I felt my face heat, which made him grin further. Thankfully he said nothing more, and after another lingering moment he took himself away. When he had shifted out of my vision, I saw another dark-clad figure much farther down the hall, blatantly watching the entire display from a distance.
Sully?
The shadowed man continued to stare, and it was only when he turned and candlelight flicked over his scowl that I recognized Cousin Philip. I suppose it wasn’t customary for a countess to have a liaison with a mere solicitor, which is what that moment must have appeared to be.
If only he knew. Seeing Mr. Stockton and his wife that night had threatened my façade, but it had also been a mirror reflecting reality—I was Ragna the rag woman playing at being a lady, dressing up in her clothing. The secret I kept was nothing close to what Philip believed.
The way he stalked out, however, made me feel as if I’d found that thin ice and fallen through.
15
I’m not sure which I fear more—failing to fit into this new role or losing myself in it completely.
~Diary of a Substitute Countess
I slipped the papers back into Philip’s desk drawer and slid it closed. Last night’s festivities had left Victor indisposed this morning and me with the freedom to poke about. Now I wished I hadn’t. I’d only been trying to distract myself from Sully, purging the lines of his song from my mind, but this discovery had not brought me relief from my growing worry. Letter after letter to Philip Scatchard mentioned the countess’s benevolent trips abroad and vast generosity to those in need. Yet the private accounts brought over from the London house showed only lavish spending in town during that time and plenty of gambling at the derby. Expensive gowns and hats, gloves and shoes comprised the rest of the notes. The woman was not a victim but a liar—an utter fraud.
Spread out over the top of the desk were Bradford’s findings on the repairs needed for those inner rooms, and the large numbers summed up on the right side of the sheets made me cringe. This would be no easy task.
I slipped back out to the abandoned monastic library to see for myself the rotting window joists and splintering rafter beams but instead found myself standing before that gold-framed painting, wondering at the carefree tilt to the real Lady Enderly’s head, the enchanting laughter in her face. How could one so beautiful also be so self-serving, so false? Glimpsing those secret inner parts of her life chilled me as much as these abandoned rooms at the core of her house. How could she bear to carry on such a false existence?
The cold fingers of my conscience tightened around me, turning my condemnation back upon myself, the mirror image of this woman in many ways. Yet my situation was different, I argued. I had been hemmed into this.
And I have not? her laughing eyes seemed to ask.
Slipping back out of these rooms that demanded money not mine to spend and immediate decisions I could not rightfully make, I tied a straw hat on my head and stepped through the front doors to walk in the gardens and clear my head.
“Those rooms should be repaired,” I had told Prendergast before the soiree. “I’ve no idea where to begin. You must tell me what I’m allowed to do.”
“Must you begin at all?” He had folded his arms after placing the dewy glass on a little table, and his words admittedly brought me relief. “Forcing yourself into tasks at which you aren’t comfortable will be a waste, for you’ll produce nothing but mediocrity and the world has far too much of that. Fly like a lightning bug to whatever light draws you and linger there. That, my dear, is how you find your truest self.”
Rothburne was beautiful on the outside and even in the front entertaining rooms, charming visitors from the first glance, but something very different resided deeper inside. Close it up and keep it from view, Victor had said, but anything left to neglect would eventually fall to ruin. Perhaps he had given Lady Enderly the same advice. Close up the uncomfortable parts of your life, hide them from view. Go on to the things that make you happy.
What ruin had she now come to?
I shivered and turned in time to see movement that jolted me from my thoughts. The edge of a dark skirt fluttered around the corner of a hedge, beckoning to my curious spirit.
Countess?
I hurried along the path framed by tall box bushes toward the sound of trickling water, slowing to turn this way and that whenever I glimpsed the frock ahead.
Finally the path broadened and spilled down over a set of stone steps, opening out into a vast expanse of wildflowers and a sparkling pond. At the far end stood a magnificent willow, bending down to dip its finger-leaves into the water. There among the natural beauty stood a lone woman in a fluttering dress of deep purple which contrasted with the grass that it seemed she’d been placed there on purpose to enhance the exquisite mix of colors before me.
I strode toward her, and when I drew near, she spun.
Shock paled her features at the sight of me, long eyelashes fluttering over lightly aged cheeks. “Oh, my lady. We meet again.” Lady Remington smiled and met my gaze with sparkling blue sapphire eyes.
Her self-assured poise spoke of her station in life almost as clearly as the lush day gown she carried on her elegant frame, and the streaks of lightness in her honey-colored hair did nothing to diminish her timeless beauty.
“I should offer you my sincerest apologies for trespassing, but instead I believe I’ll throw myself upon your mercy and claim a kinship of the heart.” Her words were like the waters of a cool stream, sparkling and poetic, yet carried forward with an unstoppable strength until they reached their conclusion. “I’ve developed the terrible habit of wandering in your gardens at will when we visit our Havard estate, and I find it a practice impossible to end, even now that its mistress has returned. Mr. Scatchard has always been gracious in indulging me with this forwardness.”
“Has he, now?”
