Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  “Play the part, and he gets all the help he needs. If you refuse, it’ll be nothing to lock you in the keep tower for a few hours and ensure it’s the constable who meets him at the end of the lane in an hour instead of you. I’ll make certain you’re present to watch him hang too.”

  Panic flashed hot and cold over my skin. The threat rained like acid over my wounded heart that was still freshly out of mourning for him, and I couldn’t bear the thought of going through it all again. One could only survive that sort of anguish once in her life.

  “It’s your choice, Queen Esther. Will you protect your precious morality . . . or him?”

  God, what would you have me do?

  An old verse swept over my mind, clearing away all other thoughts: Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

  How about just one very precious friend?

  I swallowed hard, Prendergast’s words plunging into my heart and lighting every spark of loyalty that was so easily fanned into flame. It was as if he knew my every weakness, for I would rather give up a tiny corner of my overactive conscience than be the perfectly moral woman who refused to help those dear to me. In that dark moment, my endless view of possibilities and choices narrowed to exactly one.

  He whispered near my face. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we, Countess? If he finds out about our little arrangement, I’m afraid I’ll have to end it.”

  His calm words sliced like a knife.

  “I know you’ll come around to seeing my way of things. A few of the servants in this house already have.”

  The air left my lungs as he winked.

  That night I lay upon the finest imported sheets I’d ever seen, but all I could do was stare at the window and wonder how long Sully would wait at the end of the lane before giving up on me—and what he’d do when he did.

  I did not pray before climbing into bed that night, and I avoided the Holy Bible lying on a side table. I knew I was likely not making a righteous decision, but I couldn’t make any other. I rose at one point and scratched out several more missives directed toward the perpetrators of wrongs I’d seen and left them in a folded stack on the desk. Another page was filled with the poetic musings of a would-be countess as I forced myself into the façade that had now become necessary, but it was not a comfortable fit. When my hand was cramped, I blew out the candle, once again bypassing the Bible on the little table, and attempted sleep.

  I tossed about until my troubled mind admitted there was only one way out of this mess: I had to find out the truth about the countess and bring her back. Sully had to be patient with me until I could—he just had to.

  Please, was my whispered thought toward both Sully and God. Please understand.

  8

  Those we love know exactly what we are in spite of everything—and that is both a benefit and a dilemma.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  What a relief that the woman now lifting adoring brown eyes to him was already married. “You are him. I know it.”

  Sully gave the stable master’s wife a brief bow. “Sullivan McKenna, ma’am. At your service.”

  “Mercy, it is you! My William has been looking for you. Come in, come in.”

  She threw the door to their little cottage wide and bid him entry into their neat but humble home beside the stables. The man in question approached with his hand extended and a warm smile lighting his features. “You disappeared on us. We thought you were returning straightaway when you dashed off from the barn, but not a sight of you.”

  “I had to speak to someone. I suppose it carried on a bit longer than I expected.”

  At a warning glance from her husband, the bright-eyed woman neatly avoided the topic of his letters for a space of nearly five minutes. By the sixth minute, her husband ducked behind a curtain and she burst out with the thought that had been glowing on her face since he entered. “Come on then, tell us about the girl.”

  “She’s all the usual things a girl ought to be, in my book—intelligent, spirited, pretty.” Sully schooled his features. Silence reigned while images and memories flitted through his mind, each one striking a chord both painful and sweet. Then he leaned back in his chair and nodded at the fireplace that glowed from behind a screen. “The way that fire’s hidden behind that screen there, it reminds me of her. Guarded, perhaps, but nothing can fully hide the light of those flames.”

  “She was a passionate lass, then?” The woman’s eyes sparkled with delight.

  “In the best sort of way.” He stared at the orange glow behind the screen, thinking of the snap of her eyes when she was lured into a challenge, or when her loyalty was tested. That loyalty—it warmed the people around her, but it burned up what lay in her path too. “Always full of adventure and purpose. She spent her life on those who needed her, and there were always plenty of them. Some scrap of a little orphan boy, a deaf beggar woman on the street—she fought for them as if they were kin. She made me want to burst with joy and anger in the space of a single day sometimes, but I never tired of being near her.”

  He stopped short of describing the time she’d nearly drowned in the Thames. She’d tried to stow away on a barge to rescue her soused father who had run away after he’d lost yet another position, and Sully had to drag her back to the docks. She’d not given up on the poor man, on the hope of him being restored to life, until the day he’d died in a sorry puddle of rum and broken glass. No one else would have given a second thought to the old man, or the many other castoffs whose gaze she’d lifted to the stars.

  “Perhaps she’s off fighting those battles right now.”

  Sully stared down at his hands framing the teacup. “Perhaps.”

  “You miss her?”

  “I miss the sweetness of her welcome after I’d been gone a spell. I miss my partner in adventure. Everything about the way things were, I miss it.” He ran one finger over the worn knee of his trousers, wondering if he’d have her back. One short hour until he found out where he stood. He had to talk with her the minute they left—had to. No more uncertainty, no guessing and hoping. It was time he knew how she felt.

  “Why’d you go off to sea, then?”

