Lady Rises (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 2)

by Renee Bernard

  “Mr. Hill!” Serena gasped, conveying every inch the prim and proper Victorian lady. “Such vile language betrays your true nature!” She readjusted her black kid gloves. “I’ve done nothing to encourage your ruin. I was merely in a position to witness it. Now,” she held up her hand and with a slight wave signaled the twins to flank a sputtering and terrified Basil Hill, “I’m assisting you by providing an avenue for you to clear aside this Season’s debts quietly and honorably.”

  “Honorably? By calling every marker I had and threatening my life if I don’t comply?”

  “What threat? Death is inevitable, sir. Your life was already fairly worthless from where I’m standing. You’re a weak-willed excuse of a man, grinding away all that Providence had given you and gaily making a party of your failures.” She moved toward him, her voice dropping to a sensual growl. “Go ahead, Mr. Hill. Default on our deal. Do this world the favor and remove yourself from the skin of this earth and shuttle off to the card game in Hell that awaits you. And don’t worry. I sent the Devil a note with my regards and he’s more than happy to save you a seat at his table.”

  She leaned forward ever so slowly only to spit in his face; abruptly stepping back so that the twins could restrain him from striking out at her.

  “By dinner, gentlemen,” she said over her shoulder, exiting with an elegant turn of her bustled skirts and sailing out of the room to the sound of Mr. Hill breaking down into braying sobs while her henchmen silently stood by.

  She stepped from the exclusive gambling house into the damp night air and then down the steps to her waiting carriage without breaking her stride. The ride through London’s streets gave her time to close her eyes and replay the scene with Hill until she was confident that no detail had been omitted.

  By the time she arrived at her sumptuous London home, the fleeting rush of triumph had quieted to remind her that until the title to the Bath property was in hand, she should remain alert and prepared for anything.

  “Good evening, your ladyship,” her butler greeted her as he took her fur trimmed cloak and hat. “Are you in for the evening, madam?”

  “I am in, Mr. Quinn. I’ll have a note to go out and then lock the house.” Serena retreated up the stairs as the clocks in the house struck three in the morning, not sparing a single glance to the luxury around her. Her steps were quiet on the carpeted floors and by the time she reached the sanctuary of her rooms on the first floor, Serena felt the first pangs of exhaustion.

  It had been a good night’s work but it had come after weeks of intense planning.

  “You look done in,” Pepper commented as she met her inside the bedroom doorway. “Shall I run a bath to help you sleep?”

  “I’ll forgo it.”

  “And forgo any rest, I’ll warrant,” Pepper groused softly.

  “I don’t need a nanny! I’ll sleep like the dead, now stop fussing.” Serena’s imperious tone was meaningless to her ladies maid. For seven years, Miss Pepper Collins had been her closest companion and sole confidant. She had no closer ally in the world than the little country beauty and Serena was grateful for her care.

  Serena crossed to her desk and sat down to draft one quick message.

  “It is accomplished.”

  The note was sealed with a dollop of black wax and Serena pressed the brass circle with an engraved rose into the soft surface to make the mark of the Black Rose Society.

  “Here, take this to Quinn and tell him to make sure that it cannot be traced back to this house.” She held up the sealed note for Pepper to take downstairs. “And then come back up and draw my bath.”

  Pepper smiled sweetly at the rare victory and curtsied before leaving to tend to her errand.

  “It is accomplished,” she repeated to the empty room, attempting to recall the fleeting joy she’d felt when Hills had wept.

  But joy eluded her.

  Mrs. Hill’s family holdings and lands were now secured from her wastrel of a husband’s grasp. No drunken impulse or lure of the cards would ever again threaten her future or that of her two daughters.

  And the Black Rose would have a new member in Mrs. Hill and access to a lovely home in Bath or to any of the resources Mrs. Hill held on their behalf. It was the price of her services that any recipient would yield without question or hesitation to any future requests she made or from anyone bearing her signet ring.

