Chapter Two #2
“And how is she with the cooking?” Mr. Wentworth would probe, staring at her so hard, she could feel it no matter where she averted her eyes.
“Again, I say very skilled, indeed. She has a particular knack for baking, would not you agree?” He gestured to the bread on the table, which Mr. Wentworth took a helping of, chewing on it with more scrutiny than a slice of bread deserved.
They spoke of her like she was nothing more than an asset, not a human being at all. The back and forth came as a resume of her abilities, more like an employment interview than anything.
“We have the two servant girls who help around the home, but Ivy assists with everything,” Father continued. “Much more than some women of her standing.”
“Good. I abhor women who do not know their place. That is why I have remained unmarried since my first wife’s passing.
” The man’s voice was emotionless as he said it, not the voice of a man mourning a woman he loved.
“She was no good at the housework, which was infuriating enough, but to also never bear an heir? Pshaw. I have since dreaded finding myself in such a predicament again.”
By the end of dinner, Ivy could deny it no longer. As they bid adieu, Mr. Wentworth looked at her one last time, nefarious intent seeming to waver in his gaze.
Ivy spun around the moment the door shut behind her, the smile falling from her face, replaced with a deep frown. Her father, however, did not react.
“Do not tell me you intend to marry me off to that man,” she exclaimed, her emerald eyes wide as saucers.
“And why not?” he asked, walking toward the sitting room with an air of casualness that didn’t reflect the gravity of this situation.
“Why not?” she echoed, her voice awash with shock at the question. Ivy followed after him, her voice growing more desperate. “Do you not see the way he looks at me and hear how speaks of me? Besides that, he is as old as you, Father! I would be a widow within a decade!”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. You will have plenty of money to raise children, especially after Peter and I expand our business.”
“Money? Is that all you men care about? Do you not think mother would be horrified for me to enter a loveless marriage?”
“Don’t you dare bring your mother into this,” he snapped. “It is a silly, juvenile fantasy to believe all marriages are about love, especially at your age.”
“I would sooner become an old maid than marry a man as selfish as Mr. Wentworth! He has no virtue. I don’t sense an ounce of kindness in him.”
“Virtue…” Her father scoffed, not even bothering to elaborate on how he felt about that. It didn’t surprise Ivy. After his wife died, Samuel Ashford had renounced the values he once held, going so far as to disallow Ivy to attend the church that was once so important to her mother.
“Father, please!”
But it didn’t matter how much she argued and begged him to reconsider. He did not budge; he clearly did not even consider budging. It was as though the more she protested, the more determined he grew in his decision. She suspected it had something to do with his incessant need to control her.
Ivy’s eyes brimmed with tears as she watched her father stalk upstairs. She couldn’t handle this, not on her own. She found herself instinctively running next door to her dearest friend—Mary Ellison’s—home.
“Father wants me to marry that horrible man, Peter Wentworth!” Ivy cried as she breezed inside. Mary never minded that. She was always there when Ivy needed her.
After Ivy lost both her mother and sister—and in a way, her father—Mary’s home began to feel like more of a home than her own.
Mary was her lifeline and oftentimes the only person who kept her sane.
Mary’s house actually felt like a home; it was populated with sophisticated yet simple decor, often with half-finished sewing projects scattered about.
Unlike Ivy’s house, which Father always insisted upon being ornate and immaculate, so much so it scarcely looked lived in.
As soon as Mary noticed how distraught Ivy was, she discarded her apron, abandoning her post-supper cleaning up in favor of lending her ear.
She ushered Ivy into the sitting room and coaxed her friend onto the lounge, standing before her.
It was then that Ivy could see every emotion wavering in Mary’s brown eyes, usually so filled with warmth, now brimming with disgust.
Ivy had heard others call Mary ‘homely’, but she’d never understood it and had always thought Mary to be a woman of understated beauty.
Her hair was the same soft shade of chestnut as her eyes, light freckles speckled across her fair skin, and she usually adopted a soft smile.
Though now, her upper lip curled in repulsion, no sign of that comforting smile to be found.
“He what?” She sounded as appalled as Ivy felt, and that alone provided Ivy some brief sense of relief. “Why would he choose that man of all people?”
“For nothing more than money, it should seem!” Ivy cried, leaning back fully on the chaise with a bit of added drama to boot. Mary sat on the chaise beside Ivy, setting a comforting hand on the younger woman’s arm.
“Would it be presumptuous to say it may also have something to do with fearing his only remaining daughter becoming a spinster?” Mary asked gently, drawing from her own experiences.
Mary’s parents had always been overly critical and never shied away from speaking their opinions on their daughter, growing crueler as she remained unmarried throughout her twenties.
She was thirty now, and one could only imagine the things the Ellisons would have said about Mary were they still alive.
“I presume the same,” Ivy readily agreed. “You know how much pressure Father put on me after Celeste left, as though I must make up for her sullying his reputation.”
There was a silence after this, both women taking the time to mourn the loss of Celeste, who had been like a sister to Mary, as well.
“Listen to me, Ivy. Have you… considered leaving?” Mary’s voice was low when she broke the silence. “I have heard of women answering these ‘mail-order bride’ ads in the paper and leaving for a better future.”
“Don’t mock me, Mary,” Ivy scoffed, her eyes shooting to Mary incredulously. “As far as I know, the men who post those ads are as undesirable as Mr. Wentworth.”
Ivy exhaled another half-laugh of disbelief, but when Mary added, “At least you’d finally free yourself from your father’s grasp,” she couldn’t help but wonder if her friend had a point.
No, it was absurd. Ivy Ashford was desperate, but it would take an immense leap of faith to do something like that.
Faith. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed right now. Ivy closed her eyes, silently praying that God would reveal her intended path before it was too late.