Lady Falls (Black Rose Trilogy) (3 page)

“No?” Trent’s brow furrowed, his expression one of discontented surprise.  “A few years ago when we were better acquainted, you were mad for a good game.”

“True enough.”  Phillip acknowledged the accusation.  “An insanity I have had to cure myself of—and my purse has thanked me for the effort.”  He smiled, his tone deliberately light to diffuse Trent’s disappointment.

“Never mind!” Lord Morley chimed in.  “We’ll have players enough for a good run and I for one, am looking forward to many nights of skilled play.”

The earl’s humor was slower to return but he appeared to make an effort.  “Yes.  Well, I hope you’ve warned your wife that you may leave here on foot as a pauper if I get my way.”

“I’m more likely to leave with your best tapestries rolled up and tied to my carriage roof!” Lord Morley boasted.

Phillip said nothing.  He was grateful that he was staying clear of it.  His penchant for reckless gambling was long behind him but even if he had still played, Phillip wasn’t sure it was a wise choice in light of his goals.  Trent was not going to be impressed with how Phillip had changed if he fell back into the vices of his youth.  And he didn’t have deep enough pockets to justify the risk. 
Not anymore.

“Cards are enough entertainment for me,” Lord Morley announced.  “I come to the country for quiet as well, for God’s sake.  Not to be hovered over with contrived events.”

“Careful there, old boy!” Trent pulled a brandy from the tray his footman held out.  “You come to the country to prove an entertaining guest to your host.  You are skating near to the edge.”

There.  Lord Morley looks a bit chastised at that but what a universal truth!  We’re here at the earl’s hospitality and you have to earn your keep.  Old and young.

Trent’s gaze refocused on Phillip and he braced himself for the earl’s attention.

“So.  You aren’t a lively flirt or a card player.  If you tell me you don’t shoot and hate riding, you may want to rethink your holiday, Warrick.”

“I love to ride, shoot and a good conversation is like meat to the soul, is it not?”

Trent smiled, as jolly as if Phillip had offered to stand on his head.  “Ah!  There is the charming lad I had hoped to see again!”

Phillip inclined his head in a mock bow and Trent laughed.  “I’m relying heavily on you, Warrick, to uphold your end!”

Three more houseguests arrived in their finery and Phillip admired the balance of the group.  The earl had clearly made an effort to include some diverse personalities—no doubt again to add to his own pleasure.  The elderly Mr. Carlton was the local squire and a notorious wit where his wife was as sweetly shy as a maid of fourteen despite her advanced years.   Lady Violetta Baybrook rounded out their party, with fashions that echoed the turn of the century and a hawk-like countenance promising that not all would be light and laughter if she had her say.

There was still no sign of Miss Wells.  Her absence should have calmed him but it was having the opposite effect.  At every introduction, his eyes trailed to the door, anticipating her arrival.

He wasn’t sure if he should apologize again or if she would say something in front of the others—in front of the earl.  And then she was there.  Another rush, a flurry of colored silk and she was among them; a bright flash of life and laughter in a room that had lacked both without realizing it.

Damn.  This is going to be nearly impossible, isn’t it?

She met the earl’s guests with an open eager spirit, pleased to have the chance to prove to her guardian that she was equal to the role of hostess and had not wasted her tutors’ time or the investment of his years of generosity.

It was all a rare treat.  But here was the perfect opportunity to flex her social wings before taking full flight in London.  Raven spied Phillip immediately but savored the way his eyes followed her as she slowly made her way around the room.  It was heady to have captured such a man’s attention.  It was a rush of power, of pure sweet power.

“How lovely you look, Miss Wells!  Tell me again how old are you?”

Raven’s eyes widened in surprise at such a direct question but the earl had taught her that rank and title sometimes stripped its holder of the responsibility and entanglements of good manners.  “I am well into my seventeenth year, Lady Baybrook, and look to turn eighteen before summer.”

“But already so self-possessed!  And what a beauty!  My goodness, but I think the Ton will not know what to make of you!”