  Lady Serena Wellcott had founded the Black Rose Reading Society five years before with a clear understanding that a literary club would be overlooked by most of her peers and would provide a benign excuse for women to gather without scrutiny. For the Black Rose had nothing to do with literature and the discussion of books—and everything to do with revenge.

  And power.

  In the world as she knew it, women held almost no power. Legally one step above livestock, they held almost no sway beyond the domestic sphere and even there, Serena believed that their control over their own fates was an illusion.

  A woman’s intellect, wit, and sexuality were the obvious tools of the game. Pepper returned and within moments had divested Serena of the layers of expensive silk and confining undergarments that she wore like armor. It was impossible not to sigh at the sweet relief of being able to take a deep breath unencumbered and to slide into her silk wrap.

  “Did he cry?” the maid asked.

  She nodded, smiling. “Like a toddler.”

  “Brilliant,” Pepper sighed.

  “You are an easy woman to please, Miss Prudence. You realize this?” Serena teased as she retied her dressing gown. “But then, aren’t we all?”

  Pepper’s nose wrinkled at the use of her proper Christian name. “I’ll get your bath drawn. Wait here and try not to work.” Pepper left her at the vanity to brush her hair out and Serena disregarded the jibe.

  Vengeance is an unforgiving mistress—and cares nothing for the clock.

  Even so, she didn’t want to give Pepper the satisfaction of demonstrating her inability to avoid the pile of petitions and letters calling to her from her desk, so she deliberately picked up the brush and tended to her curls.

  Something in her reflection stopped her hand mid-stroke and Serena leaned closer to study the woman peering back at her in the glass.

  There.

  There’s that wicked creature.

  She smiled and the beauty in the mirror smiled unabashedly back. Her hair fell in long black curls that a gypsy would have envied and framed aristocratic features spoiled by pale blue eyes that appeared almost silver-grey. Lush porcelain lines and firm curves highlighted the powers of a woman in her prime at a mere twenty-four years of age and she well knew the nuances of every flutter of an eyelash or tilt of a chin to wield those powers to her advantage.

  She deliberately slid back the silk of one sleeve to bare one shoulder and her breath caught in her throat.

  There.

  For she didn’t see Lady Serena Wellcott, an independent woman of wealth enjoying her life amidst the glittering world of the Ton and London’s elite while she pursued only the most proper entertainments and dabbled in a social cause here and there when it suited her.

  She saw Raven Wells, bastard born and as wild as the fens. A child that had known nothing but betrayal and the twists of cruel games until she’d learned the truth of it at seventeen years of age to become the mistress of her own games.

  Revenge wasn’t something a woman pursued on a lark or in a fleeting snit.

  Raven had been taught by the best what it meant to be used and abandoned, her emotions regarded as meaningless and her worth measured only by how clever a pawn she could be.

  “All ready for you,” Pepper’s announcement interrupted her thoughts.

  “Yes. I’m ready, too.”

  Chapter Two

  Serena made another, more thorough study of the young woman sitting across from her. In the guise of a social call, Mrs. Delilah Osborne sat nervously gathering her wits to make her case.

  “Go on.” Lady Wellcott signaled Pepper to
leave the teacart and began to serve them both from the painted porcelain set without bothering to ask the woman’s preferences. Serena had sat through enough of these meetings to know that Mrs. Osborne would graciously accept whatever was handed to her and then forget to take a single sip.

  “Mrs. Standish referred me…I meant to say, there was a conversation about how d-difficult it was to keep a good maid in service these days and…” Mrs. Osborne cleared her throat, a miserable picture in her modestly sturdy visiting dress and tastefully unattractive bonnet. “She was a longtime friend of my mother’s or I would never have accidentally confided in her. But she was very firm in her advice and insisted that I should call on you. She said that you would have a ready solution.”

  Serena held out the obligatory cup of tea with milk and sugar and smiled as the young woman took it without question. “Mrs. Standish is very clever and well-informed. But I cannot speak of the possibility of solutions until I know the problem.” She collected her own cup with the grace of a geisha. “Pretend that I am a longtime friend, Mrs. Osborne, and confide in me.”