Her voice softened. “Be merciful toward Philip Scatchard, my lady. He loves Rothburne so. We all do, but none so much as he. You’ve no idea the attachment he has to this place.”
I sighed, releasing my tension. “It is a delightful little piece of Eden, is it not? You’re welcome anytime.”
“I suppose it’s audacious of me to have expected that from you, isn’t it?” She smiled, and her lightness of spirit lightened mine as well. “Everything I’ve heard of you makes me feel we could be sisters. I cannot wait to hear your opinions on Parliament’s new property act and everything else blossoming out for us these days.”
I blanched, tongue frozen to the roof of my mouth. My life before Rothburne had been absorbed by the immediate needs of the day. Survival. I had not indulged in a newspaper, and I knew nothing of political movements. Though now with a relative in the House of Lords, I should.
Victor Prendergast should have realized this too. With all the parts of me he’d perfected for this role, he’d utterly neglected my brain.
“Oh, I know it isn’t becoming of ladies to discuss such things, but I’ve heard rumors of your opinions on different matters and I know you pay attention to these things as much as I do. We mustn’t be afraid to share our minds with one another at least. We can sharpen and improve ourselves together so we’re even more well-spoken than the men.”
I cleared my throat. “Speaking of improvements, would you like to see the rest of the abbey? I’m making changes and I’d love your keen eye on the place.”
My little pivot had been forced and awkward, but she brightened, those lovely eyes widening for a brief moment. “A tour of Rothburne? It would be the delight of my day.”
She strode with me across the yard, then lifted her skirts to climb the steps off the patio and enter the great drawing room. A hushed awe fell over her as soon as we stepped into the first space that had received my touch, and it gratified me. Little white cherub statues greeted us from recessed shelves, and the floor gleamed with polish, the faint lemon scent still pleasantly noticeable. “I hardly recognized the abbey. Who knew this old place could look so splendid, an
d that the staff had such immense hidden talents. I assume you did not hire out any of this work.”
“The staff have been very gracious in helping me.” Through another passageway we entered the abbot’s wing, which had seen most of my work. Empty rooms had been graced with newly restored furniture and décor, breaking up their emptiness. A long refractory table ran down the center of one grand room, prepared to host a large gathering of men discussing business matters.
I told her what I knew of each room’s history as we went, glad I’d listened to the servants as we’d worked on these spaces. “When the estate was an abbey, this was the abbot’s hall where they took meals. I haven’t yet decided what I’ll do with it, so for now we’ve left it sparse and practical.”
“It’s magnificent.” She paused inside the doors and spun to take it in, her comely cheeks flushed with the impact of it all. “What about a few small walnut tables with light-colored vases on them and perhaps a few tapestries draped between the windows to give a person something to look at? It needs a gold chandelier centered over the table too.” She walked to the giant fireplace and ran her hand along the carvings up the side. “You mustn’t touch any of this. It adds such charm. My, you have such a fine home. It’s as elegant as its mistress.”
I watched her graceful movements wistfully. “I do hope you’ll lend me your touch and help me improve even more.”
She spun, her boot squeaking on the shiny floor, and beamed a playful smile toward me. “Do you refer to the house or yourself?”
I blinked in shock, for she’d voiced what I hadn’t the courage to ask. I wanted nothing more than to study this woman and attempt to emulate the charm and grace she naturally exuded. “Both?” I offered a hopeful little smile.
She released a mirthful laugh, throwing out her gloved hands and striding toward me to take me by the shoulders. “Neither one needs more than a bit of gentle polish to shine, and I’d be delighted to help.” She smiled and I exhaled, relaxing in her presence. “The first step with this house is to simply enhance what is already there, learning its tone and nature and adding only what fits it.” She paused and smiled at me, clasping her hands in front of her skirt. “And the same is true of you. The first secret about beauty is unearthing more of who you already are and enhancing it.”
I cringed inside.
We moved into the study, a great square space with a new, ornately designed floor that had been the abbot’s lodging quarters. Lady Remington paused to admire an ivory statuette on a stand and a tall vase. “This room needs a masculine touch with all this exposed wood and heavy designs. Maybe red drapes and a few dark wood pieces.”
“That would suit it perfectly.”
She strode farther, glancing around. “Will you host a harvest soiree? Oh, please tell me you will. And do let me help you plan it. I know everyone about the area and what they’ll expect.” She sidled across the room to me with a cunning grin. “That way you can create something that is completely the opposite of that.”
I smiled, already intrigued by the concept. She spun in the open room like a delighted girl, her arms spread wide. It made me smile.
That’s when I saw it, and my heart slammed in my chest. A hasty notation was scrawled on the stationery lying on my little writing desk in the hand I knew so well.
CD:MHC 16
Earlier this morning, unable to bear the torment any longer, I had left Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice open on my desk when I happened upon a line spoken by Elizabeth Bennet near the end that resonated so perfectly with my angst. “I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.” I left a pen on the book pointing at the line and rang the service bell. When I saw Sully coming to answer my summons from down the hall, I left a small flower on the open pages as well, so he’d be sure to know my intentions and slipped from the room. His song at the reception had lodged in my heart.
