Chapter 21 #2
Her escaped heart settled back into place.
He had not been to England in over two years.
Which, unless he was lying, meant he could not have visited the houses of the afflicted women.
And yet how could so many governesses have mistakenly identified the man who had visited as being Lord Brackley? It simply did not make sense.
“No reason,” Ivy said, jumping to her feet.
She was eager to write to the Dove. Until the highwayman was caught, the Dove had asked Ivy to cancel her weekly classes out of concern for the safety of the women, who were all traveling in secret at night.
Ivy had intended to do so anyway, so she had readily agreed.
But that also meant that she would not see the Dove in person any time soon and must reach out by post instead. “I have to go.”
She would have rushed past him, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist, gently encircling it with his large fingers.
The heat of his bare skin on hers sent sparks leaping across her arm and into her stomach.
“Your skin is so hot. Are you feverish?” she asked, turning to him. “Is the wound infected?”
He released her, his fingertips sliding off her skin as if he were reluctant to let her go.
“No. The doctor has said I am healing quite nicely, although I think the nurse knows more than he does. He prods and grumbles about how he would have cauterized the wound instead of sewing it, and that it is obvious an uneducated female took care of it. Meanwhile, the nurse washes her hands and uses carbolic acid and alcohol and nods with satisfaction at the neat row of stitches. I am blessed the seamstress got her hands on me before that blasted doctor. Speaking of your seamstress friend, has she received my letter of gratitude along with the funds to repair her shop?”
Ivy averted her eyes and nodded. She had visited the modiste in person and explained what had happened, leaving out several important facts. She had made it sound as if the shop were simply the closest stop to where the shooting had taken place, and that Ivy alone had taken care of Owen.
The seamstress had been close to tears, but the amount of money Owen had sent her to replace the used items had quickly fortified her.
“She was pleased with your generosity. Diane is scheduled to take the girls two at a time over the next several weeks to update their wardrobes.”
His gaze stayed on her face, and although his expression was mostly shuttered, there was a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Do not leave yet.”
“If you are bored, you could read a book.” But she relented and took a seat. The letter to the Dove could wait another hour.
“I have read a book. Many books.”
“The gossip rags?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “There is far too much being printed about us, and about the highway robbery, and nearly all of it is hogwash. As for the rest of the gossip, I am not well acquainted with half the people they are talking about, so why should I care if they were spotted walking together?”
She tried not to smile at the fact that he had read the gossip rags she had left behind. “Caring about the people is certainly a key component. Perhaps you would find more relevant gossip entertaining. I have loads of it collected from around the estate.”
“No, I do not—”
“For example, the dowager apparently threw not one, but two teacups against the wall, and Clara, one of the maids, had to pick all the shards out of the carpet. Then the silver candlesticks went missing from the ladies’ parlor, and the housekeeper turned the servants’ quarters upside down looking for them, but one of the maids swore they were there when she last dusted.
The dowager tried to blame Diane, but Diane marched the head housekeeper straight to her chamber and insisted she search it to clear her name, even though the head housekeeper was horrified to do so.
Diane thinks Miss Pithins is the culprit.
“And Cook ordered two fat pigs from Farmer Bailey in town, but when they arrived, they were the runts of the litter and Cook had paid a good price for them, and so now she is not talking to Farmer Bailey and instead has purchased a pig from Farmer Taylor, who everyone knows is Farmer Bailey’s archnemesis.
Supposedly Taylor’s grandfather stole from Bailey’s grandfather even though no one really remembers anymore what it was he was supposed to have stolen, but there has been bad blood between the families ever since.
Well, just yesterday the largest hog you have ever seen showed up outside the kitchen—alive—and Cook thinks it was Bailey trying to make amends while still being cheeky about it.
So now there is a hog in one of the horse stalls, and one of the girls has named him Mr. Porkster and put a funny paper hat on him, and Cook is growing fearful that she will not be allowed to slaughter him when the time comes because the girls are becoming attached. ”
Ivy paused to drag in a breath, but did not start up again when she caught the expression on Owen’s face. His head was tilted, and he was assessing her like she was a complete stranger.
