Price of Privilege

by Jessica Dotta

  Curious to see what a soul like Jameson did with a soul like Evelyn, I glanced at him too. He gave a warm smile. Everything about him appeared small and safe, as if he’d managed to reduce his very height and make his shoulders less broad for her sake.

  “Breakfasting with your valet?” Kate plopped into a nearby chair uninvited and tugged on her bonnet strings. She wrinkled her freckled nose as she surveyed Edward’s clothing. “Is he in training? He’s not very good yet, is he?”

  “Kate!” I felt like Isaac as I admonished her. “You will apologize.”

  Jameson shushed me with a wave of his hand from where he’d stood to greet the newcomers. “No, no! We never punish people for speaking their honest thoughts. If I were responsible for that scraggy-looking suit, she might be the only soul willing to tell you the truth. Like that new story about the emperor who is actually naked.” He wagged a finger at Kate as he pulled out a chair for Evelyn. “You’re a changeling if ever there was one. Doubtless you heard one of your queens was visiting. Humph. Perhaps she silently called for you. For we were just speculating whether or not Mrs. Auburn had friends, since she refuses to speak to people. Likely you’re here to prove that she doesn’t want our assistance.”

  Kate’s eyebrows made a downward V. “Julia speaks. Maybe not much to me, but Isaac says you have to draw her out just right and be patient. He could do it. Some nights she and Isaac stayed up hours past bedtime just talking.”

  Her statement clanged through the room like a spilled tea service. Evelyn paled for me and started toward the door.

  “We were studying,” I quietly corrected Kate, “not talking. There’s a difference.”

  Kate shrugged, then bent over and hiked up her drooping stocking. “Well, Miss Moray called it courting whenever she complained about the impropriety of it.”

  His jaw stiff, Edward fastened his gaze on the newspapers.

  Evelyn’s face creased as if she were aware of every quiver of hurt that pulsated through the chamber. “Sh-she talked to me too.” Her voice, finespun as gossamer, was directed at Edward. “At her . . . that . . . gathering at my house. If she hadn’t . . .”

  Her voice choked on itself. I squeezed her hand, wondering how someone this fragile had been able to act as a ministrant to Isaac. Perhaps she’d been so overwhelmed that, ever the gentleman, he broke first so she wouldn’t have to.

  She returned my squeeze, then, glancing at Edward and Jameson, backed toward the door. “We should go. It was rude of us to just drop in.”

  “No, please stay.” Edward woodenly stacked the papers and gathered the ones he wanted in his arm. “I was about to leave anyway. It would be good for Julia to have visitors.”

  Tears welled in Evelyn’s eyes as if she needed to go but now feared the opportunity for escape had been cut off.

  “No, no, let the girls finish their business.” I shooed Evelyn out the door, where she cast me a grateful look before hastening down the hall. “Kate—” I waved for her to leave—“please give your mother my greetings and my love.”

  She pouted, looking as if she was going to argue, but just as she opened her mouth, Edward gave her one of his sternest gazes. She found her feet immediately—something neither Isaac nor my father had ever managed. She walked toward the door backwards, tucking her hair in place. “I might be coming to London too. Colonel Greenley spoke to Mama about it.” She gave me a pleading look. “If I do and you’re still there, may I call?”

  “Yes. I would be honored.”

  In her carelessness, the door slammed shut before she raced back down the hall. The merriness that had been over our small party was gone as we retook our seats and stared at the food on our plates, which had grown cold.

  Two hours later, the library floor was covered in papers with inked circles, earmarking any job that might suit Edward.

  After deciding which ones to apply for, he’d taken residence in Isaac’s favorite seat and written letters liberally, paying no heed to his station. Posts were addressed to pewterers, furriers, booksellers, land stewards, tutors, butchers, schoolteachers—anything that had potential.

  Edward refused to tout his association to my father, but privately I planned to oversee that the letters were franked, which would call attention to the fact that they’d come from the household of someone in government. Furthermore, there was no hiding that replies were to be sent to the West End of London. That, too, would raise eyebrows.

