Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  It was not until the morning of the soiree for Uncle Wells that my courage failed, my fear of Prendergast rising to the surface like driftwood in the ocean. I couldn’t let him find out who I’d invited. I’d informed Shirley Shackley just before the invitations were sent that it was to be a costume ball, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if that was enough. The masks, in reality, did little to hide one’s true identity. Would Victor recognize this artist, even behind a mask, and guess what I was doing?

  I found Bradford, the man who had often acted as my accomplice, in the front parlor toward luncheon time, and waited to ask him for yet another favor. I kept out of sight as he directed the maids, who were placing cut flowers in vases, and waved him over when he looked my way.

  He approached with a ready smile on his long face that drew up his muttonchop sideburns. “What can I do for you, my lady?”

  “I need you to waylay a certain guest for me when he arrives. His invitation will bear the name Lockharte. I want you to escort this guest to a private space and alert me as soon as you can. And tell no one else I’ve asked it of you.”

  “Happy to do it. I assume the front parlor will be sufficient for such a meeting. Shall I offer an explanation for the delay when I show him there?”

  I fidgeted, pulling at the fingers of my gloves. “I’ve no idea. Will he need one?”

  “He’d be pleased to hear that the countess herself wished a brief audience with him in private.”

  “Perfect. Oh and, Bradford, be certain no one else knows the guest has arrived until I’ve had a chance to speak with him.”

  He gave a brief bow. “Very good, my lady. Mr. Prendergast will be kept conveniently distracted.”

  I shot him a smile of camaraderie, and he winked.

  I gripped the rail and looked down over the great salon from my balcony above, the dizzying splendor of high white walls and gilded trim, with polished chandeliers lowered into the festive room full of people. Candlelight winked off silver platters and gems on white necks as the guests murmured against a backdrop of luscious red drapes and velvety music. Uncle Wells, the guest of honor, stood out among the others, his fine black cutaway coat sitting well on his tall frame. I ran my fingertips over my glittering blue gown, whose brilliance rivaled a starry night sky, and forced myself to breathe. Below, the guests were mingling, numerous bell-shaped skirts weaving through the crowds.

  I clung harder as the room tilted and my heart raced. Growing worries had invaded my sleep every night, leaving me weary and trembling more often than not. Especially in heady moments like this.

  “It’s time, your ladyship.” Shirley Shackley approached me in the little overlook, motioning toward the wide staircase.

  I glanced past her toward the waiting Bradford with a question in my expression, and he shook his head—no, there had been no Lockharte.

  It was early yet. He still had time.

  “Come, my lady. Your gentleman is coming to escort you.” Shirley Shackley’s quiet voice prodded me forward.

  I looked down the red-carpeted steps into the blinding sparkle of chandeliers and saw a tall figure springing up the steps, black mask covering the top half of his face. I nearly fainted from enchantment until my eyes adjusted and saw it was the earl. Of course, it would be my husband coming to escort me. Delicately lifting my skirt hem, I descended to meet him, then he took my arm, pausing to study me. “You look more like her than ever.” He breathed the words out in a tortured whisper. “Magnificent.”

  I swallowed and slipped my gloved hand into the crook of his arm. “That’s quite a compliment.”

  “You’re quite a lady, Countess.” He gave a sad smile as we descended into the crowds of our glittering guests.

  I adjusted my sparkling blue mask over my eyes, fitting it to my face, and scanned the room. Finally my gaze locked onto one familiar man, which it always did, as he moved through the crowds with a tray aloft. His jaunty smile quickened my heart, making me wish he’d direct that look toward me.

  I moved closer, but a silver-haired woman intervened, fascination clear on her full white face as she approached Sully. “There you are, young man. I must say, we’ve hardly ceased speaking of you since that fine performance at the reception.”

  “Well, thank you kindly, ma’am.”

  A younger woman they called Kitty stepped in. “There must be more to that story, we’ve decided. No man sings with that sort of passion about a girl who isn’t real.”

