Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3)

by Renee Bernard

  “You are garbage! I plucked you out of that orphanage and made you what you are! I fed and clothed you and provided a roof over your head and saw that you had more education that any of these slack-jawed apes! And for what?”

  Gasps and cries of protest ringed the ballroom, and Serena faced him undaunted. “I have learned that it was at my father’s request that you took me into your house. I am grateful for your Christian care, Lord Trent.” She lifted her chin a defiant inch. “I was not aware that the gift came at so high a price or I would have gladly starved to death.”

  “Lady Wellcott,” one of the men stepped forward to offer her his arm. “Come away. The earl has forgotten himself in his disappointment.”

  “Yes, the poor man!” she said and gave the earl a look of open pity. “I am so sorry, Lord Trent.”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing!” The earl raged, striking the man’s arm away from her to seize Serena’s upper arm in a cruel hold yanking her back against his chest. “Don’t touch her! She has fooled you all with her ridiculous charities, pious displays and the title her father secured her! She plays the lady well, doesn’t she? But she is nothing! Nothing! Do you hear me?”

  Serena closed her eyes as if in shame stumbling against him to whisper, “To see you braying to marry garbage and a whore…what would Warrick say?”

  Gasps were the last warning she had before a cursing Trent launched himself at her. Serena tried to hold him off but his hands had seized her throat in a relentless vise fueled by raw fury and loathing as he drove her to the floor, his knee pinning her down in a ruthless assault. She struggled unable to scream as her plan yielded success she had never dreamt of. A torrent of vile hateful speech ripped out across the room, his claims so outrageous, so poisoned, that no matter what elements of truth they may have held, it was all lost.

  “Bitch! Die a whore then! Die with nothing! Die and know you did not get the better of me! You did not win! I win! I always win!”

  His audience heard only a madman and reacted slowly to save poor innocent Lady Wellcott as the surreal tone of it all held them in place. The Earl of Trent was going to murder a woman in front of them because she had refused him. It was like something out of a penny dreadful but disbelief and shock froze them in a tableau for a few critical seconds until the tide turned. Only Phillip and Adam were in motion from the start—but each man fighting against distance and the crowd to reach the earl and save her.

  Her skull met with the floor and she marveled at the pain. Black sparks swam into her vision as she fought for air, unaware of the melee above her, the shouting of so many voices chiming in all at once. Women were screaming, men were yelling and the tenor of all of it was a symphony of a wolf-pack baying for the earl’s blood.

  It was chaos.

  It was perfection.

  If he killed her, he was destroyed.

  If she survived it, he was destroyed.

  She lost consciousness, the sparks yielding to an airless darkness that felt like black velvet pouring up through her skin.

  Imagine that. So strange…

  Dying happens inside of you first and then the world sees it later.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “There you are.”

  Serena opened her eyes slowly, the light from the candles making her wince but then that pain was overtaken by the agony of swallowing. She reached up to touch her bruised throat, acknowledging that no matter what she’d accomplished or expected, Serena had failed to anticipate how miserable it might be to survive.

  She looked up at the relief in Phillip’s eyes and raw adoration, a balm to her spirits. “I take it,” she whispered roughly, “Lord Trent was not pleased to be refused?”

  “Apparently no man in the history of the world has been known to have taken it worse,” Phillip said.

  “He does hate to lose.” Serena tried to sit up, then realized that she was wearing her nightgown and that they were in her bedroom. She barely recognized her own voice, it was so raspy and rough. “H-how much time? How much time did I lose?”

  “A full night and day,” he supplied. “It’s evening again, dearest. The doctor gave you medicine to help you sleep and for the pain. I thought Trent had cracked your skull open.”

  “He did not? Are you sure?” she croaked, the pain in her head so sharp she feared she would vomit.

  “Your hair combs. He drove them into your scalp. Dr. West had to give you stitches but he said the scars will be completely hidden by your lovely head of hair.”

  “Ah, the advantages of fashion.”

  Phillip rearranged the pillows, adding a few to allow her to recline, settling her in with firm but gentle hands. “Rest. Mrs. Holly is in fits to send up food, your entire staff are prowling through the house on eggshells and Pepper… She has wept until she’s made herself ill.”

  “Poor Pepper!” Serena reached up to tentatively touch her throat. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll—dress and tend to her myself.”

  Phillip smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “You are commanded to stay abed for at least another two days. The doctor was adamant and went so far as to recommend the locking of doors if you proved too difficult.”

  “I hate doctors.” It was a petulant protest and Serena winced again as her voice cracked at the effort. “The only locked door will be the one he encounters when he returns.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve relinquished command until those bruises heal,” Phillip said, sadly shaking his head. “Your throat looks… You are a terrifying sight, woman.”

  Vanity nipped at her and Serena lifted the lace collar of her gown to shield her skin from his view, glad there was no mirror handy. “Bruises heal. But what of Trent? How does it stand with the earl?”