  Having neither needlework nor desire to be out of Edward’s sight, I ambled through the rows of books. Most of my father’s volumes were dull and of little interest. Eventually I found a section of poetry and selected a volume with an eccentric-looking spine. It was black with silver-embossed thistles and pewter-colored leaves.

  Slants of sun spilled into the chamber, warming my skin as I curled up in an oversized chair.

  To my surprise, when I started to open the book, the spine shifted, fanning the pages. For a fraction of a second, a hidden fore-edge painting was revealed. It disappeared before I could make out its subject matter. Stunned, I sat forward to better study it, for I’d heard about books that contained a concealed image, painted on the ends of overlapped pages, invisible unless splayed just so, but I’d never seen one in real life.

  It took several attempts before I managed to get the image to appear again. When I finally saw it, my blood ran cold.

  The painting was of Andromeda, chained to a rock, awaiting her death. Perseus stood between his future wife, sword poised, as Cetus, the legendary monster, approached. Though Andromeda’s face was turned in fear, her black hair swirled in the wind, embrangling Perseus, whose expression alone was enthralling.

  His smirk was neither self-assured nor brave. The only way to describe it is to say it was like catching a glimpse of someone who’s entered the fray believing their fate sealed but then, standing on the threshold of death, suddenly finds it’s not all that intolerable. Perseus stood ready to hack off the first of many writhing tentacles—victor of himself, ready to embrace the battle and all its glory.

  But this wasn’t what stole my breath. I blinked twice, unable to believe my eyes. The painted visage was clearly Isaac’s. But no cultured mask was this. The artist miraculously had guessed the crux of Isaac’s soul or, like me, had once caught a rare glimpse.

  Feeling ill, I shifted the book so the spine was aligned correctly and the picture disappeared into the gilt edging.

  I turned the volume in my hands, feeling as though it were baneful. The eidolon was like encountering one’s dream in the daytime, where phantasms had no place. I drew a deep breath, disliking the sensation of fear it pulled from deep within me.

  Who on earth had commissioned this? Surely not Isaac. He was not vain, nor could he have afforded it. For this was as costly as it was disturbing. No ordinary hand painted such exquisite and tiny details. I opened to the marbleized pages, searching for a clue. I found it on the title page. Penned in a trembling, elderly, feminine hand was the inscription:

  To Isaac on his 18th birthday.

  Her fate rests in your hands.

  Chills ran down my arms. Lifting my head, I scanned the library for a portrait of Lady Josephine. For the first time ever, there wasn’t one around. My father apparently didn’t relish conducting business beneath his mother’s coy gaze.

  Once more, I fanned the pages. Now that I knew how to reveal it, the slightest movement of my fingers was all it took. This time I studied the massive storm raging around the couple. Jags of lightning speared the sky over fearsome, roiling waves. The sheer size of the monster gave the impression Lady Josephine knew I had someone as formidable as Macy as a predator.

  My skin tingled as the panicky sensation returned from the morning I’d awoken alone in Windhaven. The miniature painting lacked Edward. And for some reason, that made me want to flee as far from here as possible.

  “Do you have any friends we can go stay with instead?” I asked.

  “None that can afford to keep three,” he mumble
d without looking up. He pointed the top end of his pen at one of the letters. “Four if Nancy actually comes.”

  With a slight pressure of my thumbs, I viewed the image again. This time my heart rate increased. “What about Scotland?” My voice wavered. “I have jewelry in my possession we could sell. Or America?”

  This time, Edward looked up and frowned. “What is that?”

  I licked my finger and touched the top and bottom of the title page before I shut it, not caring if I was acting childish.

  I would heed my worst fear and obey my baser instinct. By commissioning this, Lady Josephine set events in motion she never should have. Had not Isaac already tried to fulfill this quest, altering my life? I’d further tempted fate by finding it—oh, how I hated that out of the thousands of books in this library, this was the one I’d selected. Everything in me screamed that if Edward saw too, some irrevocable doom would be sealed.

  I shrugged. With any luck, Edward wouldn’t discover the hidden painting. “A poetry book, I think.”

  His brows shot up. “You think it’s poetry?”

  My mouth grew so dry, I feared to speak, lest my nervousness betray me. I shrugged again as if truly uncertain how to determine whether I was looking at prose or verse. A quick rap on the door interrupted us.