  He looked up at William, who’d returned to join the conversation. “She always made me think of grander things and hope for more than life in the East End.” He paused, nipping his gaze down. “I taught her the Bible and she gave me eyes of eternity. Me, the son of a vicar.”

  “Were you betrothed, then?” The besotted woman leaned her cheek against her hands.

  Sully bowed his head. “We hadn’t gotten as far as that, ma’am.” He exhaled. “It’s my biggest regret now, looking back on it. I hadn’t the courage to ask her.”

  The stable master seated himself beside his wife. “Perhaps it’s prepared you for a new adventure. I’ve seen many a fine lass about these parts, and perhaps one of them—”

  A sharp jab from his wife ended his suggestion with an oof. “He’s not meant to be with any of them, William. Do you not know anything?” She grumbled and shook her head, rising from the table.

  When she turned to the fire to tend to her other food, William folded his arms on the table and leaned in. “I’m sorry about your troubles with the countess, McKenna. I heard she didn’t take to you. That Lady Enderly doesn’t warm to anyone right away, it seems, so it’ll likely pass. There’s plenty you can do to endear yourself to her, intimidating as she is.”

  Sully tensed, recalling the image of Raina looking down her little nose at him with that delicate frown. The hurt surfaced again, quick and sharp. “I’ve never gone out of me way to endear myself to any lady.”

  He sliced another piece of bread for himself and offered one to Sully. “She’s a bit different than your Raina, I imagine.”

  He considered this, fingering the edge of his dented metal cup. “Aye, a sight different.” Sully ate the bread in a few bites and chased the remaining crumbs down with a swig of tea.

  “The countess h
as had a hard go of it, you know. Try to look at it that way.”

  “That so?” He frowned, thoughts pivoting to the real woman behind the name. “What sort of hardship could a lady like that ever have?”

  The man gripped his cup and stared down into the remaining liquid. “You’ll understand when you meet the earl. It cannot be easy to live under the weight of such a man, and I’ve heard her father was even worse. They say the steel from his mill seeped into his blood.”

  Sully frowned, unsure of what to say. “Has she a great many enemies, then?”

  He shrugged. “What titled person doesn’t?”

  Sully stared down at the wood plank table, eternally grateful that, within an hour, he and Raina would turn their backs on this place and all the danger involved. Poverty never looked so wonderful.

  9

  When you set out to change someone’s opinion of you, you must first start with your own.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  Let me see you walk.” Prendergast beckoned me across the study awash in pink and orange sunrise. “Imagine you are the queen herself.”

  I’d been cornered into this tedious training session after I’d been caught running about the grounds that morning. Why must the man arise at the crack of dawn, anyway? It gave one precious little time to accomplish any covert tasks, such as searching out Sully and attempting an explanation—if he remained. I’d left a message for him in an Austen novel, and I waited for the moment to point him toward it, praying I’d see his familiar face come luncheon-time.

  “Show me you are in queenly command of the room by the way you walk through it, just as the countess would.”

  Summoning the poise of a royal, I walked across the room, stiff and overly self-conscious. Oh, how I hated all of this. Every bit.

  He watched with a frown, his fingers supporting his chin, then waved me to a stop. “You’re far too rigid. Stop trying to be someone you’re not, and boldly be who you are. Be sure of yourself.”

  I raised my eyebrows, not bothering to voice the obvious.

  “What I mean is this. I can supply you with every gown and bit of finery, but there’s nothing you can wear that’ll be more convincing of your role than self-assurance. Of which you seem to have none.”

  “Then perhaps you should find someone else for this position. I do not have that sort of charm. It isn’t who I am.”

  “My dear lady, carrying yourself with poise doesn’t mean you believe yourself to be perfect. It simply means you aren’t bothered by the parts that aren’t. Start by telling yourself you are confident and you’re halfway there. Believe it, and that’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Nothing to it, then.” Tiredness sharpened my sarcasm.

  “Lady Enderly has this incredible ability of persuasion. Why, she once persuaded a duke to sign an amendment that stood to lose him half his own fortune, simply by being so utterly charming that he hadn’t any idea that he had not made up his own mind on the matter. That’s all you need to do—charm people into believing you are the countess.”

  “I am a rag woman, in case you have forgotten.”

  Eyeing me, Prendergast stepped over to the door and pulled the little bell. Sarah, the parlor maid, stepped in.

  “Sarah, have you seen a rag woman about the place of late?”

  She looked between Prendergast and me, her pockmarked face wrinkling with confusion. “No sir, I haven’t seen one for some months now.”

  “Not a single trace of anyone resembling one?”

  She frowned and shook her head.

  “Thank you. That is all.”

  The girl gave a swift curtsy and departed, and Prendergast spun on me with a sparkling smile. “There, you see? There is no rag woman here.”

  “You know who I truly am.”

  “My dear, it’s like I told you before. ‘Rag woman’ was never your real identity. Nothing based on circumstances can be. The rags are gone, yet here you are. So the question remains—who are you, truly?”

  I stared at him, for I had no answer. As much as I’d loathed being buried in them, my rags had always been the sum total of my existence. Without them, what was left?

