Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3)

by Renee Bernard

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Naturally. But the Tree is flattered all the same.” Adam yawned.

  “She is not interested in you, not even vaguely interested.”

  Adam said nothing, but continued to look at Lord Trent as one would a babbling infant.

  “Damn it,” Geoffrey continued, over enunciating each word as his fury increased. “She told me in plain speech that you are not in the running!”

  Adam smiled. “How convenient and yet you stable me all the same. Don’t overwork yourself, dear uncle. Next time you bid me to go out to call on friends, I will go without a backward glance. I am frankly happy to allow you to sabotage yourself with these childish ploys. I think it is sweet the way you strive to win her. Though if you need to remove every man who is younger or taller than you are from her sight, you are in for an uphill battle. London’s population is going to prove a challenge.”

  “Watch your words, boy!”

  Adam sighed. “I apologize. In my defense, you asked.”

  “You think I see you as a rival? You are my match in nothing! I shall haul you along and tie you to my hip for the rest of the season and you will regret your challenge, stupid whelp! You look like a pie vendor standing next to me, Adam. You’re oblivious to the snickering laughter and rude comments made behind your back, but I am not. I hear all of it and the talk is that the comedy of seeing you ‘play earl’ is much anticipated. But you think by inserting yourself into her presence with me as a foil that you won’t look even more ridiculous? You’re a fool!” Geoffrey’s grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles shown white. “But let’s have it unfold, shall we? And slowly. Why rush humiliation, Adam, when it will be all the more rich when I dish it to you in teaspoons!”

  “As you wish.” Adam stood slowly and made his way from the room. “Good night then, Uncle Geoffrey. And, before I forget,” he hesitated in the doorway for just a moment. “Thank you for sparing me from hours of boredom.”

  Adam closed the door just as Trent’s crystal glass shattered into a thousand pieces against it. It was a dangerous move but he’d decided to take Sir Phillip Warrick’s advice to heart.

  But he would do it by keeping the wolverine on a leash and close at hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The morning was grey and damp but the gloom never touched Serena’s buoyant mood. She had received noted from two different sources reconfirming that Lord Trent and his nephew were at odds. Or more accurately, that the earl was in a public sulk and at odds with himself. Descriptions of Adam Tillman conveyed that he was congenial and civil despite the erratic temper of Lord Trent. “This bit about my fortunes being a fiction is my favorite part.”

  “God, the man is daft! Where in the world is he getting that foolishness?” Pepper asked as she finished arranging Serena’s hair.

  “What does it matter? I am poor, am I?” Serena said with a smile. “How crafty of me to disguise it so brilliantly!”

  Pepper rolled her eyes. “Three houses, that stone keep in the north and vaults of money you don’t have years enough on this earth to spend. Oh, you’re disguising it so well I think I should give you alms, poor thing!”

  “Come, Pepper. Madame Montellier sent word that my newest ballgown is ready. I wish to pick it up personally this morning and then see if we cannot get you a new dress or two.”

  Pepper shook her head. “You’re too generous! I am happy to go with you without the promise of a dress. A few yards of cloth or even a cast off or two from any closet within your reach, and I’d still be the best dressed maid in all of London!”

  “Indulge me.”

  “I am not in need of a new gown, Lady Wellcott.” Pepper tried to dig in her heels. “I’ve no room in my trunk for another.”

  “Then give your old ones away to Molly. She adores a new dress. Come.” Serena stood from the dressing table and sailed out without looking back, completely confident in Pepper’s obedience, even if it were reluctantly given in her current mood. “I’ll tell Quinn we need the carriage.”

  Within the half hour, they’d arrived at the dressmaker’s and Pepper accompanied her to the fitting room. Pauline brought the ball gown for inspection and Serena sighed with delight, reverently lifting the detailed sleeve to admire the work. “It is a dream and so…fitting. What do you think, Pepper?”

  “I think it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Please box it for transport home, Madame Montellier. And here,” she held out a folded note. “Some news for your most talkative clients to accidentally overhear.”

