Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  “I’ll see if I can find Miss Simone.”

  When I did not readily answer, he supplied the information. “Simone Bouvier, your personal maid. Your estate manager took the liberty of hiring her, at Mr. Prendergast’s suggestion, when he heard you would not be bringing the one you employed in London. We hope she meets with your approval.”

  “You needn’t worry.”

  Mercy gracious, I have a lady’s maid.

  Bradford pushed open the doors and departed with a bow. Then with a pounding heart, I stepped into a haven of dreams, a large lamp-lit room that glowed pink and gold with a canopied bed, fringed drapes, and three tall bay windows overlooking a spread of flowers. Sunlight glowed through sheer embroidered curtains. Beyond a doorway to the left stood a generous dressing area with mirrors at every angle and a wardrobe standing poised and ready to offer me any number of beautiful gowns.

  Perhaps this was what Prendergast had thought would convince me to remain. I must admit, his wager had merit. “I must’ve died and gone to glory.” I mumbled the words to myself as I walked with wonder into the space. I turned to take it all in, my mouth hanging slack.

  “Good evening, my lady.”

  With a start I turned but saw no one. Then the shadows shifted and a woman in gray separated herself from the darkness on the fringes of the room. Her piercing hazel-flecked eyes narrowed as she examined me. No older than thirty, she looked as though the world had tight-laced her life as efficiently as the bodice of her gown constricted her slender frame, yet her lovely pearlized face was barely touched by age. She glided toward me, that severe woman full of haunting beauty, and I wondered the reason for the immediate dislike evident on her face. “Welcome to Rothburne, Lady Enderly.” The staccato rhythm of her words carried only a faint hint of her French origins that had been smoothed and faded by time.

  “Who are you?” Or what, perhaps, for she hardly seemed human.

  “Simone Bouvier, my lady.” Her lips curved up in a smile that did not alter the rest of her face. “I am glad to see your suite pleases you.”

  I blushed to realize she’d seen me gaping a moment ago. “I’ve not been here recently, so it feels new to me.” True words, yet slightly deceptive. My grasp on integrity was becoming looser by the minute in this place.

  She passed before a delicate oil lamp, and the glow illuminated a surprisingly appealing face with sharply intelligent eyes under dark lashes, all framed by thick ebony hair twisted back into a chignon against her neck. I searched her countenance for help, but her face was curtained like a house closed up against intruders. She glided forward and paused to examine me with a delicate frown. “Blue.” That icy voice, so quiet and severe. “Your eyes are blue.”

  Her tone nearly compelled me to apologize, but I held my tongue. I was supposed to be the mistress of this house.

  “I was told green. I had an emerald gown readied for tea, but I suppose we can make do with one in another color.”

  “Formal tea isn’t necessary. I’d like a chance to rest. Perhaps I can simply take it in my room.”

  Her perfect little lips turned up in a smile. “I am afraid you are not afforded such luxuries, my lady. Your status entitles you to a great many amenities, but freedom is not one.”

  I stared at this unusual woman who managed to be condescending without uttering a single rude word. “Why shouldn’t I have a night to myself if I desire it?”

  “You have a guest tonight who insists on meeting now.”

  “Guest?” I nearly choked on the word. Did Prendergast know of this? “Who is it?”

  “The earl’s cousin, Philip Scatchard.”

  I pressed my fingertips into my forehead. “Can we not send him away until I’m rested?” Or gone, as I would likely be soon.

  “I am afraid not, my lady.” But the gleam in her eyes told me she was anything but regretful to refuse my request. “He would not allow it.” She turned to lay out white undergarments from the drawers, piling them on the bed. She paused to consider me as I clung to the back of a chair. “Are you ill?”

  “I’m merely adjusting to . . . everything.”

  She eyed me. “The abbey must be quite a change of scenery for you.”

  I ducked from under her razor gaze and made my way to the wardrobe. Inching it open, I ran my fingertips along the gowns worth more than my very life and stopped at a vibrant blue affair with sweeps of lace across the skirt. I let my fingers indulge in the fabric. “This will do nicely.” I attempted to add an edge of authority to my voice, but it seemed impossible in her presence.