  “Of course,” she nodded her head, her cheeks flushing a flattering shade of pink. “It’s just such a sordid horrible business…”

  Serena smiled. “Naturally. If it were a simple matter, then a good woman such as yourself would see to it directly and have no need of someone like me.”

  “Someone like you,” her guest echoed softly, a wariness coming into her countenance.

  Good. She’s paying attention.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking, Mrs. Osborne.”

  “I’m thinking that I am in over my head and quite without options. This all seems a bit strange but as I look at you, I wonder if Mrs. Standish hasn’t made a mistake. You are so much younger than I expected. You seem very kind but I don’t see how there is anything you can do to help me with...the situation. And,” she let out an unsteady sigh as she set down her untouched tea. “I’ve abused the time allotted for a social call and should be making an awkward exit instead of sitting here stammering on your sofa.”

  “Nonsense!” Serena set down her own cup hard enough to rattle the china against the marble surface of the cart. “I hate the rules about allotted times and a person’s ability to come and go as they please! Five minutes is hardly time to get your skirts arranged and begin any proper conversation and then off people go in a tangle of wraps and bonnets spitting out niceties and meaningless platitudes about hospitality. A waste of an afternoon, if you ask me!”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Osborne’s surprise was charming.

  “But you didn’t come here to waste my time or your own, Mrs. Osborne. Did you? Mrs. Standish said nothing beyond a note with your name to confirm that she spoke to you. But you’ve come because you have a dreadful problem that,” Serena paused only long enough to re-evaluate her guest and apply her uncanny talent for observation, “by the look of it is robbing you of sleep and your health. And if it’s to do with your current lady’s maid, then I already have my suspicions. For you are impeccably put together so her skills aren’t in question, even if I must urge you to choose richer colors for I swear those pastels make you look positively ill, Mrs. Osborne.”

  Mrs. Osborne blushed. “I…like pastels.”

  “They do not return your affections,” she said smiling and was finally rewarded with a shy smile in return as the young Mrs. Osborne caught on to her hostess’s keen wit and sense of humor. “Is it your current lady’s maid that is involved?”

  Mrs. Osborne nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

  Serena sighed. “And your husband.”

  It wasn’t a question. She just had to understand the boundaries of the issue. Her instincts were screaming but the truth had to be spoken aloud by Mrs. Osborne.

  Her husband’s at her maid and probably other girls in the house. If it were a mutual affair or sinful dalliance, she wouldn’t have that sick look in her eyes and she’d have already sent the girl packing.

  “He…” Mrs. Osborne took a deep breath and let it all out as the tears slipped down her cheeks. “I know it is not an uncommon abuse of power for…men to…approach young women in service and I am not blind to it. I…confronted him the first year we were married when I learned that he’d…taken advantage of one of the younger kitchen maids.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “That it was none of my concern. That I should mind my tone and not make myself appear stupid by taking the word of an uneducated child over his when it came to such, as he put it, ‘ridiculous accusations’.” Mrs. Osborne’s hands were clenched into fists in her lap so tightly that Serena could see the threads in the seams of her gloves from the strain. “And I…complied and then convinced myself that it was a singular occurrence.”

  “But it wasn’t.” Serena encouraged her to continue.

  Mrs. Osborne shook her head, shame choking her answer into a single word. “No.”

  “How many “singular occurrences” have there been?” Serena leaned forward a single inch, her gaze locked onto the misery in her guest’s face.

  “Many I think, but…the last. He raped my dear Dell. She—she has been with me as my personal maid since I was fifteen and when I found her…crying on the floor in my dressing room…I couldn’t stay silent any longer. God forgive me for all the others, but Dell, she is more than a maid. She’s been like a sister to me.”

  “Why not dismiss her? For her own safety?”

  “I can’t! I wanted to—though it would break my heart—I’d have seen her to another situation and guaranteed her placement with a glowing letter of recommendation but…”

  “She’s pregnant and there’s not a respectable house in London that will hire a lady’s maid in her current state.” Serena finished for her, sparing Mrs. Osborne the agony of it.

