Price of Privilege Read online

  “I’m leaving, Juls,” Henry’s voice carried from the sanctuary behind me. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine!” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll see you at the wedding!”

  “Don’t let Ed give you any trouble.”

  My laughter rang through our cramped space, sounding louder than I intended. “Oh, I promise. If anything, I plan to be the handful!”

  Henry rewarded me with a hearty laugh before the slap of his boots faded out of hearing.

  Edward’s bare feet scarcely made a sound as he approached. “We’re lucky it was only Henry. Some of the girls are en route and haven’t heard the felicitous news yet. He rode out to warn us, just in case.”

  I grinned at the imagery of Edward’s female parishioners finding him frolicking au naturel with the scandalous daughter of William Elliston slung over his shoulder.

  “That’s humorous?”

  “I’m sorry, but yes. Can’t you picture their expressions had they walked into the church and seen that?”

  Edward must have envisioned it too, for his eyes creased with silent mirth. Then, seeing me struggle with my stay, he wagged his fingers in a request for it.

  A flush of embarrassment heightened the color of his cheeks as he realized his mistake, but presently he dimpled. “I’m sorry, Juls. I had no idea what I was doing last night.”

  I gave him a saucy look, rubbing the chill from my arms. “Well, thank goodness for that. I rather preferred it to finding you experienced.”

  He chuckled, then glanced at the empty grate. “I should have risen earlier and started the fire for you first, too.” He looked at the mangled stay in his hands. “I fear I’m not much good at playing lady’s maid.”

  I looked over the pile of my clothing, imagining how Nancy would have made a point to grumble about our mess, and then I gasped, stunned I hadn’t thought of it beforehand.

  “Nancy!” I cried. The idea caught like kindling as I clutched Edward’s sleeves. I could have danced a jig or spun in circles. “Oh, my word! We’ve got to hire her! We’ve got to! With any luck, she can cook too!”

  “Nancy!” He shot me a look of surprise before he frowned.

  Somehow that wasn’t the response I expected. “I need a maid-of-all-work, and she’s skilled as an abigail. Besides, if it wasn’t for her, I never would have escaped Macy that night. Oh, please! We must!”

  Edward’s eyes were his most expressive feature. His brow furrowed, raising alarm. I pressed my nails into my palms to keep from arguing until he’d at least answered me.

  After a long while, he gave a thoughtful nod. “We can certainly offer for her to join us, but she may not wish to leave the comforts of Am Meer. A vicarage is poor placement for a servant.” He gave me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “In all honesty, Juls, were it anyone but you, I wouldn’t dare to wed, knowing that I’d only be pauperizing my wife. I doubt Nancy will want part in this adventure.”

  I frowned, disagreeing with his assessment. My outlook was certainly happier. I envisioned Nancy teaching me to cook and launder clothing. Together we could tend the garden and collect eggs. I imagined us chatting while we cleaned house. How could she not want that?

  Looking back across years of experience, I am amazed at the fine line Edward walked that morning—joining me in my exuberance while maintaining a deeper knowledge of reality. For in my pipe dream, my hands weren’t cracked and bleeding from hard work, nor was I frazzled with one child on hip, another buried in skirt, hindering me as I tried to round up the extra hours necessary to meet the demanding needs of a poor household.

  I studied Edward a moment, sensing that our views on the future were dissimilar, though I couldn’t pinpoint where. To be frank, it unleashed an emotion I couldn’t name. The feeling of loss from my dreams returned and crouched on the edge of my cognizance. I shook my head, desperately needing to distance myself from the sensation. “You’re wrong. Of course she’ll want to be with us.” I picked up my petticoat. “She will. You’ll see.”

  Ed gave a friendly nod, though it was apparent he retained his doubts. “Well, you know her best. But since we’re on the topic of servants, I’ve something too. Henry tells me Father is about to demote Jameson. I want to offer him a place with us.”

  “Jameson!” Shock rippled through me. Though I’d never met Lord Auburn’s valet, we were practically on visiting terms. He was part of our foursome’s legacy. The energies that poor man must have expended trying to keep Henry and Edward in line—a task in which no one could have excelled—were unfathomable.