  I stood perfectly still on the dressing room stand while Simone fitted the layers of stays and crinolette, then hoisted the frock over my head and let it fall in soft layers of material about the frame, bracing myself against delight. How would I ever return to my sodden pile of rags after this? Layer after layer wrapped smoothly against my body until I felt lightheaded from standing so long, but the result was splendid.

  “He’s asked to meet you in half an hour. Shall I tell him you’ll be down then?”

  “Of course.”

  She left, closing the doors behind her. I now only had a matter of minutes to convince myself that I was Lady Enderly. It was when I passed the little secretary in the corner that an idea struck. There on the wood surface sat a tray of vellum writing paper embossed with the countess’s elegant name. Lovelyn Rumilla Margaruite Shaunghess. Sliding into the chair, I dipped the pen in the inkwell and tapped the end of it against my jaw. What would her voice sound like? What opinions might she have?

  With light strokes I began writing a diary entry as if I were her, summoning my idea of her voice and tone as the words spilled forth onto the page.

  Here I sit, in the world’s most dreary old abbey, and I cannot help but wonder if it is perhaps haunted.

  The marks of ink became bolder, darker, and my thoughts flowed as I wrote, the persona taking shape and solidifying in my mind.

  What a shame that rest and boredom must coexist, but it seems I am trapped here for a time, and I must grow to like the place. They say a house is a reflection of its mistress, and I wonder if I’m truly as intimidating and cold as the place suggests.

  I wrote this way for a full page and set the paper aside to dry. Courage and hope wavered against traces of doubt. An odd sensation swept over me as I stared at my writing with the other woman’s name printed across the top.

  Then I drew out another page, my thoughts racing. The only way I knew to deal with my conscience, which rang with the underlying air of deception about this situation, was to discover noble reasons for my decision that balanced out the doubts. Change would come through my hand, as Prendergast promised, and it began now, with one very important business. Lifting the pen and adjusting the blotter, I began my first missive as Lady Enderly.

  My Dear Mr. Crawley, I wish to bring to your attention the deplorable lack of regulations I have seen in your establishment . . .

  My pen raced across the page as I scrawled my strong feelings toward the owner of the textile factory that had sucked the life from Mother. He hadn’t even paused production for the accident that nearly took her life years ago, and it was time he felt the sting of his carelessness. It would no longer help my dear maman, but it might save someone else.

  It was a thrilling sensation, putting those strong words onto thick vellum paper and sealing it with the family crest in wax. It might do nothing, but it felt wonderful. I wrote another letter and another, my sense of justice quenched by the words flowing onto the page. All too soon, a knock sounded on the door and my aching hand dropped the pen. I rose and left the bedroom, ready as I’d ever be to meet this cousin.

  I trailed my fingertip along the polished railing to the bottom of the grand staircase and paused to listen for this guest.

  “You’re late.”

  I spun to face Prendergast, lurking just behind me in the shadows of the stairwell. I grabbed the stair rail behind me and forced steel into my trembling voice. “You didn’t
tell me about a guest.” He stepped toward me into the little circle of light from an overhead chandelier. “How will this cousin not spot a fake?”

  I looked up into his face and paused at the change there as he watched me. All that bold assurance I normally found in his countenance had melted to utter astonishment. “I’m beginning to think you’re not.” He stared at me long enough to make my skin heat, drinking in every inch of me with a gaze that penetrated too far. How different he seemed than in the library. Gone was his anger, but his piercing stare still left me feeling exposed, vulnerable.

  “I’d planned to work with you much longer before this moment, but we can make do for a short appearance. Fortunately this visitor is not a frequent part of your life, so he won’t know the difference.” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “His name is Philip Scatchard. He manages this property and another one south of Kent, belonging to an uncle.”

  A door slammed and a male voice sounded in a nearby room.

  Prendergast leaned close to whisper. “He will have no reason to doubt you, correct?”

  I shivered and nodded.

