Mr. Forrester chuffed. “Yes, I’m sure that’s all the two of you ever do.”
“Where?” my father asked, struggling to sit straight.
I could feel my color heightening. “He didn’t say.”
“When?”
“I—I don’t know.”
With a growl, my father set his drink aside. “I expect a direct answer to my next question. Were you about to kiss him when I entered the hall?”
“Of course she was.” Forrester snorted. “Why are you so shocked? This is what I’ve been telling you all along. She’s his lover.”
“Quiet. I want to hear my daughter.”
I avoided Lord Dalry’s questioning gaze, praying he had been truthful when he’d said he always knew whether someone was lying or not. “No, I wasn’t about to kiss him.”
“How boldly you sit there and fib.” My father rose. “I saw. I saw how he leaned over you. Are you denying it now?”
“No.” My voice caught. “I’m not denying it. I wasn’t about to kiss him. He was about to kiss me.”
“Same difference,” Mr. Forrester said, “unless you were poised to slap him.”
My father cocked an eyebrow at me, so I felt obliged to say something. How could I explain the mastery Macy held over me when he was near? “I—I—”
“Say nothing,” Lord Dalry instructed, briefly resting his fingers on my arm. Then he rose. “Whose opinion matters here more than mine? I take issue with him for trying to kiss her, not with Julia. I’ll not allow either of you to question her in this manner.”
“The issue here isn’t whether Macy tried to kiss her or she him,” Mr. Forrester said. “The issue is whether she’s lying about seeking protection. Macy girls are the cleverest liars you’ll ever meet. She’s duping us and especially you, Isaac.”
My father groaned and again pinched his nose as he sank back into his seat. “Then she’s no Macy girl. She’s the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Macy challenged her story before a group of people and she couldn’t even fabricate believable answers.”
“Unless she was trying to fail.”
“Why? So that he can offer me a mint to take her off my hands? That makes even less sense. If you’re so convinced she’s his spy, then give me a reasonable answer as to why he sent her.”
Mr. Forrester gestured toward me, his drink sloshing over his cup. “Why would someone pay for her? She’s not even pretty.”
“Lord Pierson.” Lord Dalry’s voice exuded anger. “This man is your guest, but do not ask me to bear this insult any longer. If you refuse to address this, I will cut all association with him. Newspaper or no newspaper—”
“Isaac!” The tremor in my father’s voice made us all stare. It sounded a command and a plea. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He fell from his chair to one knee. Grey tinged his face. “Isaac.”
Uncertain what was happening, I stood to rush to his side, but Lord Dalry caught my wrist. “No. Find Simmons or James. Hurry. Tell them your father’s malady is upon him.”
My father grimaced with pain as he pressed his forehead into the seat cushion of his chair.
Several things happened at once. Lord Dalry knelt next to my father, and as he braced him, my father’s eyes rolled and he slumped, unconscious. Mr. Forrester grabbed my wrist and shoved me out the door and shut it.
MY FATHER and I never spoke about those following weeks. Our supposed nightly meetings never took place. It was as if Mr. Macy’s reentrance into our lives cut off all hope for kindling a relationship. Later in life, perhaps, we could have discussed his decision to yank me from society. But after the great scandal and its heavy toll, we never were able to bring ourselves to discuss that period.
I was like an actress shoved on stage and greeted with thunderous applause, only to have a hand reach out from behind the curtain and snatch me from sight again.
The effect was devastating. I went from being too busy to confront the sadness at having lost Mama and Edward to renewed hours of empty silence. While waiting for Lady Dalry’s arrangements, Kate spent days at a time at her cousins’ houses—and the Dalrys had many spread across London. My father camped at his clubs, it seemed to me, shunning all sight of me. He likewise kept Lord Dalry busy night and day, worried that without his continued influence, they’d lose alliances.
Midway through December, I penned the last acceptance and stared moodily at it. My handwriting was tight and drops of ink smudged it. If my father were to see it, he’d make me rewrite it, but I didn’t care. He and Lord Dalry were accepting invitation after invitation while I never went anywhere.
