Chapter 13
Diane hugged Ivy hard enough to crack her spine and let her go just as quickly. “It is good to see you.”
Diane was a whirl of bright taffeta and scented lemon, and Ivy was so happy to see her friend that she could not stop smiling, even if the moment Diane had proclaimed Barnes awkward and he had bristled like a cornered dog Ivy had known she had made a grievous miscalculation in asking Diane to come.
How could she have forgotten the animosity that had existed between Diane and Barnes their entire lives?
Ever since they had been young, Barnes could not stand the wild and mischievous Diane, but Ivy had not considered that his dislike would carry into adulthood. She had been mistaken.
“Thank you for coming.”
Ivy wished they could escape and catch up together in a more intimate setting, but at that moment supper was announced. Barnes quickly took Ivy’s arm to escort her in, shooting Owen a triumphant look. Ivy sighed.
Supper was no less awkward. Owen frowned silently from the foot of the table, although occasionally she felt his eyes lingering on her face.
Barnes sat opposite her, alternating glowers between Owen and Diane.
The majority of the evening’s entertainment fell on the dowager.
Unfortunately, she seemed to have taken an immediate dislike to Diane, and was doing her best to cut her with every breath she took, but Diane was far too quick-witted and blithely twisted her every word.
“How quickly you arrived to your friend’s aid,” the dowager said, her fork paused over a slice of lamb. “How was it that you were available? I would think a highly qualified governess would already be engaged.”
“The family I was employed by recently moved to a more fashionable area.”
The dowager’s lips pressed together. “I suppose it is fortunate for you that Miss Bennett is leaving her position, since you have no husband and must work.”
Diane nodded. “It is true that I am free to choose my employment, whereas I would be most tethered if I had eight children.”
The dowager’s retort was cut off by the arrival of the servants, who cleared the dishes and removed the tablecloth for the next course. Before the dowager could start in again, Diane turned to Owen and said, “Have you heard of the recent rash of illness in London, my lord?”
Ivy’s eyes widened, and she dropped her hand. Here she had been in Owen’s employ for several weeks, skulking around and listening to gossip and searching his chamber to no avail, and within an hour Diane had managed to bring up the very topic Ivy was so keen to learn about.
Owen’s gaze lifted from where he had been contemplating the wine in his goblet. “I have not read the papers today.”
“It has been in all the papers every day this week. A large number of women have recently become ill, but no one knows why. Some are saying the symptoms are figments of their imagination, and several have been institutionalized for hysteria.”
“Good!” The dowager gave a delicate shudder. “I have heard hysteria is catching.”
Ivy was studying every minute expression on Owen’s face. Frown lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “That is nonsense. If I had to wager, I would bet the rash of illness is not hysteria at all.”
“Then why does it only affect women?” the dowager demanded. “If it were a disease or true illness, would it not infect everyone?”
Owen’s large hand wrapped around the stem of his glass. “I do not know why it has only affected women, but I am certain there is a missing variable. Hysteria does not exist.”
“How are you so certain?” Barnes challenged.
Owen grunted in return, not bothering to rise to Barnes’s needling. That only urged Barnes on.
“Are you speaking from your vast knowledge of women?”
The not-so-subtle cut hung over the table like a storm cloud.
“Have you ever seen a hysterical woman?” Owen countered, his heavy brow raised. “I am talking about a woman who is hysterical for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than her own female madness?”
A muscle flexed in Barnes’s jaw.
“Exactly. It is fabricated. Whatever illness has come over those women is real.”
“And yet they will be cast into institutions anyway,” Ivy said angrily, unable to help interjecting. “Barnes, if I come down with this mysterious illness, will you allow Father to send me away?”
“He will not,” Owen growled.
Barnes glared at him. “That is not your decision to make.”
“I am courting her—”
“But she is not yet—”
Diane clapped loudly, her bright eyes bouncing from Owen to Barnes with undisguised glee. “This is ever so entertaining. I have never known a person able to get a rise out of Barnes so quickly, other than myself. What is your history together?”
The storm cloud grew darker until Barnes stood, threw his napkin on the table, and stomped out of the room.
Ivy released a tense breath. Was every supper to be like this? She did not think she would survive the animosity between Brackley and her brother for the next two months.
“Well,” Diane said, lifting her spoon and stabbing her pudding, “that went well.”
The following week was, if possible, tenser.
Barnes was pasted to Ivy’s side. He escorted her and Diane to the schoolroom, trading thinly veiled insults with her friend the entire way, and was leaning against the wall waiting for them when they finished.
He followed Ivy into the stables and rode with her on the property.
He ate his dinners with her, and once even tagged along with her to the kitchen to fetch tea.
The staff had immediately clammed up in his presence, and she had almost missed a vital piece of gossip because of it.
Just as she had been leaving with the tray in her arms and Barnes at her back, she had heard Eliza whisper to Thomas, “No, I swear I seen him lingering on the property twice now.”
“You sure it was a stranger and not the viscount?”
“Think I know my own master,” she had sniffed.
Ivy’s brow had furrowed. The maid had seen a stranger on the estate? When? What had he looked like? She needed to find a way to discreetly pump Eliza for the details, and in the meantime, she would have Diane keep a closer eye on the girls.
But if Ivy ever wanted the chance to learn more, she needed to dislodge Barnes. He was so attached to her hip that he was practically her shadow.