  “Your father is demoting him?” I hooked my petticoat as Edward approached with my mended stay. “To what?”

  “Second gardener.”

  I gasped at the insult. “Why?”

  Displeasure tinged Edward’s features as he stepped behind me. “He’s well past age, and Father has no need of a second butler.”

  “But to make him a groundskeeper, when he’s served indoors his whole life!”

  “Yes, well, it’d be even less swank to make him a footman. He’d further embarrass Father by having his advanced age seen by company.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take the news, for I still retained my childlike fear of the valet. I glanced over my shoulder. “Can we afford him and Nancy?”

  With a look, Edward communicated our dire financial situation as he finished lacing me.

  “What about Henry and Elizabeth? Can they take him?”

  “Not likely. Father is furious over Henry’s refusal to give up Elizabeth. He accepted the marriage on the condition that Henry finally buckle down and help with the estate. They’re going to live at the manor, and Father has final say on estate matters, including servants.”

  Sympathy for Elizabeth swelled as I stooped and retrieved my massive dress from Quill’s. My fingers rummaged through the billows, looking for the bodice opening. Though it was one of the simpler gowns my father purchased, still it was voluminous. Eventually, however, I located the slit. “So you wanted to hire Jameson as . . . ?”

  “My own personal valet. He’s . . . well, he’s slipping; his hand quakes occasionally, so some of the duties I’ll still do myself.” Edward ran his palm over his cheek as if envisioning a sharpened razor in Jameson’s hands.

  I wrinkled my nose as I looked at the chair piled with his threadbare attire.

  Edward understood my point. “I know, but it would gut him to take any other position, and I want him with us.”

  I stepped into my petticoats. “All right, one elderly valet for you. One cheeky redheaded girl for me.”

  “Yes.” Edward’s voice was muffled by the layers of my dress as he lowered it over my head. “And no extra income with which to pay them. They’re going to adore working for us.”

  “Is my father not giving us an allowance, then?”

  Edward’s fingers froze as he buttoned the back of my dress. “He tried.”

  I lifted my hair, allowing him a better view of his work, trying to ignore the hollow sensation growing in my stomach. I had no need to inquire further. Clearly my father had set conditions, and Edward wasn’t going to place any member of his family under Lord Pierson’s authoritarian rule again.

  All at once, joy that I had tied my fate to this man flared within me—for in some ways, my time in London was far crueler than my childhood. The inability to bridge the gap to my father’s affections was like dying from starvation and smelling the waft of food, but being unable to locate the meal. I placed my hands over my bodice, trying not to care that our relationship was even further strained. It angered me that my father believed I had purposefully used Forrester’s newspaper to betray him.

  Without warning, my mind flashed with Isaac Dalry’s pulverized expression as he discovered the article. The same sickening emotion I felt every time I remembered Lord Dalry egressed through me.

  Edward noted my silence but misunderstood it. “Believe me, we’re better off managing expenses on our own.”

  I nodded
once, knowing how deep Edward’s animosity toward Isaac ran. Wanting to move back toward lighter topics, I made my voice smile. “Shall I order Nancy to marry Jameson, then? We could offer their salary as a couple.”

  Edward’s laugh filled me with genuine warmth. “What? And hazard her tongue when she discovers she’s to wed someone her grandfather’s age?”

  I spun. “Surely he’s not that old!”

  Edward shrugged. “He’s nearer seventy than sixty.”

  “Oh no, that will never do.” I sat on the bed and pulled on my stockings, happy that our banter had been restored. “Let’s arrange for her to fall in love with one of your father’s footmen. That might be handy.”

  “Shocking, Mrs. Auburn!” Pride filled Edward’s voice as he used my new title for the second time. “Do you mean to tell me you’re going to allow your staff to wed?”

  “Oh yes!” I gave him my most mischievous look. “I want everyone to be as deliriously happy as we are.”

  Edward grinned as he donned his black waistcoat and started on its pewter buttons. “What sort of chap do you have in mind for her?”

