Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  After what felt like a painfully long silence, Sully straightened and looked to me with an expression devoid of his usual merriment. His direct gaze pierced all my new confidence, and I could be nothing but Ragna in the face of it. “I’ll do whatever you need, m’lady.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’d like you to fetch me a different teacup. I prefer the gold-rimmed one with the inlaid flowers.”

  His jaw twitched. “Of course.”

  Prendergast smiled at me until I wanted to slap the grin from his face. “I’m certain you’ll do splendid here. You are a most suitable mistress of Rothburne.” His smiling face glowed with hidden meaning.

  Sully’s darkened with very different thoughts.

  My beloved friend slipped out the service entrance to fetch the teacup. When he did, he’d find a small scrap of paper directing him to a message in Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility that I’d left him last night: “I do hope you’re not vexed with me. Nothing shall be right in my world if you are.”

  Farther down the page I marked a line spoken about the hero: “If I could but know his heart, everything would become easy.”

  There were not words enough in the novels we shared to explain what had occurred since last night, so these would have to suffice.

  I laid one hand on the smooth bodice of my day dress, hoping to calm my tumultuous insides. I tried to summon the ardent words of love in Sully’s letters, but they had begun to fade into indistinct memories. Did he regret writing those things now? Perhaps in his long absence he’d forgotten all my faults—my impetuousness, my quick-flaring temper, my constant tangles with trouble . . . Surely the man wouldn’t change his mind about me so suddenly, after all he’d written.

  But his face. The angry shadows looming over his countenance tainted my assurance with powerful doubts.

  When Prendergast left me, it was as if a fire had been lit. That terrible look on Sully’s face knotted my stomach and drove me forward. I had to learn the truth about the real Lady Enderly, for it was the only thing that would untangle me from this mess. I reached the large desk in three strides and glanced about. Finally, a chance to investigate the story that had led to her need of a replacement, maybe even discover where she was hiding.

  Or being hidden.

  Skimming a book of accounts, I found nothing of what I’d expected. There were a host of charges for milliners and dressmakers, washerwomen and greengrocers, but not a scrap of paper that pointed to the many travels Prendergast had claimed she’d made. There were lavish amounts of money spent on season tickets to the opera, art exhibits, even the derby—all inside London and none of it charitably spent. This countess was not the world-traveling queen of benevolence he had painted, and I suppose I should not have been surprised to discover this.

  Yet it left me intensely curious—who was this woman, and what else had my new employer lied about concerning her?

  10

  No matter what else I lose, no one is capable of separating me from my dignity—except on occasion myself.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  I suppose you’ll want to host your evening here. Your grand reception, that is.” Philip strode across the grand salon when I arrived for my meeting with the staff at ten the following morning. “Far be it from the lovely Lady Enderly to enter a town without the proper fanfare and trumpet blasts.”

  A grand reception. Nothing sounded more intimidating, but if it was what Lady Enderly would do, it must be done. I inhaled and imagined gowns and flowers, smiling faces and warm cider, delectable food to fill my belly. Perhaps it could be made enjoyable if I could convince myself to relax.

  “Will it be a musical performance or dancing?”

  I looked around at the vast emptiness of the gilded room and the blue brocade chairs lining the walls. “Oh, music. Always music.” What a change it would bring to this empty space. Perhaps the beauty of it would even seep into poor Philip’s heart as well. I studied the bitter face of the man far too young to be hardened so. He needed a taste of music even more than I did. Oh, to take that dried-up, cracked old heart of his and saturate it with loveliness and life. There was true spirit and heart in him, I was certain, for that passionate bitterness had come from somewhere.

  “Music.” He frowned. “You know of a performer who remains out here during the season? So be it, if that is what you desire. You are queen of Rothburne.”

  My brain stuttered, grasping for an answer as heat washed over my skin. I shot a glance toward the door—where was Prendergast? Before I had to speak, the double doors burst open and a blessed little woman scurried in, saving me from having to fumble a response.

