“I suppose it’s easier to offer my apologies when you can’t answer back.” He exhaled. How could he say it? He had let his hurt make him childish and he shouldn’t have. “You didn’t deserve all those things I said. You always do have a reason for the scrapes you get into, and they’re kind and loving ones even when they’re foolish. And I . . . I truly love you for it.”
He drew a shuddering breath as the all-important words hung in the air and studied her long eyelashes resting on pink cheeks. They seemed even rosier than when he’d first entered the room—perhaps her sleep had deepened. “I know I make things harder on you by being here, Raina, but I cannot stay away. I made that mistake once and I’ll not risk it again. Even if you’ll never have me, I’ll be nearby from now on. Forgive your foolish friend his weaknesses, but I cannot stand to be away from you again.” This was his fault. All his. If only he’d continued to remain in Spitalfields as her protector, perhaps he could have kept her from this trap.
He knelt closer and breathed in the fresh scent of her hair, the sweet aroma of her flushed skin. He’d once had this lass in his own arms, leaned her against him before a well-lit hearth. He’d loved her then, but through his absence his feelings had swelled to an unbearable intensity both sweet and painful.
“It’s funny how, even in the midst of finery, you come to appreciate the ordinary, everyday things, like being around your favorite person. I miss that.” He sat forward and pulled the tip of one loose curl that rested against her shoulder, stretching out its golden length and releasing it. “And being that favorite person’s favorite person too. I think I miss that most of all.” She’d always had a unique way about her—one of utter adoration and optimism combined. With one upturned look of her face, eyes bright and kind, a man believed he could do anything. It always made his heart jolt in his chest when she looked up at him that way, as if she saw some strength in him that even he did not.
Unable to resist, he reached up and trailed his fingertips over her long hair with hesitant movements as he never dared do while she was awake. How soft it was. It filled him with an aching desire to bury his hand in the mass of curls and pull her close. If only he could have those moments in Spitalfields back. The ones where she needed him as her rescuer, where they had adventures together, where she looked upon him with blatant admiration and affection shining up from her girlish face. Even after the row with his father, how could he have found Spitalfields so terrible with her in it?
A long sigh escaped him. “Oh, Raina. You were right. What you said in the other room . . . I’m a coward of a man, running away on that ship without telling you the way I felt. If only you knew how hard it was to say such things to your face—your beautiful face.” He curled the end of one strand around his finger. “I’m an ordinary man, and I couldn’t bear to lose your friendship if you wouldn’t have me, for it lit up me sorry days.”
He shifted and traced her hand, her long fingers that lay cast over the arm of the settee. These hands had grasped his countless times and pulled him into her adventures and clung to him for comfort. “I love you so thoroughly, Raina, my Raina. Forgive me, but I can’t help it. I only wish I weren’t too late.”
With a gentle kiss to her forehead, he let his lips linger on her warm skin and then stood, stretching stiff muscles and looking down at the girl who had always been beside him. That face, always so alive with love and mischief, was the same, even if cleansed of the smudges of Spitalfields and adorned with finer things. Hearing below stairs what she’d done for the tenants that day, breathing life into the forgotten and giving them a chance, had given him a renewed surge of love for her, and of hope. Buried beneath the gowns of another woman lay his Raina, fighting and working for those who couldn’t do for themselves. Nothing had changed—not truly.
How wonderful her troublesome adventures of long ago now seemed, how precious those moments huddled before her hearth with a book between them as she learned to read, brightening with each new understanding. And he ached anew for those everyday moments he’d lost. “I should have stayed and made a go of it. Spitalfields was better than any ship, just because you were in it. Aye, there’s a real charm to the ordinary, everyday parts of life.”
He shifted, but he wasn’t ready to tear himself away. “I should have told you this when you were awake, but I’ll say it now, while I have the courage. No matter what you think of me, no matter what you do, I love you. Deeply, wholly, passionately.” He dug the recovered Connemara stone from his pocket and tucked it into her palm. “And there’s nothing you can do to change it.”