  Mrs. Osborne nodded. “My sweet Dell! I cannot turn her out now! But if he learns of her condition, he won’t be as merciful! I know him too well.”

  Serena held out a lace edged handkerchief and Mrs. Osborne took it gratefully.

  “Thank you.”

  Serena sighed. “I’m going to pace about, Mrs. Osborne. I say it in advance only because I’ve had more than one guest misinterpret my standing to some kind of dismissal when that’s not my intention at all.” She stood and smoothed out her skirts. “It helps me think to move about.”

  Mrs. Osborne nodded, dabbing her eyes with the soft linen square. “Then please do.”

  Serena smiled and walked to the window, absorbing how much she liked Mrs. Delilah Osborne. It wasn’t a requirement to like a petitioner but it never hurt. The urgency of the situation pressed against her heart and Serena had to take a few deep breaths to keep her emotions clear of the tangle. Even so, there was one question she had to ask to make sure there were on the same page.

  “You’re not asking me for a referral to a cooperative physician, are you? You’re not seeking to end this child?” she asked, as neutral as stone.

  “No!” Mrs. Osborne shifted in her chair, nearly coming to her feet in indignation at the question but holding her place all the same. “I-I know it’s done but—Dell couldn’t face such a thing and I…I have no children of my own, Lady Wellcott. Years of hoping for a baby have made them seem far more precious to me, even in these horrifying circumstances, I refuse to see a life squandered.”

  “Very well.” Serena began her pacing in earnest. As a bastard herself, she had an affinity for innocent children robbed of a name and had planned on pressing Mrs. Osborne into providing for the child or even allowing Serena to make arrangements for its care. “We’ll set aside the topic of the babe for the time being.”

  “Dell is a very good girl, Lady Wellcott.”

  “Of course, she is.” Serena crossed the room, listening to the rustling of her skirts and savoring this part of the game. Problems were one thing but the crafting of a wicked solution was nothing short of thrilling. “Is she safe from him now?”

  “I believe so. I’m keeping her close, even whe
n I go out shopping or on errands but there’s no telling really. James is usually more interested in conquest than he is in affairs.” Mrs. Osborne’s hands tightened in her lap again. “I’ve done my best to distract him.”

  Serena turned, eyeing Mrs. Osborne with new respect. “Dell is lucky to have you.”

  “Can you help her? Could you…perhaps take her on yourself until the child is born or—“

  “I do not believe in temporary solutions, Mrs. Osborne,” Serena interrupted her.

  Mrs. Osborne’s disappointment was as apparent as a cloud covering the sun. “Oh.”

  “Your maid is not the only woman in trouble, madam.” Serena went over to the sideboard and poured two glasses of wine. “The problem is your husband. He must be stopped and quickly to prevent Dell’s ejection from your home and to protect the other women in your service, as well as yourself. Do you love him?”

  The question was a bit abrupt but it was meant to be, evoking an honest reaction from Mrs. Osborne.

  “No! What? J-James? I…couldn’t…I should not say, Lady Wellcott.”

  “Then no, you don’t,” Serena said with a smile and brought Mrs. Osborne one of the crystal goblets. “You’d have looked miserable and confessed it rather than sitting there and looking shocked and horrified at the very notion.”

  “Why do you ask such things?” She took the glass, this time taking a small sip for courage.

  “Because if you engage my services, Mrs. Osborne, then I must know exactly what the boundaries are and how far you will be willing to go to achieve our goal.”

  “And what is the goal?” Mrs. Osborne asked, a woman mystified and enthralled.

  “Justice.” Serena took a sip of her wine and sat back down. “Now, this, Mrs. Osborne is the moment where I shall tell you that you are free to take your leave if you disagree. This is the moment where you can profess to have misunderstood my intentions and withdraw without judgment. Naturally, I’d advise you to never repeat a word of our conversation since I would simply deny it and act defensively and without qualms to ensure that you withdrew the tale.” She crossed her ankles very daintily. “But if you agree that justice is in fact the path we must take to see that these vicious attacks never occur again under your roof against the women who have entrusted themselves to your care…”