Finding Lady Enderly

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  Lady Remington’s warnings about the earl flooded my mind with the force of the ocean and swayed me on my feet. The earl’s gaze was now fixed to the floor, his face like one of the stone lions flanking the entryway. He bent and picked something up from the floor with a frown, studying it in his open palm. It looked so familiar.

  Suddenly my hand flew to my sash where Sully’s stone had been. It must have fallen before I’d dressed for dinner.

  He straightened as he jammed the rock into his pocket and looked up, pausing as his deeply intense gaze rested on me. The sight of me ignited a flame of emotion behind his face, from shock to pure horror that glowed in his eyes.

  I shifted and became aware of the moisture that had gathered along the boning of my stays, cooling my skin and making me desperate for fresh air. He was here, alone with me in this quiet hall, as the light of many candles bounced over his terrible face. I didn’t move, but I clung so hard to that railing that my nails dug into the hard wood. My pulse thudded in my ears.

  The man stared like an animal preparing to devour. His eyes narrowed, two slits of angry light flashing up at me. The weight of animosity meant for another woman bore down on me and held me in place. I forced myself to breathe and stared back. I didn’t dare speak and say the wrong thing before this man. He’d be less than charitable toward any missteps.

  Finally when I felt I’d drown in anxiety, footsteps clicked along the shiny entryway floor and Cousin Philip’s pale face appeared below. Scanning the situation as he removed his hat, he raised his eyebrows and smiled back and forth at us both. “I see I’ve interrupted the reunion.”

  The earl’s gaze jerked toward Cousin Philip, and the array of emotions continued, horror melting into confusion, then anger.

  “What a lovely moment I’ve happened upon.” He smiled. “Just lovely.”

  No one else spoke and the silence was thick with unvoiced secrets.

  Cousin Philip’s foolish grin only widened. “Time to dress for dinner, I suppose. I’ll leave you alone.” The surprisingly jovial cousin carried himself up the stairs with jaunty springs, but he slowed as he neared me and leaned near to whisper. “Yes, it was me who wrote him to come. Pardon my intrusion, but after what I witnessed in the hall the other day, I believe it healthy for a lady to be reminded, once in a great while, that she does have a husband.”

  I spun on him, shock flaring through me, but he was gone, coattails flapping as he took the steps two at a time and disappeared down the hall at the top.

  Husband. Husband. I glanced back at the raw anger on the beastly face below, trying to wrap that word around the man I saw.

  17

  Even when you have everything you want, there will be days you wish desperately for what you once cast aside.

  ~Diary of a Substitute Countess

  He must know. That notion rang through my head as the earl fixed his steely gaze on me from across the table over his trout. Distant relations and strangers could be fooled, but surely a man knew the details of his wife’s face enough to realize I wasn’t her. With each forkful lifted to his mouth, his sharp glare stayed on me. I was grateful for the great length of that table separating us, but I knew it would not be between us forever.

  Anxiousness buzzed inside me that contrasted with the smooth movements of my arms as I cut my food with fork and knife and took a bite. Outwardly, at least, I maintained control. What did an earl and his wife discuss over dinner?

  I cleared my throat and sipped my drink. “I hope your travels were uneventful.” Should I call him earl? My lord? If only Prendergast had not disappeared.

  He slowed his chewing and stared at me harder but said nothing. The insufferable Cousin Philip sat between us, looking from one to the other with a smile as if seated in a theater for a performance.

  I tried again. “Everything has been well at Rothburne in your absence. I hope you are pleased with the changes I’ve made.”

  The earl narrowed his gaze at me. “All but one.”

  I shrank back into my seat. Was he talking about my presence here? He must know the truth, yet he wouldn’t say anything before the servants. For once, a person’s deep concern for appearances was in my favor.

  I breathed deeply and mentally repeated the words that described the countess. Poised. Elegant. Controlled. Graceful. If ever I needed to believe I was those things, it was now.