Sully hurried down the hall with deep breaths, clearing his head and preparing himself to face the kitchen staff again.
“Might I have a word with you, McKenna?” Philip Scatchard intercepted his course and waved him toward a sunny hallway with tall windows overlooking the front of the house. “I suppose you have practice holding your tongue.”
“I’ve kept a fair number of secrets in me day.”
“I thought you might. You have all the skills of a servant, but you’re more than that, aren’t you, Sullivan McKenna?”
“Everyone is.”
His eyes shone. “Smart as a whip you are, lad. I like that. What would you say to a special task?” He pulled Sully’s hand close and dropped coin after coin into it. “Just between us. No one else needs to hear of this, and I must count on you for the utmost discretion.” More coins hit his palm.
“I’ll do my best, sir. I never tell another man’s secrets. It isn’t my place.” He held out the coins. “And I don’t need money to do what I ought.”
“Superb answer, but keep it anyway.” He shoved Sully’s hand away and led him deeper into the little parlor, looking back at the open doors behind them. “It’s about the countess. There’s something about her that isn’t right. You sense it too, I can tell. The way you watch her, the way you first spoke to her when you came to Rothburne . . . I know you feel as I do.”
Sully straightened, clasping his hands behind him and looking at the floor.
“I want you to keep a close watch on that woman. As much as possible, at least. I’m not certain yet what it is I’m looking for, but there’s bound to be something. She isn’t what she seems, and I need to know why. Is that clear?”
“You’re asking me to spy on her, sir?”
“You want to see her taken down a peg, do you not? This is how you can do it. Together we’ll make sure she’s found out and everything set to right.”
The words You’re mistaken about her perched on the edge of Sully’s tongue, but he swallowed them. If he didn’t agree to this task, someone else would. “I’ll keep my eyes open, Mr. Scatchard, but can I ask one thing?”
“Of course.”
“What is it about her that’s made you so suspicious? What’s she done?”
His face hardened. “She’s cheap and selfish in the way she runs this estate, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Besides, every lady with inherited wealth can stand to see a little trouble in her life. The countess has gotten more than her share of riches—in fact, she’s gotten mine.”
Sully frowned. “How’s that?”
“She inherited what should have come to me, a family estate she cares nothing about and did not grow up loving. She’s not even a relation except by marriage, and she’s a woman, no less. A woman. She has no business owning and running Rothburne Abbey, and Uncle Wells never should have given it to her.”
“I believe that’s up to the giver.”
His eyes blazed. “See here, will you do it or not?”
Sully pocketed the coins, telling himself over and over that it wasn’t thirty pieces of silver. This was done to protect, not betray. Either way, it felt traitorous.
He recalled her sleeping face flushed with such vulnerable, pure beauty. For her, anything. “You can count on me.”
20
Not even the most poetic compliment from strangers touched me as deeply as one loving word spoken from a true friend.
&nbs
p; ~Diary of a Substitute Countess
When his footsteps retreated, I lifted my warm face and stared at the door Sully had just closed, his quietly spoken words pulsing through my heart. I should have told him I was awake, for his voice had slipped into my dreams and interrupted my sleep, but I couldn’t bear to bring a stop to it. Not when every word was like sweet pearls.
I sat upright and looked down at the book he’d placed on my lap before leaving. It was Jane Austen’s Emma, a long white flower petal across a paragraph in the middle of the page. With a deep sigh, I lifted the petal and read the words underneath. “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.”
I blinked back tears and reread the words spoken by my favorite Austen hero—the older, wiser, longtime friend of the heroine who had a habit of speaking honestly with his heroine when needed.
Now I understood why I’d always favored that particular Austen man.
