Lady Falls (Black Rose Trilogy)

by Renee Bernard

  She curtsied respectfully and retreated, wisely swallowing her questions. She’d get her answers before long and without stirring up her guardian’s ire. The mystery of the handsome Sir Warrick was a delicious challenging puzzle that snagged and tugged at her intellect but also at her heart.

  ***

  Phillip let out a slow silent breath and prayed that it wouldn’t be interpreted as a sigh by the valet. He was one of Trent’s men and as a guest, Phillip knew that every nuance of his behavior or attitude could and probably would be conveyed to his host. It was the potential price to paid for the use of another man’s servants. He’d have brought his own valet but Boxwell’s wife was sure to produce their first child any day now and Phillip didn’t have the heart to haul a fretting heartsick manservant into the wilds of Kent. Warrick caught the valet’s gaze in the mirror and tried to take his measure.

  If the man was content in Lord Trent’s service, he was a spy at his back. If he was ambitious or hoping for a change of placement, then he might be a potential ally. Either way, it was just one more wrinkle in the gambit ahead.

  Trent had hinted that he was willing to entertain additional investors in his next scheme and Phillip was determined to win the man’s trust. Trent had a knack for plucking fortunes from thin air and a reputation for hoarding the best opportunities away from his peers. Years ago, he had enjoyed a place in the earl’s inner circle but a small misunderstanding had led to Phillip’s banishment. Only now had he been invited to return.

  All things were once again within reach.

  “What do you think of the cut, Timms?” he asked.

  “It flatters you, sir.” The valet stepped close to smooth out the sleeves. “I took the liberty of reinforcing a seam on the left shoulder earlier. It will stand up to wear without any worry now, your lordship.”

  Ambitious then. Thank god.

  “I hadn’t noticed it. Thank you, Timms. You are a lifesaver.” He turned to make it easier for the man to tie his cravat, used to the ritual of dressing. “I wish to make a good impression on Lord Trent, without any ragged seams showing.”

  “Fear not, sir. I am ever vigilant.”

  “I will rely on that,” he said. “My fate rests in your hands.”

  Timms straightened his spine, pride infusing his expression. “I’m your man.”

  He wasn’t but Phillip wasn’t going to press the point. “I was…” Phillip cleared his throat and started again. “I was fortunate enough to be introduced to Miss Wells in the village today.”

  “Yes.”

  Not one mention of his tumble and the muddy state of his clothes when he’d arrived. Phillip couldn’t help but like the manservant more for his restraint. “Is she a direct relation of the earl’s?”

  Timms averted his gaze as he went to select cufflinks. “It was never made clear, but there are rumors to that effect. He has a distant heir, a nephew who stands to inherit the title but we have never met the young man. As to Miss Wells, her allowance is said to be substantial and he has openly declared that her future is determined.”

  Phillip’s pulsed jumped at the inference. If she was not related by blood, her prospects were hard to surmise but even if Trent had an heir, if the earl meant to ensure her future, then she would be in the company of some of the richest women in England even without a formal title.

  Not that he was even remotely interested in pursuing her.

  The memory of eyes the color of grey and silver storm clouds made the lie harder to cling to but Phillip forced it. He wasn’t about to squander years of waiting for Trent to yield his icy stance for a dangerous flirtation. He’d lose the earl’s approval before he had the chance to draw a breath in the man’s presence.

  And that was something he couldn’t risk. His responsibilities and duty to his family’s estates and their tenants were too great. He’d done well enough to stave off the worst but he envied Trent’s financial talents.

  A bell rang downstairs signaling that the guests were beginning to gather for dinner and ended their conversation. They finished the ritual and Phillip left him to take his place in the theatrical pageant of Lord Trent’s drawing room.

  The house was grand and elegantly laid out, and Phillip made his way down the broad staircase without a glance at the stately portraits and ornate statuaries that appointed Oakwell.

  “Baron! What a pleasure to have you here!” The Earl of Trent said as he stepped forward in greeting. “It’s been too long!”