  “You’ll hear soon enough. He’s finished.”

  “It’s over then.” She pressed her fingers to her cheeks. “I can’t believe it’s finally over.”

  “Is it?” Phillip asked. “So easily?”

  “If he is finished then that is all, Phillip.” She looked away from him, proud and independent. “Do not mistake this for some spiritual quest for healing, sir. Do not think that I took Trent down to close a mystic door on my past or to put all my torments to rest. Did I take satisfaction in it? Did a part of me rejoice if I made that man kneel crying in a puddle of his own bile?” She smiled as sweetly as a child at Christmas. “There’s no denying it!”

  “You are terrifying. You realize this, yes?”

  Serena laughed then winced at the physical toll on her throat. “What? Is honesty such a terrible virtue? I’m simply saying that I will go on. I have no false expectations, Phillip. There was no rainbow colored flash of light, no grand epiphany that will now guide me to mercy. I will still be just as I am.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  He nodded. “I see that you think yourself inviolate and unchanging but we both know there’s a touch of an illusion there. Every experience takes its toll, Raven. God, are we both not living examples of that—of the scars that betray our leisurely stroll along the battlefield?”

  “I’m not a fool, Phillip. I have absorbed every new lesson I could and incorporated them as best I could. Have I changed? Naturally. But I want to make it clear that there is no finish line in this race, no trophy or scalp I will hold aloft and proclaim victory to retire to a shaded cabana. I don’t know what happens now that Trent is destroyed, but I know that I will not be transformed into the angelic pretense of Victorian womanhood. So long as we are clear.”

  “Clear.” His expression was solemn but she couldn’t read him well enough to determine if there was disappointment in his eyes. Instead Phillip demonstrated that there was no room left for judgment between them.

  He kissed her, slowly and tenderly, carefully seeking to heal what he could and to savor her presence. “Tillman is waiting downstairs. He’s been here all day and refused to leave until he saw you.” Phillip reached out to hold her hand. “I suspect you should hear it all from him but a
lso that it may do you both some good to—talk.”

  “I’m sorry for you to meet Sir Tillman this way.”

  Phillip smiled. “Yes, well…He is a good man.”

  “Aren’t you glad that the earl didn’t kill him?”

  “I’m not ready to jest about this, Raven. All those promises to protect yourself and you deliberately did the opposite and put yourself in harm’s way. I’m so angry I can’t give it words but we’ll save that fight for the day when you are on your feet.”

  Serena crossed her arms defensively. “I only promised not to die, so pout all you want, it appears that I have yet to fail to keep my word. I who have generously forgiven you your faults, Warrick! So mind your toes if you think to—“

  He pulled her against him, trapping her crossed arms easily to prevent the slightest resistance and kissed her into quiet. It was a tender assault that settled both their nerves but also reignited the fires between them.

  “Heal, Raven.” He sighed. “Fuss later. You have Tillman to reassure and I must go below stairs and tell them that their mistress has already shown signs of—remarkable recovery.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I will…speak to Adam.”

  Phillip let her go, then brought her a wrap before withdrawing. It was clear he wasn’t completely pleased for her to entertain his rival in her bedroom in any state of undress but under the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped.

  Within minutes, a knock on the door heralded Adam’s arrival and he came in, his steps uncertain as he approached her.

  “Dear God. You…I can’t believe he nearly murdered you in front of me.”

  “I’ll confess I was also a little astonished,” she whispered. “Sir Tillman. I owe you an apology. Your warnings were—well timed. I take full responsibility for what happened.”

  Adam shook his head. “You can’t. I thought him obsessed but I didn’t anticipate the worst. A smarter man would have seen it and not left it to you to dissuade him.”

  Serena waved away the notion with one hand, elegantly dismissing it. “Please. Tell me what damage has been done. Is my reputation in tatters? I’m sure Lord Trent has been trumpeting his twisted views of my refusal all over London.”

  She held her breath. In truth, she had no fear since whatever Geoffrey said it would be deemed meaningless. Naturally, she instead expected he’d been hauled off by the authorities for the assault, but there was no guarantees that the law’s punishments would match the brutality of the Ton’s. At last, he is socially ruined—and hopefully ostracized into a lifetime of exile.

  “Lady Wellcott.” Adam shifted cautiously on his feet, a man wary of speaking. “He has said nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Serena touched her throat reflexively.

  “He was struck down by some fit after. There on the floor just as Warrick and I reached you both, he fell and began foaming at the mouth, seized by spasms the like of which I have never seen. It was chaos and by the time physicians were summoned…”

  “Is he dead?” It was all she could do to pray that the wicked hope her words held would not reach his ears.

  “No. Not dead. That mercy is yet denied him, Lady Wellcott. Uncle Geoffrey suffered a paralyzing stroke. He is rendered a prisoner in his own body. The doctors cannot say if he still possesses his faculties but I fear that he does.”

  “Is there no recovery?”