I exhaled and hugged the open book to my chest, letting Hawthorne’s tome slip to the floor with a gentle thud. Had I truly been as foolish as young Emma Woodhouse, needing harsh truth from my practical hero? I rose, determined of two things. One, that I would find the countess and get us home as soon as I could, and two, that I would never, even under the worst of circumstances, lose my very own fiddle-playing Mr. Knightley. No matter what it cost me.
When a door banged somewhere in the house, I jumped, closing the book. How skittish I’d become these days, and I could feel the tension tightening my muscles and straining my head. Determined to unearth more about this missing woman, I ascended to my bedchamber and shivered when I glanced at the door between my suite and the earl’s. I could still picture him standing there.
Narrowing my eyes, I studied the ornate wood panels that separated our rooms. What would such a man’s bedchamber be like? Full of dark secrets, of that I felt certain. I opened the door and slipped in with a hushed sense of awe. Perhaps his secrets would explain hers.
I stepped into the dark, drape-shrouded room where no unnecessary thing filled the large open space, glancing around with bated breath and ears perked for the sound of footsteps. Sparsely furnished with heavy wooden pieces and a few thick books, the room seemed as austere as its master. Apparently when a person dwelled in a room long enough, it absorbed the essence of his personality.
Daylight sliced through the dimness where the heavy curtains had parted, and it was barely enough light to see as my eyes adjusted to the dark. I spun, looking for a figure lurking in the shadows, for I was certain someone was watching me. No one appeared. With trembling fingers, I dug through the pockets of the jacket he’d been wearing upon arrival, which still hung over the back of a chair, but not even a shred of lint remained in them. His bedtable held nothing but a candle, and its drawer was empty.
I turned, eager to leave this chilling place, but I stopped before a leather-topped writing desk with four drawers. This was my one and only chance to search this place, for I would not be setting foot in it again. I likely wouldn’t have the opportunity, either. Anything they wouldn’t wish me to find would be gone soon enough too, and I had to find it—had to find something that would lead me to the truth.
With a resigned sigh, I searched all its drawers except for the long slender top one, which was tightly locked. Grumbling, I yanked on the thing again, but it held firm. Taking a letter opener from a cup on top, I worked the lock with it, and eventually slid it into the crack of the drawer. I pushed against the resistance deep within until the lock shifted and the drawer sprang open a crack. With a pounding heart, I pulled the drawer toward me and squinted to see the mess of papers inside.
Letters. So many letters. A feminine scrawl covered every page. Barely daring to breathe, straining to hear the slightest footstep in the hall, I lifted a page to the slender beam of light and forced my eyes to read the words.
My beloved Mitchell,
You have been exceedingly kind, more than I deserve, but I cannot accept any more gifts from you. Take this scarf and speak no more of such things. She will find out soon, I’m certain of it, and then what will become of me?
E. E. L.
“Do you wish for a candle?”
I shrieked and spun around. A statuesque figure in black stood framed in the doorway between the suites, the eerily pale face of Simone watching me as if she’d been there the whole time.
“I thought you might be ready to dress for dinner, my lady.” Her warm, liquid voice sent chills up my spine. “But if you have matters to attend to in the earl’s chamber, perhaps I can bring you a candle.”
I straightened, shoving the letter into the drawer and jamming it closed. “Is it time to dress already? The day has gotten away from me.” I forced cheeriness into my voice and swept through the sparse room to fling open the highboy doors and pretend to make note of everything. “I was merely checking to see if the earl had what he needed. He’s so very particular, you know, and the servants don’t always know how to do it right.”
“Of course, my lady. It’s a shame the earl hides all his keys, which would let you check the contents of his desk more easily.” She stepped farther into the room, a dangerous glitter in her countenance. “Now where does he keep them? You would know, of course.”
Her lips curled into an odd smile, half amused and half cunning, like a cat playing with its mouse, preparing for the fatal pounce. For one fearful moment, I thought, She knows. She knows and is toying with me. Mocking me.
