Free Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) by Jessica Dotta

Simmons withdrew a leather book and clomped it open on the desk. “And as such, she falls under my jurisdiction.”
    “There you are mistaken.” Lord Dalry removed a ring from his hand and turned it about in his fingers. “It is my understanding that Miss Pierson has taken up the duty of directing the staff, which means you now fall under her authority.”
    “Impossible!” Simmons shifted his nasty gaze to me.
    I looked at Lord Dalry, wondering how on earth he’d obtained that bit of information already. The room felt suddenly deprived of air, and I sensed I’d been thrown into a clash that had beenongoing for years. At stake were my letters, which I desperately needed to read.
    The repose with which James unfurled the milk-white tablecloth amazed me. If it were possible for someone to be unaware of the tension, he would have looked exactly as James did—half-bored, as if his mind were too replete to be bothered by our buzzing conversation.
    “It matters little who’s in charge of whom,” Mr. Forrester said behind me. During the drama, I’d lost track of him but now found him behind my chair. He plucked the letters from my grasp. “The fact is, Miss Pierson is not allowed to receive any outside correspondence. No matter who wrote it. No matter who’s delivering it. It’s too dangerous, and we all know that.”
    “Of all the nonsense.” Lord Dalry faced my father. “Honestly, sir, what harm can there be in reading a letter from her former home?”
    With a frown, my father stepped toward me and stretched out his hand. “Robert, I’ll take those. He’s right, Isaac. She’s not permitted contact.”
    Helplessly, I watched as my father opened the first of the two missives. James used this opportunity to escape, shutting the door gently.
    “Personally, knowing the source, I’d burn them.” Simmons perched on a chair and pulled an inkwell toward him, no longer watching us. “There can hardly be anything sensible therein.”
    My father made no reply as his eyes raked over the unfolded letter. His gaze tarried on certain parts, the jowls of his cheeks deepening. When he finished, he lowered the page and glared at me.
    I folded my hands over my stomach, my sense of shame growing warmer by degrees. What could Elizabeth have written to merit such a response? My heart wrung. What had happened to Edward? Our scandal?
    When I said nothing, my father tore open the second letter. He winced, then held it at arm’s length. Heavy perfume cloudedthe room as he turned his head to escape the overpowering scent. Light passed through the thin paper, revealing large tearstains and inkblots.
    “Who on earth is Mrs. Windham?” My father squinted at the scrawled signature.
    Simmons didn’t even glance up as he wrote. “The widow your daughter formerly stayed with.”
    My father cocked an eyebrow, then started reading. The more he read, the more his disgust deepened the creases on his face. “This is the woman you chose?” Anger seeped into his tone as he flapped the missive. “Is this how you handle all the tasks I give you?”
    Simmons looked up, seemingly as irritated as my father. “Under the circumstances, I thought I did rather well by allowing the visit.” He began counting off fingers. “She lived far removed from society. Had no friends of consequence. Occupied a neighborhood where your daughter hadn’t half a chance of finding a husband without a dowry.”
    My mouth fell open as I learned why I’d been granted permission to visit Am Meer before being sent to Scotland. My father shot Simmons a silencing look, then jerked his face from sight.
    “Ah yes,” Mr. Forrester gibed, surveying the platter of pastries James had set out. “Someone who took her to Eastbourne to look for a husband. Good show, Simmons.”
    “I hardly require your approval.” Simmons threw his black pen down. “Lady Foxmore was not listed amongst those she was acquainted with. And heaven knows, I never suspected Lord Auburn would