Lady Falls (Black Rose Trilogy)

by Renee Bernard

  “Lord Morley, the girl has not been raised by wolves and I am sure Lord Trent exaggerates to make our evening more lively. Although, I did wonder if one or more of the boys in my schooldays hadn’t been parented by badgers…”

  The jest broke the tension and the dinner concluded without further incident and the ladies withdrew according to custom to leave the men to their port and cigars. The earl waved them off and Raven linked arms with Mrs. Carlton to lead the way to the blue salon.

  Speculation regarding the health of Lady Morley became the first topic over glasses of sherry and Raven listened quietly.

  “I hope she recovers soon! It feels wrong to enjoy ourselves with one of the party laid low,” Mrs. Carlton sighed.

  “Does it?” Lady Baybrook asked archly. “I fail to see why the constitution of a woman I have barely seen more than twice should influence me one way or the other.”

  Mrs. Carlton fell silent, unwilling to argue in the face of such blatant disregard.

  “Would you like a touch more sherry, Mrs. Carlton?”

  “Only if you will have a small glass.”

  “Oh, I do not partake. Lord Trent does not approve and says that I am too young,” Raven said as she refilled Mrs. Carlton’s glass. “But I am happy with the company.”

  “Indeed!” Lady Baybrook nodded. “Wise man,” she added as she set her own empty glass down and retrieved her third serving with a deft hand. “I am relieved that despite all that nonsense about the lack of structure in your education, the man isn’t completely without common sense. There is nothing more unattractive than a young girl tippling away without regard to decorum.”

  Mrs. Carlton politely held her tiny glass in her lap and made a study of the liquid.

  An awkward silence unfolded and Raven began to silently echo her new friend’s wish for Lady Morley’s quick recovery since the bulk of the effort in conversation to engage the prickly Lady Baybrook now fell to her.

  I’m a rabbit tethered to a wolverine.

  “Tell me, Miss Wells. Trent is your guardian but what is your connection to his family?” Lady Baybrook asked.

  Snap. Snarl.

  “He is a generous benefactor, Lady Baybrook. I have been told very little of my noble lineage but understand that he knows my father and took me in for the sake of that friendship.”

  Lady Baybrook raised a single eyebrow at the words ‘noble lineage’. “And your mother? Do you know anything of her?”

  Her claws are razor sharp.

  “I am not at liberty to say, Lady Baybrook.”

  “How mysterious! And somewhat intriguing! The by-product of some illicit affair, I would warrant.”

  Mrs. Carlton gasped, not in disapproval of Raven but mortified at Lady Baybrook’s lack of sensitivity.

  Raven kept her chin up, her gaze openly defiant and proud. She wasn’t going to justify the woman’s words or protest at being one breath away from being called a bastard. Trent had taught her better than that. He’d hammered home the lesson that only shameless icy bravado could carry you through fire. The mention of a noble parent was a deliberate move to keep people back on their heels. Raven simply waited for the old woman to wither under the weight of her own gaffe.

  “Not that…I may have misspoke to…” Lady Baybrook retreated under Raven’s unapologetic stare.

  “I am as cherished as any daughter and blessed to reside in the earl’s good graces, to have the benefits of an expensive education and the privileges of a guardian’s strict care.”

  “Yes it’s clear you are a very accomplished young lady. I may have overstepped, Miss Wells. I apologize.”

  “No need for that, Lady Baybrook. You are too esteemed to be so rude as to call the ward of your host out by some unthinkable slander. A woman of your grace would never trespass so thoughtlessly or mock the charitable decisions of a respected peer.” Raven stood. “But I hope you’ll forgive me. I am usually abed by now and find myself fading.”

  “Poor dear.” Mrs. Carlton said as she also rose to her feet. “You’re wise to rest as you can before your first season in Town for you’ll soon witness more sunrises than you ever thought possible. Perhaps I should go up as well to—“

  “Oh, stay! Stay, Mrs. Carlton!” Lady Baybrook commanded churlishly. “The men will rejoin us in just a few minutes and I cannot face their numbers alone. Our host is sure to accuse me of chasing all of you away!”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Mrs. Carlton’s courage faded and she retook her seat. “Well, good night, my dear.”

