Born of Persuasion Read online

  Lady Auburn seemed unable to move. Wide-eyed, she clutched her husband’s arm, her gaze circling between Edward and me.

  When his parents did nothing, Edward presented me his arm. “May I have the honor?” He nodded to the footman to open the door. During that short walk to the dining room, there was little I could say or do with everyone watching except construct a mask and retreat behind it.

  Candlelight bedecked the room we entered. A mahogany table, easily large enough to accommodate thirty, was lavished with china, fine linens, and crystal. Green boughs decorated the mantel, filling the chamber with the fragrance of spruce.

  Within a few minutes, curls of steam, laced with scents of lemon, thyme, and sherry, escaped from the tureen carried in by the butler. While the footman ladled soup, Edward sat rigid, staring at his soup bowl with such intensity it was a marvel the fragile china did not crumble.

  “Well, boy,” Lady Foxmore eventually said, tearing apart bread, “no one wants to inquire why it is that you are so familiar with Miss Elliston. By and by, we shall uncover this mystery, but not just yet. Give us at least the first course. In the meantime, since you stole the conversation before dinner even started, have the decency to supply us with a new one.”

  He lifted his head as if with great effort. “Dinner conversation? You want dinner conversation?” He glanced over the table occupants and settled on Lady Foxmore. “This very moment I was thinking of how callous we are, to gather and eat seven courses, when less than a mile from here, six cottager’s children shall go to bed with empty stomachs.”

  Lord Auburn stirred, his cheeks ruddy with anger. “Son.”

  “Remain with us awhile longer, Miss Elliston.” Lady Foxmore pointed her spoon at Edward. “That one is full of dreary statements nowadays. Only take care he doesn’t steal your appetite. You’re too thin as is.”

  Edward seemed to recall me and looked at my untouched food. Compunction softened his features. “No, not you,” he whispered. “Eat, Juls.”

  Lady Foxmore laughed outright. “You disappoint, Edward, for I refuse to believe you remain unaware of her heritage. Why is the atheist allowed to eat unharassed?”

  “Leave her be.” Edward took up his wineglass. “At least she does not claim to embrace Christ while ignoring his teachings, as most here do.”

  Both Lord and Lady Auburn stared anew at me, and I saw they were puzzling out my name. In an effort to compose myself, I placed my hand over my bodice. My father was notorious for retaining his composure while under attack. Yet I knew I’d lose steadiness of mind should anyone mention the other scandalous topics my father wrote about.

  Lady Foxmore’s eyes twinkled as if reading my thoughts, but she took mercy and steered the conversation elsewhere. “Edward, I insist you come along the next time I go to Bath. You may make all the dreary statements you wish. Indeed, I hope you’ll preach at us as we dine, rend your clothing as we dance, and at the opera, you can stand upon your seat and call down fire and brimstone. My friends pay well for their amusement. I personally promise a thousand pounds if you convert one, or even one of their servants.”

  Edward turned deaf, his eyes not so much as flickering in her direction as he returned his attention to his soup bowl.

  Lady Foxmore chuckled as she salted her soup. “Tell me, boy, by any chance am I correct in assuming that all six of those starving children drank tea today?”

  Edward’s head reared up. “And what has that to do with anything?”

  Satisfied that he’d taken her bait, she made him wait until she’d set down her salt spoon. “With such a high duty on tea and sugar, one would hope they’d forgo the pleasure and buy food instead.”

  “You know full well—” his voice held a cold fury—“they’re buying your secondhand leaves.” He grated his mother next with his gaze. “As they do yours, madam.”

  “Yet,” Lady Foxmore persisted, “if they were truly starving, a little gruel should prove more useful. As far as your demands we give away our used leaves, I never shall. I do not condone the waste. During the tea hour, every field and every garden is empty, and for what? So they can sit, doing nothing?”

  Edward clenched his teeth, though his voice sounded calm. “You take the only respite offered them in their miserable, unhappy lives—the only hour they gain a moment’s rest from backbreaking labor, and you dare to condemn them for it?”

  Lord Auburn leaned forward, seemingly ready to unleash a rebuke, but Lady Foxmore held up a hand for peace. “When it steals my guests’ appetites because their children starve, yes.”

