Mark of Distinction

by Jessica Dotta

“Sir Tristan.” I leaned over the third-story balusters. “I thought you died. How glad I am to see you live!”

  He looked up with a warm gaze, and had I not seen him a moment ago, I would have believed he was truly in full control of his emotions. “Let us hope we will have a better ending than that.” He bowed deeply. “You look beautiful. Come down.”

  When I reached him, I spun to show him my costume.

  “What age wouldn’t have suited you?” he asked. “You could have played Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, or Esther. I wish Lord Pierson had chosen Penelope and Odysseus, so I could come and free you from all your suitors.”

  My father arrived, carrying an unlit pipe, and smiled at us. “You look nice without jewelry. Natural.” He reached out and touched my hair, which lacked its normal elaborateness. “You are your grandmother’s image. Did I ever tell you she was one of the noblest women I’ve ever known?”

  Made self-conscious by his approval, I swept down my lashes. “Mama used to say I looked like her too, and that it was a comfort, given the family she lost.”

  My father’s body tensed as he jerked his head toward Isaac, ignoring me. “Keep a good eye on her tonight. Do not disappoint me again.”

  Isaac’s shoulders fell. “I promise, sir.”

  My father frowned, looking at us as if he felt uneasy, but then retreated, banging the bottom of his pipe against his open palm.

  “Watch out for pickpockets,” Simmons warned as Isaac lifted me from the carriage. A throng stood between us and our destination.

  Isaac slipped his arm through mine and took my hand, making it harder for us to be parted.

  Sprinkled amongst the bootblacks, chandlers, chimney sweeps, tinkers, and hawkers were the elite, in historical or comical costumes. The bright silks, dyed feathers, sparkling jewels, and costly lace stood out. All at once, a beggar child jostled between two women whose panniers made them look as though they’d stepped out from the court of Louis XIV. Dirt-encrusted hands reached toward me. Simmons grabbed the child by his shirt as if to haul him away.

  “Wait!” I ordered.

  Isaac gave me a questioning glance.

  “Can’t we give him something?” I pleaded. “A sovereign?”

  Isaac’s laugh was good-natured. “Simmons, you heard your mistress. Hand that child a sovereign.”

  Simmons opened his mouth to protest but then, with a vinegary twist of his lips, decided better. He shoved a hand in his pocket and dispensed a coin. Five grubby hands extended in his direction, and three more beggars joined the fray, engulfing him.

  “Quick,” Isaac whispered. “Now’s our chance to escape.”

  Laughing, we reached the steps. Isaac drew up my hand and kissed it as if celebrating.

  Lord Melbourne approached. “A perfect political couple. The strength and wealth of Roy Pierson united with the sensibilities and honor of Isaac Dalry. Welcome.” His mouth slanted. “Where is Pierson?”

  Isaac bowed. “He regretfully couldn’t attend.”

  “Who’s your chaperone?”

  “Lord Pierson sent his steward, Simmons.”

  Lord Melbourne smothered a smile. “Humph. Based on your arrival, I’m not sure he’s suited for the task.”

  Isaac released my hand. “Forgive me. I had to guide Miss Pierson through the streets. It was crowded.”

  “Of course, of course.” Lord Melbourne looked over our costumes. “You’ll have my full support on the first bill you champion, if you would just tell me who you are instead of making me guess.”

  “Tristan and Isolde.” Isaac sounded glum. “Lord Pierson’s idea.”

  I suppressed my smile. I would have disclaimed the costumes too.

  Lord Melbourne waved us inside. “Tell your father that I noted his absence with displeasure. Next time I’ll word the invitation more carefully.” He sounded offended, but his features told me we were carrying back a private joke.

  When the first dance began, Isaac led me to the dance floor with his head high, and though I started the night shamed by our riches, it wasn’t long until I was swept away in the delight. Lord Alexander surprised me from behind the bulky costume of Henry VIII. I met Millicent’s and Anna’s future husbands. Isaac and I mingled but were never far from each other. When no one was looking, I mouthed the names of the girls who approached Isaac, so he could guess correctly the first time who flirted with him.