  “Hello, hello. Mr. Scatchard sent for me. We’re to plan the event of the season, my lady, and what a night it’ll be.” She bustled across the long room, her skirt swirling against her stocky frame as she stopped before me. Cheery little eyes stood out on a rounded face framed by curls, underscoring her glowing enthusiasm as she bobbed two curtsies. “It’s wonderful to meet you at last, Lady Enderly, after all I’ve heard.” She bobbed another curtsy and smiled up at me. “We don’t take one minute of your presence in this place for granted. We’ll make a sensation of your holiday to the country, and everyone will adore you.”

  I caught sight of Cousin Philip’s eye roll in my peripheral vision and straightened, smiling with delight at the little round woman before me. “Thank you, Mrs. . . .”

  “Shirley Shackley. Oh, my apologies, my lady, I thought you’d know me. Faces don’t appear in letters now, do they?” Her contagious giggle drew forth a smile from me. “I am the one Mr. Scatchard has hired to coordinate social matters during your stay. It’s quite an honor to finally set about organizing the social calendar of a true lady.”

  “We call her Curly Shirley around here, and a fine job she does of entertaining guests for all the gentry from here to Bristol.” Cousin Philip laid a hand on her shoulder, earning a scrunch-nosed smile from the energetic little woman.

  “I knew you wouldn’t want to be bothered with the details after a long journey, so I’ve taken the liberty of preparing the menu and arranging the schedule. The entertainment will, of course, be left to your discretion.”

  “She’s already chosen, Shirl. She wishes for a musical night.”

  “Oh, wonderful.” Her face nearly burst with sunshine. “How ever did you manage to find a performer to—? Oh, but of course you can, and without any trouble. You are Lady Enderly.”

  Another eye roll from poor Cousin Philip, who must be drowning in this sea of my praise.

  “I’ll have the menu sent up for your approval the moment it’s finalized, but I’m certain you’ll love it.” Shirley fluttered her hands, adding even more energy to her words. “What a night it’ll be. I’d love to see you make a wonderful success of this evening, and I’m certain you will. Do send word if I can do anything to facilitate that in any way.”

  As she hurried out the door, Cousin Philip crossed his arms and scowled at the empty fireplace. “And I’d love to see you fall flat on your sorry face at that reception, but I’m sure you know that. Do ring if I can facilitate that in any way.” With a mock bow, he backed toward the door.

  I straightened, pushing my shoulders back. “I hope you’ll attend.” I would change his mind about me. Or rather, her.

  He snorted. “Not if you paid me a king’s ransom. Stuffy musical nights don’t suit me.”

  “Maybe this one won’t be stuffy.”

  He lingered in the doorway, eyes dancing at the suggestion. “Well then, why not invite a peasant or two? Maybe have fiddle music instead of—”

  “That’s perfect.” I tensed with sudden inspiration. “Yes, fiddle music. I believe I’ll do that. Why don’t you see if that new footman will play for us? I saw him carrying a fiddle about the yard. Would that entice you to come?”

  He studied me, eyebrows raised. “With pleasure.”

  With another look, he exited, leaving me standing alone in the ballroom-style salon, staring
at my own silhouette in the window across the room, awash with panic at what I’d just done. The lure of a challenge had tempted me into something foolish . . . or perhaps utterly brilliant. I walked out into the hall. What a mess I’d taken on, and it grew stickier by the minute. Even the house itself felt cold and unwelcoming, and I didn’t wish to stay. If only—

  I jerked at a cold hand on my arm. I spun into the crisp-suited chest of Victor Prendergast and looked up into his smiling, overconfident face. “Well? How did it go with your dear cousin?”

  I cringed at the question and backed the two available inches into a window. “One can never be certain.”

  “He still believes your ruse, does he not?”

  “He does, but he hates me fiercely.” I omitted all the things I couldn’t bear to cast before his piercing gaze.