“All is well, it seems. Shall we return to my suite and dress for dinner?”
“Yes, of course.” She moved through the adjoining doors behind me.
She held my gaze in the mirror as she began taking my hair down and smoothing it with the brush. “Lord Enderly asked me this morning to inform you that you’ll be hosting guests for dinner tonight. Lord and Lady Remington.”
This pleased me immensely, and I breathed more easily, even as Simone twisted my hair until it pulled my scalp. Being among friends eased the burden of sharing a table with the bear of a man who was supposed to be my husband.
I swept down the wide steps in a crisp plum-colored gown trimmed with little feathers and paused at the landing to listen for the men. They should have returned by now.
“There’s the lady of the house.” I spun at the sound of a low voice at the bottom.
“Mr. Prendergast.”
“Splendid, as always.”
I frowned and strode over to him, uttering a harsh whisper. “You could have told me, you know.” I waved toward the closed drawing room doors. “Apparently I have a husband. That would have been helpful to know before he marched through the front door.”
His amused grin stoked the flames of my irritation. “I assumed you already did. For every queen there is a king, for every countess . . . I did mention the earl, I’m quite certain.”
“As a sort of guardian. A protector.” My voice faltered at my foolishness.
“A splendid definition of what every husband should be. My apologies if you misunderstood, but frankly, I never thought you could.”
“What do you intend for me to do now that he’s here, and . . .” My throat swelled at the memory of his boot clomps in the next room, only a door separating us, his ghostly form staring at me the next morning. “Surely you don’t intend for me to truly be his wife.” The very idea made me squirm, my skin heating, and Prendergast laughed outright.
“You mustn’t worry. That isn’t what I’ve hired you to do.”
Just then the drawing room door opened, and Bradford stepped out. “Mr. Prendergast, I thought I heard you.”
Prendergast moved close for a parting word, his voice barely above a whisper. “Simply avoid being alone with the man and all will be well. He may be intimidating, but he cannot hurt you in my presence.”
Bradford threw wide the doors and we entered for dinner.
Sully watched from inside the dining room, where he and the other dark-haired footman leaned over the long table to place crystal and flatware at each place. I strode into the drawing room and found a chair as we awaited the dinner summons.
In a moment the earl’s deep voice just behind me pierced my thoughts. “I take it you are to blame for the recent deficit to my pocketbook.”
I turned and looked up at his stoic expression that was neither bitter nor pleased.
“It was you who made the changes, was it not?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of adding a mistress’s touch to the house and grounds, but only because it was so dreary. And I did not spend a farthing.”
His mouth twitched. “I’m referring to the recent favors granted to my tenants, including a stipend allowed one Mrs. Lawry of Turret Cottage for the care and keeping of two orphaned children.”
“Wards of the estate.” I straightened and attempted to regain my façade. “She is doing you a service, my lord, and she has been compensated a mere pittance for it.”
I held my breath after releasing these daring words. He stared but said nothing. I shifted my face away, afraid his gaze might scorch it, and caught sight of Cousin Philip standing near the couch to my right, eavesdropping. He watched me, hands clasped behind his back, a queer light of admiration masked behind his incredulous face.
When the butler admitted our guests into the drawing room, the earl strode away to greet them and Cousin Philip restrained me with a gentle touch to my arm. “I suppose you think I should be impressed by your little display.”
“It was not for your benefit, Cousin Philip. You already heard me make the promise to the tenants themselves.”
“I’m never impressed by a promise until it’s kept.”
“I was merely doing what any mistress would.”
He frowned, his eyes unpacking whatever they found in my countenance as he watched me. It was not the stare of judgment he had so often turned my way, but one of a riddle-solver who has been stumped by a dead end. Somehow, turning this corner with the man made me glad. With a nod I turned to greet Lady Remington on a cloud of hope. Things were looking up and I was accomplishing my goals on many fronts.
Finding Lady Enderly Page 17