After the fourth day of his constant, brotherly, scowling presence looming over her, Ivy halted him in the corridor when he would have followed her into the library. “Barnes, stop.”
“Why? Are we going elsewhere?”
“No, we are not. Stop following me around like you expect Brackley to jump out from behind a bust and compromise me at any moment.”
“The whole purpose of me being here is to protect your reputation, Trouble. And I would not put it past him,” he muttered.
Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep, calming breath. “Barnes, when was the last time you saw Lord Brackley anywhere near me?”
“He accosted you in the yard yesterday.”
She gaped at him. “He stopped me and told me he was having a dress made for me for the party.” She had argued with him, explaining that she had a few gowns that would be perfectly suitable with a little added trim, but he had been as unyielding as stone.
He had insisted that as long as they were playing their parts, they were going to do it right, which meant he would clothe her in the best dresses for maximum effect. End of discussion.
Barnes grumbled. “He leaves you alone because I am always with you.”
“No, it is because he has no interest in me. He knows my intentions regarding Lord Hartford, and he is doing his best to make me an attractive option for the marquess. He is doing me a favor, Barnes, and you are treating him like a lecher.”
“If you think Brackley does not have any interest in you, then you are as blind as a bat, and it is fortunate I am here.” Before she could respond to that ridiculous statement, he added, “Why Hartford, Ivy? You are so intent on him, when I have never known you to be keen on marriage before.”
“It has become apparent Father will not rest until I am wed, and if I must marry, I want to choose my husband. Hartford is kind. I once saw a servant spill something on his coat, and he did not strike her.”
Barnes’s expression was stricken. “Not all men are like Father, Ivy.”
“No, I suppose not. But some are. Women become property of their husbands, and I will not marry a man who can hurt me however he pleases. Hartford has proven his kindness, and so he is my choice. Lord Brackley is helping me achieve that goal, so you need to stop treating him so poorly.”
His expression darkened further. “I am treating him how he deserves to be treated.”
“What happened between you two? If it was so terrible, do you not think I deserve to know?”
“It does not bear repeating.”
Ivy clenched her teeth. Men! “I cannot live like this. I will not live like this. You may stay at the estate and chaperone, but you will not act as my jailer.”
He glared at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Fine. But the moment I think he has crossed a line, I am throwing you in the carriage and taking you home.”
Ivy exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Barnes, I love you, but I am one more Neanderthal statement away from breaking your nose.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I forget how fearsome you are. Perhaps I do not have to worry so much after all. Unless… you do not fancy him, do you?”
Ivy huffed and stepped over the library threshold, where she was progressing through the most interesting book on Genghis Khan’s military strategy.
“I am not going to dignify that question with a response. And now that you will have free time on your hands, it does not mean you can spend it sparring with Diane,” she threw over her shoulder.
Barnes was as good as his word, and although she felt his heavy eyes on her from time to time, he no longer followed her around like a puppy. He had even eased off Diane, only trading verbal insults with her a few times a day rather than at every accidental meeting.
The girls loved Diane, to Ivy’s immense relief.
Diane was a whirlwind of fun and snappy comebacks, and she was an excellent teacher, too.
The worship in Ophelia’s eyes told Ivy she had nothing to worry about when she departed, an eventuality that made a lump appear in her throat every time she thought of it.
Suppers were horribly awkward, although none so explosive as the first. Still, each night Ivy could not wait until they ended.
Owen would sit at the foot of the table, eating in silence with his head down, while the dowager grilled Diane about the girls’ progress and made snippy comments about Diane’s lineage.
Barnes divided his time between throwing loathing looks at Owen and defending Diane to the dowager.
The first night he had done it, Ivy and Diane had been stunned into speechlessness.
The dowager had made a comment on Diane’s needlework being inferior, as was “expected from a poor country governess.” Barnes had, with a furrowed brow, said, “What good are neat stitches if the woman who wields the needle is graceless?”
After that, every time the dowager began to pick at Diane, Barnes would throw out an insult just disguised enough that she could never take true offense, perplexing Ivy to no end.
Everything had seemed to settle into an awkward, uncomfortable rhythm, when Ivy’s dress arrived via courier. Barnes was in the foyer when it was carried inside in a white box, and his lips turned down.
“It is Father’s job to buy your clothing,” he said sternly. Owen happened to be walking into the foyer at the moment, his head down as he read a letter, but when he lifted his face and saw the man holding the box, he nodded and instructed the maid to take it to Ivy’s chamber.
“You do not buy her clothes,” Barnes hissed at him. “She is not poor. She was not a governess because she had no means.”
Owen stared calmly at him, lowering the letter so that it dangled at his side.
“If I am not mistaken, your father is already funding the travels of your brothers. Would he be willing to spend a similar sum on clothing Ivy at the height of fashion?” At Barnes’s angry silence he added, “If she wants to catch Hartford’s eye, she needs to dress in the latest and the best.”
“Are you sure it is not you who is embarrassed by her clothing?”
“Miss Bennett could wear rags and I would not care.”
“Buying her a wardrobe is going above and beyond. What is your real motive?”
Owen sighed and started to walk away while Ivy glared daggers at her brother. When Owen was at the door, he paused and said to them, “Everyone needs to be ready to depart by noon tomorrow.”
Ivy’s heart pirouetted. Tomorrow she would enter society on the arm of Viscount Brackley. Tomorrow, she would lay eyes on Lord Hartford for the first time since the country ball two years ago.