  “I agree.” Phillip took his hand and shook it warmly. “And the cause of that delay is my only regret for—“

  “I don’t believe in regret. It serves no purpose a man needs. I myself have no regrets, Warrick. None.” Geoffrey clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to challenge the younger man’s balance briefly. “Come! Let’s have a drink before dinner and introduce you to some of the other guests. Lord and Lady Morley are here as well as Mr. Sheffield, whom I was sure you knew from one of his horse clubs in Town. The party has rounded out in the last three days so it is a nice advantage to be in the first beachhead landing before the firing begins, do you not agree?”

  “Yes.” Phillip nodded as he put on his best game face. “Although I didn’t realize there’d be pistols drawn before dinner.”

  Trent laughed. “There’s that serious boy I remember so fondly!

  The earl led him through the wooden doors into the grand sitting room and Phillip shifted into the social rhythms of introductions and subtle alliances that could make or break a house party. Mr. Sheffield was a stranger to him but it was clear that just by demonstrating a good knowledge of horses he could hold his own on the sole topic of Sheffield’s interest.

  Lord Morley was an older man, a starched troll of a gentleman with echoes of fashions and eras long gone to mothballs in his manners. His wife, in startling contrast, was at least thirty years his junior, a cheerful plump thing dripping with jewels, perched on a damask chair to play the hostess in the absence of any other married ladies in the group.

  “Lord Warrick,” she sighed after introductions had been exchanged. “Aren’t you a breath of fresh air! A bachelor is as rare a find at a country house party as a live hen in a fox’s den!”

  “My god, Millicent! You’ll make the man fear for his life!” Lord Morley said, his eyebrows arching in disapproval. “And force him to confirm that he has good sense by fleeing your cackling.”

  “Oh, please!” Millicent laughed. “What handsome man ever ran from a compliment?”

  Phillip noted uncomfortably that Lord Morley’s grip on his chair arm tightened until his knuckles shone white.

  “I feel obligated to warn you that I am bound to disappoint on all counts, Lady Morley. I am a dull man these days and Lord Trent,” Phillip nodded toward his host, “Only included me as a mercy to allow me to escape the dreary city for a time. I’m no suitable entertainment for any lady these days and I was assured I would suit the quiet of the country.”

  “You’ll suit perfectly for my wife has no talent for conversation with bachelors and less apparently for being any judge of suitable entertainments,” Lord Morley pronounced firmly as he gave his wife a quelling look.

  “Yes, well…” Lady Morley rose from her seat and the men automatically followed suit. “If you’ll forgive me, I have a sudden headache. I believe I will take my dinner upstairs, your lordship.”

  “Of course!” Trent said. “I’ll have my butler make the arrangements. I hope you recover quickly.”

  “She will.” Lord Morley waved his wife away and she withdrew without another word.

  Trent stepped forward with a cheerful smile as the men resumed their places. “You know the way of it, Warrick. I’ve arranged for a few diversions, a picnic here and there or a shooting day but for the most part I expect my good guests to see to their own distractions. Dinner is at eight.”

  “Shall we play a round of cards tonight, gentlemen?” Lord Morley asked. “To kick things off?”

  Phillip shook his head. “N
ot for me. I’m afraid I don’t gamble.”

  “No?” Trent’s brow furrowed, his expression one of discontented surprise. “A few years ago when we were better acquainted, you were mad for a good game.”

  “True enough.” Phillip acknowledged the accusation. “An insanity I have had to cure myself of—and my purse has thanked me for the effort.” He smiled, his tone deliberately light to diffuse Trent’s disappointment.

  “Never mind!” Lord Morley chimed in. “We’ll have players enough for a good run and I for one, am looking forward to many nights of skilled play.”

  The earl’s humor was slower to return but he appeared to make an effort. “Yes. Well, I hope you’ve warned your wife that you may leave here on foot as a pauper if I get my way.”

  “I’m more likely to leave with your best tapestries rolled up and tied to my carriage roof!” Lord Morley boasted.