The first week of my seclusion, I felt relief and was glad for the chance to slow down and recuperate. Thoughts of Edward carried me. While I answered the morning correspondences, I envisioned that somewhere Edward was also at work in his parish. By tea, I ignored the windy shrieks that rattled the panes by recalling our childish romps through the woods. At nightfall, after partaking of an empty dinner and sewing in an empty room, I lulled myself to sleep by picturing the life we would build when this was over.
Yet no soul can endure continual solitude, not even mine, which had been trained for it.
As the week turned into a fortnight, the isolation became unbearable and I hungered for human companionship. Even my resistance to Lord Dalry weakened, though I rarely saw him either. Thus, nearly two weeks before Christmas, when footsteps unexpectedly rang in the hall, headed in my direction, I roused from my stupor, set aside my pen, and stared at the door.
Lord Dalry appeared, his cheeks red with excitement. “Oh, good! I feared I wouldn’t find you in time.”
I was so desirous for companionship, I nearly welcomed him with the enthusiasm I felt. Just in time I remembered myself and borrowed his polished expression. “I fear I do not understand you. Time for what?”
He laughed. “We’re going out!”
“Out!” I rose so quickly, I knocked my knee against the wooden desk leg, scattering the slew of Christmas invitations I’d just sorted. “Out? Truly? Where? A Christmas tea?”
His face fell slightly. “Your father is about to make his charitable Christmas donations. You’re to join us.”
“Donations? What does that entail?”
“Well . . .” He spread his hands apologetically. “We sit in the carriage while your father walks banknotes into the institutions.”
I tried to hide my disappointment by folding the smudged letter and pouring wax over it, filling the air with an acrid scent. “Oh.”
He ventured one step into the room. “Has it been that lonely, then?”
I made no reply as I added the letter to the basket of outgoing mail. It really wasn’t his concern.
Dressed in his fur-lined cape, my father appeared behind him. “Have you told her, then?”
“Yes, sir. She’s most pleased.”
My father studied me as he pulled on a glove. He looked as though he doubted that fact. “All right; go summon Miss Moray and get ready.”
In the carriage, my father and Lord Dalry settled across from me. Lord Dalry watched my hungry glances at London with an air of satisfaction. But the first time I tilted my head to complete my study of a Gypsy woman telling fortunes, my father pulled the black curtain across the window. “A young lady doesn’t look upon anything unseemly. The streets of London are filled with such things, and that includes Gypsies.”
“Oh, honestly!” Lord Dalry said, directing anger at my father. “So she’s to go from an empty house to a dark carriage? You can hardly call that much of a change.”
“You’re the one who insisted she come, not I.”
“Yes, but I had assumed you’d at least allow sunlight in the vehicle.”
My father’s jaw firmed. “Isaac, enough.”
Lord Dalry huffed. “Can I not at least point out the sights to her? What if she ever needs to find her way around London?”
My father thumped his walking stick, filling the carriage with a hollow thunk. “I said enough.”
Lord Dalry crossed his arms, and I slouched back in my seat and stared at the drape-covered window. My resolve to escape this life strengthened. I felt like a wild bird, sitting caged in a parlor. I eyed my father, wondering if he still bothered attempting to apprehend Macy, or was he content now that he’d secured my place in society?
When the carriage reached its first destination, my father climbed out. “Stay here.”
Lord Dalry waited fifteen seconds, then drew aside the curtain and pointed. “Look to your right. That’s Westminster Bridge.” I turned to view the brown stone structure and its arches over water. A cloudy sky stretched above it. “It was built in 1750. Behind it, do you see the old Abbey?”
I had no desire to look at old bridges and buildings. “Is Hyde Park visible from here?”
Lord Dalry gave a soft sigh. “No. We’re closer to St. James, but your father plans on going to Cheapside hereafter, so we shall not see that park either.”