  Edward fell silent, casting his gaze back upon his empty bowl. To anyone who knew him less well, it might have seemed he had no argument in reply, but I knew he was too angry for words.

  “Well,” Lady Foxmore said after an awkward silence, “are we empty of conversation so soon? How delightful. Dare I ask you to try again?”

  A bell jangled in the hall, as though someone were clamoring on it with all his might.

  Edward cringed, shutting his eyes.

  “What’s this? Surely we are not expecting more visitors.” Lady Foxmore turned to Lady Auburn. “Who dares to call upon you at this hour in such vulgarity?”

  “Yes,” agreed Elizabeth. “It’s almost as vulgar as waking someone in the dead of night for a mere trifle.”

  Mrs. Windham tittered, while Lord Auburn glared at Edward. Less than a minute later, his accusation was confirmed by the appearance of a footman slipping into the chamber to bend over Edward.

  “Sir.” He breathed as if able to feel his master’s displeasure boring into his back. He presented a soiled note between our chairs. “I beg pardon, but this just arrived.”

  For a moment, it seemed Edward would not pick up the paper, but then, moving as if he had to break invisible ropes tying his arms to the chair, he took up the note.

  “Thank you, John.” Edward met the footman’s eye before unfolding the page.

  With everyone else’s attention focused on Edward, I finally had my first opportunity to study him myself. His face, though hard and set like flint, also revealed strain. Lines of worry etched his brow. He blinked tired eyes as though he fought valiantly to force them to remain open. His hands were not the smooth white I remembered, but were stained, nicked, and scarred. Even his shoulders drooped with fatigue. I doubted he’d have looked more battered had he been drawn out of the sea after being cast adrift for days.

  Compassion stirred me, and I understood Henry and Elizabeth’s compulsion to stop him. If he continued this madness, he’d work himself into an early grave. Were we alone, I’d have implored him to fill his stomach and then stretch before the fire to sleep with his head upon my lap, where I could guard his slumber from interruption.

  “Has something happened?” Lady Foxmore asked. “Worthy enough to disturb dinner?”

  Edward nodded, then crumpled the paper, his features tight.

  “Well, what is it? I demand to know.” Lady Foxmore set down her spoon with a clatter. “I may have made you vicar, but this is still my parish.”

  “An infant died at the workhouse.” His tone was hollow as he placed his napkin on the table. “If I may be excused.”

  “Lovely.” Lady Foxmore beckoned her soup to be removed. “Starving cottagers and dying infants. I’d rather forgotten how delightful your company was. ’Tis a pity you don’t join us more often. Honestly, Edward, if the child is dead, what difference is another hour or two? My last incumbent never even held services for those under the age of eighteen, much less tramped through a stormy night to mark their passing.”

  “Yes, and so the sheep were scattered because there was no shepherd.” Edward rested his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, as if trying to summon the energy to rise from his chair. “Was it not you who instructed me on the sacred duty of tending this flock?”

  Lady Foxmore snorted. “Bosh. It was the standard speech I give all incumbents. Unless you have a particular tie to the bastard child—one strong enough to compel you
to venture out into this muck—remain. I wish you here. It’s not as though this were an uncommon occurrence.”

  I hadn’t thought it possible for Edward’s appearance to grow more austere, but it did. “My tie to that babe is no more and no less than that of any other member of my parish. Shall I so easily break troth with them in order to dine with you?”

  “Me?” Lady Foxmore spread her bejewelled hands in mock surprise. “Well, now I am flattered, indeed! And here I thought it was that scrawny girl sitting there who lured you back to civilization.” She clutched the ermine mantle at her throat, her voice deepening with anger. “At least you’ll find that I am free from paltering. I shall be direct. Be aware, Edward, I summoned the girl in order to judge for myself whether I’ll allow her to marry Hugh Kellie—for you know, do you not, that he’s agreed to wed her for the dowry Mrs. Windham is offering?”

  Edward, it appeared, did not know. His countenance grew so still, so severe, he could have been a statue of Mars. Even Elizabeth drew back in her seat.

