Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  Ragna. Oh, how I loathed that name. I pondered my real name, the one thoughtfully chosen by my mother with hopes that I’d one day grow into it—Raina meant queen, or one who reigns.

  I nearly laughed at the irony. The girl who had pretended and schemed to live up to the title of countess was actually, in reality, a queen.

  Sort of.

  Why this name, God? Did you truly mean for me to grow into it?

  Thoughts of Queen Esther rose and were discarded. I hadn’t saved anyone. In fact, I’d only endangered the best man I’d ever known—over and over again, on my hundreds of adventures. Including this one. Especially this one. The weight of guilt bore down on me.

  I slipped back into the house from the gardens in time for dinner that night, questions still circling through my mind. A door opened to my right and Sully hurried through, silver tray tucked under his arm. He glanced up at me for a fleeting moment, trouble clouding that usually joyful face, and I could hear his painfully uttered words: I am your rescuer. It’s all I know how to be. In other words, what am I worth to you outside of that role?

  If only he knew.

  But how would he? Pangs of remorse racked me. Even in our brief moment of privacy, the near-kiss, I’d said next to nothing to him about my own feelings. I’d been so busy looking deep within that I’d neglected to look around me and see the needs of people I loved. Despite the lateness of the hour, I hurried to the study to retrieve some books, leafing through their familiar pages to underline the passages I sought in each. If there was one truth I could convey even within this life of secrecy, it was my deep love for this man who wanted to flee rather than put me in danger, and who stayed only to protect me. He had to know, in this moment, exactly what he meant to me even when our roles were reversed.

  In the study, I started with the book he’d already underlined for me, Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd, searching out and underlining another passage. “Sometimes I shrink from your knowing what I have felt for you, and sometimes I am distressed that all of it you will never know.”

  Underneath I tucked Brontë’s Jane Eyre, which always managed to wrap words around the love and longing I felt, and marked a longer section: “I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel—I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you—and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

  I closed my eyes and imagined him reading those passages that laid bare the feelings that had warmed my heart for years, the pure delight on his eager face. Why hadn’t I done this before? I had hungrily accepted his declarations of affection from abroad and in the messages he’d left about at the abbey, but when had I assured him of mine? Sully had been right—my problems had made me self-consumed. I had lost sight of so much.

  Please, God. Help these messages to sink into his heart and convince him of my affection. And that he must stay.

  The door creaked open and I dropped the book with a start. I jerked myself out of my thoughts and into my role as I turned with a smile to see who had entered.

  Cousin Philip strode in. “Ah, there you are. I’ve something to discuss . . .” He slowed and eyed my gown with a small grimace. “How many birds have you killed to achieve such a look?”

  I self-consciously fingered the little feathers trimming the gown around the shoulders and top of the bodice, feeling even more foolish than when I’d put it on. Why had I not insisted on a different gown? Simone had assured me it was one that “Lady Enderly” had ordered months ago. She’d dared me with a cunning smile to deny it was true. With the other maids present, all I could do was allow her to clothe me in that dress.

  The feathers tickled my collarbone. “Let’s leave off with the pleasantries and discuss the matter at hand.”

  His cocky smile broadened. “Very well, then.” Crossing to the desk, he unrolled several papers and laid them flat, anchoring them with paperweights on either end.

  I came around to stand beside him. He smelled like lemon and shaving soap.

  “I’ve come up with several plans for renovating the interior of the abbey. They shouldn’t cost a great deal, and we’re largely utilizing local labor. It’ll keep the inside from collapsing, and in time perhaps we can shift focus to making the rooms usable again. If you’ll take a look at this sketch, you’ll see weight-bearing trusses that should do the trick. And in this sketch, I’ve fashioned a set of pillars to add later that may be more in keeping with the style of the rest of the abbey.”

  I blinked. “Where is all this coming from?” Cousin Philip had never been excited about anything like this since I’d arrived.

  “There’s been talk of renovating the place before it collapses. Isn’t that what you wish?”

  “Certainly. I’ve just never seen you so . . . That is, you’re . . .”

  He crossed his arms and leaned on the edge of the desk, watching me. The dinner bell summoned us for the evening meal.

  “You seem quite different. That’s all.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps I want to be something more than an old chair everyone trips over.”

  My heart squeezed. “You already were.”

  His steady gaze centered on me as we faced one another, sobriety sharpening his eyes. “Only to you, it seems.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh come off it, I know what you’ve done. What you gave me. You are the only one on this whole estate who dares to truly see a person—from the tenants to the sorry drunk who now stands to gain the estate.”

  I exhaled, turning away. “I didn’t exactly give it to you.”

  “Bequeathed it, then. However you wish to say it. Not that I’d live long enough to inherit it, of course. That is, unless you accidentally choke to death on all those unsightly feathers.”

  I couldn’t hide my smile.

  He sobered. “Your confidence in me means everything. I won’t let you down.”

  In silent camaraderie we moved into the drawing room. I felt doused in the sunny warmth of Cousin Philip’s approval, which was, to my surprise, just as intense as his disdain.