  “Tall and strong. A good-looking one, mind you. At least as handsome as yourself.”

  Edward took up his clerical collar and moved toward a small mirror. “Men such as myself are rather in shortage. Would she mind a much plainer one?”

  I laughed and threw the nearest pillow at him. “In that case, let’s focus instead on finding Jameson a wife. That should prove easier, at least. We’ll just order him to marry—” I froze midsentence.

  “Well, do tell,” Edward continued as he buttoned his collar in place, unaware of the transformation happening in me. “I’m certain Jameson will be delighted to learn he’s headed for wedded bliss. Who is the lucky bride?”

  “Sarah,” I whispered. “Oh, Edward. We must find Sarah, too!”

  Forgetting that I could see his mirror image, Edward drew his brow together as if a hundredweight stone had been placed upon him. It was plain he wondered how on earth we’d manage such a large household, but he nodded.

  I raced on tiptoes to him, threw my arms about his neck, and kissed his cheek. Sarah, like Jameson, was family. “We’ll eat nothing but gruel if necessary, and they can sleep on pews.”

  He acknowledged my thanks, then took up a pocketknife, which he slid into his frock coat. “So that makes three servants, plus your father’s groom, horse, and carriage, which are still under our care. There’s no gruel, but as far as sleeping arrangements go, there at least I can offer our motley party better than church benches.”

  I arched a brow.

  He retrieved a small ring with two rusty keys, which he dangled in the air. “There’s Henry’s wedding present to us.”

  For a second, I wasn’t certain I’d heard him correctly.

  Edward glanced out the window. “If we hurry, I could show it to you before the wedding.”

  “A house? But that’s not—” I wanted to state that it was an impossibility, especially as Henry and Elizabeth were being forced to live at Auburn Manor. Yet all at once I remembered our garden walk at Eastbourne, where Edward had told me about Henry’s early inheritance of land and the empty house he had given us.

  “We have a house?” I whispered slowly.

  “We have a home,” Edward gently corrected. “Our home.”

  Only Edward could understand how that word represented the purest and most concentrated essence of belonging. I drew in a measured breath, willing myself not to cry. Like a passenger trapped inside a runaway carriage, I had spent the past year of my life in constant upheaval. I’d discovered that Mama’s suicide was murder and I’d betrothed myself to the murderer. I’d learned the man who raised me wasn’t my father. Overnight, still reeling from the pain of those discoveries, I’d gone from being the rejected daughter of William Elliston to the celebrated heiress of Lord Pierson. The finality of having a house—a home to grow a family and put it all behind me—nearly undid me.

  Edward, thankfully, pretended not to notice that I struggled to remain self-possessed. I’ve since heard stories of his early pastoring days, and I can say that a truer shepherd never existed.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded, knowing that if I spoke, I’d cry. For the first time in my life, I was about to go home.

  EDWARD TOOK THE first footpath that veered into the shadowed woods. As we ducked beneath the evergreen boughs, I half closed my eyes and breathed deeply. No balm on earth compared to the healing power found there. The very woods were hallowed. Well did I recall the idle hours spent fashioning boats from birch bark, poking branches down dank foxholes, and gathering armfuls of lacy flowers with thick, syrupy smells.

  I tightened my fingers around Edward’s, recognizing the antechamber through which we’d been received into our woods. I rose on tiptoes, recalling the time we’d played Robin Hood on that very spot. Edward must have remembered too, but he only watched as I drank in our surroundings, imbibing their peace.

  I eyed the columns of sun that slanted through the scattering branches, dispelling the vapor that hung over the carpet of pine needles. The wholesome smell of decaying pine blended with the dark, rich scent of moss. I held back happy tears, unable to believe I’d returned. The summers of our childhood were the only truth about me that hadn’t yet been dismantled.

  “The path might be overgrown.” Edward tugged our joined hands, indicating we needed to resume our walk. “Most use the main road nowadays, and I’ve been gone awhile. Allow me to lead so we can avoid needlessly tearing your dress.”