  “As well he should, for he despises the real Lady Enderly. They’ve never seen eye to eye, especially on matters of the estate. If he liked you, I would think you an utter failure in the role.”

  I ran my fingertip along the window’s pane behind me. “Is she that terrible of a person? Does she deserve all this hatred?”

  He smiled, his eyes glittering. “Every bit of it. She’s accomplished, well-liked, wealthy, and titled. Everything poor Scatchard wishes he could be. He’d especially set his sights on this estate, the most profitable piece of land bestowed by a mutual uncle, so you can imagine his feelings about being made manager instead of owner. Rather a slap in the face, don’t you think? The man would kill to have the deed in his name.”

  “If looks could do a person in, he’d have already done it to me. That’s what I think.”

  My glum voice drew a rumble of laughter from the man who stood so near. “Being hated is far from the worst thing a person can be. Why, it’s practically a requirement for anyone who’s anyone. My dear father had a saying: ‘’Tis a success to be hated or adored. The only failure is one who’s ignored.’”

  Being ignored seemed a luxury just then, as I inched away from my captor, but I closed my mouth over the thought.

  He moved close, lowering his voice. “Remember, you are not here to convince people to like you—only that you are Lady Enderly. You must become her in every way.”

  I leaned into the window and closed my eyes as fiddle music drifted up to my ears, muffled by the distance between us.

  “Ah, it’s your fiddle player.” He watched me with shining eyes and a wicked smile. “Lucky for him, no inspector or constable would ever think to look for him way out here in Havard. Not unless they were alerted, of course.” He winked.

  I shuddered.

  “Chin up, Countess. His safety is in very capable hands.”

  Thunk. I cringed as the swinging service door struck something, someone, on the other side. My nerves were rattled. Two days in this place had not instilled in me the necessary grace required for this role, and I was ever afraid of the next misstep. I moved back, heart pounding, and pushed the door again to catch a glimpse of my victim rubbing his forehead.

  My other hand flew to my mouth. “Oh Bradford, I’m terribly sorry.” I slipped through the door into the main hall.

  “Quite all right, your ladyship. I’ve just posted those letters you gave me.” He looked past me to the servants’ hall I was exiting and raised his eyebrows. “Is there anything else I can fetch for you?”

  A distinct out-of-place feeling made me want to flee. What mistress hung about, or even set foot in, her servants’ hall?

  “I was only looking”—but I stopped short of voicing Sully’s name—“for bread. I was looking for bread. I suddenly feel quite famished.”

  “Why did you not ring for it, then? Any one of us would have brought it.”

  I tensed, fingering the fabric of my day gown. “I am quite capable of doing some things myself.” Which was the last thing any real countess would do. I ducked my head. “I’m afraid I’m not always the picture of convention and formality.”

  An easy smile warmed his face. “And that is to your great credit, my lady. Conventional countesses are plentiful in this world.”

  I gave a weak smile.

  He hesitated, his brow knit, as if wishing to say more. “I hope there’s nothing amiss, my lady. The staff has worked tirelessly to make the place acceptable to you, and you’d honor their efforts by remaining, at least for a time.”

  “I’m not certain it’ll be a long stay.” If I could help it, it would be over before another week was.

  He cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the quiet of the hall. “If there’s anything wrong, anything we’ve done to displease—”

  “Oh, no. It’s just . . .” I sighed and my shoulders drooped forward. His face melted into a gentle smile, drawing me to open my hurting heart and release to him a small piece of what was caged there. “I’m simply not certain I fit here.” The whispered half truth escaped with an utter sense of helplessness.

  “Well then,” he said with a sparkle to his eyes, “you must change ‘here’ to fit you, my lady.”

  I folded my arms over my chest with a frown, but as I glanced around the somber gray space, ideas and possibilities bloomed in my mind. How easy it would be to add a few small touches and make it warmer—more like a home. Perhaps it would become more bearable, at least. Prendergast had demanded that I begin to act as Lady Enderly, and what mistress would not be free to change the house to suit her?