  “Ah, there you are, old man.” Our dinner guest Lord Remington crossed the room to us, hand extended. His wife followed him, then Prendergast appeared in the doorway and greetings were exchanged.

  As Bradford beckoned us all in to dinner, Cousin Philip moved up beside me. “So why did you do it?”

  I hesitated, meeting his intense blue eyes. “Because there’s more to an old chair than what’s broken.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. His shoulders shifted and something bobbed in his throat.

  “That is, unless you have no desire to own Rothburne. It’s quite a challenge.”

  He stepped forward and took my hand, raising it to his lips for the gentlest kiss. “I suppose I could bear up under the weight of it, my lady.”

  I offered him a smile. “Friends?”

  His lips twitched. “I promise not to hate you.”

  I pinched my lips into a smile. “Be careful, Cousin. You nearly paid me a compliment.”

  His smile widened. “Because I finally understand who you are.”

  Who I was. Somewhere in the midst of elegant gowns and opulent dinner parties, I had lost sight of that. I so desperately wanted to announce my secret, yet revealing the truth would nullify the will that had so impacted Cousin Philip for the better. I swallowed hard, staring at the back of Uncle Wells ahead of me. Perhaps if I talked to him, explained everything I’d learned of Cousin Philip, something could be done. Every glance he’d cast my way since we met had been inviting and watchful, as if he was prompting me with a look to open up to him with the truth. There was something so fundamentally trustworthy and steady about the man that made me wish to open the doors of every secret room inside me, and invite his unusua
l wisdom to right everything that had gone awry.

  Uncle Wells was seated beside me as the guest of honor, and this was a stroke of great fortune. I lowered my voice as I passed him on my way toward the head of the table. “There’s something on my mind that I’d like to discuss with you, sir.” Perhaps Prendergast would not notice us talking in so casual a setting, out in the open. I tasted the hope of freedom on my tongue.

  “Of course, any time.”

  “Good evening, Lady Enderly.” Prendergast’s voice cut through my thoughts as he seated himself on the other side of me. Our eyes met, the secret between us always evident there, and my uncertainty solidified into dread. He seemed to read my intentions in a single glance, and his eyes lit with warning. Yet I’d said nothing—how could he know?

  My heart pounded as the ordinary evening ticked on, waiting for the right moment. This could be it—the end of the charade. The ruse would be out in the open, and I would have no more part to play. The thought was terrifying, yet liberating. I looked about the red and gilded room and could not remember a single reason I had wished to remain.

  But then, when we’d been seated, the service door cracked open and through that entrance walked my reason. Sully lifted his face to look at me from the shadows as he slipped in, and the full glory of his smile beamed out in rays so powerful I felt my heart would burst. I turned so I would not be swept away by it. The messages. He must have read them. My heart fluttered as I attempted to swallow, but the lump wouldn’t move from my throat. For several moments I could only pretend to eat.

  When the second course was carried in by footmen, I arranged the words I’d say in my head. I sent Sully on a petty errand to take him from the room. He’d stand a chance of escape this way, even if I did not. I cleared my throat and Uncle Wells’s gaze shifted to mine, waiting and watching with interest.

  Before I could speak, Victor Prendergast raised his glass and smiled upon the gathered diners. “I wish to give you all notice that I may be departing from your presence in the coming weeks, but just for a time. I’ve taken it into my heart to defend a pack of mutinous sailors who have aroused my charitable interest.”

  Cousin Philip paused, his knife and fork aloft, and frowned at the solicitor. “Someone with whom we’re acquainted?”

  My heart pounded. I stared at the swinging door Sully had just exited.

  Prendergast smiled in his dismissive way and shrugged. “Doubtful, unless you rub shoulders with poor wretches on the docks. They say the leader is still missing, but they will deal fiercely with him when he is found.”

  I sucked in air as if I could not get enough and stared at the herbed lamb on my plate.

  “Have they much hope, Mr. Prendergast?” This from Uncle Wells.

  The man’s knife slid across the rim of his plate as he allowed a moment to pass. “Perhaps. My representing them will make all the difference, though, of that you can be sure.”

  I turned away as my brave declaration sank back into the depths of my soul and settled there.

  28

  If a lady’s beauty comes from what is within, no one can threaten or change it because it is out of reach.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  He’s a fine musician.” Uncle Wells approached me after the meal and nodded toward Sully. Cousin Philip had asked him to play, as he often did, while we settled into the drawing room with tea. Of all people Victor wished me to convince of my false identity, this uncle was the most important. He’d made that clear of late.

  “That he is.” The happy lilt of Sully’s music filled my heart with bittersweet feelings, even as I avoided looking at him directly. He would be staring at me, I could tell, but I couldn’t meet his gaze just now.

  “I’d like to think we’ve become sound acquaintances, my lady.” He paused for a sip of tea. “Enough so that you can speak plainly with me, at least, and tell me what’s on your mind. For example, what you might have been trying to say at dinner tonight?”

  My throat clenched as I tried to swallow. “I’m afraid the timing was poor. I’ve changed my mind.”