  I nodded, eyeing the sanctum we were leaving behind. I could have spent hours there alone, basking in the peaceful solitude. Already London was becoming a distant and unhappy memory. Whether Edward felt similarly or not was impossible to tell. His face wore a vacant expression as he carefully cleared branches from our path, uprooting as little as possible.

  Our dirt path wended through the heart of the woods, where trees towered over ferns like the arcade columns of a cathedral. I paused often, lifting my face in praise, amazed that I ever thought Eastbourne beautiful.

  Each section of the forest was equally glorious. Moss-capped stones congregated around bubbling brooks that as children we rested beside, soaking our feet. Each step released incense—the bracing scent of balsam, the richness of dark loam, or the perfume of bluebells. Though my shoes were created to dance over polished marble floors and not root-twisted paths, I navigated with a deft step I’d rarely accomplished in the city.

  Far too soon, we broke from the path and emerged on a sloping hill, where we startled grazing sheep. Their bleating reached my ears as they ran in panic from our sudden appearance.

  Edward watched them flee with a shake of his head. “Can you tell me where we are, Juls?”

  Ignoring the gusts of wind, I studied the breathtaking view that stretched in every direction. The grass, which I felt certain would reach our waists a few months hence, rippled in the wind like waves. As far as the eye could see, slopes of gold and green blended with borders of hawthorn and gorse. The sky was dazzling, cerulean and dotted with fleecy clouds that served to deepen the bright green of the land.

  “No,” I finally said but privately concluded we were on Auburn land. As children we kept a wide berth, lest we be discovered.

  Edward shielded his eyes, gazing with contentment upon the scene. “All those nights in London when the temperature dropped too low to risk slumbering, I’d sit huddled with others around their fires and picture this very spot.”

  I swallowed, recalling the fires that had dotted the streets as Isaac and I drove to our various engagements. Images of beggars bundled in rags, stretching raw fingers over flames, surfaced. More than once as our carriage rumbled by, I’d felt a stirring of compassion, but never had I imagined Edward sitting amongst them.

  I paled, recalling how bitter those nights had been. I’d heard my father comment to one of his cronies that it was the coldest winter on record.

  “D
on’t you dare grow sad on me.” The sun warmed Edward’s face as he faced me. “Dreaming of this place, of this moment, is half of what kept me alive. And I didn’t envision you looking so morose.”

  Wind stirred strands of my hair, which I tucked behind my ear. “Why this spot?”

  His smile broadened with anticipation, even as he indicated with his eyes for me to turn about. “Guess!”

  I turned and London was forgotten. At the top of the hill a grey stone house sat nestled amongst a tangle of trees. It looked as if it had been spun from the substance of one of Sarah’s faerie tales. Large stone walls extended behind it, enclosing a secret garden. Over the tops, budding branches of fruit trees begged to be pruned. Clouds amassed behind the gothic structure and were mirrored in its arched windows. In the scenery stretching behind it, sheep and grazing cows sprawled in every direction.

  “Windhaven,” Edward said. “It’s been vacant for years, though I’ve maintained it, as Henry promised it to me the day I asked for your hand.”

  For a moment I was too stunned to speak. My shawl agitated in the wind as I just stared. It didn’t seem possible that Henry would gift us something this extraordinary. It was extravagant, for nothing could have suited Edward and me better. It was isolated, yet a walking distance from Am Meer and the village.

  My hair streamed about me like dark ribbons as I gave Edward an astonished look.

  He drank in my wonderment with satisfaction, then withdrew the keys from his pocket and started toward the front door. I followed, taking care not to stumble on the slabs of stone that once served as its walkway. Everywhere I looked, I saw the future I’d dreamed of. The stone walls were in better condition than Am Meer’s, and within two winters I’d have climbing roses falling in thick droves over the posts by the gate—pink, heady roses, to soften the grey.

  I eyed the yard, picturing laundry lines of starched aprons, petticoats, and Edward’s shirts hanging to dry above feeding hens. I viewed the side of the house and imagined strawberry beds and, when those berries were ripe, hosting parties with glowing paper lanterns that would make it look like a faerie gathering at the top of this hill.