Read Online Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) by Jessica Dotta - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Dotta
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sparing herself the knowledge of how shameless you are.”
“So it was her,” I whispered, studying her portrait.
I crossed the room and touched the crackled paint. Had she wondered about me, perhaps yearned for her granddaughter? The thought contrasted so greatly with my father’s treatment that my nose tickled as I held in tears.
“At least the fire is lit,” Lord Dalry said behind me, unaware of the transformation taking place within me. “It wasted precious time, but it would look odd if your father found us sitting in a cold, unused portion of Maplecroft.”
“There you’re mistaken.” I reluctantly turned from Lady Josephine and found Lord Dalry crouched before the kindling he’d lit. “It makes no difference to my father what I do.”
Furrows lined his brow as he rose and dusted his knees.“That, I can assure you, is far from the truth. Whatever led you to believe that?”
Here was a dispute I had no desire to enter. I sank into a chair, realizing I’d said too much. “Please, just tell me about Edward.”
Lord Dalry took a seat opposite me. His eyes stayed trained upon me, observing me as keenly as Mr. Macy used to, but without his mocking humor. “Here.” He extracted two letters from his waistcoat and held them out as though he regretted their contents. “I promised Miss Windham I’d say nothing until you’d read her letter first. She felt it would be better if she were the one to communicate what transpired.”
Had I been shoved off a cliff, I could not have felt more panicked. My fingers trembled so much that after I took the letters, I couldn’t loosen the wax. The pitying manner in which Lord Dalry watched me made it all the more chilling.
The distinct clack of china broke the silence, and I turned to the sight of James rolling a tea cart. Though he looked void of expression as he stepped through the threshold, he gave Lord Dalry an exaggerated shake of his head and mouthed, He’s coming.
Behind him, more footsteps pounded.
Without pause, James pulled a folded table from the wall and raised its leaves while Lord Dalry stood, placing his hand beneath my elbow, encouraging me to rise as well. Certain it was my father, I tottered to my feet, not ready for another encounter.
Within seconds my father entered, accompanied by Mr. Forrester. My father’s sharp gaze went to James and then to the empty chairs. His face mottled red. “Isaac, what the devil is going on here?”
To my amazement, Lord Dalry looked perfectly calm. “I beg pardon, sir?”
“Don’t give me that. How long have you been home? Why is she with you?” He spun around, passing over me with his probing gaze. “And where is Simmons?”
“Here I am,” came the sour answer from the hall, “though Master Isaac did his best to slip past me.”
My father’s steward entered. His wet hair lay in rows where he’d hastily combed it. Oppression fell over the space, as though unheard music suddenly struck the wrong notes. As if magnetized, the steward’s gaze flew to the letters still in my grasp. He made a noise like a choke and a snarl rolled into one. “I forbade you to give those to her without Lord Pierson’s approval.”
My father finally acknowledged me with a glance. “Give her what?”
I resisted the urge to stash the letters down the front of my dress, where no man could be permitted to retrieve them. My father’s temperament was unpredictable. Having already been raised in such a household, I knew better than to escalate matters during a tense situation.
“Master Isaac brought back letters for your daughter.” Simmons hefted a leather satchel onto the empty desk and opened it. “I explicitly forbade him to pass them on to her.”
“Pray, you’ll have to forgive me then.” Lord Dalry returned to his seat and motioned for me to do likewise. “But I’m not in the habit of obeying your orders. The last time I checked, I live here of my own volition.”
“She’s my master’s daughter.”
“So it was her,” I whispered, studying her portrait.
I crossed the room and touched the crackled paint. Had she wondered about me, perhaps yearned for her granddaughter? The thought contrasted so greatly with my father’s treatment that my nose tickled as I held in tears.
“At least the fire is lit,” Lord Dalry said behind me, unaware of the transformation taking place within me. “It wasted precious time, but it would look odd if your father found us sitting in a cold, unused portion of Maplecroft.”
“There you’re mistaken.” I reluctantly turned from Lady Josephine and found Lord Dalry crouched before the kindling he’d lit. “It makes no difference to my father what I do.”
Furrows lined his brow as he rose and dusted his knees.“That, I can assure you, is far from the truth. Whatever led you to believe that?”
Here was a dispute I had no desire to enter. I sank into a chair, realizing I’d said too much. “Please, just tell me about Edward.”
Lord Dalry took a seat opposite me. His eyes stayed trained upon me, observing me as keenly as Mr. Macy used to, but without his mocking humor. “Here.” He extracted two letters from his waistcoat and held them out as though he regretted their contents. “I promised Miss Windham I’d say nothing until you’d read her letter first. She felt it would be better if she were the one to communicate what transpired.”
Had I been shoved off a cliff, I could not have felt more panicked. My fingers trembled so much that after I took the letters, I couldn’t loosen the wax. The pitying manner in which Lord Dalry watched me made it all the more chilling.
The distinct clack of china broke the silence, and I turned to the sight of James rolling a tea cart. Though he looked void of expression as he stepped through the threshold, he gave Lord Dalry an exaggerated shake of his head and mouthed, He’s coming.
Behind him, more footsteps pounded.
Without pause, James pulled a folded table from the wall and raised its leaves while Lord Dalry stood, placing his hand beneath my elbow, encouraging me to rise as well. Certain it was my father, I tottered to my feet, not ready for another encounter.
Within seconds my father entered, accompanied by Mr. Forrester. My father’s sharp gaze went to James and then to the empty chairs. His face mottled red. “Isaac, what the devil is going on here?”
To my amazement, Lord Dalry looked perfectly calm. “I beg pardon, sir?”
“Don’t give me that. How long have you been home? Why is she with you?” He spun around, passing over me with his probing gaze. “And where is Simmons?”
“Here I am,” came the sour answer from the hall, “though Master Isaac did his best to slip past me.”
My father’s steward entered. His wet hair lay in rows where he’d hastily combed it. Oppression fell over the space, as though unheard music suddenly struck the wrong notes. As if magnetized, the steward’s gaze flew to the letters still in my grasp. He made a noise like a choke and a snarl rolled into one. “I forbade you to give those to her without Lord Pierson’s approval.”
My father finally acknowledged me with a glance. “Give her what?”
I resisted the urge to stash the letters down the front of my dress, where no man could be permitted to retrieve them. My father’s temperament was unpredictable. Having already been raised in such a household, I knew better than to escalate matters during a tense situation.
“Master Isaac brought back letters for your daughter.” Simmons hefted a leather satchel onto the empty desk and opened it. “I explicitly forbade him to pass them on to her.”
“Pray, you’ll have to forgive me then.” Lord Dalry returned to his seat and motioned for me to do likewise. “But I’m not in the habit of obeying your orders. The last time I checked, I live here of my own volition.”
“She’s my master’s daughter.”
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