Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  “Billiards.” Phillip said quietly as he stepped out onto the street and raised his hand to hail a hackney. “There’s a game I understand.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The play was well-attended and Serena did her best to follow the story, pretending indifference to the usual studies from the gallery to the balconies and from the balconies toward each other. Opera glasses were aimed at every portion of the vast space except most notably toward the stage. Not that this was a new phenomenon but tonight it inexplicably grated on her nerves.

  Her plans for the evening had unfolded seamlessly.

  Well, nearly.

  Lord Trent had ‘luckily’ met them in the lobby, though Adam was missing and Geoffrey had offered no explanation of the change. Harriet had extended an invitation to the earl to join them in their box and the trio had settled in for the evening’s entertainments. Lady Lylesforth had deliberately taken a seat between them to diffuse any risk of gossip and Serena had fought not to smile at the miserable show Lord Trent had made of it as he grimly suffered the arrangement.

  The end of the first act allowed for a bit of conversation and she marveled at the lump of icy dread she felt. Even so, she turned to her companions with a smile, eyes bright with feigned delight at the prospect of conversation.

  “It is very transporting, is it not?” Serena sighed. “I do so love the theatre!”

  “Why?” Trent asked in astonishment. “All those wild gestures and ridiculous posturing? My God, I’d rather watch a good fight between fish vendors or those two fat women with the apple cart who insist on screeching on my street each morning.”

  “Shh!” Harriet snapped her fan shut. “I wonder that you bother to waste your evening then.”

  “Take it as a grand compliment, Lady Lylesforth. I am questing for any chance to sit in your effervescent and giddy presence.” Lord Trent leaned forward with a wolfish grin. “You are irresistible, woman! Give us a taste!”

  Serena gasped at the lewd words and knew instantly that he’d gone too far. Harriet hit him so fast that Geoffrey had no defense. It was a smart brutal strike with the rigid baton of her fan across the bridge of his nose and hard enough to probably gift him with a mark in the morning. She was up and out of her seat just as quickly, and Serena shifted to try to offer her friend an arm but Harriet was having none of it.

  “Harriet!”

  “I need a moment.” She was gone through the privacy curtains that covered the door to the upper hall before Serena could restrain her.

  “O-of course,” Serena said then turned back to assess the damage. Dozens of eyes and magnifying glasses were aimed in their direction at the commotion and she had to force herself to take a slow breath to steady her nerves to return to her seat as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  The earl yanked out his handkerchief and made a show of pretending to sneeze, all the while clamping down on what might be a broken nose. “God damn it! Women should be forbidden to wield a fan!” He complained under this breath.

  “You deserved worse and you know it,” she answered him, her expression serene. “Now, sit up and smile or it will be in the papers that the Earl of Trent had his ears publicly boxed by a woman for forgetting his manners.”

  “It was a harmless jest,” he countered as he folded the handkerchief to tuck it away, temporarily satisfied that no blood had been drawn. “Has all humor died in this world?”

  Serena sighed. “Not everyone is aware of your keen wit apparently. But that was deliberate. You meant to send her scurrying though I doubt you intended to lose your handsome looks in your scheme.”

  “You think me handsome, Lady Wellcott?”

  “I might have before she added that red stripe to your countenance.” She nearly laughed as his vanity immediately altered his expression to one of horror. “I am teasing! Although tomorrow I hope you aren’t expected to sit for a portrait when that bruise blooms.”

  “If I am, I’ll pay the artist an extra commission to use a bit of poetic license and omit the worst of it.” Lord Trent leaned back in his seat, his own uneven, albeit jovial, nature falling into place. “God, I swear I am still seeing stars! The Widow of Stone packs quite a punch.”

  A knock at the door prevented her from composing a phrase or two of sympathy as one of the ushers came into the box with a sealed note on a small tray. “Lady Wellcott? There’s a message for you, your ladyship.”

  “Thank you.” She retrieved the note, instantly curious but also wary. She had all she wished of surprises and could only pray that Harriet recovered before the intermission was ended.

  The usher retreated and Serena eyed the unfamiliar handwriting. It was a firm, elegant hand but one she didn’t immediately recognize.

  “Receiving love letters in the theatre! How shocking!” Geoffrey teased.

  “Do not speak nonsense,” she chided as she unfolded the note. “It’s more likely a note from someone seeking to ask if you need a doctor.”

  Lady Wellcott, Forgive me. I am abandoning you to that animal’s company but I am too upset to return to the play. I have left the carriage and my footman is to await you and ensure that you make it home safely. I am mortified at my own behavior.

  Your sorrowful friend, Harriet.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Stay or go?

  She could excuse herself out of concern for Lady Lylesforth and call an end to her evening but a part of her loathed anything that lengthened the game. It was time to start to sprint for the finish. She folded the note and tucked it into her reticule.

  Stay.

  “Was it from Adam?” Trent asked, a small sharp edge betraying his keen interest.”

  “Adam? Why would your nephew be sending me notes at the theatre?”

