Lady Falls (Black Rose Trilogy) (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

They took advantage of the fine weather the following morning and Raven brought along her speech written out for the theatrical, to study her lines.  On the long cushioned seat, he lay with his head in her lap while she read her piece over and over.

“I hate the growing feeling that I’m in a play, Raven, but that I don’t know my lines.”

“Truly?” she asked.

“Time is running out.  Your guardian’s mood is too erratic to chart and I’m worried that even your glittering night of readings is not going to make a dent.”  Phillip closed his eyes.  “I should speak to him this afternoon.”

Raven hit him lightly with her paper, enjoying the playful swish and pop of it against his nose.  “Do you doubt my talents on the stage, sir?  We will charm all of you into happy beasts and the plan will work.  You’ll see.  Have a little faith, my love.”

“This has nothing to do with faith.  If his mood is level enough today or at any time before Friday arrives, why not make the most of it?” Phillip asked and then captured her wrist.  “And no more swatting.  I am abused enough as it stands.”

“You are hardly a bruised and cowering soul!” she laughed.  “But I will be more gentle with you, sir.  I am no bully.”

Phillip sat up slowly.  “You are not a bully but I have to admire the way you get what you want.  How is it that I lose every debate?”

“What debate?” she asked.

“Trent is difficult to persuade on his best days.  Tell me again why I am waiting to approach him?  Does this not make us look less and less well-intentioned?  It will be harder to argue my honorable nature and good character when I am clearly the villain in this.”

“You are no villain, Phillip.  You could never be a villain.”

“Raven.  I have to take ownership of what I’ve done or that is precisely what I will be.  If I am not an honest man who can admit to his mistakes, then I am a villain who hides the truth.”

It was a poor choice of words and he regretted it instantly.

“His mistakes?” Her grey eyes darkened with the insult.  “Have you made an error in bedding me?”

“Not a mistake!  But a—damn it, Raven.  The order is not what the rules of society dictate, and even you who enjoy playing the wild and carefree girl when it suits you; even you have to admit that it is a fault in both our characters to give in to the passion between us before marriage!”

“Oh!” She stood to stamp one small foot in her fury.  “I hate the rules of society!  And I especially hate the rules of society when they demean my feelings for the man I love and make him use words like ‘mistake’ and ‘fault’ to relate what I shall defend to my grave as raw perfection!”

Phillip was stunned at her anger but also at how beautiful she was when riled.  It was all he could do to nod.  “I apologize.  I am very grateful for my slice of raw perfection, Miss Wells.”

She forgot her recent pledge not to bruise him and punched his shoulder with a touch more vigor.  “You should be!  You bleak lump of a man!”  Her fingers flew to her lips and her eyes widened in horror.  “Oh! I’m—sorry.  But if you only knew the terror you invoke when you…”

“Raven,” he stood to pull her into his arms, her ear nesting against his heartbeat.  “I am a very, very lucky bleak lump of a man.  I only want to make things right with Trent and secure this raw perfection between us.  Doesn’t that make sense?”

She nodded and leaned back to look up at him.  “Of course it does.  But I—I cannot take the chance until after the performance.  If he tosses us out…” she shuddered at the thought.

If he throws me out then I will have abandoned Lady Morley and my promise to her.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my happiness came at the cost of hers.  But I can’t explain any of it to you, my love.  Not without destroying her faith in me.

Oh, god—what a mess!

“Are you afraid of him, Raven?”

She shook her head. “No!  It isn’t that.  Do not misunderstand.  He may roar when the time comes…or be as mild as a lamb at the news, but neither reaction changes my feelings for you, Phillip.”

“Then why wait for—“

“No! No! No!” Raven pulled away from him, distress making her voice rough and uneven.  “I will not be drawn into this again.  It is Wednesday, Phillip Warrick.  I ask you to wait until after tomorrow night’s performance.  Is that such a weighty request?  Must I give you a dozen sound reasons and defend my position repeatedly?”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded.

“It is a matter of faith.  Either you believe in me, Phillip, or you do not.  Which is it?”  Raven asked and then held her breath.

“I believe in you, Raven Wells.”

Relief brought tears to her eyes.  “And I believe in you.”

He took her hands into his and kissed her fingertips, a penitent soul.  “After the performance. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Phillip!” She pulled herself up by his lapels to balance on her tip toes to kiss him.  “Thank you.”

He lifted her into his arms, deepening the kiss and abandoning all arguments.

Raven rewarded him with all the enthusiasm her spirit possessed and silently vowed that after Friday, she would let him win every debate that married life might provide to make it up to him for her deception. 