  Eaton entered with a silver tray and a white card. “I beg your pardon, but Colonel Greenley has requested an audience with—” he hesitated—“well, with you, Miss Julia.”

  “Colonel Greenley?” Edward questioned me.

  “Evelyn’s father,” I explained, quickly shoving the book between the chair and its cushion, then sagging with relief. At that moment, I would have welcomed even my former vicar with open arms. Anything to interrupt the storm I felt building. “Eaton, please send him in.”

  Unlike Edward, my father’s butler noted my efforts to hide the volume. His eyes narrowed in its direction. “Shall I order refreshment also?”

  “Yes.” I stood to be ready to welcome my guest. “Please.”

  “Very well.” Eaton gave the chair one last fleeting glance, then bowed and exited.

  “I’m curious to see what sort of man he is, after our encounter with his daughter this morning.” Edward managed to write and speak simultaneously. Then, as a boisterous voice boomed at the end of the hall, he lifted his head with surprise.

  “Very good, very good! I daresay I know my way about Maplecroft as well as you,” Colonel Greenley was saying as Eaton opened the door. He entered tall and straight, wearing navy serge. He spread wide his arms as if he were an uncle and I a niece. “Ah, there you are!”

  I dipped, still trying to compose myself. “Colonel.”

  “Mrs. Auburn.” He kissed both my cheeks, then pivoted in Edward’s direction with arms outstretched. “And the rapscallion himself! The vicar who stole Lord Dalry’s bride right out from under his nose!” He incorporated laughter into his words as he knuckled Edward’s head.

  “By golly, that was first-rate strategy, m’boy! Meticulously planned and executed with high merits! By Jove, I’d like to know how the pair of you pulled off that maneuver so flawlessly. I told Pierson I’d give my right arm to enlist you as my officer.” He leaned over Edward’s shoulder, trying to see the letter he was writing. “Working on a sermon?”

  Edward covered his pursuit for employment with his forearm, then drew out a new sheet of paper and placed it on top of the letter he’d composed. “As a matter of fact, I am just beginning one.”

  “Well, don’t let me stall you! Go on!” Colonel Greenley fisted his hands behind his back and continued leaning over Edward’s shoulder, waiting.

  Edward met my eye with a look that begged my aid.

  “I was quite pleased to see Miss Greenley walking with Miss Dalry this morning,” I said.

  “Quite, quite.” He rocked from heel to toe, never taking his eyes from Edward’s blank sheet. “Haven’t picked your topic yet, eh? Want some suggestions?”

  “No. I have a topic.” Edward withdrew a small Bible from his coat pocket. “Long-suffering.”

  Colonel Greenley frowned. “Well, no one wants to hear about that. Bah! Give us something with fire in it. Once I heard a roaring-good sermon about the military tactics of King David. Now that was worth the listen! Why not give that subject a go? I could help you, if you like!”

  “No—” Edward bowed his head and gripped his hair—“thank you. I work best alone.”

  “Of course, of course. Pay no mind to me.” Once more he fixed his stare on the blank paper.

  Feeling more composed, I stepped forward. “Was there something you wished to discuss with me, Colonel?”

  “Eh?” He glanced up, then grinned. “Oh yes! Confound it all. I forgot the purpose of my call. Ha-ha.” He placed his hands on his stomach. “How do you like that? Here comes Eaton. Let’s allow him to set up first, and then we’ll get down to business. You’ll not find I’m easily rushed, Mrs. Auburn. No, indeed! You’ll have to cultivate your patience around me.”

  Edward lifted his head and gave me a look that affirmed the statement.

  I waited until Eaton set down his tray and was in the process of exiting before asking, “Tea, Colonel?”

  “I suppose a cup wouldn’t hurt. No, indeedy.” He swung his arms, catching his own fist. “Especially when you compare it to what I usually partake of here. Har-har.” He accepted the cup before settling into the chair across from me. “Thank you.”

