There’s no reason she needs to be subjected to any more of this.”

  “She remains,” my guardian replied, still flipping through papers.

  Mr. Macy an
d my guardian resumed arguing, but I could no longer distinguish the words. My stays felt so tight I wondered if I were going to faint.

  “Miss Elliston?” Mr. Greenham’s kind voice penetrated through the mist.

  I focused and found his face near mine. Dully, I nodded.

  “Sir!” Mr. Greenham trapped my hand between his. “I’m taking her outside to recover. Look at her pallor.”

  “Take her.” The magistrate waved us away before anyone else could speak. “It will give me time to straighten things out here.”

  “Come. Fresh air will help.” Mr. Greenham hoisted me to my feet and looked at Edward. “You as well. We need to talk.”

  Mr. Macy nodded his gratitude as we passed and mouthed, Take her to her chamber.

  Mr. Greenham’s boots rang in the entrance hall as the doors clanged shut. Keeping a hand on my shoulder, he studied the space with fierceness.

  “Well, sir?” Edward asked.

  “Outside.” Mr. Greenham prodded me toward the front door.

  I stepped into the dark night, grateful for the strong winds that revived me. A chalky smell promised rain, and piling clouds obscured the moon. Resting against a stone lion, I drew drafts of night air into my lungs. Here, at least I could think. While Mr. Greenham studied the sky, Edward removed his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

  “Edward—” I touched his hand and he recoiled.

  “Do not speak to me.”

  Mr. Greenham tapped me. “Miss Elliston.”

  “She’s Mrs. Macy.”

  Ignoring Edward, Mr. Greenham signalled me to follow him. “Walk me to the stables.”

  In comparison to the tempest brewing inside the house, the coming storm felt serene. Desperate for answers, I descended the stairs and tried to keep pace with Mr. Greenham, who took them two at a time. “Is that man . . . my father?” I asked.

  “He is,” Mr. Greenham said.

  Few value just how fragile a person’s psyche is. All those pieces, both the good and bad, the values, the lessons, the beliefs that construct us—they’re all woven into the fabric of our being. Once you start pulling out the first thread, the entire person is in danger of unravelling.