  That night I saw the first evidence that I could heal. The ache still throbbed, but I embraced it and gave it acceptance. I also learned there was a measure of pride in being escorted by Isaac. Instead of withering beneath my father’s care, pain had mysteriously made him flourish. I’d never seen anyone as tenderhearted toward others. My heart swelled with pride as he asked the wallflowers to dance and made a point to acknowledge each servant by name. Even so, I was not allowed to forget he was my father’s protégé.

  “Here you are.” Isaac arrived at my side when a set of girls left me. “Let us break etiquette this once and discourage anyone from disturbing us while we speak privately. Why did you snub Dahlia earlier?”

  “You noticed?”

  “Yes. Now answer me.”

  I looked up at Isaac’s searching gaze, wondering if he noted everything I did. “Because she scorned some of the other girls’ costumes.”

  “I don’t care for her either, but I need you to befriend her. The man she’s going to marry is very influential—”

  “Excuse me.”

  Isaac and I both jumped, startled out of our talk by a young man, bowing. He stared with wide eyes. I wrinkled my nose. Something about the manner in which he was immaculately groomed, its style, put me in mind of somebody or something.

  “Miss Pierson?” He swallowed. “Please, may I have this dance?”

  Isaac stepped between us. “Have you been introduced?”

  “Please,” the gentleman begged me. “I’ve circumvented many obstacles to ask you for a dance.”

  Isaac took my upper arm and pulled me closer. “You don’t belong in this sphere, do you?”

  The gentleman started breathing rapidly but touched Isaac’s arm as he lifted it to call the guards. “In that case, I must beg Miss Elliston for a dance.” His pitch heightened as he used my former name.

  There was a dangerous pause, in which we all stiffly eyed each other.

  “Allow me to dance with him,” I said to Isaac.

  “No.” Isaac’s voice was iron.

  “Look at him,” I pleaded. “Do you really think him dangerous?”

  “Who are you, sir?” Isaac demanded.

  “I just wish to dance with Miss Pierson. Nothing more.”

  “Then why threaten us?”

  “Did I?” The man flushed red. “I didn’t mean to. I was told to ask Miss Pierson to dance and, if she refused, to ask under the name Miss Elliston.”

  People nearby began whispering and pointing. Lord Melbourne also started backing out of his conversation with his eye on us.

  Isaac’s countenance suddenly became debonair, but his voice kept its dangerous quality. “Who instructed you?”

  “Please, may I dance with Miss Pierson?”

  “Yes.” I extended my hand, making it impossible for Isaac to prevent me without causing a scene. The young man realized his opportunity and seized it.

  Isaac looked furious with me but only said, “If you take her outside the dance floor, you’ll regret meeting me.”

  “Sir, I swear to you, I won’t harm Miss Pierson.”

  The young man and I joined the waltz, keeping near the perimeter for Isaac’s sake. Isaac’s face was set like flint as he watched us with crossed arms. Those around him looked happily scandalized that I had provoked him.

  “Well, sir,” I said, “I’ve granted your request. Explain yourself.” Up close, I noticed the sun had highlighted his hair. His shoulders were brawny, and the hand encasing mine thick. “You’re no gentleman, are you?”

  He looked down. “No. I’m a farmer.”

  “How on ear
th does a farmer gain access to a court ball?”

  “He said if I gave you enough time, you might guess who sent me.” He waited for me to understand, then added, “I know him as Mr. Higgs.”

  I shook my head, confused. “I have no idea whom you mean.”

  “Then I’m to tell you that his first name is John.”

  My entire body refused to move for a second, throwing us off step as the man’s identity dawned on me—Jonathan Alexander Greenham. The man Macy swore would writhe at my feet. The man who confessed to murdering Mama. I wanted to look to Isaac for reassurance but knew he’d storm the dance floor.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “Call me Thomas. Mr. Higgs is offering you his assistance. He sent a letter, which is on my person.”

  Bitterness surged through me. “Tell him I’ve already experienced his brand of assistance when he murdered my mother.”

