“Can you hold a pen?” Prendergast extended the writing utensil to me when I’d been at the abbey a full week. He shoved blank paper across the desk.
I lifted flashing eyes to him. “What do you take me for? I’ve got fingers, haven’t I?”
“You’ll need to practice her signature. Simply lay this paper on top of it and trace the lines, see if you can learn it. Then if you are asked to sign something, you shall know how.”
I did as requested, the fine pen making slow swoops across the page to create her very elegant, very feminine signature. Again my conscience jarred the peace of my new life. This was her name, and it carried all the flavor of her life and personality. Not a bit of mine. Yet I dared not stop, for I felt that unyielding gaze upon the back of my neck. When I finished, I sat back and waited for his response.
“It’ll do. Take it up with you and practice at night.”
When he left, I pulled the oversized Bible from a shelf and leafed through the pages Sully and I had pored over together. Hadn’t God changed several names in the Bible? Every time something significant occurred, he’d given the person a new name to match it. Even Esther, according to Prendergast. I flipped to Esther and found my employer’s words to be true—her name had changed.
I glanced at my reflection in a wide gilded mirror across the room. Perhaps it was time mine changed to match everything else that was shifting in me, for I was no longer the same woman. Prendergast was right—the change had been permanent even if the position was not.
I skimmed the passages I could find where God changed the names of Abraham and Sarah and my conscience abated. God, is this your way of changing my name, of lifting the burden of my wretched old identity and giving me a new one? I seemed to remember similar words in Scripture—God would give us a new identity. I stared down at the page that contained Lady Enderly’s signature created by my hand. Was this mine?
I cast my mind and strength into working on the abbey in the following days, readying it for the reception—especially since Cousin Philip had departed on business and the freedom was palpable. Beautiful old pieces were pulled from storage and arranged to great advantage throughout the place. My heart delighted in overseeing the transformation taking place and watching my ideas unfold. When I was able to push aside thoughts of impending danger, it was like a dream.
Polished brass candle stands appeared at becoming angles in the darkest corners, and I could imagine the light from their candles warming the walls with a soft glow. Rugs and drapes were taken outside, and the dust and neglect beaten from them. The dark, foreboding rooms brightened with light and color as my small touches softened the edges of the place, bringing life to its solemn chambers.
I turned to Bradford, who had become my partner in the renovations. “Where did all these things come from? Surely the monks did not have such trappings.”
“I believe they came from the former master’s London house. He intended to use them in the rooms once renovations were complete, but then he passed the estate along and here it sits.”
The servants proved to be another treasure trove. Just as the attic had contained a vast store of forgotten beauty, the servants possessed surprising talents that worked together to create a marvelous display throughout the house. Stained drapes were creatively embroidered and cleaned, flowers arranged as if by a professional hand, and candles dipped and made fresh so there was no need to purchase new ones. A quiet vigor returned to the abbey as we all threw our skill into the place and brought out the grandeur that had been lying dormant.
On the fourth day, work moved outside to the pond, and the staff began cleaning around it, revealing a healthy groundcover that spread around its sloping borders. Taller men yanked dead vines down from a forgotten white-pillared structure with intricate ironwork spanning in a dome overtop.
I stepped back into the abbey at dusk, marveling at the elegant, inviting nature of the place that was changing under my hand, blossoming in beauty. It drew a person in now, with old walls softened by the glow of candles and rugs warming the floors, as if it were glad a person had come. I imagined bright flowers on tables and gowns twirling across the floor, and it made my heart glad. Livening up the dreary house had livened something in me, as well.
In the hushed emptiness of the gleaming hall, footsteps echoed from the shadows. Bradford approached, holding out a salver. “These came for you today, your ladyship.”
“Thank you, Bradford.” I took the envelopes and slipped into the privacy of the abbey library to read them.
It is with deep regret that I acknowledge your displeasure with my operations, and I wish to assure you of its immediate remedy . . .
My jaw went slack. I flipped it back to the address lines and saw it had come from the owner of Mum’s factory. I devoured his abject apology full of groveling and sincere promises for change. I read it again to be sure it was real, and excitement bubbled up in my chest. This was truly happening. It had worked—better than I’d ever imagined. Another similar letter lay beneath it.
When I’d read them both, I lifted my eyes from the pages and stared into the candlelit room. Queen Esther had stepped up into her exalted position and begun her reign. My pen was a scepter, ready to dole out words whose effect would send ripples far and wide. I was giddy with this newfound influence.
Finally, my life was about to count for something.
So it was that my heart was made ready for the intimidating reception even before my appearance. It was not until the morning of the event that I remembered offering to make Sully the musician for the night. I hadn’t even spoken to him of it, and perhaps nothing would come of my wild idea. With any hope, Cousin Philip had forgotten to ask him, or Sully had refused.
Although I couldn’t imagine either of those things happening.
11
Our truest selves are sometimes buried below the debris of circumstances, but to unbury such a thing, we must first be able to recognize it.