  “Good night, ladies.” Raven retreated calmly.

  She loathed interrogations and no matter what Lord Trent said, there was no amount of silk or sweet manners to prevent small-minded people from saying whatever they wished. The insulation of her life at Oakwell would not extend to completely protect her in Town. It was the earl’s firm belief that his wealth and acceptance was an unquestionable barrier she could dance behind but Raven knew better.

  Even so, she was determined not to fail him.

  After all, what choice did she really have?

  She’d reached the first landing of the main staircase when Sir Warrick spoke her name.

  “Miss Wells?”

  “Sir Warrick. Are the gentlemen heading into the salon? Did you lose your way, sir? It is just there down that hall if—“

  “No. I’m not lost. I stepped away early to—“ He caught himself before he confessed that he’d fled Mr. Sheffield’s endless sermons on horse breeds. “To retire.”

  “It has been an eventful day.” She looked down at him feeling awkwardly like Juliet on the balcony.

  “Eventful meeting you twice,” he said with a smile.

  “Be honest. Which meeting did you prefer?”

  He laughed. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “No?”

  “If I say it was the village, then you’ll think me mad. And if I say your guardian’s drawing room, then you’ll think me a bore.” Phillip crossed his arms. “I’ll just say it was a pleasure both times, and leave it at that.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “Then I shall keep my own preference to myself as well.”

  “I should let you go upstairs. It wouldn’t do for the others to catch us conversing here.” Phillip took his foot off the lowest riser. “I bid you good night, Miss Wells.”

  “Good night, Sir Warrick.” She smiled and ascended the stairs, and for the first time in her life, relished the wicked and wonderful notion that a man like Phillip Warrick might be watching her every move.

  Chapter Three

  The next afternoon, luncheon was set out under the grand arch of an ancient oak, one of the many massive trees that gave Oakwell Manor its name. Within sight of the house, a long table was laid out with crystal and linens in an enchanting display that defied their shading oak to spoil the display with a single unwanted leaf.

  Phillip marveled at the labor and pain it must have taken to produce such a fairy tale setting. The promenade of guests in finery in various shades of ivory made them a flock of doves or cranes landing on the scene. Lady Morley was still absent but Timms had indicated that morning while he dressed that the lady was reported to be unwell. Phillip assisted Lady Baybrook to her chair and then looked up to see Raven Wells sailing across the lawn. White lace and muslin glowed in the sunlight and she appeared like an angel to him.

  However the elegant saunter of her hips quickly banished the ethereal impression. Trent’s ward evoked more earthly thoughts than spiritual ones and Phillip blinked to stop himself from staring. He took one of the last empty seats as diplomatically distanced from Sheffield as he could manage.

  “When do we go shooting?” Lord Morley asked over a plate piled high with pastries.

  “I have a target shoot arranged in a few days, old boy,” the earl announced grandly.

  Raven took a lawn chair nearest to the Carltons. “Do you shoot, Mr. Carlton?”

  Mr. Carlton laughed. “I can fire a weapon but every bird and woodland c
reature on our property has learned that the noise from my gun is no danger but merely a nuisance.”

  His wife nodded cheerfully. “I love to sketch them and enjoy how tame they’ve become thanks to my husband’s terrible aim.”

  Lord Morley scowled. “And overly plentiful, I’d warrant! There’s no husbandry if you’re leaving it to predators and poachers.”

  “I have a good relationship with our local tradesman and when the seasons call for it they have permission to take only what they need. You see? The benefit of a gameskeeper without the hire of one and even better, not a stranger puts one toe on my land without report for the villagers guard their bounty very generously.”

  “A socialist and rebel in our midst, gentlemen!” Mr. Sheffield announced. “Pure ruinous nonsense!”

  Raven gasped. “Mr. Sheffield! How unkind and most unfair of you!”

  The earl smiled. “Defend yourself, you cruel animal!”

  Sheffield’s face darkened at the playful taunt. “I’ll not enter into a debate and spoil the party. Especially not with one so young and obviously ill informed of the way of these things.”

  “Poor man.” The earl placed a pastry on his own plate and tapped his glass for a servant to fill. “You leave me no choice, sir. Miss Wells, my dear. Explain your view.”

  “I did speak out of turn, your lordship,” she began softly. “Perhaps I should apolo—“

  “Explain your view, Miss Wells.” Trent’s tone was all command and Raven’s capitulation was immediate.

  “It is never nonsense to take a generous and Christian spirit in any approach and if I understood Mr. Carlton, the men he has charged with permission to hunt on his land have the restrictions to take only what they need for themselves and their families.”

  Sheffield chuffed disapproval. “And what is to stop them from taking whatever they can and selling it in the markets to add to their own purses?”

  “Common sense, Mr. Sheffield,” she answered brightly. “If they took too much game then everyone would go hungry, would they not? And since their covenant with their landlord is predicated on their respectful management of the privilege, why would they risk its revocation? Why they would, as Mr. Carlton has said, be even more diligent in guarding those boundaries! They would have no love of any interloper that might upset their happy arrangement and spoil the prosperity of their hamlet.”

  “You give the common man too much credit for good sense, Miss Wells,” Mr. Sheffield said.

  “And you too little,” she countered. “Mr. Carlton, has anyone ever assessed the health of your game?”

  Mr. Carlton nodded. “I have an inventory and report made every two years and have received great compliments on the bounteous state of all, both fish and fowl and even larger game fair well, it seems.”

  “The lady appears to be winning the day,” Phillip said. He’d been able to take immense pleasure in watching the debate unfold. Apparently Miss Wells thrived on good arguments and the sparkle of delight in her eyes was absolutely hypnotizing.

  Poor Sheffield indeed! If you weren’t an idiot to begin with, I’d say this little exchange will make the title a permanent one.

  “Nonsense!” Sheffield sat up straighter in his chair. “It is an aberration that cannot be replicated. I challenge you to consider what would happen if every tenant farmer and common laborer demanded the same right to ‘take what he needed’ with no thought to the sacred rights of his landlord? Every estate in England would be stripped bare and the chaos of revolution would bring down the very stones we have built our empire upon! The lessons of France are still fresh in my mind if not in yours, Miss Wells.”

  “How is it that every man of privilege whenever pressed on the subject of rights immediately reverts to some vague and frightening reference to the guillotine?” Raven’s tone was as light as if they were discussing the color of the sky. “Mr. Carlton, do you fear a revolt from your tenants and tradesmen?”

  “Heavens, no!” Mr. Carlton exclaimed.

  Raven turned back to her opponent. “There. You see? Only tyrants fear revolt, Mr. Sheffield. If there is a crack in the stone, then there is nothing, no power on this earth that can keep it from falling apart. Time, weather and a thousand invisible forces will have their way and the strongest granite crumbles if it has a fault. That is not revolution, sir. That is science, pure and simple.”

  Sheffield lost his wind and busied himself cutting the meat on his plate. “Science! Hearing a woman speak of science is like hearing a cat bark!”

  Phillip shook his head as Mr. Carlton and the earl openly laughed at the man’s discomfort. Only Lord Morley and Lady Baybrook failed to join in the merriment.

  “At least the consolation with the shooting is that we can leave the women and their endless chatter behind,” Lord Morley grumbled.

  Lady Baybrook opened her fan with a crisp popping sound of disapproval. “Science and politics are unattractive adornments for any true lady of good breeding.”

  Geoffrey’s smile didn’t dim but something feral and protective came into his eyes and Phillip marveled that the older woman wasn’t wise enough to see it.

  “Then this is a debate you and I will continue throughout your stay, Millicent,” Trent said as he leaned back in his chair. “It always makes me sad to think that women in society are banished from our presence whenever we wish to converse on anything of substance. But then, I imagine it’s so that the effect isn’t spoiled.”

  “What effect is that?” Lady Baybrook demanded.

  “The illusion that there is more going on in your empty heads than a silly obsession with lace.”

  “I am not insisting that my gender has empty heads!” she said, openly affronted. “Nor a remarked obsession with lace!”

  “No? Only insisting that by avoiding more in depth conversations you need not reveal a lack in the feminine intellect? Or was is it an insistence of the attractiveness of some subjects over others for a proper woman’s mental selection?” He took a sip from his glass. “What I mourn, Millicent, is that you think it off putting for a woman to display knowledge on serious matters like philosophy, science, engineering, or even politics; whereas I find it off putting to see a blank look in a woman’s eyes. But then, I am notoriously eccentric, am I not?”

  “To your ward’s detriment, sir!” Lady Baybrook stood in a huff, forcing the men to all politely rise as well.

  All rose except Lord Trent who deliberately kept his seat with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

  “There is no beauty in stupidity,” he said calmly, immediately sending the dowager off in a tremendous temper across the lawn back toward the house.

  “That was a bit harsh, sir!” Lord Morley commented wryly as he sat back down. “So much for the quiet of a country visit.”

  “I apologize, friends,” Geoffrey offered. “I have always encouraged my ward’s educational pursuits and cheerful views. She will be the match of any man. So the fault is mine, not Raven’s.”

  Sheffield shifted on his cushions. “Not that I am raising my hand for another serving, but Miss Wells may regret your lax attitudes come this social season. Not everyone is as receptive to an over-educated woman as…we are.”

  “No? You do not think there are enough simpering milk-toast debutantes in our little world to satisfy them? Must every woman be cut of the same cloth?” Lord Trent asked, then stretched his arms out to take in the day. “But what say you, Warrick? Milk toast or meat? Which do you prefer?”

  Phillip nearly choked on a piece of mutton he had just put in his mouth as everyone’s attention was immediately directed toward him. It took him a moment to recover but at last he could respond. “I loathe your analogy, sir.”

  “Yes, yes.” Trent waived the complaint off. “How do you like your women best? Shy, insipid and demure? Or something more clever and self aware?”

  It was stupid to look toward Raven. Stupid. But also impossible to avoid. For there she was, as beautiful as any woman he had ever beheld, openly clever and
quick. And those smoke colored eyes looked directly back at him without apology. This was no biddable maiden bred to be ruled. She was a feminine creature crafted to rule and he was more than half way to succumbing to her spell.

  “Intelligence is never a fault and in a woman when it is balanced with compassion and her better nature, it is irresistible.”

  “Ha! See? You cannot over-educate a woman! Though you can certainly under-educate them if you insist on the taste of soggy milk toast!” Trent pounded on the table.

  Raven sighed and finally re-entered the fray. “Let us change directions! To make amends for the somber turn in our conversation, I propose a diversion.”

  “What kind of diversion?” Mrs. Carlton asked.

  “Something that may please both sides of the table—a scavenger hunt!” she said.

  “What?” Lord Morley’s brow furrowed. “It is a game for children.”

  “Not the game I have in mind,” Raven said. “Let us see if I cannot come up with a list of items for the search with clues that can entice you to think differently of the enterprise. I will engineer a hunt that the ladies can pursue as well so that no one is left out!”

  “I do love a good game.” Mr. Carlton chimed in cheerfully, adding to her supporters.

  “Who doesn’t love solving a mystery?” Phillip admitted.

  “Please allow me to orchestrate a grand game to make up for the mischief of the day. I will take some time to come up with my scheme and get everything in place and then we can start.” Raven looked to the earl. “Do you approve?”

  “I do! And if someone prefers to sit out the game and forfeit their chance at the prize, then so be it.”

  “What prize?” Sheffield asked.

  Trent smiled enigmatically. “Are you playing then?”

  “I might.”

  “Then if you win, you’ll find out,” Trent said and clapped his hands in triumph.

  “Give me until tomorrow to arrange all, gentlemen!” Raven said.

  “And the prize to the winner?” Sheffield pressed again.