Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  Helpless anger burned through my body, my stiff limbs trapped against the door. I stared back at him with the force of it, then he released my arms, blood flowing back into them with painful pulses. With that, he slipped out into the hall, with whispered instructions for me to follow after a safe amount of time had passed. I steadied myself against the wall, breathing hard and touching my fingertips to my warm cheeks. What a sight I must look. After a moment of collecting myself, I exited to check my flushed appearance.

  Before I could pass the gilded mirror in the hall, a familiar voice arrested my movements. “The truth, Raina.” Sully’s terse words made me tense. “For once in this whole charade, speak plainly with me. Are you staying because of him? Are you in love with him?”

  With an ache inside, I turned to look up into his impassioned face, eyes raging like a storm over the ocean. “How could you ever think that?”

  “I didn’t until now.” He jerked his head toward the room where I’d just been alone with Prendergast and come out crimson as a rose.

  My hands flew again to my cheeks. “Sully, you must believe me. I hate that man with every hair on my head.”

  “I know you, Raina.” His nostrils flared. “You’d only do something this daring for love. So who is it? Who could you possibly be so smitten with that you’ve remained here through all this?”

  “I told you, it’s a rescue mission.”

  “Someone you love.”

  My eyes flicked over his face, lips trembling, my helpless expression revealing everything. I dropped my gaze and took his hand, running my thumb over his knuckles. “Yes.”

  The truth hit him, paling his features and shuddering through him. He dropped my hand and backed away, horrified. Me? his look asked with disbelief.

  I looked at him with heart-aching adoration. “Yes.” I reached up and touched his cheek, allowing myself that small show of my mighty affection, then I turned and tore myself away. Leaving him frozen like a statue in the long white hall, I turned and fled into the grand hall.

  Please. Please understand.

  Regret pounded through me with each step I took away from him, for I’d turned a corner. Sully was not the sort to lie down and let someone rescue him. What would come now? Would he attempt to take Prendergast down? Would everything fall to pieces?

  With a slow, steady breath in the hall outside the room to which I’d been summoned, I forced myself back into the role I’d been hired to play. Sure and controlled, I entered the study and released a smile that was as false as my entire life here. Prendergast watched with calculated analysis as I carried out one of my most important performances yet.

  The man seated before the desk had a long white mustache neatly trimmed and a set of wire spectacles propped into the folds of his thick face. His pleasant, deeply settled countenance spoke of true gentility and kindness. He stood as I entered and bowed with deep sincerity. “Lady Enderly, it’s my honor to finally meet you. I’m Lawrence Fitzgerald, solicitor of Lord Darlington, your husband’s uncle.”

  “Just the formal name for dear Uncle Wells.” Prendergast’s interjection went mostly unnoticed.

  “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.” I said those words with full sincerity. His mere presence smoothed the edges of my tension, despite what this meeting meant to us. “I look forward to Uncle Wells visiting himself one day.”

  “He mentioned his intentions of an early spring visit, if the weather is kinder and his health remains improved.”

  “Of course.” As I moved to sit behind the desk, Prendergast followed me like a noxious odor, and I cringed. Did he have to watch over my shoulder?

  Then I realized that no, he did not. His explicit instructions returned to me now, emboldening where they’d drained strength before. You will be the countess in every way.

  I turned to my shadow with a charming smile. “That will be all, Mr. Prendergast. Thank you.”

  He blinked, his smile still in place. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ll manage without you for the moment, but I thank you for your concern.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I assumed you’d want my counsel as you looked over documents that will be utterly confusing to you.”

  I smiled patronizingly. “How good of you to care, but as these documents only concern the Countess of Enderly, I believe I’ll handle them myself.”

  He made several stiff, jerky movements, then took himself away with barely concealed frustration ripping across his face. When the door slid shut behind him, I released a light chuckle and seated myself at the desk across from my visitor.

  Mr. Fitzgerald showed a flicker of a smile. “A bit less crowded in the room.”

  I grinned. “More than you know. Now, what is it you’d like to discuss, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  He seated himself and lifted a stack of papers from a file beside his chair, thumbing through the pages with a frown. “My client has asked me to go over several matters with you in the transfer of the estate and its income that occurred recently.” He splayed them across the desk, moving them about to look for the ones requiring a signature. “He had previously withheld full ownership of the estate, but as you know, he’s now granting you everything. Not only will you receive the income from the land, but you will be the full and rightful owner of the estate.”

  My gaze flew over a few of the papers, trying to gather an understanding of the contents. “Forgive my lack of information on the matter, but can you tell me why it is my signature and not the earl’s that is required on all these documents?”

  “Why, your ladyship, the estate is a gift specifically to you, not the earl.”

  I blinked. “How can something be mine and not his?”

  He smiled. “Because you are making history, my lady. Parliament recently passed an amendment that gives property rights to married women, and my client, the earl’s uncle, was a prime supporter of the movement. He wishes to make an example of this law by granting this very profitable and sizable estate to a woman—you—to encourage the rest of England to follow suit. Congratulations on being on the edge of a revolution, Lady Enderly.”