  Uncle Wells studied me with a frown, running one hand along the muttonchops framing his jaw. “I see.” His gaze flicked past me. “Ah, it seems someone is listening to our conversation.”

  My gaze instinctively jumped over to Victor, who stood at the opposite end of the drawing room laughing with Lord Remington—but most assuredly not listening.

  “Then again, perhaps I was mistaken.” Uncle Wells smiled knowingly, and I realized I’d been duped. “It’s Mr. Prendergast who has a hold on you, is it?”

  I glanced away, shoulders tensing.

  “As I suspected.” The man took a final sip of tea and placed the cup and saucer on a nearby table. “Keep in mind that when it comes to enemies, they only threaten those they believe are a threat to them. There’s something in you that frightens him.”

  Muscles tightened across my back.

  “Come now, tell me what it is you meant to say. I’ve a sense it was important.”

  I was nearly overcome with the desire to pour out everything I knew about this conspiracy, but the sound of Sully’s lovely fiddle stiffened my throat and stilled my temptation. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Victor parted from Lord Remington with polite smiles and nods, making his way toward us. He soon stood behind me, beaming his charming smile over us. “What a remarkable evening. I wanted to thank you personally for your kind attentions and your hospitality toward your solicitor, Lady Enderly. Now, if I might steal a moment of your time in the study, there are a few matters I must go over with you.”

  He strode away, expecting me to follow, but Uncle Wells laid a hand on my shoulder. “There’s great significance in a name, and yours carries much weight. Remember that.”

  I tore myself away on the heels of those words, hurrying after Victor toward the study. His voice echoed around the chamber of my chaotic mind: Great significance in a name. In my real name? In hers? What did that mean if she didn’t even exist?

  An idea settled on me as I passed the closed-up rooms. Slowing before the abandoned monastic library, I let myself in and glanced around. With a breath I approached the painting that would forever remain imprinted upon my mind and inspected every brushstroke. A name. A name. Didn’t every artist leave his signature somewhere on his work? It was a stretch, but if I found the artist who had painted this supposedly nonexistent woman, I would have a direction. Finally my flitting gaze found an angled signature in the bottom right corner—E. M. Lockharte, London.

  I slipped out and saw no sign of Prendergast. Turning my steps toward the study, I was startled to a stop by a soft whisper. I slowed. “Sully?”

  “I need to speak with you.” He stepped from the shadows but stood at a distance in case anyone happened upon us.

  “There’s no place in this—”

  “The warming room. The calefactory out in the center courtyard. It’s the only spot of privacy in this place.”

  “Prendergast is waiting for me.”

  “Soon, then. Will you go there? I’ll leave a message.”

  “When I can.” I hurried away, but that name—E. M. Lockharte—still eclipsed my thoughts.

  In the empty study, I listened for Victor’s footsteps and hurriedly flipped through papers in the desk until I found what I needed—the earl’s book of contacts. Leafing with trembling fingers, I finally located the name Lockharte and followed the line across to an address in London: 33 Bury Place. What an unfortunate street name. Even in Spitalfields, the street names were not as fantastically dismal as this one, and it struck me with incurable curiosity. If names had such significance, what was this name meant to convey? Perhaps only that searching out this artist would come to no account in the end.

  I spun away when the door opened and Victor strode in with a frown. “Where were you? I thought I asked you to follow me.”

  “I was distracted by something in another room.” If I had any delusions of slipping off t
o London to speak with this artist, they were crushed by the weight of Prendergast’s anger. Even if he did go to London as he threatened, he had the means to know my whereabouts, even from a distance.

  After a long frown, he began prodding me for details on every inch of my conversation with Uncle Wells and offering instructions for continuing the ruse. It seemed Prendergast’s summons was nothing more than an excuse to separate me from Uncle Wells before I did something that crumbled our delicate tower of deceit.

  “We’ll need to host another soiree in his honor, of course.”

  “Another one? Have we not done enough?”

  “That is one of your purposes here—to be seen by people and convince them the countess is here and well. She was known for her dinner parties in town, you know. Everything was a reason for celebration and gathering of one’s friends.”

  “But I do not even know these people. Neither does she, if we can fool them into—”

  “Wise choice, by the by, on keeping quiet at dinner.” He walked to me and squeezed my arm. I did not pull back, but I deeply wished to. “We get on famously, as I knew we would. First-rate partners, and fine actors, the both of us. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  His compliment unsettled me as I walked back to my chamber that night and tried to speak with God. The heaviness would not release me. What now? I couldn’t face Sully in that calefactory—not tonight, with that evil comparison ringing in my ears. How on earth would this ever end? Where was the way out?

  When I sat in the window alcove of my bedchamber, an idea struck. It was so brilliant I jumped up to carry it out immediately. I drew the guest list from the drawer and added one name to the bottom: E. M. Lockharte, 33 Bury Place, London.

  If I could not go to him, I would bring him to me.

  29

  I’m beginning to understand that the power never lies in the gown, but in the heart of the lady who dons it.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess