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

cannot object to me offering that morsel of comfort.”
    “You’d be surprised at what I could object to,” was Simmons’s response.
    “This may sound odd, but I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed my time with the Windhams,” Lord Dalry continued as if not hearing him. “The glimpse at your former life was most profitable; indeed, I almost envy you the freedoms you enjoyed there.”
    I stared at him as though he were addled before the idea seized me that he was trying to lay the path back to normalcy, step-by-step help me adapt from the scene that had just unfolded.
    The nonchalant way he waited for me to meet his gaze bespoke a silent command that the elite never permitted themselves to act emotional, to show weakness, to betray a thought.
    At the desk, Simmons stopped tallying his books and observed us.
    I looked between them, wondering if they truly expected me to continue on as if I’d not heard how my father tried to tuck me out of existence, as if my feelings were of no consequence.
    “Tea, Miss Pierson?” Lord Dalry pressed again in his emotionless voice. Again, he watched me, waiting.
    I drew a shaky breath and allowed my hands to drop to my lap, stunned that he was expecting it. “Tea!”
    “Mrs. Windham had a charming blend, though I can’t say that I’ll continue her practice of adding rose petals.” He picked up the silver pot. “May I?”
    I stared, shocked that he’d just continued on, but then, wondering if he was attempting to find a way to talk about Am Meer, I nodded agreement.
    Lord Dalry’s smile was approving before he selected an extravagant black and gold-gilt teacup, which he arranged over a saucer. The delicate china never slipped or rattled under his care. “I am sorry that Miss Windham’s letter was burned.” He set the hot cup in my hands. “I know she felt the loss of your companionship most keenly. One day I hope to have the pleasure of seeing your friendship with her restored. I found her to be the perfect model of discretion.”
    Simmons harrumphed, flipping over a page. “Yes, and hermother the perfect lack thereof. If you ask me, Miss Pierson would be wise to forget she ever knew such rabble.”
    Lord Dalry did not glance at him but concentrated his gaze on me as if willing me not to respond in any manner. This situation scarcely felt real. The desire to scream and smash everything in the room came over me, yet as long as Lord Dalry kept his focus on me, I felt unable to do anything except sit. Behind him, Lady Josephine gleamed from her portrait with approval.
    “We stayed at Am Meer for nearly a fortnight,” Lord Dalry eventually said. “The cottage is decorated rather charmingly. Have they lived there long?”
    I gave him a strained look as questions screamed at me: Why did they stay at Am Meer? Why a fortnight? Had Edward been on trial? Impatient to hear the real news, I gave a curt nod. “Yes, yes . . . I believe many years now.”
    “Ah, that would explain the grounds. Mrs. Windham spent half her time planting bulbs. Even this time of year I could see how magnificent her garden must be.”
    All at once I realized this wasn’t his way of giving me tidings, but his way of training me. Like one waking from a trance, I dumped my teacup on the nearby saucer. Lord Dalry could hope all he wanted that I’d just sit there having tea while my life was being destroyed, but I wouldn’t. Never!
    My breath came in hard pants as I resisted looking in Lord Dalry’s direction again.
    “I have nothing more to say to you.” Unwilling to subject myself to his influence, I found my feet. Yet even as I did so, the urge to curtsy and formally take my leave proved stronger than my resistance. I dipped. “If you’ll please excuse me, Lord Dalry.”
    He likewise rose and bowed.
    Cold air enveloped me as I rushed into the hall and escaped the bizarre encounter. I braced myself against the wall, fighting tears. I pressed my fingers to my temples, knowing I needed to