I sat back, unwilling to reward him with a word. Did he truly believe he could make me happy?
He closed the curtain with a sober expression. “I promise you, I’ll take you to Hyde Park, to the gardens, London Bridge, and anywhere else you wish to go when we’re married.”
His words brought a chill, but before I could argue, my father’s gruff voice sounded outside the carriage. Lord Dalry turned his head, giving my father no greeting as he reentered.
Eventually, even my father grew tired of the dark and opened the view again.
London teemed with life, though I took care not to be caught noticing. Crowded streets became narrower and filled with beggars. Some were missing limbs; others hobbled about holding tin cups. Empty, soulless eyes occasionally met mine. My face grew warm as I considered how we must look, sitting in our carriage wrapped in furs and silks.
At various institutions, my father left us to duck into depressing buildings.
“You’ve grown very grave,” Lord Dalry said on one such stop.
“Did you see all the beggars we passed?” I paused to see if he’d chide me, but he only waited for me to finish. “The cost of one of my dresses would feed so many of them.”
His eyes shone and he tilted his head as if seeing me anew, but he made no reply.
Next, our carriage pulled before an iron gate pockmarked by age and rust. Beyond a barren courtyard stood a building with brown stains seeping from its windows. Girls in rags marched under the supervision of three teachers. One little girl, no older than five, stopped marching upon catching sight of me. Loneliness and hopelessness, which I understood, radiated from her eyes.
“Oh, let me out, let me out.” I stood and moved toward the door, burying my father and Lord Dalry in my full skirts. “I must go to her.”
“What are you talking about?” My father batted the material from his face. “Sit down, right now!”
“I can’t. I can’t. There’s something wrong here. I know it. I have to go to her. I have to. I must.”
“You will sit.” My father’s neck grew red.
The sensation I felt was intense and burned like molten metal. Once, when I was ten, I’d experienced a similar sensation when I came across a group of older boys tormenting a nest of baby birds they’d found. Though much smaller than they, I was so angry I drove them away.
My own acquaintance with loneliness made it impossible to obey my father now. Tears rose and I saw the monstrosity of witnessing such a vast ache and not being able to address it. I glanced at the girl and then at Lord Dalry, who studied me with his fingers curled in a fist.
“Please.” I knelt before him as best I could and placed my clasped hands on his knees. Then, knowing my use of his given name would motivate him, I added, “I’m begging you, Isaac.”
His eyes widened as he wrapped my hands tightly in his. “Sir, I wish to give this to her.”
“What? No! Have you gone insane too?”
“I’ll go with her. I give you my solemn word, no harm will befall her.”
I closed my eyes, hoping my father would relent.
“Allow us to walk in your gift,” Lord Dalry said. “Can you not see how much this would mean to your daughter?”
“This is the last time I will allow you to talk me into bringing her on an outing.” My father leaned over and opened the carriage door, then his billfold. The gold stamped and embedded in the calfskin flashed before he handed Lord Dalry a check. “My daughter is to return without a scratch.”
Because I had knelt to beg my case, we were so tightly wedged, it was impossible to exit gracefully. My father set his teeth as Lord Dalry had to crawl on his seat, using his hands and knees to reach the door. When he finally managed his escape, he lifted me from the carriage.
Unable to wait for Lord Dalry, I rushed toward the gate. Teachers looked up, surprised, as I reached through the bars and unlatched the gate for myself, then headed straight toward the girl who had captured my heart.
Behind me, I heard Lord Dalry’s footfall, hurrying to catch up.
The formation of girls broke, and suddenly I became surrounded by grasping hands. They whispered in awe, bringing to mind what a lady stood for in their minds. The sour scent of unwashed children met my nose. I scooped up the girl whose sorrowful eyes had arrested mine. The girl was scarcely more than flesh stretched over bones. I felt the jut of her sharp shoulder against mine. With Lord Dalry’s help, I stood.
One of the teachers approached. “Are you . . . uh, are you considering taking a child?”