**

That afternoon, a game of croquet on the south lawn sprang up and the entire party ended up embroiled in the tournament, although some as spectators and not directly as players.  Phillip had triumphed in the first round and would have volunteered to partner with Raven, but Lord Trent hailed him to come over to his table.

“Your Lordship?  Did you wish to jump in?” Phillip asked.

“No.  But come, I wish to take a walk and there is nothing worse than rattling away to oneself so I am asking you to come with me.”

“For conversation then?”

The earl laughed.  “No!  So that you can make it look like a conversation when I rattle on to myself, dear boy!”

“Of course,” he said, sending a quick look of apology to Raven as he set his mallet aside.  “How can I refuse such a unique invitation?”

The others waved them merrily away while Raven watched them go with an anxious look.  Phillip knew she feared that he would break his promise but he was resolute to prove that he could stay the course. 

“Did you enjoy your time at Oakwell Manor, Warrick?”

“Very much,” Phillip answered, aware that the earl was setting out on the lake path.  It was an irony that would test him but Phillip kept his hands tightly clasped behind his back.  “You are very blessed with the beauty of your estates.”

“I am,” Trent agreed. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes before the earl spoke again.  “Oakwell Manor is as timeless as the land itself.  But then, I get a little melancholy to think that life is such a fleeting thing and that the house looks on as I barely pass through—without much impact.”

“You’ve preserved it and kept it whole.  I’d say that’s impact enough in these troubled times.”  Phillip spoke from sincere admiration.  “So many have lost their fortunes in the uproar of railroad schemes and foreign treasure hunts, but you’ve stayed above the fray and done well for yourself—and your descendants.  I’m sure your efforts won’t be forgotten.”

“Oh, well, there is that, isn’t there?” the earl picked up a long stick to prod the ground and part the grasses as they strolled along.  “Never mind.  Talking about legacies is like rambling about the stars.  They are all well and good but they never really touch us.”

Phillip smiled at the practicality of the man but Trent’s steps immediately stopped.

“Are you laughing at me, Warrick?  You think I’m some maudlin and weak old man?” he demanded.

“No.  Not at all.  I was only marveling that such a grounded and no-nonsense man could raise a woman who seems barely tethered to this world.”  Phillip said, suddenly unsure of where things had gone wrong. 

“I am capable of many things you cannot fathom,” Trent said calmly and then continued walking as if all was well between them. 

Phillip said nothing, falling in step beside his host and friend.

Trent’s shoulders relaxed as they approached the water.  “I love this view of the house.”

Oh, I remember the view…a little too well. 

Phillip could see the glade in the corner of his eye and did his best to keep his breathing even.  “It’s like a painting.”

“You are a new man, Sir Warrick.  So restrained and disciplined.  I admire this version of you.”  Trent tossed his stick in the water.  “I confess I suspected that you had only come here in some greedy clasping scheme to earn my confidence for your financial gain.  Can you imagine?”

Damn.  Restrained and disciplined would not be the words I expect you to apply come Friday…and that guess of my original motives comes close enough for a shave.

Phillip nodded.  “I can.”

“But you’ve not so much as tugged on my coattails for details about my next venture.”  Trent smiled broadly.  “Bravo!”

Phillip held his ground and decided that he could keep his promise to Raven but still salvage what self respect he could.  “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?  You know I’d have happily pursued any business you’d invited me to discuss.  You were testing me, I think.”

“Perhaps.  Tests are good for the soul, Warrick.”

“Did I pass or fail?”

“We’ll see,” Trent said enigmatically and then moved to continue walking down the path.  “We’ll see.”

By the time Trent left him after their hike, Phillip decided to steal a few minutes for himself.  The lavender was in full bloom and Phillip traced the long rows, the droning song of the bees underlining his thoughts.

There was no clear answer with Lord Trent and Phillip wrestled with the guilt of inflicting a painful scene on Raven when Friday came.  Her optimism was endearing but every fiber of his being blazed a warning that the earl would not relinquish his “treasure” without a squabble.

It would sting, but he did not think the wounds could be fatal to any involved.  He would find a way to appease Lord Trent, but he worried that Raven’s spirit would bear the brunt of any tension.

He was resigned to spending every waking hour left to him to compose his best case for Trent, lying by omission as much as he could stomach. 

He looked up at a few gathering clouds in the sky and smiled. 

I am a man transformed.  God help me, she has changed me so completely I hardly recognize myself. 