“Must I be made into something?” she asked innocently.

Several guests laughed at her naïve question but Phillip Warrick’s gaze held steady, a glow of approval in his eyes.

Trent stepped forward.  “My ward is not so easily swayed by flattery and flash.  My incomparable girl will tame them before she’s filled out her first dance card.”

Raven blushed and Trent extended his hand toward Phillip.  “Here.  Come meet my ward.  Sir Phillip Warrick.  Miss Raven Wells.”

She curtsied.  “A pleasure to meet you.”

The simple ritual did not allow her to linger or ask him if he’d recovered from his fall that morning.  Mr. Walters rang the bell for dinner and everyone naturally moved to take their places for the procession in.  Since their numbers were not yet as even as Lord Trent preferred Lord Morley graciously offered to take her in despite the break in precedence.  However, no one objected since it was early days and the abrupt absence of Lord Morley’s wife was softened by the polite maneuver.

Sir Warrick was placed closer to the earl’s end of the table and not near enough for her to do more than pick up some of the louder side of his dinner partner, Mr. Sheffield who was very disappointed in his spring foals.   Raven smiled at the scene since it was evident that it was all Sir Warrick could do to nod and express his sympathies.

Poor man.  The seating arrangements are not likely to change throughout his stay and even when Lady Morley recovers—he’ll still be within reach of Mr. Sheffield’s riveting opinions on Scottish hybrids versus their British counterparts.

Raven had fared better and liked the shy Mrs. Carlton and her clever husband.  He was a frail gentleman but his white hair was thick and carefully curled to betray that he took some vain pride in it.

“Are you nervous about going to Town, Miss Wells?” he asked.

“You are so kind, sir.  I am a little, to be honest.  Everyone wishes me success but then they always add a word of warning about the consequences of failure.  It’s extremely daunting.”

“Ah, the terrors!” Mrs. Carlton sighed.  “I thought I would faint dead away in anticipation of my first ball.”

Mr. Carlton lifted his glass, his eyes on his wife.  “What providence it was for me, my sweet girl!  It was an easy thing to sweep you off your unsteady feet and a gift to allow me to play the hero.”

“Gift?  You did more than play act.  You were very gallant.”  The older woman smiled and then lowered her voice in confidence to Raven.  “And he still is!”

Raven was utterly charmed.  Mr. Carlton began to tell stories of London and the humble heroics that had won him the heart of his shy and dainty Mrs. Carlton.  The lady demurred as best she could, clearly flattered at her husband’s mythical tales and gentle compliments.  Their love had frozen them in time, blinding them both to the change of years.

Every few minutes, she stole a glance at Sir Warrick’s misery until he caught her at it.  Raven stiffened as if an arc of electricity had bolted between them, a conspiracy of wit robbing her of breath and sending a dozen giddy butterflies skittering around her stomach.  He inclined his head, a nearly unnoticeable salute to their private jest before Mr. Sheffield began to bray about a recent horse fair and Phillip was forced back to the conversation at hand.

She turned back to enter into a lively conversation with Mr. Carlton that began to touch on a classical education which Raven was happy to demonstrate.

“Did your ward just quote Durant and manage to prettily correct my Latin?” Mr. Carlton asked.

Lord Morley lifted his head, a bit aghast.  “My god, what kind of education did you give this girl, Trent?”

Trent continued to slice his meat, barely stirred by the topic.  “I don’t remember what I told her tutors but I’m sure it was something about covering the basics.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “Raven.  What did I tell your tutors?”

“To make sure I had the education of a proper English young lady, that I could carry a tune and once that was mastered, it was up to me to fill the hours with whatever subjects I would stay awake for,” she supplied with a playful smile.

“Oh!” Geoffrey perked up a bit and squinted.  “How did that go?”

“I think it was six months and when I’d demonstrated a sufficient hand in watercolors, sung a few arias, made three pillows and proved I could read poetry without any ill effects, I had free rein.”