  “No. They think not.” Adam squared his shoulders. “The solicitors have begun the legal process that transfers his holdings and title. I am…the Earl of Trent.”

  There was nothing but solemn regret in his voice and Serena sympathized with a man who had never clung to ambitions of a title but who would now be forced to carry the responsibilities and burdens of one. “You will make a lovely lord, Sir Tillman. And perhaps you can teach your peers how to button their own coats?”

  She was rewarded with the ghost of a smile. “At the very least.”

  Serena smiled back at him. “It is all unexpected but I should know that by now. Life has never gone along the course I plan for it.”

  “Warrick. Loves you beyond reason, doesn’t he?” Adam asked softly.

  Serena nodded. “In the best way a man can love, yes. He does. As I love him.”

  “Then I am happy for you. For you both.” Adam cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back. “I am leaving London as soon as nurses can be hired and Oakwell Manor prepared for Uncle Geoffrey’s return. I’ll manage the estates until the legalities are finalized.”

  “You’ll take him home?” she asked. How beautifully perfect that Trent can be propped up in a corner to watch everything that he has and everything that he loves be managed and held in the hands of another, younger and worthier man!

  I lose my touch that I didn’t think to aim for it myself…

  “I’ll take him home and reside in the dowager’s cottage for my own comfort and sanity. ” Adam stepped forward to take her hand, placing a warm and gentle kiss against her palm. “Good-bye, Lady Wellcott. I do hope that when you’ve healed, that you can recall some events of the Season with fondness.”

  “We are friends, still, Sir Tillman. And trust me when I say that this Season in London is one that I will never try to forget.”

  “You are sure?” he asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

  “Oh, I am very, very sure.”

  finis

  Epilogue

  “Lady Wellcott, I cannot fathom how you can help me but an old friend assures me that you are the salvation I am seeking on my sister’s behalf.”

  Serena held up the letter she’d received from one of the Black Rose’s members referring the elegant and distraught Mrs. Cavendish to her doorstep. “I have Lady Osterley’s praise of your devotion to your family and of your character. She hints at some unforeseen tragedy that only I can avert but it falls to you, Mrs. Cavendish to fill in the details. Tea?”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  Serena smiled and once again, made the tea to suit herself aware that Mrs. Cavendish wouldn’t even taste the brew, that the woman was sitting in exactly the same chair that nearly all her petitioners chose to take, and that this play was oddly familiar and comforting.

  “My sister. My younger sister, Mary, has only been married for a year but…”

  “Go on. You could not be in a safer or more discreet place for such a conversation. Tell me the worst.”

  Mrs. Cavendish took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “She wrote to me that her husband had threatened to have her committed! She said he had been cold to her from the start and now had sworn to see her locked away as a hysteric and a madwoman!”

  “How horrible!”

  “Mary may be many things—spoiled, lively, and impulsive but she is not imbalanced, I can assure you. Even so, her claims were so shocking I could barely credit them and wondered if there could be any other explanation!”

  “But now he’s done it,” Serena supplied.

  “He’s done it! I heard nothing more from her and when I inquired to him directly, he sent a brief and horrible note explaining that Mary had gone mad and he’d been forced to put her away for treatment and for her own safety! Can you imagine such a thing?” Mrs. Cavendish’s face became mottled with red splotches of distress. “I was…I am much older and confess that I was always jealous of my baby sister and her beauty. I—haven’t always been kind. But she reached out to me in desperation and I must trust my instincts. He is her husband and has legal authority over her. He has refused to allow us to visit her! To retrieve her! And now I fear for her life… Oh, God! My poor Mary!”

  Mrs. Cavendish lost the battle to tears and Serena immediately gave her a handkerchief from her skirt pocket.

  “I’m going to pace as I speak, so do not think our session over, dear lady.” Serena stood to walk. “Was there a substantial dowry?”

  “Vast! My father left us each a generous portion although I was far too old to apply it to securing a good match. Desmond was so charming, and although I never liked him,
I was hardly in the mood to object to their marriage.”

  “He married her for the money and has no use for a wife. By putting her away rather than ending the marriage in divorce, he retains control of the fortune. If she dies in some hellish mental institution, then all the better from his perspective.”

  “He is a villain. Of that, I have no doubt, Lady Wellcott.”

  “Yes, but I will find out why he would move so aggressively and I will rescue your sister from her prison and from her marriage.” Serena laid out the terms of the Black Rose and Mrs. Cavendish accepted them without hesitation.

  Their business concluded quickly and Mrs. Cavendish left with a gleam of stern satisfaction and hope in her eyes. Serena closed the door behind her and crossed to the bell pull expecting Quinn to answer, but it was Phillip Warrick who came through the doorway from the library.

  “Well?”

  “I am going to Scotland. I have to rescue a damsel in distress.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” She crossed her arms. “What do you mean no?”

  “We are going to Scotland, my love. My dangerous and incomparable love.”

  “We. Yes. We are going to Scotland.”

  And the Black Rose goes on…