~Diary of a Substitute Countess
I hardly recognized myself. Simone and the chambermaid arrayed me in the lawn undergarments and muslin stays by late in the afternoon. Even before the corset had been tightened over my churning belly, my form held a new poise and quiet assurance that was visible in the mirror. I was changing, becoming less Ragna and more a lady, like a flower unfolding its petals, and finery was becoming a part of me—or it was shaping me into something new. Simone drew out a small jar and opened a lightly tinted cosmetic.
When she had completed her artistry, I stood poised on a tiny platform in the middle of the dressing room and gazed at the garment being carried toward me in her arms. It was a full skirt of deep crimson and gold.
“I hope it meets your approval.” Simone held the rich garment aloft and I couldn’t stop staring. It exceeded my dreams, which were plenty elaborate.
“I don’t know what to say.”
The woman blinked. “You do not like it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” The words spilled out of my overwrought heart that had fallen in love at first sight. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s Parisian, my lady.”
French, like me. I felt an instant connection to the gown, as if my own Huguenot ancestors had spun the silk. She hefted the gown overhead with the help of two chambermaids and tugged it down until it slipped into perfect position about my torso and hips, flaring out atop the layers of framing. They wrapped the long, sleek bodice of modern fashion around me. The waistline dropped to a handsome point at the center and rested atop the wealth of material that billowed into a stunning skirt.
“Don’t she look like a painting, framed in the mirror that way.” It was the little chambermaid who breathed into words the same thoughts I’d had, her stage whisper reaching my ears from the main room. I did look like a painting—a very specific one, though. From the deep red gown to the upswept hair and pure face, I looked exactly like her. More, in fact, than I looked like Ragna of Spitalfields. The time spent in this place h
ad transformed me until I hardly knew anymore what was me and what was merely the dust of circumstances settling on me.
I turned again, trying to take in the entire effect, but in my distracted wonder I stepped on the edge of the platform, tipped to the side, and after a flailing of arms, fell into a heap against the wall. With little cries, the women rushed in to help me up and smooth my skirts, my hair. I closed my eyes and focused on my smarting hip that was now imprinted with the delicate edge of whalebone frame holding out my skirts. Despite all the work, parts of Raina remained. This night could be enchanted, or it could be a nightmare. One little mistake was all it would take to bring about the latter.
Below me, Victor Prendergast stepped out from a side room and paused to clear his throat as he shut the door. He lifted his gaze and stiffened at the sight of me, the usual easy confidence drained from his face. In its place was a sort of helpless astonishment.
“My dear, you’re stunning.” The words were a hoarse whisper as he stepped toward me, taking my hands. “I daresay that Simone is an artist and you are the finest canvas she’s ever had. Congratulations, my lady. You’re a fabulous success.”
“I’m glad you approve.” How I wished to yank my fingers from those hands that had once pinned me against the wall.
“Approve?” He gave a breathy laugh. “Heaven above, I can hardly take my eyes off you. Your guests will feel the same.” He lifted my fingertips, spinning me to have a look at the entire costume. Then he faced me toward a gilded mirror set against gold floral paper. “You will enchant anyone who comes within three yards of you. It will be as if you’re casting a spell, and you won’t know what to do with yourself.”
“A shame that mirrors only show us the outside.” I murmured the words as I stretched my sore hip. How long before my true self surfaced in public and people saw through the façade?
“Then you shall have to change the inside, change your mind.” His confident smile did little to untangle my nerves. “It’s time you get your largest hurdle out of the way. It’s not poverty, because I took that away, not a physical deformity or lack of beauty. The only thing limiting you . . . is you.”
“That leaves me in an awkward position.”
“Not at all. You have only to convince yourself of who you are. Recite every word that describes Lady Enderly, everything you wish to be, while looking in this mirror at your enchanting face. Memorize what you see along with those words, and see what effect it has on your little heart. Go on, try it.”
I lifted my gaze to the mirror, staring at my eyes bright with fear, and mentally repeated all the words Prendergast had used to describe Lady Enderly. Quiet grace. Poised. Elegant. The sound of the gathering guests down the hall further unbalanced my fledgling composure, and I dipped my gaze toward the red rug at my feet. My throat felt tight.
“Try again.” Prendergast nudged my chin up and smiled at the reflection of my hesitant face in the mirror. “Dear one, confidence is simply a muscle like any other. The more you use it, the stronger it grows.”
I inhaled and looked back up to the mirror. This was for Sully.
Refined. Immune to criticism. Accomplished. Well-respected and charming.
Prendergast smiled at me. “There now, don’t you feel—”
The sound of footsteps made us both turn, Prendergast dropping his hands from me, and there down the hall came Curly Shirley, brown hair arranged atop her head and a flattering taupe-colored gown adorning her curvy frame. Her hands fluttered about her chest. “Oh, what a sight. What history you’ll make in that gown, your ladyship. I can hardly believe such a beauty has come to roost at Rothburne Abbey.”
Just like that, my assurance buoyed even more.
“I do hope you’ll stay the winter, and I’ll be sure to make it—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Shackley.” Prendergast cut her off with silvery elegance, always in control. “I believe the hour is growing late. Are the guests ready to be presented to our hostess?”