  His gaze narrowed, a feral creature displeased at the mystery of the message but more angered at his own mistake for bringing up his rival’s presence. “He’s fool enough. What? Was it some whining apology for missing this chance to fawn at your feet? I certainly hope he didn’t fail to mention that he threw you over for some addle-headed codger who wanted him to play with dusty models of dollhouses.”

  Serena simply looked at him.

  “It’s true,” he added, then crossed his arms. “Who chooses a spotty old man over such company as this?”

  The lights began to lower and she sighed. “Your lordship, you are sweet to think that nothing less than the Second Coming should supersede a social outing. I am flattered at the affront you feel on my behalf.”

  “I think the boy is dazzled by you, Lady Wellcott.”

  The curtain rose and the lights on stage were lit providing an excuse for her to look away from him. She knew her profile was displayed to every advantage as she answered him, “Is he?”

  Geoffrey shifted his weight against one of his chair’s arms, attempting to bridge a bit of the space between them thanks to Harriet’s vacated seat. “I have come to understand that Adam met you by accident the other day.”

  “Did he? Where did this happy accident occur?”

  “At the museum?”

  “Ah, yes! I was taking in the new exhibits and saw him there.” She lifted her opera glasses to get a better view of an actress in the throes of a lament. “He has a commendable grasp of art, no doubt because of his studies.”

  “Adam is not for you.”

  Her eyes widened and she lowered her glasses to turn toward him. “Pardon me?”

  “He is not for you.”

  “What an odd thing to say! I hadn’t thought of him that way but…” She narrowed her gaze. “I know your game. It won’t work, Lord Trent.”

  “What game is that?”

  “I know how you work, remember? You think to encourage me by making your nephew seem forbidden.” She shook her head. “Ridiculous! I am not a child to be driven to rebellion with such a ham-fisted effort.”

  “Is it so ridiculous to think you might be attracted to my nephew?”

  “He’s pretty enough, but—I will be the first to
disappoint you. I have no interest in marrying. At least—not…”

  “Finish your thought,” he commanded.

  “I will not. You are a terrible matchmaker, Lord Trent. You always were. Stop pairing me with immature boys.” She looked away, as if she’d said too much. “My tastes have changed.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing.” She set her glasses aside completely. “So, Adam is dazzled, is he?” She tipped her head to one side as if reconsidering the notion. “Did he say as much then?”

  The earl cleared his throat. “Not one damn word but be that as it may, I meant what I said. My nephew is no match for you, Serena. The boy is the most straight-forward thinker I have ever met. My God, he would bore you after a single meal and…”

  She leaned forward and effectively ended his argument with an inadvertent glimpse of the rise of her breasts. “You think I require a man with more wit? With a better view of the game? With a keen mind that can promise me an entertaining life and a variety of diversions?”

  He nodded.

  “A man with experience of the world who is not afraid of a woman in full possession of her powers? One who has never shied from the limitless pleasure that such a man could provide her?”

  His mouth opened a bit, his breath coming a little faster, but he only nodded.

  She sighed. “I think you’re right, Lord Trent. If only…” Serena stood, unfolding her fan to cool her face as if to ward off the heat of her thoughts. “Forgive me, Lord Trent. I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of the performance. I know how much you loathe feminine weakness.”

  He stood as well, his expression alight with wary interest. “You are many things but you are not weak, Lady Wellcott.”

  “I am when it comes to matters of the heart.” She took a measured step back, willing herself to imagine that she was starving to death and that Trent was a man constructed entirely out of pastries. The trick must have worked because the heat in his eyes was unmistakable. “We are not strangers. You were once my guardian and it is inappropriate to feel this way about you—the history of our relationship forbids it. We shall not speak of this again. Not ever. Good night, Lord Trent.”

  She was gone through the curtain and beyond reach before he could climb over the chairs and by the time he was in the hallway, it was impossibly empty. She’d vanished like a ghost.

  ***

  “Welcome home, your ladyship.” Quinn took her wrap, his expression neutral.

  “I’ll be working late in the library. I’ll have a note or two to go out tonight so please ask one of the men if he would be kind enough to wait for the bell.”

  “Of course. Would you like Mrs. Holly to send up a tray of refreshments for you while you work?” he offered.

  “Yes, that would be lovely.” She headed up the stairs and went directly to her small library and study. She delayed changing clothes to get to her desk as quickly as she could. She was a woman on a mission.

  Her instincts were jangling in warning at the undercurrent of recent events. Between Mrs. Foxwood’s unguarded comments at the card party at Pellbrooks and poor Harriet’s unexpected display, she feared she had drawn a bit more attention than she desired from her peers.

  Lord Trent’s interest was now unmistakable if she gaged it by the emerging heat in Trent’s gaze that night. He was snared, perhaps not completely but enough to spur her to take drastic action. Serena began to compose her letters as carefully as a general drafting a tactical plan but the emotional toll slowed her work.