  Madame Montellier nodded with a knowing smile. “The best rumors are the stories one isn’t meant to know.”

  “I rely on you, Pauline.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “If you would allow us some privacy, please.”

  Pauline nodded and held out the key with its black satin ribbon. “Of course, your ladyship.”

  Once they were alone, Pepper held aside the curtain covering the hidden door and then slipped inside after her to the parlor. As Serena lit the lamp, Pepper made a quick assessment of the room’s state. “I shall bring dried flowers to freshen the air a bit.”

  “It is not meant for elegance.”

  Pepper wrinkled her nose. “I should say not.”

  Serena paid her complaints very little attention. Pepper’s opinion of the state of the Black Rose’s secret parlor was not new to Serena’s hearing. She pulled the heavy brocade back and the twins quickly stepped inside.

  “Morning, your ladyship,” Jasper said then both men looked at Pepper. “Good morning, Miss Prudence,” they intoned in unison.

  Pepper blushed. “Good morning.”

  “It’s a…bit of sunshine on such a day to see you, Pepper.” Jack bit his lower lip. “Is that a new frock?”

  Jasper’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be daft. It isn’t new, is it? She wore it last week but with the yellow wrap, yes?”

  Pepper’s blush deepened in color. “I wonder that you’d remember it.”

  Jack was not going to be out done. “Of course, she did. And the bonnet with the blue ribbons. We enjoy the sight of you, Pepper.”

  “We do.” Jasper nodded. “We do, indeed.”

  Serena cleared her throat, subtly reminding them that she was yet in the room. “Pepper, if you don’t mind, why don’t you go back into the fitting room, ring for Madame Montellier and choose two day dresses for yourself? If the twins can recall every dress you own, then I believe I’ve won our earlier argument. I’ll be out to join you in just a few minutes.”

  “Yes. As you wish,” Pepper said, retreating after rewarding each of the men with a quick shy smile.

  Once the door was closed behind her, Serena watched in amusement as the men did their best to recover their wits.

  “Sorry, your ladyship. We…” Jack began.

  “…forgot our manners.” Jasper finished. “You look very nice, as well.”

  “Dear God,” Serena sighed. “No fear, gentlemen. My vanity is intact and unfazed. I did mean to thank you for coming on such short notice and alert you to a shift in our timeline. We have days, not weeks and I need you to do something for me.”

  They looked at her, loyalty and obedience glowing in their eyes. “You have but to say it, your ladyship.”

  She invited them to sit at the table and Serena carefully and calmly outlined her plans.

  “In the event of my death, here is what you will do…”

  Later that afternoon, Serena made a round of social calls in a deliberate show of normalcy. She deflected questions regarding Trent, instead turning conversations back toward a friend’s search for a lady’s maid, upcoming balls or the matchmaking prospects of the newest batch of debutantes. Today, she was Lady Serena Wellcott, respectably shocked at any hint of gossip, the sweetest version of a woman averse to all conflict and vice.

  It was in Lady Hodge-Clarence’s sitting room she faced the last hurdle.

  “I must say, L
ady Wellcott, it is hard not to speculate on the Earl of Trent’s intentions toward you. He appears so often in your company!”

  Serena smiled, but shook her head. “He is in London to introduce his nephew to his peers. His intentions are fairly harmless, I think. He has asked repeatedly if I will act as an aide to him by offering an opinion on the eligibility of the various women seeking Sir Tillman’s attention. As a friend, he is aware of my connections in Town and knowledge of the best families.”

  Ursula nodded. “I see. So it is merely as an advisor that he seeks you out?”

  “Just so.” Serena refolded her hands in her lap. “Naturally, I am happy to offer what help I can but…”

  “You have reservations?”

  “At the end of it all, I am perhaps too soft-hearted for the task. For even when I know a young lady may not be entirely suited, it is too crushing to say something unkind and I hesitate to do so!” Serena sighed. “I should defer to a stronger soul like yourself, Lady Hodge-Clarence. The earl would be better served, and Sir Tillman as well.”