I had tried to recall his earlier message, but I remembered nothing in it of his feelings—only assurances that he would remain. Fear had crept in that perhaps, even if we escaped this place, the experience had dried up the well of his love for me. So I had taken my question one step further this time and addressed the unspoken feelings we had not mentioned since his return. I’d begun to believe I’d imagined the ardent phrases in his letters.
At last it was here—the answer I craved like food after a fast. My cheeks burned with the awareness of those ink marks embedded on paper and soon on my mind, for I could not stop staring at them.
“Ah, look at this.” I strode to the desk and snatched up the dinner menu left beside the message. “Cook wished to have me review the menu for tonight and I’ve neglected it.” With a forced smile, I waved her on. “You wander ahead and continue your assessment. I’ll find you presently.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I won’t promise to keep out of trouble. I’ve so longed to explore this abbey and I cannot contain my curiosity.”
As soon as she swept out of the room, I stared at the bookshelves, looking through the alphabet until I reached Charles Dickens, for the “CD” portion of the note, and looked for the correct title. What was MHC? I studied each title, but nothing matched. I scanned the room desperately, heart pounding, until my gaze landed on a messy stack of Master Humphrey’s Clock, Dickens’s weekly periodical, fanned out on a little side table. I snatched up the skinny volume on top and thumbed to page 16 to find the underlined message. “To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart.”
A second reference scrawled on a torn corner of paper lay like a bookmark between the pages, and it read CD:GE 258. Great Expectations. I hurried over, reached for it, and flipped to the page on the little note. My eyes drank in the underlined words as soon as my trembling finger turned to the right ones. “Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”
I drank in those words with a meek little sob, reading them over and over and hearing them in Sully’s voice. I bowed my head over that book and allowed waves of relief and longing to pour over me. If only we could be together now, walk through this with one another. Yet to leave with him now meant to risk losing him forever.
Abandoning my find, I bolted through the hall into the depths of the house in search of my guest. At the center, elegant Lady Remington stood framed in the double doors of the old decrepit chapel that smelled of trapped moisture and decay, a backdrop of chaos just beyond her. Of all the places for her to be—I’d never intended these rooms as part of the tour. I hastened over and tried to guide her away, but she strode farther into the room as if drawn as thoroughly as I was repelled. “What is this? It seems not every part of the abbey is glorious after all.”
“We’ve not begun to work on these rooms yet, and—”
“Evidently not.” She moved like an unstoppable current into the space, debris crunching under her feet and dust swishing around her skirts as she walked. “You’d never believe this existed in the same house as those lavish front rooms and the becoming garden outside. So many hidden secrets no one would guess from a first glance.”
I followed, determined to draw her away before she saw the painting in the old library, but she stood in the center of the room as a sliver of daylight pierced the dimness where a curtain sagged away from its rod. I took her arm as if we were old chums, but she glided forward toward the library doors, pondering the great rooms. “A house pretending to be what it is not. How very human.”
My neck heated, the warmth stretching narrow fingers up to my cheeks. I swallowed hard as we crossed into the library and lifted my reluctant gaze to the now-uncovered portrait of Lady Enderly looming over us from her perch on the wall. There she was, posed on a stone portico in that vivid red dress, shielded by a parasol with red flowers tucked in her hair. Her head was tipped back
playfully as if she was amused by her portraitist and about to laugh. Her face drew me, somewhat against my will, and I stared at it.
Sully’s words echoed through the chambers of my heart, settling like lead inside. Rest? There’s something more to this cockamamy scheme and I think you know it. “I should ring for tea. It must be—”
She gasped when she spotted the portrait and stared at it for endless moments. Thousands of possible reactions spun through my head as I waited for what she’d say. I could explain it away. Yes, I would. Whatever she said, I’d combat it with a few carefully chosen—
“How different you looked then. So untroubled and beautifully innocent.”
I gulped, a muscle twitching along my collarbone.
She turned her bright gaze on me, probing deeper than I wished to allow her. “What has he done to you?” She grasped my elbow and pulled me closer, as an elder sister might.
I blinked in that surreal moment, trying to grasp her meaning. It struck me in pieces—she had seen the portrait of the real countess and believed me to be her.
“The minute I met that earl I began to worry about you, before I’d even known you. I saw no one could be happy anywhere near him. He’s just . . . oh, you know how he is.” She looked at me expectantly as if she’d asked a question. But of course, I didn’t know.
“I suppose.”
“Come, you can tell me all of it.”
I only wished I could. I heaved a sigh and relayed the little information I had on the mysterious evil-sounding earl. “He isn’t always pleasant, but he only has a small role in my life.”
Her gaze snapped of strong opinions she did not speak. “Indeed.” She broke the stare and fingered the hem of my sleeve. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
Flutters of worry swept through my chest as it occurred to me that in adopting this woman’s glorious life, I’d also taken on her problems, the dark parts no one saw.
Finding Lady Enderly Page 13