“No,” Lord Dalry said. “We are here for charitable reasons only.”
The girl in my arms shivered, and I moved her inside my cape. “They need coats,” I whispered to him. “They need food too. I will not leave until I see them warm and fed.”
“Will you please excuse us?” Lord Dalry bowed to the teachers’ shocked expressions and steered me a few steps away. “Put that child down, now. Had I known you were going to make a commotion, I never would have advocated this.”
I clutched the girl even tighter, wondering how the girl’s mother must have felt on her deathbed, knowing she was leaving a child orphaned in London. Surely she would want me to fight. “No! She is near starving. I can feel her bones, and her dress is barely a rag.” I looked toward my father’s carriage, choking on my outrage. “I despise him. What he spends in a day would feed this whole school for a month. I’m not leaving until he at least feeds them.”
Lord Dalry’s face grew stern. He unfolded the check my father had given him. When he spoke, he sounded strict. “Take better care how you speak and form your opinions. Your father has given quite generously, enough that this orphanage could survive on his donation alone. The board must be stealing funds. I know of several others who make handsome donations here as well.” He folded the check and placed it in his pocket. “We need to leave.”
“You would do nothing?” I stepped away, clutching the child tighter. “You would just leave her here in this pitiful condition? How can you call yourself a gentleman? Edward wouldn’t leave them, and neither will I.”
His chest rose and fell rapidly as I evaded his attempt to gather my arm. “I intend on doing plenty, but not standing here in a courtyard arguing with you.”
“Well, I intend on refusing to leave until something is done.”
Lord Dalry made one more attempt to catch my arm, but I sidestepped him. I would dodge him all day or wrap my fingers around the bars of the gate and refuse to let go. His breath puffed in the air, and we stared each other down. As quickly as it appeared, his stern look faded and he nodded. “You’re determined to be the death of me, aren’t you?” He frowned and tugged at his gloves. “Well, tell me your demands.”
“I want to see them warm, fed, and clothed.”
His brows lifted and he rubbed the side of his face, looking over the building. Then, placing his hand protectively on the small of my back, he led me to the teachers. “Miss Pierson wishes to order food and material for your institution. Do your girls know how to sew?”
One of the teachers clung to the other, relief and tears filling her eyes.
“Lord Pierson shall oversee the bill.” Lord Dalry glanced at my father’s carriage and then at the small crowd gathering at the gate. He beckoned a grinning boy, who instantly slipped into the courtyard.
“Sir?” he asked, approaching.
Lord Dalry withdrew a card and a coin. “Here’s a shilling. Find a cab and go to this address. Ask for a Master Simmons. He’ll scowl at you, but tell him Master Isaac sent you. Tell him to have gruel, flour, cheeses . . .” He turned to me. “What other foods do they need?”
I shook my head. The girl in my arms grew heavy. Lord Dalry turned to the teachers. “Best go fetch your cook. Bring a pencil and paper.”
For the next ten minutes, the teachers and cook named their needs, which Lord Dalry recorded. The boy took the note, but when he reached the gate, the crowd moved toward him, asking questions. All at once, everyone erupted in cheers and people began to run down the street, shouting for others to come see the Emerald Heiress.
“We are leaving now.” Lord Dalry took my arm.
I cradled the child, who’d not said one word. “I can’t leave all these children.”
“She stays. Put her down. I’ve managed what you asked.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to release her. With all that was unfair in the world, I desired to see one person protected, one person provided for and happy.
When I looked at the child again, solemn brown eyes locked onto mine. Though she was young, it was clear to me she had followed our conversation with the uncanny intelligence that is born out of necessity for survival. She remained stock-still, so hopeful she seemed paralyzed.
I tightened my grip on her, unable to imagine walking away. I cast a look over the bleak courtyard. I knew what it felt like when I believed myself orphaned and penniless. How could I knowingly leave anyone to face the fear of the future alone? My next words came with difficulty. “Isaac, what about when we marry?”
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