  I turned back to the butler, ready to call him brilliant, and he smiled at what he saw in my expression.

  “Simply point and command, and it shall be done,” Bradford said. “May I bring to your attention the unfinished rooms in the center of the abbey? They’ll need the most, as they are yet untouched by the renovations. They will soon become a hazard if left untended.”

  I glanced down the dark passageway that led deep into the heart of the abbey and stiffened at the thought of working on them, or entering them at all. Something repelled me from that murky tomb-like space. If any part of Rothburne was haunted, it would be those grand old rooms.

  “Setting out to change the place, are you?” A ruddy-haired parlor maid slowed near us. “If I might be so bold, your ladyship, it might be wise to begin with the rooms where the guests will be for the reception. No one will see those decrepit interior rooms.”

  I eyed them both. “All right then, we’ll save them for later. Bradford, perhaps you can see what is needed to repair the inner rooms and at least keep them from ruin. Let me have a look around the front rooms.” I strode forward, but the old servant remained rooted to his place. I turned back and he was blinking, his lashes darkened by moisture. “Why, Bradford, what is it?”

  “Forgive me, mistress. It’s just been so long since anyone’s seen the value in this old place.”

  I smiled at him, aching with questions about the abbey—and the countess. Every house is a reflection of its mistress. The place was grand and beautiful, stately and charming, yet at the core a terrible chaos lay secreted from outside observers. How I wished to know what inner chaos existed in the countess’s life, what had led to her sudden need of a replacement, but how did one ask questions about herself?

  “We were afraid that you did not care much for Rothburne.”

  I stepped carefully through the exchange. “What gave such an impression?”

  “It was your instructions, my lady.” He fidgeted, looking down as he prepared to discuss something that was obviously uncomfortable for him. “That we were to be . . . prudent with the abbey expenses. Frugal. Above all else.” He lifted his head and hurried on. “There’s much wisdom in such commands, and we were happy to carry them out, mind you.”

  It seemed there was no money to spend on the place. Was that the secret at the heart of this woman—that she was actually poor?

  I glanced about the place with a keen eye and imagined what it would take to brighten up the dim rooms without expense. Light was the first thought that came to me. “I happened to spot some delightful candelabras in those abandon
ed rooms. Do you suppose they could be freshened and put to use? The great hall could do with a fair bit more candlelight.” I pointed toward the dark corners of the room.

  He brightened. “If those please you, there are a wealth of them in the attic. They could be brought down and polished.”

  “The attic.” I smiled, ideas unfurling. “Yes, let’s explore the attic and see what we can make use of.”

  The topmost part of the house turned out to be a veritable treasure trove of mismatched furniture, rolled-up rugs, and dusty drapes. I looked about with hope swelling and imagination brimming. I might not be able to host a sensational dinner party, but I knew how to make something useful out of castoffs.

  Sully’s answer to my silent question came Tuesday evening on a scrap of paper tucked strategically into my empty teacup when I took afternoon tea alone, and it contained two references. The first was from Anne Brontë’s haunting tale, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall: “I would rather have your friendship than the love of any other woman in the world.”

  I caught my breath, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment to let the pure love in that message wash over me. My trembling fingers flipped through the pages of the second book, Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd, to find the underlined message on page 163: “And at home by the fire, whenever you look up there I shall be—and whenever I look up, there will be you.”

  Tears seeped out and I blinked my clumped lashes. I read the words over and over, letting the promise in them warm me. The response was so very Sully, and his assurances were precious to my heart.

  If only it would last until I found the countess. Oh please, Lord, let it last. If ever I saw the hand of God in my life, it was in him sending Sully with his Bible and fiddle into my path. Yet I now hung on to that blessing by a single thread. If Sully’s patience wore thin, he might leave. And if I failed at this ruse . . .

  I could barely breathe at the thought.