“Impossible!” Lord Morley protested.  “A girl in charge of her own education?”

“Are you upset because she didn’t squander the chance, Morley?  Or because she’s better educated at the cost of pennies in comparison with whatever fortune you’ve squandered trying to shove your sons through their schooling?” Geoffrey teased.  “Hell! I’m too frugal to complain if my ward is occupied so easily and I’m left to concentrate on my business concerns.”

Raven smiled and ducked her head.  Lord Trent had spoken the truth.  He wished to be bothered as little as possible in the natural course of days and had once announced that he didn’t care if she were studying African dirt moles so long as she made a decent feminine representation at his table.

Lord Morley shook his head, staring at Raven as if she now possessed two heads.  “You have done her an unthinkable service, Trent, and there will be Hell to pay for it, mark my words!”

“I prefer to think I have stepped out on a revolutionary path and demonstrated that when you encourage a woman to follow her every impulse it leads to—“ Trent stopped and made a study of his own of his ward.  “Well, as you see!”

Raven’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment but the moment finally passed as Mr. Carlton bravely entered the fray.

“Lord Morley, the girl has not been raised by wolves and I am sure Lord Trent exaggerates to make our evening more lively.  Although, I did wonder if one or more of the boys in my schooldays hadn’t been parented by badgers…”

The jest broke the tension and the dinner concluded without further incident and the ladies withdrew according to custom to leave the men to their port and cigars.  The earl waved them off and Raven linked arms with Mrs. Carlton to lead the way to the blue salon.

Speculation regarding the health of Lady Morley became the first topic over glasses of sherry and Raven listened quietly. 

“I hope she recovers soon!  It feels wrong to enjoy ourselves with one of the party laid low,” Mrs. Carlton sighed.

“Does it?” Lady Baybrook asked archly.  “I fail to see why the constitution of a woman I have barely seen more than twice should influence me one way or the other.”

Mrs. Carlton fell silent, unwilling to argue in the face of such blatant disregard.

“Would you like a touch more sherry, Mrs. Carlton?”

“Only if you will have a small glass.”

“Oh, I do not partake.  Lord Trent does not approve and says that I am too young,” Raven said as she refilled Mrs. Carlton’s glass. “But I am happy with the company.”

“Indeed!” Lady Baybrook nodded.  “Wise man,” she added as she set her own empty glass down and retrieved her third serving with a deft hand.  “I am relieved that despite all that nonsense about the lack of structure in your education, the man isn’t completely without common sense.  There is nothing more unattractive than a young girl tippling away without regard to decorum.”

Mrs. Carlton politely held her tiny glass in her lap and made a study of the liquid.

An awkward silence unfolded and Raven began to silently echo her new friend’s wish for Lady Morley’s quick recovery since the bulk of the effort in conversation to engage the prickly Lady Baybrook now fell to her.

I’m a rabbit tethered to a wolverine.

“Tell me, Miss Wells.  Trent is your guardian but what is your connection to his family?” Lady Baybrook asked.

Snap.  Snarl. 

“He is a generous benefactor, Lady Baybrook.  I have been told very little of my noble lineage but understand that he knows my father and took me in for the sake of that friendship.”

Lady Baybrook raised a single eyebrow at the words ‘noble lineage’.  “And your mother?  Do you know anything of her?”

Her claws are razor sharp.

“I am not at liberty to say, Lady Baybrook.”

“How mysterious!  And somewhat intriguing!  The by-product of some illicit affair, I would warrant.”

Mrs. Carlton gasped, not in disapproval of Raven but mortified at Lady Baybrook’s lack of sensitivity.

Raven kept her chin up, her gaze openly defiant and proud.  She wasn’t going to justify the woman’s words or protest at being one breath away from being called a bastard.  Trent had taught her better than that.  He’d hammered home the lesson that only shameless icy bravado could carry you through fire.  The mention of a noble parent was a deliberate move to keep people back on their heels.  Raven simply waited for the old woman to wither under the weight of her own gaffe.