  Phillip said nothing. He was grateful that he was staying clear of it. His penchant for reckless gambling was long behind him but even if he had still played, Phillip wasn’t sure it was a wise choice in light of his goals. Trent was not going to be impressed with how Phillip had changed if he fell back into the vices of his youth. And he didn’t have deep enough pockets to justify the risk. Not anymore.

  “Cards are enough entertainment for me,” Lord Morley announced. “I come to the country for quiet as well, for God’s sake. Not to be hovered over with contrived events.”

  “Careful there, old boy!” Trent pulled a brandy from the tray his footman held out. “You come to the country to prove an entertaining guest to your host. You are skating near to the edge.”

  There. Lord Morley looks a bit chastised at that but what a universal truth! We’re here at the earl’s hospitality and you have to earn your keep. Old and young.

  Trent’s gaze refocused on Phillip and he braced himself for the earl’s attention.

  “So. You aren’t a lively flirt or a card player. If you tell me you don’t shoot and hate riding, you may want to rethink your holiday, Warrick.”

  “I love to ride, shoot and a good conversation is like meat to the soul, is it not?”

  Trent smiled, as jolly as if Phillip had offered to stand on his head. “Ah! There is the charming lad I had hoped to see again!”

  Phillip inclined his head in a mock bow and Trent laughed. “I’m relying heavily on you, Warrick, to uphold your end!”

  Three more houseguests arrived in their finery and Phillip admired the balance of the group. The earl had clearly made an effort to include some diverse personalities—no doubt again to add to his own pleasure. The elderly Mr. Carlton was the local squire and a notorious wit where his wife was as sweetly shy as a maid of fourteen despite her advanced years. Lady Violetta Baybrook rounded out their party, with fashions that echoed the turn of the century and a hawk-like countenance promising that not all would be light and laughter if she had her say.

  There was still no sign of Miss Wells. Her absence should have calmed him but it was having the opposite effect. At every introduction, his eyes trailed to the door, anticipating her arrival.

  He wasn’t sure if he should apologize again or if she would say something in front of the others—in front of the earl. And then she was there. Another rush, a flurry of colored silk and she was among them; a bright flash of life and laughter in a room that had lacked both without realizing it.

  Damn. This is going to be nearly impossible, isn’t it?

  She met the earl’s guests with an open eager spirit, pleased to have the chance to prove to her guardian that she was equal to the role of hostess and had not wasted her tutors’ time or the investment of his years of generosity.

  It was all a rare treat. But here was the perfect opportunity to flex her social wings before taking full flight in London. Raven spied Phillip immediately but savored the way his eyes followed her as she slowly made her way around the room. It was heady to have captured such a man’s attention. It was a rush of power, of pure sweet power.

  “How lovely you look, Miss Wells! Tell me again how old are you?”

  Raven’s eyes widened in surprise at such a direct question but the earl had taught her that rank and title sometimes stripped its holder of the responsibility and entanglements of good manners. “I am well into my seventeenth year, Lady Baybrook, and look to turn eighteen before summer.”

  “But already so self-possessed! And what a beauty! My goodness, but I think the Ton will not know what to make of you!”

  “Must I be made into something?” she asked innocently.

  Several guests laughed at her naïve question but Phillip Warrick’s gaze held steady, a glow of approval in his eyes.

  Trent stepped forward. “My ward is not so easily swayed by flattery and flash. My incomparable girl will tame them before she’s filled out her first dance card.”

  Raven blushed and Trent extended his hand toward Phillip. “Here. Come meet my ward. Sir Phillip Warrick. Miss Raven Wells.”

  She curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  The simple ritual did not allow her to linger or ask him if he’d recovered from his fall that morning. Mr. Walters rang the bell for dinner and everyone naturally moved to take their places for the procession in. Since their numbers were not yet as even as Lord Trent preferred Lord Morley graciously offered to take her in despite the break in precedence. However, no one objected since it was early days and the abrupt absence of Lord Morley’s wife was softened by the polite maneuver.