  His eyebrows moved up and down as if he had no notion of how to answer.

  “Well then?” she prodded. “Is there a girl?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve never met one named Adora, if that’s what you mean.”

  The older woman’s disapproving gaze demanded more.

  “I suppose she may be inspired by a real girl.” His voice was hesitant. “T’weren’t no happy ending, I’m afraid.”

  “I suspected as much. A shame to see such a handsome young man all alone.” She set her cup on a little round table and stood closer. “I’ve a mind to see that changed. Mark my words, I’ll have you singing about your own girl soon enough, Sullivan McKenna, even if I have to give up one of my own maids to do it. What do you say, will you allow me to arrange a meeting?”

  A whisper-thin young serving girl with wide violet eyes intruded. “Perhaps he has a mind to find his own. There are plenty of girls right in front of him that would be enchanted to make his acquaintance.” Her upturned eyes only clarified her none-too-subtle hint.

  He raised his eyebrows and peeked at me over her shoulder with a playful sparkle to his eyes.

  I forced myself to unclench my teeth.

  A tall, middle-aged woman with peacock feathers broke into the group. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and I’m glad I did. Will you be performing again tonight, young man? You must finish your lovely story.”

  Another one joined from a nearby circle. “What a fabulous idea. You must tell us the rest. Did the girl come back to him?”

  He shifted his tray under his arm and shot a beguiling smile at me. “You’ll have to take that up with her.”

  I choked on my cider and nearly spit it back into my cup. Another sip enabled me to speak again. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The performance. This is your event, my lady. I merely do as I’m told.”

  “Lady Enderly, you must have him perform again tonight.” Another pretty young girl barely out in society joined the ring around my footman. “Won’t you let him finish his song?”

  This drew the attention of yet another woman in a nearby conversation. “He will be performing again? I’d certainly love to hear it.”

  I looked at all the ladies gathering around Sully, begging me to let him douse them again with his powerful music. Knots formed along the back of my bare shoulders. With at least twenty pairs of hopeful eyes turned my way, what could I do but assent? I inhaled and nodded. “The musicians must have a break, so I suppose Mr. McKenna may perform one song, if he would be so inclined.”

  “As you wish, mistress.” He bowed, dark hair falling over his eyes but failing to hide the sparkle there. Chittering laughter and gossip filled the air as Sully departed to find his fiddle. Word spread about the coming performance, and the guests came to stand in a clump at the east end of the room, awaiting their promised song.

  Sully soon returned and walked to the head of the room with echoing clicks of shoes on tile and cradled his instrument in its usual place, tucked beneath his jaw.

  I closed my eyes as he drew his bow across the strings. Color and light and beauty filled the room on the strings of his instrument, hushing the crowd and enlivening it with a special power that belonged only to this man. I could hardly focus on the words he sang about the lad and his endless love for the missing lass.

  “They’d grown up together, that lad and his lass,

  Filling him up to the brim

  With love for the girl of a higher class

  Who followed her every whim.

&nbs
p; And she took him along, because he was strong,

  ready to risk life and limb.

  “How to describe her, the girl of your dreams,

  For not even heaven is grander, and it seems

  Words fail to be there to tell what you know,

  Of the lovely young lass that has so touched your soul.”

  He closed his eyes as he brought the ballad to a close with lines that would forever bring an ache to my heart.

  “How do you capture a spirit so free,

  So loving and beautiful, how can it be?

  You try, and you fly on the wings of her joy

  Watching stars she taught you to see.

  Then like a song, one day she is gone,

  to return to the stars that she showed ’im.

  Aye, she returned to the stars that she showed ’im.”

  There was silence for a moment, awed and enthralled, then the applause pelted my senses like tiny pebbles.

  “Do you suppose he kens the way he affects the ladies about this place?” The whispered words came from a kitchen maid holding an empty tray to her chest.