He had never been the kind of man to grin at the empty air and daydream of the magical appeal of one woman’s laughter, but here he was.  A dizzy fool so deeply in love he was humming all the time, putting his coats on inside out and making poor Timms question his sanity.  And when he asked Trent for her hand, if the earl started babbling about the advantages of prunes over plums, Phillip was ready to dig in and hold his ground. 

Suddenly, his chin dropped as a small detail he’d completely forgotten fell back into his thoughts.  “Damn it!  I’m almost out of time!”

He raced back into the manor house and rang for Timms, breathless and agitated, only to find the man upstairs in his room already setting out his clothes for the evening.

“Timms?”

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Timms held out two sets of cufflinks.  “Neither for tonight, then?  Shall I get the enamel pair with the silver inlay?”

“No, these are fine.” He made his selection without really looking.  “Is there a jeweler in the village?”

“A jeweler?” Timms echoed in surprise.  “A proper jeweler?”

“Yes.  Is there a proper jeweler in the village?”

“Mr. Sinclair is a goldsmith and has a lovely little shop next to the milliner’s.  But the earl generally sends off to London for his—“

“Thank you, Timms.”  Phillip straightened his shoulders.  “I need my horse brought out and saddled.  I think I’ll go out for a bit of exercise this morning.  Are my riding clothes at hand?”

“They are—let me just pull them quickly and fetch your boots.  I’d collected them for a polish and left them downstairs, so I apologize.”

“No apologies,” Phillip clapped him on the shoulder.  “Mr. Timms, I have the grand feeling that I will never again complain in my lifetime.”

“My! As grand as that?  I’ll hurry all the more, sir!  Never will I let it be said that I dampened or even foiled such a rare miracle,” Mr. Timms said with all seriousness and left Phillip to enjoy the moment.

Mr. Sinclair, let’s see if I can rely on your discretion.

And hell, even if I can’t, then I’ve kept my word to Raven and just brought things to a head a day or two earlier than planned.  If heaven is secured sooner rather than later, who am I to complain?

Phillip laughed out loud and stretched his arms wide to embrace the dizzying happiness that the future held for him—for there was nothing between him and paradise.

Chapter Nineteen

“Why am I so scattered?” Mrs. Carlton asked breathlessly.  “My goodness, every line has evaporated from my mind!”

“Why did the earl invite his neighbors to this?” Lady Morley moaned, her nerves betraying her as her voice shook.  “I thought to do this before such a small gathering but there must be twenty people out there!”

Raven took Millicent’s hand for a quick squeeze.  “The earl is proud of our efforts and wishes to make it known.  Take heart, Lady Morley.”

“I am not exaggerating. I cannot remember my own name!” Mrs. Carlton lamented.

“Dear Mrs. Carlton,” Raven said before kissing the woman’s cheek.  “Mr. Carlton has already proclaimed that he will applaud your Marc Antony if you were to recite the entire monologue in reverse.  What is there to fear?”

“Well, when you put it like that…I cannot really disappoint, can I?”

“There!  Besides if you forget a line, remember that Mr. Walters is standing by with the pages to gently prompt you.”  Raven peeked out to where the butler stood at the ready.  “I swear, he was so thrilled to be asked, I fear he might jump in to prompt you whether you need it or not.”

“I have no need for a prompter,” Lady Baybrook said.  “Miss Wells, is the gold trim on my cloak showing to its advantage?  I asked that maid to make sure that it was a regal amount of cording but now that I see it again, I am unsure.”

“It is an intimate setting, your ladyship, and I have to say, the cloak is stunning in the candlelight.  You are—breathtaking.”  Raven turned to make another check of the costumes.  “Very well, we are nearly ready to start.  Lady Baybrook will do us the honor of leading off, then Lady Morley’s Lady Macbeth, Mrs. Carlton’s piece from Julius Ceasar, my performance and then we shall all regroup for our piece from “A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream”.  Remember to change into your costumes for that final piece as you finish your own.  We will all aid each other in that.”

“What if they laugh?” Mrs. Carlton asked, her grip on her gold painted staff tightening.

“Then we will be very pleased with ourselves for providing for their merriment,” Raven replied.  “Ladies, enough.  Latch your courage to the sticking place and let’s enjoy ourselves.”

She signaled the start of their performance and Lady Baybrook strolled out to begin, to the happy applause of the small audience.  Raven took the narrow opportunity to turn to Lady Morley and drew her aside while Mrs. Carlton watched Lady Baybrook in rapt attention.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.” Millicent tried to smile but failed.  “Is everything…set?”

“Everything.”

Lady Morley embraced her, a spontaneous hold that steadied them both.  “I will never be able to thank you enough for—“

“There is no need.  Come, let’s give them a show that they will never forget.”