  “Have no fear on that account.” Lady Foxmore dipped the tips of her fingers in her finger bowl. “No one here likes Hugh Kellie, least of all me. I have decided to replace her matchmaker with myself. This scarecrow of a girl promises quite a career and requires an equally extraordinary chaperone. Already she’s managed the feat of reintroducing you into society, and she has utterly captivated Mr. Greenham, has she not, John?”

  The silent giant roused long enough to give her a scathing look.

  “Well, she has,” Lady Foxmore said with humor. “He just has yet to discover it. So, Edward, will you really so willingly abandon your lady to me?”

  I scrunched my skirt as once more the company’s shocked stares focused on me.

  “You waste your breath,” Edward eventually said to Lady Foxmore, rising. “Only a fool would invest further trust in you.”

  “Edward!” Lord Auburn rose in rebuke to his son.

  “Father—” Edward bowed—“if you’ll excuse me.”

  His hand skimmed the top of my chair as he left the room while I sat mute in disbelief. Through the closed door, I heard him bid a servant to have his coat and Wellingtons fetched.

  “Go bring him back.” Lady Auburn looked at her husband. “There is nothing he can do tonight. We need him here.”

  While Lord Auburn followed his son into the hall, where their voices carried in uproar, Mrs. Windham declared herself a fit of nerves.

  “Well, child?” Lady Foxmore asked, drying her hands with her napkin and ignoring the others. “What have you to say on the matter?”

  Still stunned that Edward had abandoned me to such a pit, I opened my mouth but remained at a loss for words. I had no doubt Edward expected me to rebuff Lady Foxmore with cold disregard—and after days of contemplating what to expect from him, I finally had an answer. He was hard and unyielding, all fire and ice with little else between.

  He’d not asked one question or sought after my health. He’d made us a spectacle and then waltzed away, leaving me to explain. Ignoring everyone else in the room, I drew a deep breath. There had been no pledge to keep his betrothal, no discussion about our grave differences.

  Did he think me that desperate for him? That he could treat me thus and still retain my favor?

  “Well?” Lady Foxmore’s age made it impossible for her to keep her head perfectly still, and as a result, her diamond earbobs swayed, casting sparkles of light. Her mouth curved in roguery. “I was not in jest. Shall I find you a husband? Surely I can offer better than the Windhams or . . .” She punctuated her thought with a nod at Edward’s empty chair.

  I felt so jarred by my sudden change of circumstance that my chair felt as if it were floating. I stared. Compared to the rumors circulating about her, spiting her own vicar by finding a husband for his love interest was mild.

  I do not know what I would have said were not the threat of Scotland looming over me. As I sat in my chair that evening, I saw possibilities open that had never been offered me before. Edward had already proven himself traitor by joining the church.

  Why, I asked myself, should I not explore every possibility provided?

  As I opened my mouth to accept her offer, Elizabeth silently shook her head.

  “I should very much like to continue the conversation,” was my simple reply.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Nancy pounced on my bed before sunrise.

  “Be it true?” she demanded, her cap slipping off her head. “Lady Foxmore is sponsoring thee?”

  I pulled the covers up to my chin and groaned, too mired in sleep to upbraid her. She grabbed a copper pitcher and skipped over to my washstand, where she poured steaming water. “Cook says with her, thou’ll be married before a month’s end.”

  I said nothing, surprised at the hurt I felt at the idea. The previous evening, Mrs. Windham returned home wild over her success. She’d gone to bed, prattling about how she convinced Lady Foxmore to take me off her hands.

  I swung my feet out of bed and plodded to the washbasin, realizing why Mrs. Windham lived in terror of servants’ gossip, if news spread so quickly. “What else have you heard about last night?”

  “That th’ reverend is wick with love over thee.”

  I dried my hands on a towel, shoving aside the stab of pain and wondering how far the rumors had gotten. Deciding to test it, I asked, “Why do they think that?”

  She hurried over to the wardrobe and shook out my second-best dress. Glancing back over her shoulder, a stupid look suddenly stole across her features, making her appear a dullard. “Think what, m’lady?”

  I swallowed my smile, but in truth her ability to appear so daft amazed me. I dried my face, determined to remember the trick if I got sent to Scotland.