  And then there was Sully, standing at my elbow, holding out a tray with creamer and sugar. Eager for the sweetness, I dumped several spoonfuls of sugar into my tea and stirred rapidly. “Thank you.”

  I swallowed the tea and my mouth was seized with the briny taste. I spit it into the cup and coughed, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. “Heavens, there is salt in my tea.” I coughed again and sat upright, my neck warming.

  Sully gave a solemn bow and bent to blot at the table surface that had received a splash of my rejected tea. “My humble apologies, my lady, but someone must have mistaken the salt for sugar. They do look exactly alike.”

  “They are quite different.”

  He moved back and caught my gaze with a meaningful look. “I’ll be sure to fetch the sugar.” He disappeared through the service door, and I exhaled, rubbing my throbbing temples.

  “Lady Enderly, you seem piqued today.” Cousin Philip was the only one at the table eating with abandon. “There’s nothing troubling you, I hope.”

  “Of course not.” I forced a trembling smile, my gaze going to each of the diners separated by the table.

  The earl grumbled at the other end. “There very well ought to be.”

  I coughed. Moments passed, marked by the thunk of the clock. The tension pressurized to an unbearable level until I rose, napkin falling to the floor. “I’ll leave you to talk to Mr. Scatchard. I’m sure there is plenty about the estate you have to discuss, and I’ll merely be in the way.”

  “Nonsense, my lady.” Cousin Philip grinned at me, his eyes sparkling in the soft light of the chandelier. It was the silly grin of a man in his cups. “I insist you stay so we may enjoy your company. No estate matters are as urgent as renewing one’s connection with one’s wife. I’m sure the earl agrees.”

  The man in question glowered at the both of us and stabbed another piece of meat.

  Sully slipped back into the room and poured me another cup of tea, spooning generous amounts of what I hoped was sugar into my cup.

  Cousin Philip began again. “I insist you not allow my presence to hurry you out, my lady. You must remain and enjoy the rare company of the earl.”

  I sighed. “Perhaps I can tarry with you for a moment in the parlor before you adjourn to the smoking room.”

  “I won’t hear of it. McKenna, where’s that superb fiddle of yours? I’ve a taste for some music this evening to settle my food.”

  “Of course, sir.” Sully bowed and backed out of the room.

  My stomach clenched. Everything would be fine—I merely had to close my ears to the music. As we waited for him to fetch his instrument, my heart hammered with dread. I could manage, as long as there were no words. Please, God. Let there be no words. Moisture clung to every surface of my skin, chilling me as I sat at the ancient table.

  When Sully strode back into the room, I concentrated on my fingernails in my lap. A hush fell over us as eating paused and attention moved to the man fitting his beloved instrument under his jaw. I could hear my own breath.

  Then a familiar melody rolled over my senses like a great tidal wave, my mind filling in the words even though he did not sing them, and I was powerless to escape them.

  “I know the shape of her, no matter how long we’re apart.

  The curve of her cheek and the swell of her heart;

  The height of her adventures, and the breadth of her art.

  Looking at her smiling eyes, those sweet crescents of joy,

  I know that this girl, this lovely pearl,

  This bold and daring upstart

  has changed the shape of my heart.”


  The unsung words hovered about my mind in aching clarity, made fresh by everything that had occurred since he’d written it. Ten years ago he’d first sung it to me on a snowy day in February when he’d rescued me from one of my many adventures. What had I even done to find trouble that time? Who could remember. The strongest memory I had of that day was Sully carrying me, wet and trembling, up to my flat where he lit a blazing fire and set me on the worn rug before it.

  In that quiet moment of deep and wide friendship, I’d confessed to him my supreme unhappiness, that I felt buried beneath my many layers of rags. I hadn’t explained the deeper meaning of my statement, but he’d understood. He pulled out his fiddle where it had hung across his body by a frayed rope and wrote that song for me in the moment. I know the shape of her.