“More than ready, Mr. Prendergast, and oh what a treat they will have.” She slipped her gloved hand under my elbow and escorted me toward the salon as Prendergast gave a brief nod to wish me luck.
Down a long hallway we moved, toward the low hum of polite voices. I could feel Prendergast’s prying gaze on my back as I walked away.
“I am delighted to see you get on well with Mr. Prendergast. He’s done so much good for the earl. Why, I believe he’s the man’s one and only friend on this earth.”
“His only—”
“Not everyone can stand close to the fire without being burned and—Oh, forgive me for speaking so about the earl.” Her poor little face paled. “He is a great man with a lot of power in the House of Lords, but anything in great quantities can be overwhelming to common folk. That’s why Victor Prendergast is so good for him, being halfway between nobility and working class. I’d heard rumors you wished to dismiss Mr. Prendergast, but I can’t imagine what would become of the earl if that happened. I’m relieved to see you have kept him on.”
So the countess had tried to rid the household of Victor Prendergast.
I watched the animated face of the woman escorting me, blessing her silently for her uncontrolled tongue. She could not stop herself from talking, it seemed, and for that I was grateful.
“Come now, the musician is present already as well.”
Sully. How had I forgotten all about that mess? This could be disastrous in so many ways. I knew Sully well enough to realize I could never guess what to expect tonight.
When Shirley slipped through the doors to ready the room, I peeked in at the clusters of people, richly colored gowns paired with dark suits and liveried servants bobbing between them with silver trays. I clung to the doorknob. Father God, give me strength. I need—
I exhaled, the prayer disintegrating. Calling on God now, in the midst of this, felt a bit like accepting this position in the first place—undeserved, uncomfortable, and too large a favor. How could I ask God to give me the strength to deceive? If only I could talk to Sully, filling his ear with my many questions about God and the nuances of the Bible. He’d have an answer that made sense. I had none.
As Shirley Shackley spouted a fantastical introduction, I focused my mind on the painting I’d seen of Lady Enderly in that old library and attempted to re-create the becoming smile she’d worn. I trembled.
Sully. This is for Sully.
Then the doors were flung open, the chatter hushed, and I glided into the midst of them, my heart pounding loud enough to be heard by them all. Breathe. Keep breathing. I straightened my back, lacing my gloved fingertips in front of me. Walking through water. Was Prendergast watching? The click of my gold evening slippers echoed in the massive room, and with each graceful stride, a calm strength settled over me. When I forced myself to look around, I caught a glimpse of my appearance reflected in the faces before me that glowed with awe and admiration, and it shocked me. Emboldened me. Had I truly changed that much? Weeks ago I never would have been allowed near this room, and now the same woman parted the crowds with her very presence, everyone watching the entrance. The sudden power was heady.
The introductions swirled around me as each guest was presented, and my jaw hurt from clenching and smiling. It only relaxed when the introductions were complete and I was free to wander among my guests. What had Prendergast said about this part? I was to ensure each guest was paired with another for conversation and that everyone had what was needed.
What I needed was a moment of quiet. Accepting a small delicacy from a tray, I stepped behind a pillar near the wall and exhaled, feeling the tension release.
“Do you suppose she’s kept the rings?” A low female voice sounded nearby.
“I certainly wouldn’t. It’s hardly good taste, if you reject the man who gave it to you.”
“Men, Cecelia. I heard there were four, and plenty more who wished to ask it but hadn’t the courage.”
“Was it that many? My, what a sensation her debut must have
been.”
“She even tamed the Duke of Charlot, you know, and caught the attention of Prince Edward.”
“Who hasn’t?” The woman humphed. “That Lady Enderly isn’t much to look at, for all the sensation she’s caused. She’s becoming, I’ll admit, but no more than my Maryanne.”
“It’s more than comeliness, Cecelia. Why, I heard she can bring a man to his knees with a mere look. She had that awful Lord Stainbridge groveling after her, didn’t she? That takes something far deeper than a lovely face.”
“Where on earth did you hear all this? You’re not hobnobbing around with titled lords.”
“The Telegraph had a piece on her in the society pages. Ran for weeks before her return to the area. One look at her and I believe every word of it.”
“She does have a presence about her, a sort of controlled grace that looks as though it would part the waters. Do you know if she . . .”
As the women moved away, their voices fading into the hum of the crowd, I forced my posture straighter and harnessed the look of benign politeness, clamping it firmly in place over my crumbling nerves as I sailed back out to the room. After another smile toward a passing guest, I eyed the brown item I’d taken from the tray and wondered if it would settle my stomach. The very moment I bit into the surprisingly bitter morsel, Sully’s voice cut through my thoughts. I spun and there he was, a few yards away.
I’d recognize that boyish grin anywhere, that tall and agile frame. I caught my breath at the stunning sight of him clothed in black from head to shiny shoe, the twinkle in his eyes setting him apart. Even if he said not a word, I’d still be a puddle every time I looked his direction. How on earth would I survive this? I had to keep away from him or he’d unsettle the delicate balance of my façade.
Yet somehow I couldn’t wait for him to catch a glimpse of me, the little girl he’d loved in rags who’d grown up into something far better.
12
Finding Lady Enderly Page 10