  “Oh, I am flattered to hear you say it!” Ursula puffed up immediately. “You are wise beyond your years to recognize your limitations. Youth makes a cautious sage. He is foolish to have placed that burden on your shoulders and then expose you to ridiculous gossip as a result.”

  “Then I am glad you braved the topic, your ladyship. I will direct Lord Trent to seek a more experienced hand and I shall be more mindful of appearances.” Serena made a subtle glance at the mantle clock to gage the time. A proper social call was a brief thing, choreographed and balanced. “He is so much older than I am, Ursula, that it never occurred to me that anyone would think…well, the unthinkable. But after Mrs. Foxwood uttered—“ Serena pressed her gloved fingertips against her lips, standing. “I am determined to rise above it, Lady Hodge-Clarence, and I will ignore all vile hints to the contrary until the danger has passed.”

  Ursula stood as well, the cold flint in her eyes flashing with approval. “It is your only option.”

  “Thank you, Lady Hodge-Clarence. It was such a pleasure to see you today. Do give Mrs. Foxwood my best regards.”

  “I shall. Good-bye, Lady Wellcott.”

  Serena sailed out, satisfied at the outcome. Directing or fueling gossip of any kind was more of an art than a science. She’d long waged a campaign of misdirection when it came to herself, cautiously bolstering the stories that worked to her advantage and enlisting members of the Black Rose to squash any tales that didn’t.

  But with her current mission, it was critical to keep opinion divided. There must be enough speculation to encourage Trent to believe in his growing chances with her but also a solid camp of those who would surround and support her innocence when the critical moment came.

  On the carriage ride home, it was Phillip who dominated her thoughts.

  She’d expected to miss him but the sensation had grown into a raw, gnawing ache that ate away at her equilibrium. Nearly two weeks without him and she was miserable beyond words.

  Ridiculous. It is temporary and fleeting, this separation, and moaning after him like a child accomplishes nothing!

  The rigors of self-discipline proved useless. It was as if once reconciled to Phillip, her soul had finally slipped its bounds, stubbornly setting onto happiness and ignoring her bid to carry on without him. Ruthless denial yielded no relief. Love bared its teeth and Serena marveled that anyone didn’t crumble at this force.

  Finally, the carriage stopped at her town home and Serena climbed down with her footman’s assistance. As she crossed the threshold, she was all business. “Quinn, I am in for the rest of the day and accepting no callers.”

  “A letter came for you, your ladyship. I mention it only because Miss Prudence indicated that you would wish to be instantly alerted to the fact.” Quinn held out the small silver tray with the day’s correspondence, the letter on top of the small pile seizing her attention.

  “Yes. Quite right.” Serena took only the letter, leaving the rest, and retreated without a word to her upstairs study and sitting room. She closed the door behind her and then opened the sealed message from Delilah Osborne, the newest member of the Black Rose.

  Dear Lady Wellcott, I wished to send you word before the formal notice is put into the papers and the obituary is composed. I have received word from America that James unexpectedly died on the voyage from a terrible infection and fever. He was buried at sea. I have made a vague claim that Southgate holds too many painful memories and have made plans to mourn privately, though unconventionally, by taking a journey to the Continent where my health and the health of my child may fare better. Dell and I are away by month’s end. I shall send word upon our return and hope this note finds you happy.

  Yours in Eternal Gratitude,

  Delilah Osborne

  Serena read the note through three times before she put it down on her desk. She admired Delilah’s restraint and phrasing, aware that if the letter had fallen into the wrong hands, there was no hint of the Black Rose’s hand in it or their conspiracy to protect the future heir to Southgate.

  James was dead.

  Serena waited in the quiet. She waited for remorse, or regret; curious to see if anything would emerge beyond the sleek satisfaction of knowing that the world had shed itself of one more useless predator. She waited for any hint of guilt at her part in James’ demise and encountered—nothing.