  I had used the words of that song as practice when I learned to write, and I’d kept the page pinned to the cracked mirror in my flat. I knew those words like I knew my own face. He’d meant the song as a lively melody of lighthearted fun to lift my mood and make me laugh, and they had succeeded on that blustery winter day.

  But this time there was nothing lighthearted about the way he played it.

  Now the song hit me with the full force of the love behind it. He’d always seen beyond the surface of my words, just like the day he’d written this song, yet for years I’d missed the depth of his. Had he loved me even then? When I lifted my gaze, his eyes met mine briefly with a look that only emphasized the unsung words and their true meaning. I see the real you. And I love what I see.

  With a slow exhale, I looked away and remembered that Connemara stone now languishing in the earl’s pocket, the meaning behind it overwhelming me yet again. How would I ever be able to see this ruse through with Sully hovering near? I had to do this—for so many reasons, I had to. Victor’s cunning face came to mind, making me shiver. If only Sully’s life did not depend on such a man—or on me. Father God, protect me. Help me.

  Again, my conscience smarted at the idea of approaching God.

  “Ah, look at the hour. I have correspondence to attend to yet, so I will excuse myself from dessert and allow the reunited couple to reacquaint themselves in private.”

  I grabbed the arms of my chair. “Perhaps I should—”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it, Countess.” Philip watched me with glowing eyes. “Cook has prepared a lemon tart especially for you. I mentioned it was your favorite, and she’s spent the afternoon preparing it. I’d hate to see her disappointed.”

  The doors opened as if on cue, and a delectable tart dusted with powdered sugar entered the room. I sank back into my seat. My mouth watered at the mere thought of the zesty treat, but my stomach was far too unsettled to receive something so rich. Looking at Cook’s bright eyes glowing in the candlelight as she brought it to me herself, I knew I’d have to attempt a few bites and pray it remained where I put it.

  “Your ladyship, in honor of your gracious visit here, and the earl’s return.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  She scurried back through the service door, and before anyone could speak further, that rat of a cousin sprang up and was gone, closing the earl and myself into this dimly lit chamber alone together like a tomb being sealed. Moments ticked by on the mantel clock. The silence seemed tangible. I cringed as another door banged somewhere in the house, the sound echoing through the vastness.

  The presence of servants kept us from speaking freely, but even if we could, what would I say? I cut a dainty portion of the tart with my fork and set it against my lips.

  “Where is Prendergast?” He growled the question like a bear hovering across the dining hall.

  “I believe he was called away for the day. He’ll return presently.” I lifted apologetic eyes to him.

  He glared back with unrelenting anger. Finally, he stood, shoving his chair back and tossing down his napkin as he towered over his untouched dessert. “I never liked lemon tart.”

  He left the room, and I began to breathe again.

  It was not until much later that night, while I sat curled into a rose-colored armchair in my bedchamber with a book, that I heard footsteps and remembered one very important fact—the earl’s suite adjoined my own. I slammed shut the novel on which I could not focus and curled my knees to my chest as his distinctive boot clomps grew louder with his approach. I drew the blanket up to my chin over my nightdress and prayed. I held my breath. My knees trembled against each other, rocking my body in the little seat.

  His footsteps thumped into his room and boots were kicked off, thudding against solid wood somewhere. I shivered underneath my blanket. I could hear him grumbling like a bear on the other side of the wall, then the quick pops of different footsteps sounded in the hall and stepped into the earl’s chamber.

  “So sorry for the delay.” It was Victor Prendergast. “If you’d only sent word you were coming, I—”

  “What, would’ve hidden her before I arrived?”

  I cringed at the sound of his voice, even through the wall.

  “I would have been here to greet you.” His tone was indefatigably buoyant. “How was your journey? I know how you loathe train travel.”

  “Enough with this nonsense. What are you doing?”