The library had been converted into a makeshift theatre, thanks to the carved arches the center columns provided.  A curtain of red cloth was strung on a cord across the span dividing the room into two partitions for performers and their audience.  Chairs had been added to accommodate an eager if small crowd.  Mr. Walters was stationed to the left of the curtains with a small podium, a proud and visible prompter at the ready.

Expectations were truly for nothing more than an amateur pass at so lofty a goal and the earl was quick to tell his neighbors that the ladies had barely had a few days to prepare as if to buffer criticism.  Phillip marveled at how anxious the man seemed, as if the opinions of the local gentry was all encompassing when he had only the night before made some comment about not giving a fig for anyone’s view but his own.

Male guests of Oakwell Manor enjoyed a place of honor in their front row chairs, with the earl front and center, like a king about to take in a performance at his command.  Phillip settled in next to Mr. Carlton and waited patiently for things to begin.

Mr. Carlton leaned over to whisper, “If my wife doesn’t faint, I shall dub it a Complete Triumph.”

“I say it is a Complete Triumph if she even walks out, sir, considering how shy she is.  How proud you must be for her to even make this attempt!” Phillip replied softly.  “I see it as a demonstration of her love for you, Mr. Carlton, and nothing less.”

“I need no demonstration, Mr. Warrick.”  Mr. Carlton sighed in contentment.  “Love never need prove itself to be felt.  When you find it, sir, it becomes the very star you navigate your entire life by even when you forget to look up at it.”

The butler stepped forward and interrupted them.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would please settle down.  I believe the ladies are ready to commence.”

Phillip swallowed hard at the lump in this throat.  Mr. Carlton’s eloquence was humbling but his heart clamored to agree that his love for Raven had become the star that he knew would effectively guide every step he took.

Lady Baybrook strolled out like a barge down the Thames and began a rather over-pronounced interpretation of one of Cordelia’s speeches from King Lear.  “Alack,, ‘tis he: why, he was met even now as mad as vext sea…”

Gratefully, Phillip acknowledged that his current blissful state numbed him to the worst of it.  He stole a glance at Lord Trent and had to look away just as quickly to keep from laughing as the earl twitched and writhed like a man being pressed against a glowing hot grate.

Lady Baybrook finished with a braying crescendo and the audience applauded with the enthusiasm of prisoners tasting fresh air and freedom after years in a dungeon.  Needless to say, it was clear the lady accepted it as an affirmation of her talents and not relief that she’d finished.  She bowed and with a flourish of her gilt robe, sailed off behind the veil of the curtains. 

After a few seconds, Lady Morley stepped out wearing a starkly simple gown of black with a swath of black silk covering her hair.  The color flattered her full figure and something in the solemn way she moved, forced the room to an instant silence.

“Yet here is a spot.”

He recognized the text instantly, surprised at the melancholy selection.

She went on in a sweet relentless singsong that conveyed only loss.  “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!—one, two; why, then ‘tis time to do it.  Hell is murky!  Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?”

Tears poured down her cheeks, and no one doubted the madness of grief and torment that had seized this Scottish queen.  “Here’s the smell of the blood still, all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.  Oh, oh, oh!”

Her recitation continued, the strength of her performance never wavering even as the queen began to face her death.  “To bed, to bed; there’s knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand; what’s done cannot be undone; to bed, to bed, to bed.”

Several women in the room gasped, the men pressed fingers to their lips in rapt admiration and horror.  Here, an unlikely actress had transported them from the room, and when she finished, they were lost.  She stared out, and it was long seconds before they recovered their senses remembering themselves enough to clap.  Then the applause took on a life of its own as the earl rose to his feet to evoke a standing ovation.  Only Lord Morley kept his seat in a stubborn act of rebellion as if he alone could deny what he’d seen.

“Millicent the Magnificent!” the earl crowed.  “Brava!”

“Brava, indeed!” Phillip echoed heartily.

Millicent’s blush was very sweet and she wiped away her tears.  Her expression of surprise only spurred on their appreciation.  She bowed again and fled behind the curtain even as they continued to cheer.

Poor Mrs. Carlton came out as meekly as a mole into sunlight wearing a makeshift toga over her gown and Phillip’s heart lurched to see her. 
Hard enough to take the stage but after Lady Morley, it’s quite a steep step.

To her credit, with her hands shaking so hard he was convinced she was about to drop her painted torch, Mrs. Carlton didn’t forget a single word of her speech.  What she did forget was to raise her voice to reach more than a row or two but with her eyes locked onto her husband, she slowly fought her way through it, gaining a small bit of strength toward its finish.  Phillip watched Mr. Carlton lean forward in his chair, enraptured from the first to the last. 