  “Now, let us continue to change your mind. We’ve done away with the old, and we shall endeavor to replace it with something better.” He approached, studying me. “Have you ever been to a bathing hole?”

  I blushed at the question. “Not outside of a metal tub, sir. Although I was pushed off the dock once into the Thames, and I dove in another time to rescue my brother. Nothing graceful about that, though.” I remembered the panicked swim toward his flailing white limbs.

  “Quite all right, we’ll imagine it. Close your eyes and pretend you’re standing in placid warm water and you’re gliding through it.” He slid his hand under my fingertips and guided me toward him with a gentle pressure. I moved forward obediently and imagined treading through water, relaxed and weighted with grace.

  This was new. Delightful. The feel of those movements solidified in my mind, becoming more natural with each step until I’d formed a rhythm. Yet I felt certain I’d lose it the moment I left the room. “You still cannot make me what I am not.”

  “In the words of a great reformer of English society, ‘It’s never too late to become what you might have been.’ That’s George Eliot, former editor of Westminster Review, writer of six famously received novels and counting, and despite the name, a woman. You have the gusto of that brave soul and ten more besides. Look how far you've come in a few days. Look at where you are. You are courageous.”

  I blinked. I’d never been called that. Foolish, sometimes a bit scandalous when I raced through graveyards or befriended beggars, but never courageous. I turned the word over in my mind, letting it absorb into my spirit.

  “Yet you are more beautiful than ever a rag woman has need of being, and there must be a reason for it.” He rested his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward a gilded mirror, forcing me to study my reflection. “You, dear one, were meant for exactly this sort of life, and you can no longer deny it. We could not uncover beauty that was never there to begin with. This, my dear, is who you are.”

  “But this is a temporary identity, isn’t it?”

  “With lasting effects.”

  He pulled my shoulders back in a way that felt unnatural at first, but as I relaxed, the new position lifted my chest and straightened my back in a way that felt quite suitable, as if it was how God had designed a person to stand.

  So this was how poise felt. This was what it meant to be a lady.

  Prendergast pointed toward the mirror, but this time the woman reflected there watched with a calm face and fresh dignity I had never known I possessed. My rosy lips bloomed against pale skin, complementing my darkly lashed eyes that arrested even me. “Look what difference a little confidence makes. Add a little polish to your speech and weight to your voice to even it out, and you would fit into any drawing room around London.

  “Now, I want you to start acting on what you see there. Behave as a countess, speak and move like her. Throw out commands and watch them be followed to the letter.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then, my dear, you dance like a countess.”

  “I have to dance?” I’d only now mastered walking.

  “Just at a small reception to honor your visit to the area. Come, I’ll show you.” He arranged my arms, positioning me before him, and explaining how I must hold myself, then swept into large, smooth circles about the wide open room. A melody emanated from his chest in a fine baritone. I stared down at his feet with rapt attention, memorizing the patterns, stumbling through them with my own.

  “Chin up, love.” His knuckle tipped the edge of my chin to match his words, and my gaze flew up to his smiling face so near to mine, his confidence beaming down on me.

  I instinctively broke away, stumbling over the rug, but he frowned and moved near, taking hold of my shoulders and bringing his face down beside mine, far too close once again.
My heart rebelled, but I forced myself to permit his familiarity.

  “Don’t forget how important this is for you. One look at that man tells me just what you mean to each other. The way he watches you, those stolen glances . . . He’s so deeply in love with you I fear he may drown in his feelings.” He breathed the words in sweet bursts of minty tea–scented air across my face.

  This brought an instant ache to my heart, and I couldn’t help but picture Sully, imagine him holding me this close. My heart raced. Sully, my loyal rescuer with the brilliant smile, the last and first thought of so many hopeless days. I thought of his eyes most of all when I pictured him, dark and laughing, exuding the powerful music of his soul even when he was not playing. The very notion of those eyes cast toward me with such devotion . . . it was too much. My cheeks burned. Longing flamed through me.

  A knock sounded on the door and the man released me instantly. My hands flew to my overheated face, and I kept my back to the door while trying to regain control of my emotions. If only I could stop thinking of Sully, I had a chance at maintaining the poise I needed.

  “Breakfast, my lady.”

  I closed my eyes, still unable to face the butler. “Yes, thank you, Bradford. That will be fine.” His footsteps retreated and a cart squeaked into the room.

  “This is your chance. Command your servants, my lady.” Prendergast whispered the words so only I could hear.

  I turned, and my gaze snapped onto the very face that had me so unsettled. Stormy and passionate with eyes that sparked with unspoken opinions, Sully watched me with heart-pounding silence as he arranged the plates on the cart he’d wheeled in and poured tea. My blush deepened, reaching warm fingers up into my scalp. My breath caught in my throat.

  It had been many years since I’d seen him without even a trace of a smile.

  “You can’t be serious,” I breathed in Prendergast’s direction.

  He merely raised an eyebrow in challenge.

  I forced myself to look at Sully as he laid out our food. “I have something I’d like you to do, if you please.”