  Sir Warrick was placed closer to the earl’s end of the table and not near enough for her to do more than pick up some of the louder side of his dinner partner, Mr. Sheffield who was very disappointed in his spring foals. Raven smiled at the scene since it was evident that it was all Sir Warrick could do to nod and express his sympathies.

  Poor man. The seating arrangements are not likely to change throughout his stay and even when Lady Morley recovers—he’ll still be within reach of Mr. Sheffield’s riveting opinions on Scottish hybrids versus their British counterparts.

  Raven had fared better and liked the shy Mrs. Carlton and her clever husband. He was a frail gentleman but his white hair was thick and carefully curled to betray that he took some vain pride in it.

  “Are you nervous about going to Town, Miss Wells?” he asked.

  “You are so kind, sir. I am a little, to be honest. Everyone wishes me success but then they always add a word of warning about the consequences of failure. It’s extremely daunting.”

  “Ah, the terrors!” Mrs. Carlton sighed. “I thought I would faint dead away in anticipation of my first ball.”

  Mr. Carlton lifted his glass, his eyes on his wife. “What providence it was for me, my sweet girl! It was an easy thing to sweep you off your unsteady feet and a gift to allow me to play the hero.”

  “Gift? You did more than play act. You were very gallant.” The older woman smiled and then lowered her voice in confidence to Raven. “And he still is!”

  Raven was utterly charmed. Mr. Carlton began to tell stories of London and the humble heroics that had won him the heart of his shy and dainty Mrs. Carlton. The lady demurred as best she could, clearly flattered at her husband’s mythical tales and gentle compliments. Their love had frozen them in time, blinding them both to the change of years.

  Every few minutes, she stole a glance at Sir Warrick’s misery until he caught her at it. Raven stiffened as if an arc of electricity had bolted between them, a conspiracy of wit robbing her of breath and sending a dozen giddy butterflies skittering around her stomach. He inclined his head, a nearly unnoticeable salute to their private jest before Mr. Sheffield began to bray about a recent horse fair and Phillip was forced back to the conversation at hand.

  She turned back to enter into a lively conversation with Mr. Carlton that began to touch on a classical education which Raven was happy to demonstrate.

  “Did your ward just quote Durant and manage to prettily correct my Latin?” Mr. Carlton asked.

  Lord Morley
lifted his head, a bit aghast. “My god, what kind of education did you give this girl, Trent?”

  Trent continued to slice his meat, barely stirred by the topic. “I don’t remember what I told her tutors but I’m sure it was something about covering the basics.” He leaned back in his chair. “Raven. What did I tell your tutors?”

  “To make sure I had the education of a proper English young lady, that I could carry a tune and once that was mastered, it was up to me to fill the hours with whatever subjects I would stay awake for,” she supplied with a playful smile.

  “Oh!” Geoffrey perked up a bit and squinted. “How did that go?”

  “I think it was six months and when I’d demonstrated a sufficient hand in watercolors, sung a few arias, made three pillows and proved I could read poetry without any ill effects, I had free rein.”

  “Impossible!” Lord Morley protested. “A girl in charge of her own education?”

  “Are you upset because she didn’t squander the chance, Morley? Or because she’s better educated at the cost of pennies in comparison with whatever fortune you’ve squandered trying to shove your sons through their schooling?” Geoffrey teased. “Hell! I’m too frugal to complain if my ward is occupied so easily and I’m left to concentrate on my business concerns.”

  Raven smiled and ducked her head. Lord Trent had spoken the truth. He wished to be bothered as little as possible in the natural course of days and had once announced that he didn’t care if she were studying African dirt moles so long as she made a decent feminine representation at his table.

  Lord Morley shook his head, staring at Raven as if she now possessed two heads. “You have done her an unthinkable service, Trent, and there will be Hell to pay for it, mark my words!”

  “I prefer to think I have stepped out on a revolutionary path and demonstrated that when you encourage a woman to follow her every impulse it leads to—“ Trent stopped and made a study of his own of his ward. “Well, as you see!”

  Raven’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment but the moment finally passed as Mr. Carlton bravely entered the fray.