“Bear with me; my heart is in the coffin there with Ceasar, and I must pause till it come back to me.”

Mr. Carlton was on his feet as soon as she stopped, not even waiting for her to bow, moving so quickly to show his appreciation that he overturned his chair.

Everyone around him was charmed and all applauded, not only for the lady, but her husband’s blind devotion to cheer for what was likely to be the quietest Marcus Antonius in the history of the Roman Empire. 

“Brava!” Phillip joined in the accolades.  “Bravely done, Mrs. Carlton!”

Mr. Carlton was a man bereft of speech, but he blew her a kiss and his bride colored, suddenly all smiles as she returned to her company behind the curtain.

Phillip shook his head and grinned at his seat mate.  “A Complete Triumph, Mr. Carlton!”

“God, she was so—fantastic, I can scarce catch my breath!”

“You are a lucky man, sir,” Phillip said. 

“I know,” Mr. Carlton sighed.  “Ah, here is Miss Wells!” he redirected Phillip’s attention to the curtains and it was Phillip’s turn to fight for air.  For Raven Wells was wearing a diaphanous empire gown evocative of a dream with a garland of ivy and roses atop her head.  Gossamer wings of painted organza confirmed that she was not a creature of their world.  Her black hair was loose to fall down her back and over her shoulders and Phillip realized with a surge of desire and admiration that even her bare toes peeping out from her gown conveyed a certain wildness and lack of shame.

A few in the crowd gasped at her daring but Phillip knew that every man in the room was under her spell.  He smiled with a possessive pride that celebrated that he alone could claim her for his own.

“These are the forgeries of jealousy…”

Sweet and sure, she managed to be both timelessly wise as a Queen Titania would be but also eternally innocent.  The speech was a sensual chiding to her beloved Oberon for his misbehavior and the consequences of the rift between them.  She pleaded with her love for peace and Phillip’s mouth fell open at the power of her pleas.

“No night is now with hymn or carol blest, therefore the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air….the spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter, change their wonted liveries; and the mazed world, by their increase, now knows not which is which…”

She cast a spell on the room but Phillip was at the heart of it.  Here was his fey fairy woman, wild and untamed!  Raven was a creature in her element before them and he marveled at how fate had brought him a woman without comparison.

Then the curtains pull back and all the women have changed their costumes, either as fairies or apparently, Lady Morley, wearing a large paper-machier donkey’s head as the cursed love of the Queen.  Lady Baybrook was the wall between the lovers wearing a large grey cloak sewn with vines and small woodland creatures.  Comedy reigned as it became the famous play within the play from Midsummer Night’s Dream.  The women all took multiple parts, with poor Lady Morley with her giant donkey ears dipping into the other actresses’ faces demonstrating that her talents for broad humor matched her touch for tragedy.  Her voice was muffled by the cage of paper and fur to make every nonsensical line more ridiculous.  But it was only when the wall refused to hold her arms up any longer that the audience gave in to a roar of laughter.

Lady Baybrook put her hands on her hips.  “A lady of quality is barrier enough to any romantic tangle!”

“Oh, cruel wall,” Raven improvised.  “Pray do not crumble until your cue!”

She was rewarded with more and more laughter as even Mrs. Carlton playfully added to the fun as her wig became turned around when she came too close to the cumbersome donkey.  “Pray guide me to my spot, Queen Titania.  I seem to be blind.”

Comedy became farce and the earl rose to his feet.  “Oh, god!  Shakespeare is spinning in his grave and I do not care for I think I have laughed myself senseless!  Enough, I beg you!  Mercy, ladies!  Let us all have you take a bow and then see to some toasts to our incomparable little thespians!”

The ladies awkwardly formed a line and curtsied or bowed as they could within the limits of wings and masks, accepting the praise of the audience as graciously as they could.

“Take that damn thing off, Millicent!  You are making an ass of yourself!” Lord Morley barked.

His unfortunate choice of phrase made several guests laugh, and the lady in question shyly tried to slip back behind the curtains to comply with her husband’s command. 

Lord Morley’s patience was at an end.  He walked forward to grab the cloth ears only to have his wife clutch at the headdress in a strange tug-of-war.  “Millicent!  Take that damn thing off!”

“No!” a muffled cry rose up, and chaos began to take hold as the earl sought to restrain his friend and Raven and Mrs. Carlton held onto Lady Morley to prevent her from being pulled apart.