Read Online Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) by Jessica Dotta - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Dotta
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approved which sheets he slept upon but somehow couldn’t gain an audience. I shook my head. “I’ll have a tray brought to my bedchamber as usual.”
Mrs. Coleman’s lips turned white as she pressed them, but she repositioned herself in her rocking chair and lifted her yarn and needles. Every few seconds, she peered over her spectacles.
I shifted under her gaze, feeling a headache lurking. Perhaps it was cruel to keep the housekeeper from her duties, but I needed company whether she wished to be here or not. I was sick with wandering about lifeless rooms under the dreary gaze of my ancestors. Thank goodness Mrs. Coleman only had amateur watercolors of irises. It was a refreshing change.
“Which request is that one?” Mrs. Coleman asked, her voice as tight as her smile.
“Eaton’s.”
The cadence of her needles increased. “Ah, and will you be approving it?”
I folded down the corner of the paper in my hands. The butler requested approval for a new set of china and serving dishes. It had been nearly two years since new sets had been ordered. Ours were feared to be gaudy now that fashion had changed.I pressed my lips, wondering how I was supposed to know the correct answer. I hadn’t been raised to this.
“I wouldn’t fret so much over the decisions.” Mrs. Coleman jabbed the coals with her poker. “Your father will neither care nor notice whether you order new dishes. You may trust my advice, I assure you.”
I lifted the bottom corner of the paper in order to see Eaton’s suggested budget. The sum was outrageous, spreading quick fire through my limbs. Here I had lived in near poverty, and my own father had apparently thrown money everywhere except to Mama and me.
“There, there,” Mrs. Coleman said, misunderstanding the sudden hurt that must have evidenced itself on my face. “Is that the cause of all this shilly-shallying? Do as you wish; your father is more than generous with his money. There, at least, you’ll find no fault.”
I stared at her, too horrified for words. My prior circumstances had been so mean that at times I had been ridiculed for my lack of funds. My mourning dresses had been rags, the sleeves so short they exposed my wrists. After William’s death, Mama and I had given up our horse and carriage, let go of all servants except Sarah.
Firm footsteps rounded the hall, doubtless a footman. Mrs. Coleman looked up expectantly, and I took the opportunity to rise and retreat to the window to hide my pain. A miserly rain hung on the panes like beads, as impenetrable as a thick fog.
“Good evening, Mrs. Coleman,” said a male voice behind me. “I came here with the hopes you could tell me where Miss Pierson was, but I see I’ve found her.”
The confident tone was not that of a servant. Startled, I turned.
In the doorway stood the gentleman I’d not seen since he departed with Edward.
Imagine how differently we’d treat people if at the beginning of an acquaintance we were given opportunity to know how thatperson would affect our life. How joyously we would greet some we might otherwise act cool toward, or how deep our antipathy would run toward others we might initially feel attracted to. Naturally, I had no knowledge of the sort of soul Lord Dalry possessed. Thus I turned and greeted him with a wary eye.
“Good merciful heavens!” Mrs. Coleman stared at his clay-caked boots. “Isaac, you didn’t walk through the house like that? When did you arrive? Does Lord Pierson know you’ve returned home?”
He tore his gaze from me as if unwilling. “Not yet, and you’re not to inform him. I need a few minutes in private with Miss Pierson before my arrival is generally known. Will you help us?”
The papers slipped from my fingers as I envisioned Edward. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Alone! And me knowing?” Mrs. Coleman’s scandalized voice drowned out my frantic whisper. “No. Absolutely not. Can you imagine Lord Pierson’s temper if he
Mrs. Coleman’s lips turned white as she pressed them, but she repositioned herself in her rocking chair and lifted her yarn and needles. Every few seconds, she peered over her spectacles.
I shifted under her gaze, feeling a headache lurking. Perhaps it was cruel to keep the housekeeper from her duties, but I needed company whether she wished to be here or not. I was sick with wandering about lifeless rooms under the dreary gaze of my ancestors. Thank goodness Mrs. Coleman only had amateur watercolors of irises. It was a refreshing change.
“Which request is that one?” Mrs. Coleman asked, her voice as tight as her smile.
“Eaton’s.”
The cadence of her needles increased. “Ah, and will you be approving it?”
I folded down the corner of the paper in my hands. The butler requested approval for a new set of china and serving dishes. It had been nearly two years since new sets had been ordered. Ours were feared to be gaudy now that fashion had changed.I pressed my lips, wondering how I was supposed to know the correct answer. I hadn’t been raised to this.
“I wouldn’t fret so much over the decisions.” Mrs. Coleman jabbed the coals with her poker. “Your father will neither care nor notice whether you order new dishes. You may trust my advice, I assure you.”
I lifted the bottom corner of the paper in order to see Eaton’s suggested budget. The sum was outrageous, spreading quick fire through my limbs. Here I had lived in near poverty, and my own father had apparently thrown money everywhere except to Mama and me.
“There, there,” Mrs. Coleman said, misunderstanding the sudden hurt that must have evidenced itself on my face. “Is that the cause of all this shilly-shallying? Do as you wish; your father is more than generous with his money. There, at least, you’ll find no fault.”
I stared at her, too horrified for words. My prior circumstances had been so mean that at times I had been ridiculed for my lack of funds. My mourning dresses had been rags, the sleeves so short they exposed my wrists. After William’s death, Mama and I had given up our horse and carriage, let go of all servants except Sarah.
Firm footsteps rounded the hall, doubtless a footman. Mrs. Coleman looked up expectantly, and I took the opportunity to rise and retreat to the window to hide my pain. A miserly rain hung on the panes like beads, as impenetrable as a thick fog.
“Good evening, Mrs. Coleman,” said a male voice behind me. “I came here with the hopes you could tell me where Miss Pierson was, but I see I’ve found her.”
The confident tone was not that of a servant. Startled, I turned.
In the doorway stood the gentleman I’d not seen since he departed with Edward.
Imagine how differently we’d treat people if at the beginning of an acquaintance we were given opportunity to know how thatperson would affect our life. How joyously we would greet some we might otherwise act cool toward, or how deep our antipathy would run toward others we might initially feel attracted to. Naturally, I had no knowledge of the sort of soul Lord Dalry possessed. Thus I turned and greeted him with a wary eye.
“Good merciful heavens!” Mrs. Coleman stared at his clay-caked boots. “Isaac, you didn’t walk through the house like that? When did you arrive? Does Lord Pierson know you’ve returned home?”
He tore his gaze from me as if unwilling. “Not yet, and you’re not to inform him. I need a few minutes in private with Miss Pierson before my arrival is generally known. Will you help us?”
The papers slipped from my fingers as I envisioned Edward. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Alone! And me knowing?” Mrs. Coleman’s scandalized voice drowned out my frantic whisper. “No. Absolutely not. Can you imagine Lord Pierson’s temper if he
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