  And then the wave hit.

  Her hands trembled, the paper in her hands crumpling into a twisted mass with the force of it. For what did it mean when she could feel nothing? Usually with triumph came joy—dark insidiously seductive joy at her accomplishments. It was as addictive as any opiate and the fuel she had survived on for nearly seven years.

  I should feel something! Glee? Satisfaction? Amusement? Fear? Grief? Repugnance?

  But there was nothing. It was a black void at her feet that threatened her in infinite ways she had never anticipated.

  James Osborne, the rapist, was dead from the poison of his injured and rotting genitals and she alone had engineered the possibility. If it wasn’t murder, it was an angel’s sigh from it.

  And she felt nothing.

  Oh, God. Have I crossed some irrevocable line? Lost my humanity and—

  Serena lifted her head, annoyed at a foreign sound that interrupted her struggles. A strange keening sound that cut through her terror until she realized that she, herself, was the source of it.

  She was on her feet, panic’s grip icy and cruel against her throat.

  Serena battled to hold her own, to simply rein in the alien fear and numb horror of at once being out of control and the humiliation of powerless emotion.

  Lost.

  I am lost, at last.

  But then, impossibly, Phillip was there. His arms around her, the warmth of his body, the strength of his hold pressing her to the wall of his chest, to the rhythm of his heart and he was raining kisses on her tear-streaked face. Long minutes passed as he lifted her into his arms, carried her to the sofa and simply held her until the storm began to pass. “There, there, my dearest. Don’t cry.”

  “I am not…crying…am I?” Serena whispered, the world tilting to encompass Phillip Warrick and nothing else. “I never cry.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” he said softly and kissed her forehead. “How foolish of me.”

  Her arms reached up to caress his back, drinking in the tender touch of his lips to her skin. “How did you know to come? How is this possible?”

  “Delilah sent me word of James’ passing and I came on impulse as soon as I read her note. She said she’d sent you the same news and I feared for you.”

  “Why?” She looked up at him, eagerly inventorying his face, immediately strengthened by the familiarity of every line, by the color of his eyes, by the support she read there. “Why when I neglected to fear for myself?”

  He shook his head. “You never fear for yourself, Raven.”

  “I am a monster, at last. James. I
…” Her fingers tightened their hold on him. “I am not sorry. Do you hear me? I am not sorry in the least.”

  “You mustn’t punish yourself this way. Did you truly hope to shed a tear over that animal?” Phillip asked. “Hell, I’m hard pressed to think of a person who might so much as blow their nose when the announcement is made.”

  “No. Not tears but—usually there is…something. But when I read the note and there was nothing,” Serena’s voice broke as her throat threatened to close up again before she managed to go on. “It surprised me.”

  “You are allowed to be in shock. Anticipating someone’s fall is different than the reality.” Phillip stroked her hair, tenderly drawing his fingers down the side of her bare neck. “You’ve never had a man drop dead in your wake, dearest. It’s bound to be a shock.”

  She smiled, the first solid sign that she was fully recovering her wits. “You think him the first? How sweet of you, Sir Warrick.”

  “Shh! If there’s a platoon of bodies under the hedges in your garden now is not the time to discuss them.” He smiled as he lowered his mouth to hers. “I love you, Raven.”

  “Even now?”

  “Even now. Stop talking.” He kissed her but then strayed from her mouth, trailing soft teasing fire along the line of her jaw, upward to the curve of her ear. He playfully sampled her earlobe sending shivers down her spine. The fichu he dispensed with easily, loathing any bit of frippery that kept her flesh from his easy touch.

  “Oh! How is it possible that you…can do that so easily?” she sighed.

  He lifted his head. “Do what?”

  In answer, she rewarded him with the last thing he ever expected. The lady blushed, a delicate pink crept up her cheeks and Phillip was rocked at the sight.

  “Is the lady aroused?” he asked softly.

  “The lady is—most assuredly aroused.”