  By the time I made my way to the dining room, it was nearing ten. Sun spread over the table as I dropped to my seat. Mrs. Windham nodded. Elizabeth chewed toast thoughtfully, but gave me a nod. The window sat open, affording a cool breeze with a tang of smoke.

  “Did you oversleep, dear?” Mrs. Windham asked.

  I nodded, though it wasn’t true. After Nancy left, I’d remained in my bedchamber until the homey clatter of dishes, clink of silverware, and scent of buttery scones cajoled me to join them.

  “This arrived.” Mrs. Windham laid a missive beside my plate, and I saw with discomfort it was Lady Foxmore’s stationery.

  “Don’t open it.” Elizabeth set aside her toast. “Burn it. Disembowel it. Drown it. Anything except open it.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Windham said. “Go on, Julia.”

  Frowning, I turned over the creamy paper and broke the wax seal. Lady Foxmore’s handwriting was fine lace.

  “I’m invited for tea. She wishes to discuss her requirements before sponsoring me.” Then, hating the idea of appearing before this woman again, I appealed to Elizabeth. “Come with me?”

  “Was I invited?” Elizabeth extended her hand for the letter. “I thought she swore no Windham should ever set foot inside her estate.”

  I tucked the page beneath the table. If her ladyship could disregard the rules, so could I. “You’re invited.”

  That afternoon the sun shone high in the cold sky as we hastened through the orchard shortcut. The ruined harvest had a profound effect on the parish. As we trampled over the rutted ground, men stopped their work and glared at us with crabbed expressions. No hats were doffed, no knuckles scraped against foreheads.

  Elizabeth avoided looking at them, keeping her determined gaze straight ahead, but at a proper distance, I stripped off my veil and continued my study of the men. During my past visits, the workers had been merry. Legs had dangled over tree branches, swinging in rhythm as men sang songs. Boys ate tawny, dripping fruit on their breaks, while girls hauled pails of drinking water and shyly hinted at upcoming dances.

  Elizabeth seemed to guess what had upset the parish, but I did not inquire, fearing to learn that it was Edward’s strictness that caused their great unhappiness.

  My reservatio
ns increased when Lady Foxmore’s house loomed into view. The gravel walks and manicured boxwoods leading to her doorstep seemed a world apart from the pastures starred with cosmos.

  Inside, the butler took our wraps and left us in the antechamber. A French king could not have ordered a grander entrance. Apricot walls painted with exotic parrots and long-beaked birds contrasted against scrolling chairs and marble busts. Leaf-green portieres blocked all other views of the house. I eyed the space with satisfaction, recalling how my parish vicar said God would punish me by bringing me to the meanest level of society unless I repented. How I longed for him to see me standing here.

  “Welcome, child.” Head bobbing, Lady Foxmore stepped from behind a curtain. No mischief twinkled in her eyes; no mockery curved her mouth. Anyone meeting her for the first time might have been fooled into thinking her a kindhearted, snowy-haired matron.

  Expressionless, she stared at Elizabeth. “I had forgotten how deep attachments run between young girls. Next time, I shall invite your friend, so you need not impose on me. I would question your upbringing, Julia, had I not already found it inadequate.”

  With a slight touch on my arm, she indicated for me to follow and turned down a passage. Despite not having been received, Elizabeth accompanied me into the dragon’s lair. At the end of the hall, Lady Foxmore opened the door to a room attired in white. Sheer window panels filtered daylight into the airy space. The walls were bone-colored, the upholstery cream. Tea was laid over a tablecloth of Brussels lace. The color scheme carried to the food. Whipped meringue shells with ivory rose petals and custards with curls of coconut had been arranged on delicate dishes.

  Lady Foxmore pulled an embroidered bell cord, then invited us to take a seat. A uniformed maid brought the teapot. Lady Foxmore motioned toward the service. “Julia, show me your serving skills.”

  Mama and I rarely entertained; therefore I was unpracticed. When tea dripped over the spout, staining the lace, Lady Foxmore’s mouth creased. “I see I shall have to find you a husband who has no disposition for tea.”