  Stunned, I forced myself to scan the documents before me, trying to pick out words I recognized in the mess of formal writing. Truly, a married woman with her own property!

  “You not only have the right to inherit property, but to earn money from its profits and sell parcels of land at will.”

  No wonder they needed someone to replace the countess while she was indisposed. What a great deal of money the woman had in her power. It made one dizzy to consider the amount. Perhaps she was not indisposed at all, but uncooperative. A chill convulsed me as I remembered the forceful intent of Prendergast, like a train charging through whatever stood in its path. It should not be Prendergast running this estate, but her. No . . . Philip Scatchard.

  I lifted my gaze. “What other rights do I have?”

  He explained everything the countess had the legal ability to do concerning the estate, and I soaked it up hungrily. “What if I wish to change one of these documents? Could I do that?”

  He blinked. “I’m afraid not. These documents have already been signed by my client. The only option you have is to sign them or not.”

  I had promised Prendergast I would, but how greatly I wished not to sign them. I toyed with the pen, twirling it in my fingers.

  “If I may, what exactly displeases you about these arrangements, my lady?”

  I explained, in as vague terms as possible, how I felt that the property rightly belonged to someone else.

  He brightened with understanding. “Well, then. I can suggest one thing you can do, if you wish it. I can even help you from the legal perspective.”

  He explained his solution to me, and my smile grew, mind alive with possibilities. “I believe I’ll do that. Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve been most helpful.” My heart hammered. It was within my reach to set things right, and finally crush this hard ball of guilt and anxiousness that had grown to a near
ly unbearable weight inside. I would be Esther to one more person, in a magnificent manner.

  So, Victor Prendergast. You wish me to be Lady Enderly in every way. I smiled down at the papers before me. I will heartily consent to your demand.

  Mr. Fitzgerald held out a beautiful, gold-tipped pen to me like the king’s scepter extended to Queen Esther. With a pounding heart I accepted it, smooth and cold in my fingers and, after dipping it in ink, went to work righting the great wrong of which I’d been a part. Philip Scatchard’s name looked so handsome and bold on those papers, and I stared at it proudly. The best part was that Prendergast would never figure out what I’d done until I was gone. For a brief moment, the Spitalfields fighter returned, armed with cunning and determination to battle those who had pitted themselves against her.

  I straightened and looked over my paperwork when I was finished, brimming with satisfaction. I had set in motion a course of events which would one day have huge consequences—and of which I was exceedingly proud.

  22

  On occasion you may charm people by convincing them of your worth, but you will never fail to do so when you assure them of their own.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  Sully turned for one last glimpse of the great hall, his bag slung over one shoulder. This was the only way to handle this mess. He was the rescuer, and this time the only way to save Raina was by removing himself from the equation. She’d never leave otherwise, if she believed she could help him, but it wasn’t her problem to untangle.

  He stepped toward the door, but footsteps on the staircase made him stop. Leaping into the shadows, he watched as the object of his affection glided out of the study and shut the doors behind her. Flattening himself against the walls, he prayed the shadows would hide him.

  But they failed. She turned and froze, her eyes locking on his face, then on the bag slung over his arm and the fiddle hanging at his side. Something bobbed in her throat and her lovely wide eyes watched him. She took two steps closer, her face pleading with him not to follow through on his obvious intentions.

  He took in the sight of her, the slender white figure so tiny in that great hall. His breathing quickened. Did he have the strength to leave her here?

  He’d beg her to go with him, right this minute. They could escape together, go into hiding. He took a step toward her, but Victor Prendergast’s dark form appeared from another doorway, and he paused before them with a frown. He eyed the bag now hanging at his side, and then his face. “I see you have your things packed. Do you not enjoy your new mistress, Mr. McKenna? Is she too strict for your tastes? Too demanding?”

  He was overly aware of Raina hovering on the fringes of his vision, but he did not look at her. “I’m afraid it’s me, sir. I am the problem. I no longer fit the role I was meant to have.” He was her rescuer. It defined his part in their relationship, and if he was no longer that . . .

  Pain streaked across Raina’s face as she grasped his meaning.

  “Lady Enderly, a word with you, please.” The aged guest stepped from the study. “There’s just one more concern.”

  “You’d best go, my lady.” Victor did not smile. “I will deal with this situation.”

  She stared at Sully, her pleading eyes the only spots of color in her pale face. She stepped backward toward the study, then finally tore herself away.

  Victor ushered him into the servants’ hall just behind them and narrowed his eyes. “She’s such a delicate little thing, isn’t she? Most London women are. So easily broken.”

  “You don’t know her well if you think so.”

  “Like fine china.” He lifted a nearly empty teacup from the counter, turning it in his fingertips. “Solid and long-lasting, pure and ever so smooth.” He ran the tip of his thumb over its white surface, and a chill passed over Sully. “Yet all it takes is a fumble—”

  He released the cup, and Sully lunged to catch it, lukewarm liquid splashing onto his sleeve.