  “Not a bit, and that’s what makes it so,” the first footman replied as he stood straight and ready beside her.

  “What I wouldn’t give to be a fair bonny lass of two and twenty right now.” She sighed.

  Heart aching, I turned away and came face to chest with the earl. I looked up and he extended his hand. “Dance with me?” Handsome, debonair, and here he was offering to whisk me into a few moments of forgetfulness. He lowered his voice. “The guests might wonder if the host does not dance with his wife. Simply lean on me and I’ll lead.”

  I assented. I barely remembered the dance steps Victor had drilled into me, but a man like this would know how to lead. I stepped into the frame of his arms as the music began and allowed him to sweep me into the dizzying circles of the waltz. Around and around we went, mercifully blurring the background. With each slow beat, a different face came into focus. Victor, Sully, smiling Lady Remington, gentle Bradford. My heart pounded faster than the three-quarters beat, making me breathless. How dizzying, how endless.

  I wanted to break away, and not just from the dance.

  The earl closed his eyes as if dancing by feel, carried on the melody filling this room. Was he imagining I was her? Finally the music rose to a finale and our whirling slowed.

  “Who is she?” I whispered these words in the chaos of applause as his hold on my arms tightened. Curiosity plagued me, especially as I watched his troubled face. How greatly I wished to know the whole story, and to replace that constant pain settled just behind his eyes with peace.

  He stiffened.

  “The woman in the picture. The one always in your mind. The one who should be here with you.” I looked up at him, that pitiable face I’d once feared. “Lord Enderly, what has become of her?”

  “I’m not certain I wish to find out.” Finally his eyes met mine through the masks and he sighed. “Yet some days I’d give my fortune to know.” He tipped his head and brushed his fingers across my cheek. “You’ve made it bearable somehow, and I thank you. You’ve no idea what a blessing you’ve been to my life.”

  I smiled up at him as I remembered no one would think anything of this display. How much we resembled a young married couple settled into the comforts of wedded bliss.

  He dropped his hands and turned away, moving with long strides into the crowd. I knew so little of the earl’s mysterious love, yet I understood their plight far too well. I caught sight of Sully in the distance, silver tray aloft and gaze focused on me. His somber brown eyes, now bright and anxious, watched me steadily, and my chest ached with each breath at the knowledge of what he’d just seen. He couldn’t possibly believe that the earl and I—

  Oh how desperately I wished to leap this minute into Sully’s arms and a happy ending with him, yet so much filled the few feet between us.

  Victor stepped into my line of vision, cutting off my view of Sully’s precious face and blinding me with a bold smile and the scent of his strong drink. “Ah, there you are.” His black mask glittered in the glow from chandeliers overhead.

  I did not return the smile. Did he have any idea what a mess he’d made of my life? Of my head? “I’d like to be alone.”

  “Splendid idea. Perhaps we need to escape for a moment.” I cringed as Victor’s low voice snaked through my senses. “Clear your head, convince you of your . . . astounding loveliness.”

  A full shiver streaked up my back. I looked up at him and the light of hunger in his eyes multiplied my unrest. He always seemed more unstable, unpredictable, when in his cups. “I believe I can handle myself, Victor.”

  “Victor now, is it? Even before your guests.” His glittering smile turned my stomach.

  How had I ever been tempted to trust this man in the alley, to step into this giant mess that was the grandest of all my mistakes?

  “You’ve grown so beautiful. These gowns have changed something in you, woken it up.”

  I caught sight of Uncle Wells watching from across the room, his fingers toying with a cup as he frowned in our direction.

  “The guests should not see you speaking so intimately with me, Mr. Prendergast.”

  “Is that not why you made this a masked ball? So no one would know which man spoke to which lady? Which man ventured to . . .” He reached out to touch my bare arm. With a pointed warning glare, I turned away, leaving him standing alone. I glided through the room, attempting polite greetings and warm smiles. They were a thin veneer for the wretched turmoil burning inside. Two personas, and now three men. A hundred guests with a hundred sets of differing expectations to match. Sully stared at us from across the room, his face a mask of disappointment, then strode out the service door.

