Pride makes a terrible living companion, for it takes up a great deal of room.
~Diary of a Substitute Countess
What’s the story to that Prendergast fellow?” Sully hovered in the service alcove, watching the vibrant swirl of activity in the main room. The man in question looked over the guests with veiled glances from under heavy lids, noticing everything that occurred even while holding a conversation. Sully’s blood ran hot when he recalled the man casting his piercing gaze toward Raina at dinner and letting it linger, seeming to see everything meant to be shielded from decent folk.
The first footman sighed with pursed lips and buffed water marks off a silver tray with a rag. “He is the family solicitor and helps manage the earl’s estates. He’s been to the abbey a handful of times, and he always makes quite an impression. But that’s what he does, you know. No matter where he is.”
“Aye, I can see that.” Sully’s gaze followed the man across the room where he entered a small circle of women standing around a tiny hors d’oeuvres table covered in white linen. The group opened to receive him, every female face glowing with welcome.
“He’s a slick one, and a mighty fine deceiver,” the footman said. “I’d never want to cross him. Wouldn’t imagine he’d put on a fair fight.”
“What do they keep him on for, if he isn’t honest? He sounds like one who should be sacked.”
“He’s paid for his effectiveness, not his honesty. Based on the rumors flying about below stairs, I’d guess he wins many cases that shouldn’t be won for clients who shouldn’t go free.”
Sully frowned. Did Raina know this about her employer?
“That’s how he’s made his success, you know. Makes people believe that acting against him is somehow acting against their own interests. It’s uncanny, really, the ability he has to sway one’s will.”
“Well, he’ll never sway mine.”
The footman arranged empty glasses on his now-clean tray. “I hear he’s managed to convince you to perform tonight. I don’t suppose he’s offered to pay you more for it.”
“Aye, Mr. Scatchard arranged it, but it didn’t take much convincing, truth be told. I can play the fiddle with me eyes closed, on one leg in a rocking ship. Gets my heart a-pumping and makes me feel alive.”
The man’s eyes sparkled like the crystal he was arranging. “It shows in your playing. Quite a bit of life you’ve brought to the tired old servants’ hall after a day’s labor. We’re glad to have you.”
“Well, thank you kindly. Say, do I hear a bit of the brogue in you too?”
The man’s lips pursed. “If you did, it was merely a slip. I’ve worked hard to smooth it away and sound every bit the accomplished Brit my recommendations say I am.”
Sully cracked a smile. “Nothing wrong with being Irish, says I.”
“Out here, the Irish are lower-class people, tolerated only a bit more than mangy dogs and feral cats. Too many of us came here after the blight, and mostly farmers, who they find dirty and common.”
“I suppose I am both at times, but I can’t say I’m ashamed. They both point to hard work, which is something a man can be proud of.”
“Hard work is the opposite of gentility, which is what they respect most.” The footman poured a little trickle of liquid into each glass. “One cannot be both. Take your man Prendergast, for example. You see him enjoying himself, pattering about? This is the hardest he works all day, and he’s held in higher regard than anyone else around here who takes a wage. Ah, there’s the lady herself. I’d best be out serving her guests.” The man balanced the tray of glasses on his gloved fingertips and moved out into the crowds.
Tucking himself into the shadows of the service alcove, Sully peered out with a thudding pulse, eyes scanning the room for the face that had been carved upon his memory for years. Many pretty women moved through this room tonight, but none compared to the cameo-like profile, the face glowing with life and willful strength, that he sought.
Suddenly a striking figure in deep red turned to receive the introduction of a guest, and it was her. He stopped breathing for a moment, blinking to be sure. He forced his chest out to gulp in air and watched the lovely creature moving about, a light feathering of curls framing that familiar face now free of all traces of poverty. A nervous energy lighted her eyes and colored her cheeks, making her even more becoming.
Something about the way her gown fit her so perfectly struck him. It was more than the way it embraced her slender frame—it suited her in every possible way, from the rich red color to the very flow of it. The effect was stunning. It was as if she belonged in this place, in those clothes, among these people.
He gulped hard. His aim in being here was, he realized, solely to take her away from all this and return her to Spitalfields.
God, this isn’t what you have for her, is it? The words became almost a plea as he faced the reality that she might eventually be lost to him, absorbed into the world of opulence she seemed to fit so well. Help me convince her, Lord. Help me take her away from here before she’s too attached to leave. Help me reach the bottom of what is keeping her here.
He’d already failed once, and even when she had not come to the end of the lane, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone in this place. Something was not right. Another man might have been offended into leaving, but Sully knew her. It hadn’t been a rejection but a sign of trouble. Danger.
He watched her glide away, and it felt like gripping a silky material as it slipped through his fingers. He’d always known she was unusually beautiful—inside and out—and it delighted his soul to see her this way, with her true beauty revealed. Except that now everyone else could see it too.
“Here’s the sensation of the night.”
A slap on his shoulder sent him stumbling forward. Sully turned to see the clean-shaven solicitor behind him, grinning as if they were old chums.
“You’re a fine fiddler, and I’m delighted to give you this opportunity. Of course, you’ll focus on the more conventional songs, rather than the tunes you’d sing by the docks. You’ve brought your instrument, I hope.”
“That I have. Hasn’t left me sight the whole evening.”
The man’s eyelid twitched, but his grin remained. “Good, good. By the by, perhaps we’ll have you avoid speaking. You’ll be introduced, then you can play. We’ll keep it a little secret between us gents that you’re Irish, shall we? People in rural areas are so tied to the way things are that they don’t appreciate new and fresh people the way we do in London.”
Sully said nothing, unwilling to agree with the man’s preposterous explanation. How anyone was fooled by this snakeskin was beyond him, but it was certainly not to his advantage to anger the man. At least, not yet. He needed to find out first what Prendergast was up to.
“So we’re agreed then, yes? No speaking, just performing.”
Sully raised his eyebrows. “I suppose I can abide by that.” There were many possibilities within those parameters, after all.
Prendergast’s long lips curved up at the ends. “Good lad. Now, listen for the introduction and be ready to perform.”
Sully ducked his head to hide the irrepressible grin taking over his face. Ah yes, he’d be ready, and he’d definitely perform.
13
There’s beauty in what’s real, but we miss it as long as we strive to be something else.
~Diary of a Substitute Countess
I avoided Sully. The mere sight of him punctured my poise and deflated me to reality, especially if his hazel gaze bore into mine with that knowing look.
Summoning the dramatic-poetry reading voice, I stood before the gathered guests and met their gazes with a smile. Prendergast had disappeared for the moment, which made this the perfect time to launch my musician’s performance. “I’m honored to have you all in my—at Rothburne. It’s been a true pleasure to be among you tonight.” The words came forth with surprising ease, which strengthened my courage. I took another breath. “I look forwar
d to a happy time at the abbey, however long my stay may be. I hope you will enjoy the music prepared for you tonight and find amusement in its uniqueness.”
I hadn’t any notion of what he would play, but I knew only one thing—unique would describe it.
I spun toward the rows of chairs to find my seat, but my traitorous peripheral vision caught sight of Sully’s perfectly cut form striding toward the front, fiddle tucked under his arm as if it were a part of him. A shiny strip of satin traveled down the side of his trousers, making him look taller and leaner and even more perfect. The fiddle had been polished to a high sheen I’d never seen before, but just like its owner, underneath the glow of polish resided the same well-worn, ever-faithful, slightly dented piece from Spitalfields.
I darted my gaze about the room and away from him, but I was trembling by the time I reached my seat in the first row and perched there. The underlayers absorbed the slight quiver of my legs, but I had to clasp my hands in the folds of my skirt to keep them still. I forced poise into my body and breathed in and out, returning to the calm I was learning to don like a gossamer cloak. I recalled the words of the woman from earlier—a presence, a sort of controlled grace that might part the waters.
An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the impossibly handsome man I loved stood before us, fitted his instrument snug against his collarbone, and inclined his head toward it, cradling the beloved fiddle with his face. If it had been lodged against his shoulder, it would mean we’d hear a litany of lively Irish folk songs, but when he tucked it this way against the curve of his solid jaw, I knew he was about to let his heart speak. I looked away out of sheer necessity.
Voices softened and faded away until there was silence. Then the lone voice of the fiddle like smooth velvet, achingly familiar, spilled over the room with more power than even Victor Prendergast and all his charm, moving us all to hushed awe.
My chest tightened. The first low, melodic notes pulled my gaze involuntarily to him and I could not look away. Clutching the edge of my chair, I soaked in the sight of him. How different he looked framed by the sleek black clothing, his dark hair neatly trimmed and combed away from his face. Yet all those alterations couldn’t disguise the unquenchable soul of the man that radiated through his face as he spoke so vividly through his instrument.
Not a soul moved, no chair creaked against the floor. Every head was inclined to soak up the music that had for years been as much a part of my life as air. Hearing it in close range again reminded me of the great lack it had left in my life when I’d been without it—and without the man creating it. My eyes fluttered closed to absorb the impact of his song.
As the performance swept on, I sank back against the layers of bustle, hoping I was not crushing them beyond repair, and allowed the sound of his fiddle to wrap itself around me as his arms could not. I clutched my gloved hands in my lap and reveled in the music as it swelled to a finale and faded. When the silence lingered, I looked up and found his purposeful hazel eyes on me, closing the distance between us and caressing me in that glance. Drawing a single red flower from a nearby stand, he strode to me, his footsteps the only sound in the room. He paused before me with a bow and extended the flower. “For the lady of the house.”
I forced a gulp, unable to even utter my thanks, and then he lifted his fiddle and began playing for me, a mere two feet from the hem of my skirt. Little gasps of surprise lifted from the people around me as he wove words into the music. The soulful tone carried only a hint of his Irish lilt, but the lovely words smoothed the song into a thing of beauty.
“The fair lass Adora always gazed at the sky,
For she was a girl full of dreams.
The lad tried to wake her, but he couldn’t make her
end her magnificent schemes.
She then made him try to reach his hand high
And catch at the starry gleam.
While he tried to ground her, she taught him to fly,
And she woke him up to a dream.
Aye, she woke him up to a dream.”
I looked away, unable to bear his nearness along with the heartfelt words of our love story, but his ballad continued with verses and my gaze edged up toward him again.
“Unable to give more to this spirit so free,
With youthful bravado he set out to sea;
He’d gain the rich bounty to lay at her feet,
But fate the hard mistress is not always sweet.
“He shared not his feelings before he depart,
How the lively young spirit had stolen his heart;
The soul can behold that which words can’t describe,
And his saw more clearly what resided inside.
“So anxious was he to return to his lass,
That he dare not let another day pass
with them torn asunder, and him left to wonder
if she returned his affection at last.”
I ripped my gaze away as the fiddle took over, and I looked to Victor Prendergast who had just come back in the side door like a thundercloud about to torrent onto someone. Sully, from the looks of it. I turned back to the man who sang to me with a gaze both tender and intense. His bow swept over the strings of his fiddle, the music catching my heart up like a gentle whirlwind and spinning it around, and he sang the finale to me as if we were alone before the fire in my flat.
“But her uplifted spirit drew fate’s friendly smile,
It dressed her in beauty and wealth all the while;
When again he beheld her, her beauty set free,
He thought, I have nothing to offer but me.
Aye, I’ve nothing to offer but me.”
He held the final note in a long, tender glide of his bow over the strings, letting the song ripple out over the audience and shudder through my being. Then in the awed silence, he took my hand, closing his familiar fingers over mine with the warmth I knew and loved, and bowed over them. I closed my eyes. My heart pounded in my ears, making everything else seem far away.
Applause shattered the moment, and when he released my hand, I forced myself back into the present and clapped. Sully straightened. A steady look passed between Sully and Prendergast, who watched from the fringes with a dangerous light in his face. Still, the words of his song echoed through my heart, striking chords of tenderness along with the fear of loss. The final line of that powerful song lodged itself in my mind.
Prendergast closed the distance between himself and the musician in a few long strides amid the applause and grabbed Sully’s hand, pumping it as he guided him away. They vanished together through the service door beside my chair.
“You’ve forgotten our agreement, Mr. McKenna.” Prendergast’s terse whisper carried over to my waiting ears from the other room as the guests rose and the low hum of voices began.
“I did not.” Sully’s candid words rang a tad louder than Prendergast’s. “I abided by every letter of me word. I never spoke more than the proper introduction.”
“What do you call what you just did?”
“Singing.”
I coughed into my gloved hand and rose to cover my giggles. When I stood, my black-garbed lady’s maid appeared from nowhere and fluffed the compressed layers of fabric on which I’d sat, smoothing them to perfection. Then she stepped close and spoke into my ear. “The earl’s cousin is asking after you.”
“Mr. Scatchard?” A moment of weakness softened my knees, but I forced myself to recover. “Thank you, Simone. I’ll find him.”
I looked about the room for him and instead saw a tall, slender woman moving toward me who must have once been given the same advice about gliding through water, for she did so masterfully. This was who they should have chosen to be the countess. I might resemble Lady Enderly in features and coloring, but this woman possessed her exact radiance and composure. An invisible force pulled her entire body, giving it the control and poise I only dreamed of achieving. Please, don’t come this way. Her beauty unsettled me as effectively as it must draw others, much li
ke Lady Enderly’s was said to do. How could I hope to maintain a shred of dignity in this woman’s presence?
But approach she did, with a stunning smile that made mine seem weak. “What a surprise you had for us this evening, Lady Enderly.” She moved like a feline, and I wondered if she also possessed the animal’s cunning and slyness. To my surprise, her face opened into a becoming expression of welcome as she spoke, yet I couldn’t decide if I liked her or not. “A wonderful hidden gem that turned out to be far more original than any other lady dared present to her guests. You are as impressive as they’ve said.”
A genuine grin spread over my face. “You flatter me. How wonderful to hear that you enjoyed the performance.” But her words had been far more than kind—they had been validating. Her final sentence gave me a distinct hope that I’d succeeded this night, that I’d stepped into my role and played it well. “I’m so glad you could come, Lady . . .” I struggled to remember her name in the jumble of titles that had swarmed my brain over the last few hours.
Her eyes sparkled. “Don’t concern yourself with remembering every name you hear tonight.” She extended one gloved hand, and I took it, my anxiety melting away like frost in the presence of glorious sunshine. “Lady Luvenia Remington, living quite against her will in Littenden Manor just along the way to the west, past your walled garden and over the fields.”
I raised my eyebrows, amused at her words. “Against your will?”
“I was wooed away from my moors twenty-one years ago by a dashing young man who promised me a world of flowers if I married him, and the closest thing I’ve found is your lovely estate with the wildflower gardens. The Rothburne grounds have always been a haven for my blossom-starved heart, but the changes you’ve wrought here left me breathless as we rode up the lane. They were a wonderful introduction to the woman who arranged them so beautifully, and I’ve found the inside of the abbey has impressed me even more.”
“I am delighted you enjoy the gardens so.” I felt my aching shoulders ease down.
Finding Lady Enderly Page 11