  “Well done, Sullivan. How fortunate you were here to catch it.” With a wry smile, he turned on his heel, but Sully grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

  “Why don’t you let her alone? She met with the man, didn’t she?”

  “She’s not going anywhere until the final papers are signed in a month. Uncle Wells will want to meet with her himself. Then we’ll discuss her . . . exit.”

  With another satisfied smile of triumph, Victor turned and moved back into the hall.

  Clenching his jaw, Sully marched to the bucket of water and sloshed his arm through it, cleansing it of the spilled tea. What could he do now? What could he possibly do to rescue her? Victor was now aware that he knew of his schemes. He’d be watching them, and being alone together would be impossible. So would escape. His only options were to remain and continue to let her rescue him, which turned his stomach, or leave her here with that man—which made him want to punch a wall.

  Or . . .

  Truth. The truth will set you free. An age-old verse that his father had bellowed many times from his pulpit, followed by a fist-pounding against the battered wood. Those words rang through his head now, but with the comfort of another Father. With the hope of a promise assured. Yes, truth. It was the finest—and only—weapon left to him.

  Yet this must be done strategically. Carefully. With a grim set to his shoulders, Sully marched to his tiny sleeping quarters and fumbled about for a paper, smoothing it out against his chest. Perhaps there was a way to remain and be her rescuer. Only by defeating Victor would escape ever be possible for either of them.

  Returning to the study with his letter, Sully cast a curious glance over the documents spread over the desk, trying to assess what had occurred here behind closed doors. It was a draft of a will—for the Countess of Enderly. To his utter surprise, Raina had left the estate to Philip Scatchard upon the death of the countess. The move was so brilliant Sully could hardly stand it. If the worst was true concerning the real countess—and Sully believed it was—the estate would soon pass out of the hands of those scheming men and into those of the earl’s cousin. His weren’t the most fit to possess such an estate, and the gloomy cousin so oft found with a drink was far from deserving of such a reward, but they were a fair bit better than Prendergast’s evil claws. Admiration for his quick-witted childhood friend swelled in his chest.

  Sully slipped a long envelope from his jacket and tucked it into the visitor’s satchel with a deep breath. God, do what you will with this. Keep it hidden from those who shouldn’t see it, and make it clearly visible to whoever should.

  Slipping out of the room, he nearly collided with Philip Scatchard.

  “Hello there, old man. No news for me, I assume?”

  The spying. Yes, he was supposed to be doing that. Sully’s shoulders stiffened under his uniform. “No sir, nothing of note to report.”

  He grimaced, toying with a half-empty glass in his hand. “I suppose she’s tidied up any little indiscretions that might be found. I’ve half a mind to slip into her bedchamber and dig through that little desk—”

  “Do not count on my assistance for that, sir.” Sully spoke through clenched teeth as he thought of the papers sitting on the desk just past these doors. What a wretched little brute.

  “Come off it, old man. I mean no harm. I only want to know what she’s about and protect this estate.” He ran a hand through his hair and threw back the remainder of his drink, plunking the little glass on a side table. “I don’t suppose we have any more of that delightful stuff, do we?”

  Sully stared at the mildly besotted man, those red-rimmed eyes and the greasy hair on his forehead. Meeting his gaze, Sully clasped his hands behind his back. “I believe there’s a touch more. I’ll bring it to you in the study.”

  His expression hardened. “I’m afraid there are private papers in there that her highness and that solicitor wouldn’t wish me to see. Estate business, you know.”

  “And are you not the estate’s manager? They’ve a great deal to do with you,
sir, and I believe you should take a peek at them.” Sully lifted a meaningful glance to the man.

  “Right on, good work.” With a salute, Philip disappeared into the study.

  Sully remained stationed before the door, on guard in case the solicitor should return and find Philip snooping.

  He stared at the elegant hall clock as it ticked the endless seconds, studied the gentle curves of the pure-white angel statue on a stand by a doorway.

  When the door opened again some minutes later, Philip stepped out, ashen and shaken, the drink Sully was to fetch forgotten. His searching eyes openly stared at Sully, as if seeking answers in his face. He looked away and shoved his fingers through his dark hair again. “That woman.” He lifted his gaze to Sully. “Such a mystery.”

  “Most are, sir.”

  “Right you are.” His voice was dry. Scratchy. “Yet none more so than her.”

  “Shall I bring you tea for that throat, sir?”

  He cleared it. “I suppose that would be nice. Thank you, McKenna.”

  Head down, Sully strode toward the servants’ wing with a sigh. He had accomplished something helpful, at least, and that had settled his mind to a small degree. Yet the knowledge of that shift between him and Raina jarred his peace. Not only was he taken from the position of rescuer, but he was now the one being rescued, and he did not like it.

  In the kitchen, he poured tea from the ever-present pot on the stove and turned to find a saucer. Yet there on the edge of the sideboard lay a book, Jane Eyre—her favorite. Discarding the tea, he snapped up the book and flipped to the page marked with string. She’d left him a message.

  “No—no—Jane; you must not go. No—I have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence—the sweetness of your consolation: I cannot give up these joys. I have little left in myself—I must have you.”