  She had only known true love a few times in her life. First, with her adopted parents, a vicar and his wife who had selflessly raised her in an endless shower of affection and praise before their deaths in an epidemic. Then in Phillip’s arms, as a young woman coming into her own and dreaming of a life full of passion—a love that had survived the death of dreams. But the third love of her life had been her father, the Duke of Northland. After she’d presented herself to him, he had seen her without judgment and shocked her with his acceptance. The reserve of his title and position had fallen away and he had enfolded her in his generous parental care. The duke had provided all that she needed to rebuild whatever life she desired. And God help her, she had desired to become nothing that resembled her former self. He had given her power, independence and wealth; and she had waited for him to name his price.

  But the price had never come.

  He had loved her as a father and after the earl’s falseness, it had taken her a long time to accept it. But once Serena’s heart surrendered to it, the relationship had become almost too precious for the harsh light of day. Her blood relation had provided the social power she needed. Even if the shame of her illegitimacy kept her on the edges of respectability, it had opened doors and allowed Serena to fulfill her ambitions for the Black Rose. But she still guarded her beloved Duke from casual mention and zealously and stubbornly refused to trouble him with the unworthy tangles of her life.

  It was an easy choice to justify. If any one of her schemes to secure justice for the women of the Black Rose had unraveled, she wanted to spare him as much damage as she could. It would be a simple matter to distance himself from a by-blow but much harder if he was continually in her sphere or in her company.

  Or so she’d told herself until…

  Serena laid her pen aside to wrestle with the wave of reluctance and longing that surged through her. She was a woman grown but if her father were there, she feared she would simply curl against him and weep in relief.

  She set her papers aside and closed her eyes.

  Now is not the time to go crying to my father or turn into some weak thing seeking for his support or a comforting embrace. But if pride holds me back and stays my hand, will that be consolation enough if it all goes wrong?

  “Pride be damned.” Serena opened her eyes and returned to the task at hand, folding and sealing the envelope with a black wax seal and the symbolic impression of a rose. “It is time to roll the dice.”

  “What was that, your ladyship?” Mr. Quinn asked from the doorway where he held the tray Serena had requested.

  “I was nattering to myself again. I apologize.”

  “A lady should never apologize for thinking aloud,” he offered smoothly as he set the tray on the table. “My mother used to say it was only when the empty air answered back that one should consider another approach.”

  “A good line in the sand to keep in mind but I suspect by the time one has crossed that boundary, they are probably facing greater challenges.” She took out another sheet of paper. “Thank you, Quinn.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “This is ready to go out, Quinn. Tell them there’s no need to lame a horse but if it can be delivered with good speed, I would be grateful for it.”

  “Of course. Stanley is anxious to please, your ladyship, and has asked for the task.” Mr. Quinn took the note with all the solemnity of a knight accepting a quest. “He is a good man.”

  “Of course he is.” Serena had no fears on that account. Stanley’s mother had been a lowly laundress but she had also been one of the first members of the Black Rose’s growing ranks and Serena’s earliest demonstration that justice would be provided without regard to a woman’s rank, or lack of one. When her eldest son had applied for a position in her house, Serena knew that his loyalty would be beyond question. Others in London might worry about the gossip of their household servants, but hers had proven inviolate. “I’ll have another but the delivery is within Town.”

  “Easily managed, your ladyship.” Quinn nodded and withdrew to send Stanley on his way to Northland’s estates.

  Serena’s next letter was easier to draft. It was a simple note to reassure Harriet that all was well and that her fan had not caused irrevocable damage either to the earl’s nose or to Serena’s hopes at large.

  She did not add that she suspected that there was more behind Harriet’s reaction than mere disgust and affront. It was possible that the dear dowager’s heart wa
s ready to return to the land of the living and that the frustrations of a youthful body entombed too quickly were fueling the widow’s temper. Not that it was the earl that stirred her, but Harriet was human and perhaps if a better and more thoughtful man dared an approach, Lady Lylesforth’s fan would fall to the floor and be forgotten.

  She sealed the letter, then finished another note before she rang the bell to summon Quinn when a small quick knock heralded Pepper’s entrance.

  “I know you’re working and prefer not to be bothered,” Pepper began as she crossed the room. “But I brought you warm soft slippers and can at least get a few of those hair pins out to let me brush your hair out. It will make you more comfortable for the tasks.”

  Serena smiled. “You spoil me to a ridiculous degree.”

  “Well, that’s your fault for paying me too much and letting me read romance novels. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t attempt to do what I can in return?” Pepper knelt at her feet and made the exchange of footwear. “Oh, and I wished to tell you that I’ve word from Fitzherbert’s maid.”

  “Oh? What news from Portman Square?”

  Pepper stood and smoothed out her skirts. “Gossip from the neighboring house is that tensions between the earl and his heir are on the rise. There was a bit of shouting though they couldn’t determine the specifics. Jenny thought it was a woman they were squabbling about.”

  “A woman?” Serena repeated softly as she straightened her desk and put away her things. “A tantalizing prospect.”

  “Won’t they just come to blows and be done? Aren’t you worried that too much will be said in the heat of an argument between them and they just…reconcile or one of them just yields, tips his hat and says, you’re welcome to the lady with my best wishes for your happiness?” Pepper’s brow furrowed with her concern. “Gods, this is wrecking my nerves and I ain’t even in it!”