  My gut clenched, the panic of impending loss tightening my insides. He had to know that I meant what I’d said concerning my affections, but it wouldn’t make displays like these easier for him to bear. How long before it became too much? I hurried toward the door to find him.

  “Where are you going?” Victor was soon at my elbow, as always.

  “I need to clear my head.” I faced him, my finger in his face. “And don’t follow me.”

  But his eyes did. I could tell.

  In the hall I glanced about for Sully’s dark form. “Sully?” I whispered the name into the emptiness, turning in a slow circle at the sound of evening shoes on tile. Even Bradford had abandoned the hall at this hour, his task of admitting guests completed.

  The slap of cheap boots sounded behind me and I spun toward the arched doorway. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  A shabbily cloaked woman without a mask turned in the depths of the barely lit gallery, moving into the candle glow of the hall. Foreboding snaked through me as I watched. She glided toward me and cast back her hood.

  My gasp echoed in the hall as I looked upon the face of the missing countess.

  30

  Beauty can bring one a certain self-assured poise, but most often it is the other way around.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  You are the new wife?” She stared at me with those green eyes, two oceans of lovely sadness. She reached out as if to touch me but drew back.

  “Who are you?” I croaked out the words in awe, watching her face that looked so much like my own.

  Without a word, she lifted a ragged envelope from the folds of her cloak. It bore the name E. M. Lockharte.

  “You! You are the one who painted that portrait . . . of yourself.”

  “It was my brother. Mitchell begged me to pose for it when he heard my brother was a portraitist.” Her voice was light and flowery to match her delicate features, but weighted with such elegance, despite her clothing.

  Mitchell. That was the earl’s name, I now recalled.

  “I suppose it was he you intended to invite tonight, but I have come instead.” Her steady eyes watched me, as if waiting for me to send her away.

  Questions clawed their way
out of my brain. “You are not Lady Enderly?”

  Her face shuttered and she turned toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come here. It was a terrible mistake.”

  I caught her arm beneath the cloak and urged her back. “Please. Nothing is as it seems, I promise you that.” I inhaled a long breath, then lifted my mask. Her jaw went slack, the pretty little rosebud lips slightly opened, and her fingertips danced at her throat.

  I poured out the story as I knew it—the earl’s plight, the plot to fake a marriage for an inheritance. “So you see, I am not his wife. No one is, in fact.”

  She pulled back, blinking her dark lashes. “A hoax. All that for an inheritance.”

  “A tangled web we weave, you know. I don’t think they had any idea it would become this complicated.”

  “But why on earth did he not simply marry someone else? Surely some fine lady would have had him. And to find one who looks—”

  “He’s still heartbroken over you.” I said the words plainly and simply. “I don’t understand the whole mess of it, but I know that much as well as I know my own name. He pines for you.”

  She covered her mouth as a small sob slipped out. Her lashes fluttered on her pale cheek.

  “What has become of you all this time? Why did you disappear? And who are you, exactly?”

  She waved off my question. “It hardly matters. I only meant to slip in and speak with Mitchell tonight. To clear up the past.” She looked down at her cloak, running a gloved hand over its length. “I see now that I do not belong here. Perhaps it’s best I go.”

  She turned, but I stepped up beside her. “I have an idea.” I lifted a steady gaze to her. “Will you speak with him if I give you the chance to fit in?” As those words left my lips, visions danced in my head—the romantic, fanciful happily-ever-after between the broken man in the salon and the woman of worn-down elegance standing before me. “Give him one dance. Please, just one.”

  She unpinned her cloak and parted it to reveal a high-necked plain green gown with the creases of travel running down its skirt. “In this?”

  I grinned, lifting a fistful of my sparkling blue gown. “No, in this.”