  “Move with grace and command as the mistress of this house. Chin straight, shoulders low, even voice. Not a hint of surprise at anything he says.”

  Dread rolled through my belly for what this cousin might reveal.

  The butler scuttled past us into the room and left the door ajar. An assertive voice echoed out from beyond the double doors. “Good day there, Bradford. Now tell me, where is that basest of creatures hiding out?”

  My skin went clammy. “Is that the cousin? Who is he talking about?”

  “You.” Prendergast shoved me toward the door, his terse whisper drifting into my ear. “He has a great deal on his mind to go along with that chip on his shoulder and he despises you immensely.”

  I jerked out of his grasp. “How do you expect me to face a man like that?”

  “You can, and you will. Go in there with the same gumption that made you face a stranger armed with a jeweled shoe and give him what for.”

  “But he hates—”

  “Breathe.” He demonstrated with deep breaths. “Courage in, doubts out. In and out. Again. That’s it, puff up your chest a bit. Emotion descends onto us faster than reason, so you must subdue the one and wait for the other. Remember, he manages the property, but you control the estate. Keep him in his place. There, now off you go.”

  With a quick pat to my shoulder, he shoved me through the double doors, and a spirited gent spun to face me with wild, glittering eyes underscored by violet half circles. He stalked toward me. It was too late to retreat, although it seemed my voice already had. How fleeting was this newfound courage. Father God, give me strength like you always did in Spitalfields, because once again I’m in the lion’s den. Watch over—

  But did I truly want him watching me right now? I cringed at the notion as my heart pounded and pushed it aside. We’d discuss everything at length once this was over.

  “Ah, there she is, in the flesh. Or the scales, perhaps.” He stood too close and looked me over from hem to hollow with the most compelling, deeply shadowed look. It sliced through me as Victor Prendergast’s had in the alley but was strengthened by a burning hatred smoldering below the surface.

  I backed up as if it might scorch my gown. “Good evening, Cousin Philip. Would you care for tea?” Wasn’t that always the first thing a lady asked her guest? I dipped my head to avoid his burning gaze and strode to the tea cart.

  He held up his glass half full of amber liquid and took another drink. “How becoming you are, even in that puff of finery.”

  I paused, breath caught in my throat.

  “I’m not sure whether to admire you or go on despising you. A little bit of both, I suppose.”

  Despising me? Curiosity teased at the edges of my nervous mind. Perhaps it was the challenge or the desire to please, but I had a sudden longing to understand the reason for this man’s bitterness and change his mind, make him like me—or rather, her. The mysterious Lady Enderly.

  He swirled the drink in his hand and drained it, studying me with a mix of contempt and disbelief. “I can’t help but wonder at how very different you seem.”

  I tensed as he poked at my delicate façade, glancing toward the door to see if Prendergast had heard.

  “Too bad all that comeliness is deep as a puddle.” He turned and scowled at a young maid hovering inside the door. “You’ve brought the tea, haven’t you? Now go.”

  I stood between them, my spine straightening with the steel of a Spitalfields girl. “Let me remind you that you are in my home.”

  His eyes flashed. “No reminding needed.”

  He truly was boorish. “Sugar?” I moved to the cart and held up the silver dish with a smile. “Seven or eight helpings might be a start.”

  He scowled and drank the offered tea in two swigs without sugar, slamming it down on the cart beside his empty glass. I met his gaze when he looked at me again, but each passing second ticking by on the ivory mantel clock eroded my bravado.

  A light knock on the doorframe broke the tension and I exhaled in relief. We both turned to see Bradford in the doorway. “When you have a moment, Mr. Scatchard, there’s a man here to meet with you.”

  “By all means, Bradford, send him in, and bring another tea setting. Or perhaps something stronger.” He held up his empty glass. “I like that Bradford. He appears when he’s needed and otherwise you never see him.”

  I replaced my cup on the cart, eyeing my escape through the double doors. “I’ll leave you to your meeting, then.”

  “Not so fast,” he called after me as I strode away. “I still have a bone to pick with you, Lady Enderly. Quite a few, in fact.”

  I paused a mere three feet from the double doors welcoming me into the safety of the hall, fisting my hands. “Since we have a visitor, perhaps we can leave all the bone picking for a private conversation at the evening meal. I’ll return then.” Unless I managed to escape before it. Without giving him another chance to argue, I sailed on. Had I succeeded or failed? It was impossible to tell with such a man, but I certainly felt anything but victorious.

  I clung to the last shred of poise left to me as I escaped this hateful cousin and passed into the dim hall, but even that confidence snapped as I rounded the corner and my shaky steps caught my hem to send me sprawling on the tile floor.

  With a quick glance back to see that Cousin Philip was still engrossed in rummaging through the teacart offerings in the distant room, I adjusted my skirt and prepared to stand. In the hush of the dim hall, a tall, trim servant knelt before me, hand extended to help me rise. An aura of tenderness exuded from the man in a way I sensed without even looking up at him. I laid my fingertips on the warm, open palm, and the gentle grip sent my heart fluttering with the shock of recognition that vibrated through my body. I knew this touch.

  I rose and looked up into the kind eyes that had smiled down at me countless times, watching shock fan out over the dear face of my very own Sully.

  7

  Some memories are far too precious to leave in the past. A woman must take them along with her to light up her uncertain steps into the future.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  What have we here?” Philip Scatchard’s voice intruded upon the moment before any explanations could be given, any words exchanged. He strode out into the hall with his arms crossed as I steadied myself. This cousin would have me arrested if he found out, wouldn’t he?

  “Just a misstep.” Moving back, I smoothed my skirt and lifted my eyes to meet the lively, boyish face I had memorized with painful clarity.

  Shock had stilled his tongue. I was unprepared for the avalanche of emotions that pummeled me as I met Sully’s bright countenance, from amazement and wonder to utter fear for what would come next. My heart pounded, and what I truly wanted in that moment was for him to wrap his arms around me and hold me up as my knees seemed to be unable to do. All that my tangled thoughts could form w
as, He’s alive. He’s alive!

  Sully stared openly, making me highly aware of the drastic changes in my appearance, from the necklace suddenly pulling at my neck to the shoes that pinched my feet and the tight-laced corset hindering my breath. I forced a gulp as heat gathered beneath my layers of garments, and he continued to stare, shock radiating from his honest face.

  “Fortunately this man has come to my aid.”

  “And who might this fine gent be?”

  The butler stepped forward. “It was the stable master who brought him to my attention, sir, suggesting him as a second footman. He has roughly the same coloring as Duncan.”

  Duncan, the first footman. I recalled my moment of panic upon arrival when I’d spotted the man in the lineup of servants.

  Cousin Philip turned to me with a smile. “What do you think, dear cousin? Shall we install him at Rothburne?”

  I looked at my dear friend and realized we’d come full circle. How well I remembered the times Sully, as the respected son of the parish vicar, had stood up for the rag girl he’d befriended against the wishes of everyone he knew. He’d always been prepared to fight for my honor to anyone who demeaned me—including his father. Now I stood in the lofty status, looking down upon him as a common man seeking a position, and I could hardly do less than he’d done for me through the years.

  Yet how could I maintain my charade with him about? Even now his presence left me shaky and uncertain, unable to hold together my delicate poise.

  As he watched me, Sully’s grip on his hat could have snapped a heavy branch from the looks of it, and his suspenders swelled in and out against his chest with each heavy breath. I’d daydreamed often of laying my face against that very chest, of feeling the beating loyal heart of this man I knew so well, and now he stood before me and I couldn’t be near him—couldn’t even acknowledge him as anything but a stranger. The torture was more acute than his absence.

  “Well?”

  I ripped my gaze away and folded my hands before me. “Do we need a second footman? Isn’t one enough?” I crossed into the drawing room to voice my thoughts out of Sully’s hearing. Cousin Philip followed. “There’s such a roughness to this one, a ragged appearance that doesn’t fit at Rothburne.”