  Thomas’s eyes widened, and it seemed to me that my statement gave him an understanding of some sort. “I’m sorry, Miss Pierson. I know nothing of your difficulties.”

  The music stopped, and Thomas pulled the letter from his pocket. I hesitated, then shoved it inside the embroidered sporran that came with my costume.

  “Speak to no one of our conversation,” Thomas whispered. “He tells me that he is placing his life in your hands by making contact.”

  I pinched my lips. This was so like a Macy trap, begging me to keep information secret.

  Isaac approached and took my arm.

  Thomas gave a nervous bow, looking uncertain, as though Mr. Greenham had given detailed instructions on what to do only until this point.

  “Mingle,” I whispered. “Keep your hands crossed behind you, in gentlemanly fashion. Leave when the next dance starts and no one is paying attention.”

  Thomas bowed, then melted into the crowded room.

  “What did he want?” Isaac demanded.

  I looked at those eyeing us, some with amusement, some with displeasure. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Yes, you can and you will. Right now.”

  His mask was slipping, and I feared we were about to have our first fight here in front of everyone.

  “All I know is that he is a commoner. A farmer. His name was Thomas.”

  “A farmer?” Isaac looked thunderstruck. “What did he want?”

  Lord Melbourne approached us with a smile fastened on his face. He took Isaac’s arm and mine, placing himself between us. “Dalry, Miss Pierson. You two look far too close to a disagreement for my liking. Whom were you dancing with, Miss Pierson? Where did he go?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, sir.” I felt myself blushing.

  He looked at me. “I’ve not forgotten that your father told me you suffered a disappointment. But do not forget all that your father—and Lord Dalry—have spent a lifetime building. I know a broken heart feels insurmountable, but I expect far better of you than that scene.”

  I wanted to refuse to look at or acknowledge him. My mother’s murderer had just contacted me, and he stood lecturing me on broken hearts? Insurmountable indeed! I’d still not grown accustomed to life without Edward. It was a weight on my heart every day. And how many nights did I wake with the fear that I’d ruin my father’s and Isaac’s careers? Dread of my scandal hung over me every hour of the day, knowing at any moment Macy or a mistake would reveal my identity. Temptation to educate Lord Melbourne on the worthlessness of his statements fluttered through me.

  I tamped down my indignation and dipped. “Forgive me, sir.”

  Lord Melbourne looked at me long and hard.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Isaac said in a firm voice, taking my arm from the prime minister. “Julia and I were about to dance the next set.”

  “Yes, go dance. Try to make up for the tension you just displayed. We are having a private dinner at midnight. I want you both there. Understood?”

  “We are honored,” Isaac said, inclining his head. “We’ll leave no one in doubt of our mutual attachment.”

  Lord Melbourne nodded and retreated.

  Isaac gently pulled me to the dance floor and drew me close as we waltzed. “Julia, I’m sorry you were lectured. He doesn’t know. Just dance with me. We can settle this later, between ourselves.”

  I nodded, but my hand shook in Isaac’s and I could hardly keep step with him. I swept my gaze over the crowd, looking for the farmer, for questions were now piling. I wondered where my mother’s murderer was hiding and why he took concern over me.

  “Juls?” Isaac’s voice was soft.

  I startled like a jackrabbit. Tears swam to my eyes as I faced Isaac, for he’d used Edward’s nickname for me.

  Something protective surged through Isaac; I felt it jolt through him. His face etched with concern, he maneuvered me from the dance floor. I thought him on the verge of questioning me again. Instead he tilted up my chin and pressed his lips against mine. When he finished, he searched my face.

  “Can we go home?” I asked, holding back tears.

  “That wasn’t a request to join dinner. That was a command.”

  I gave a stiff nod, not certain how I’d manage to keep up a facade for several more hours. My heart felt like an open grave.

  He kissed my hair through the veil I wore. “I’ll not leave your side. Let them gossip. I’ll also make certain the dinner is trouble free for you. I’ll shield you from questions. It won’t always be this way.”

  I shook my head twice, for he truly believed our future wouldn’t be such, but I didn’t. “You’re wrong. I’ll never fit here.”