  While I took my seat, he frowned at the brew in his cup as if it were a foreign substance. He shifted uncomfortably with the mannerisms of a man used to action, not idleness. It seemed that his very clothing itched and rubbed his body sore, for no matter what position he tried to recline in or how he budged, he managed to look vexed and irritated.

  I waited several seconds, before finally asking, “To what do I owe this honor?”

  He lifted the cup and inhaled its fragrance, then clanked it back to the saucer. “Well, there’s no point offending a Pierson, even if they’re married and sporting another name. Pierson is Pierson, I always say.”

  I squinted, wondering when exactly he’d had the opportunity to use that statement before.

  He lifted his left boot and then his right as if to ascertain that moss hadn’t grown during their brief inactivity. “I’m just going to be blunt, so don’t be minding me now. But I would greatly appreciate it if you’d be forthright and tell me straight out if you have a leftover attachment toward Isaac.”

  “Wh-what?” I blinked, scarcely believing my ears. From my peripheral vision, I watched as Edward looked up in complete disbelief.

  Colonel Greenley stilled, appearing relieved that he’d finally addressed his topic, then sat back and crossed his legs. “What I mean to say is, what with your social standing and all, you’re not planning on giving Isaac’s new wife a cold shoulder, now are you? Not that I think you’re mean-spirited, mind you, but Pierson blood does flow through those veins.”

  My hand fluttered to my heart. “I’m sorry . . . but did you just say Isaac’s new wife?”

  He held up his hands as though he could halt the idea, then spread them in a gesture of innocence. “Hypothetically, of course.”

  I shielded my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks turn scarlet. “Well, no! I mean . . . of course I wouldn’t.”

  “Capital!” He slapped his knee. “Excellent! That’s the corker I’ve been waiting for! Well, wait. Almost! There’s one more question you can advise me on. I daresay you’re probably better acquainted with Isaac by now than you are with your own husband.”

  I tented my hands over my mouth in complete disbelief. How could he not see the havoc he was causing?

  “What I’m trying to ask—” Colonel Greenley squirmed in his chair again—“is, well, while you were in London, did Isaac show a particular preference for any young lady? Did he act sweet on, or romance, anyone in particular?”

  Edward didn’t look amused.

  I pressed my lips together, trying to find a balan
ced answer that wouldn’t bring discomfort to everyone. “Not that I ever particularly noticed.”

  Colonel Greenley’s brow furrowed. Then, without warning, he shook with laughter. “Ha! The joke is on me. No, I suppose not! I daresay he’s not the kind to reveal his contingency plan. He’s not as rude as all that, now is he? Besides, we all ribbed him for being so smitten. After your engagement party, Bradley toasted him, noting the poor devil could hardly take his eyes off you and for his own sake ought to marry you quickly.”

  I blinked, unable to believe he’d said anything that crass, especially with my husband there. I glanced at Edward, but that proved a mistake, for my own pain for Isaac was plainly evident, and Edward read it accurately.

  Colonel Greenley tried leaning on his elbow, apparently relieving pressure from his hip. “Worried what your new bloke thinks of this conversation! Nothing to worry about! Eh, ol’ boy?” He grinned at Edward. “What’s that they say? ‘Love and war are all one.’” He either ignored or failed to comprehend Edward’s contempt and said to me, “I highly doubt he’ll sulk over Isaac, especially since the full spoils went to him.”

  Edward’s pen struck the desk hard. He stood and gave a cold bow. “I beg you will excuse me, Juls.”

  “There, you see!” Colonel Greenley’s cheeks upturned with approval. “He’s even willing to leave the chamber to show you how comfortable he is with the subject. There’s no need to leave and discomfort yourself, ol’ boy. I can assure you, there’s no embarrassment here.”

  Edward declined to answer such an insulting speech as he marched from the chamber.

  “Well, that’s sporting of him!” Colonel Greenley tried scooting forward in his chair. “Giving us leave to talk privately about your former beau. That’s one of the things I like best about this house. I’ve never yet met a soul at Maplecroft with a bad motive or a hint of sulkiness!”

  Only Isaac’s training held me to my seat. I gave a stiff smile and set aside my teacup, wondering whether Colonel Greenley was determined to assign good motives to cross tempers, or whether he simply lied because of my father’s social position.