  Prendergast’s voice lowered. “I told you I’d handle it, didn’t I?”

  “This? This is how you’re handling it?”

  “You know the alternative.”

  “I blame you for this entirely. All of it.”

  “I suppose you also blame me for you sitting here in your fine house, carrying on your important life, instead of paying for your misdeeds. Perhaps you’d prefer I remedy that?”

  A low growl was his only answer.

  “So we have a guest for a time. How bad is that, truly?”

  “I don’t want some stranger having access to everything here, my bank papers, my deeds and titles, all my personal correspondences . . .”

  “Relax. This is no educated woman I’ve brought us. She’s a rag rat from the East End. The girl can’t even read.”

  I lifted one eyebrow and glanced down at the novel in my lap, my thumb holding my place.

  “If it’ll help you sleep at night, we’ll go now to the study and lock up anything you would not wish her to see. Come, I’ll tell you the whole of it in the study, and you can commend my brilliance.”

  Another grumble from the earl and the two departed his room, closing the door behind them. I waited long minutes, listening to the fire crack in my hearth, before casting aside my blanket and crossing the room to my desk and drawing out the countess’s stationery. The earl was a villain in the countess’s story, along with his more villainous but charming solicitor, but how? What was the rest of the tale?

  Dipping the pen into the ink, I breathed deeply and imagined what the countess might write about him. He had done me some wrong, of that I was certain, but what? Angry, controlling, and taciturn, the man had earned my fear and my distance. I felt in danger whenever he was near and knew not what he was capable of doing. I feared he might be after my money—did I have money before marrying him?—or at least anxious for my demise. I filled a page with random thoughts that brought me no clarity and increased my anxiousness.

  I lay awake for many hours that night, startling at every boot clomp, every shuffle in the hall. Worry haunted me, swirling about my tired brain and keeping me from sleep. When he finally did return, I listened to the noises in his suite, picturing where he was in the room, how close he was to the door between our suites. Then when the noises ceased and the light under the door dimmed, I relaxed back onto my pillow and slept.

  When I stirred from a deep slumber the next morning, cracking one tired eyelid open, the hazy figure of the earl was in the doorway between our rooms, staring at me with a look of torture contorting his face. I forced aside the remaining traces of sleep and sat straight up, but he vanished in an instant, leaving me huddled in the covers, wondering if I’d imagined him.

  I remained there until I felt c
hilled by the fresh morning air that seeped through the back of my nightdress. I rose and tiptoed to the door, leaning my ear against it, but the silence beyond signaled a vacant room. With a sigh I returned to my chamber and pulled the little bell that would summon Simone.

  I straightened on the little stool, imagining the stays were already bracing my spine as she entered. “I’m ready to dress, Simone. Has the earl risen already?”

  Her dark eyes bore into my reflection in the mirror as she unplaited my hair and smoothed a brush through it. “You are eager to see more of him, no? I’ve heard it has been weeks since you’ve been together. Months, perhaps.”

  I had been at the abbey for weeks now, so the true couple had been separated at least that long, but when had she actually disappeared? I couldn’t help but wonder if theirs had been an arranged marriage, for I could not imagine any woman welcoming the advances of such a bear-man.

  “He is in the study, my lady, going over the accounts.”

  When my long curls lay in smoothed waves down my back, Simone moved toward my dressing room to select a gown, and I stood to retrieve the tea she’d brought. How quickly I’d grown accustomed to warming my insides both day and night with it. When I’d lifted the cup to my lips, Simone called from the opened wardrobe. “I’ve also brought the book you had requested. It’s there beside the tea.”

  I frowned. When had I requested a book? It was Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd. Lifting the volume, I saw a slip of paper marking a page, and I knew immediately who had told her I’d requested it. As soon as Simone had dressed me and taken her leave, I turned to the marked section. “When a strong woman recklessly throws away her strength, she is worse than a weak woman who has never had any strength to throw away.”