  “You forget.” His whisper scarcely stirred the veil near my ear. “I already know who you are capable of becoming.”

  At dinner, while the ladies compared their various experiences with housekeepers, I listened attentively to the men’s debates, taking in far more than was deemed proper for the feminine mind. Isaac sat next to me with his arm along the back of my chair. More than once, in between the brilliant arguments he fashioned for the men, he answered questions the women tossed me, though he cast me confused looks.

  The truth was, the ladies’ questions fell on deaf ears. Who could note their idle chatter while the men debated weightier matters? And Isaac was nothing less than extraordinary. At home he was so meek and quiet I never would have believed the passion with which he now argued points with the men. Those I knew to be Conservatives watched him with shining eyes, anticipating his joining the House of Lords next year. As expected, I held my tongue, not wanting my father or Isaac to be embarrassed by a woman interjecting her opinions. Yet my gratitude for Isaac had never been more complete. I knew in private he’d listen to my thoughts in full. I paid keen attention, aware that I would always have audience with one of the most influential politicians in the country.

  EVERY FIBER of my body recoiled as I turned Mr. Greenham’s missive about in my hands. The paper was cheap and thin, but it was sealed with an excessive amount of wax. With the tip of my finger, I touched the waxen ridges. The impression itself was unlike any I’d ever seen before. It was a double cameo that featured two ancient Greeks. The Spartan in the forefront was bearded, helmeted for battle, while the Athenian’s face was scholarly with a classical expression. They brought to mind the sharp contrast between my father and Isaac. Behind the sealing wax, ink as brown as mahogany bled through the folded page, showing the refined script of a gentleman.

  Knowing I needed to hurry, I bit my lip. Somewhere three floors beneath, Isaac and my father partook of brandy. My father wanted a report on the evening the moment Isaac, Simmons, and I returned. Likely enough, when my father learned what had transpired, he’d burst into my chambers demanding explanation.

  If I wanted to know what the letter contained, reading it now was my best chance.

  Even so, the idea of opening a letter from Mama’s murderer stretched me. I shut my eyes, trying to remember what it had felt like to be free, to breathe in a deep lungful of fresh air, to sit across from Edward’s smiling face.

  Wil
ling all emotions to fade, I removed a pin from my hair. I knew, of course, the letter’s content would shift my world yet again. I just never could have imagined how much.

  J,

  Chance is far from discontinuing his disturbances in your life. I wish to entrust information with the hope that knowledge will give you a greater measure of security than ignorance.

  I have in my keeping the papers that Forrester’s father once had. If you trust that Forrester will not betray me, tell him to meet me at the Margrove Tavern, Leadenhall Street, 23 March, Friday going into Saturday, midnight.

  Take extreme precaution. Chance is far more dangerous than even your father perceives.

  Burn this letter. Tell no one, as this information will endanger their life. Should you be unwilling to trust Forrester, send no one and I’ll contact you another time.

  May God protect and keep you. I pray for your safety.

  Your humble servant,

  J

  I memorized the names, then held the corner of the page over the flame and watched it darken before igniting. When it curled to its death, I scattered the ashes until nothing legible remained.

  Isaac met my gaze the following morning as he unfolded his napkin.

  My stomach clenched, and I avoided his stare. The last thing I wanted to do was to place him in danger. I stiffened as my father entered the chamber, waiting for him to demand to know why I had disobeyed Isaac and danced with a farmer, but my father only gave a curt nod before grabbing his newspaper. A front-page article caught his attention straightaway, but Isaac’s steadfast gaze pinned me.

  He might have delayed telling my father, but judging by his expression, he hadn’t forgotten the incident. I pretended to consider the dish of oysters and bacon that James lowered for me. I had not anticipated how to handle Isaac. I pressed my lips. Keeping him off the scent would be highly difficult while trying to arrange a private encounter with Forrester. Surely that alone would arouse Isaac’s suspicion.

  “Just tea, please,” I finally told James.

  “Why aren’t you eating, Julia?” Isaac asked.

  I flushed with guilt as I met his gaze.