“What?” she demanded.
“How is it that you know more about my estate than I do?”
“I listen.”
“A woman who listens is a dangerous creature,” he murmured. “You could ruin empires with those ears.”
Now that was a compliment. “Was that not all far more interesting than the gossip rags?”
“It was,” he admitted with a pained expression. “Mayhap I would not mind if you shared more. On occasion.”
Ivy grinned at him. Anyone who pretended not to like gossip was a liar, and she had never taken the viscount for a liar.
“You are not visiting your modiste friend at night anymore, are you?”
“Do you think Barnes would allow it?”
“I do not think Barnes could stop you.”
Her skin itched with the uncanny feeling that this man knew her better than her own brother did. “No, I do not wish to run into the highwayman again. I can only hope he is caught soon.”
“Good. I would not like to think of you riding the roads at dark. Now it is my turn to ask you a question.”
Her brow furrowed. “That is not part of our bargain.”
“I would like to amend our bargain.” Before she could protest, he said, “It is important that we appear to have some knowledge of one another when we arrive in London, is it not? I have written to the Marchioness of Southampshire and accepted her invitation to the opening ball of the Season, and I have had word that Hartford will be in attendance.”
She swallowed down her nerves. She had been raised among genteel society, but she had never been invited to the major crushes reserved for the diamonds of the ton, and now she was to arrive at the opening ball, with the entire city speculating about the viscount courting her.
She was to dance and make conversation as if she were not being scrutinized like a bug under a magnifying glass.
Mayhap, if the hysteria had not resolved by then, it would not be as heavily attended. “What do you wish to know?”
“What was it like growing up with six brothers?”
“It was fun and often frustrating.” She smiled fondly as she thought of her older brothers, who were, for the most part, sweet and kind humans.
The most overbearing one was Barnes, but as the eldest she supposed that was to be expected.
“They treated me like a baby, fighting my battles in public, all while terrorizing me in private. Once, Silas, one of my middle brothers, put a frog in my bed. We had a lot of fun growing up, but then my father thought I was not acting as a young girl should, and he began to penalize my brothers when they played with me.” Her heart sank at the memory.
“He ostracized me. Over time, they were afraid to play with me, or talk to me, or engage with me because they were punished severely when they did.”
Owen’s face hardened. “Barnes abandoned you, too?”
“Barnes does not listen to anyone. It was one of the many issues he had with my father.” Owen did not pry further, giving her the space to share more if she wanted.
Normally Ivy kept mute on that part of her childhood, but sometimes she wondered if secrets were like wounds and needed air to heal, lest they fester.
Besides, if anyone understood a strained relationship with one’s father, it was Owen.
Ivy absently wrapped a section of hair around her finger, winding and unwinding it. “When I was young, my father was very severe with all of us, including my mother. There were times when I fought back, but I did not have the skill. It ended poorly for me.”
Owen’s jaw was so tight she would not have been surprised to hear a tooth crack.
“Then Barnes left for Harrow, and Ezra became the oldest at home. He went from being silly and kind to dark and silent. I think he inherited the pressure Barnes lived under—and the horror—of seeing his father hurt those he loved and not being able to do anything about it.
“I remember the day Ezra snapped.” Ivy took a soft breath.
“My mother walked into the breakfast room with a black eye, and Ezra just… he could not bear it any longer. He lunged at my father, and he was still young enough that my father had the upper hand. My father was hitting him over and over, and my mother was shrieking. It is only through sheer luck that Barnes was scheduled to arrive from Harrow that day. When he walked in—”
She drifted off, remembering how she had pressed her ten-year-old body against the breakfast room wall, her eyes wide and her hands shaking while her father bloodied Ezra’s face and her mother screamed for Ezra to stop—not their father.
Her other brothers had been out of the house, and Ivy had been terrified that her father was going to kill Ezra.
She had grabbed her father’s right arm, hanging on to it with all her might until he shook her off and she went flying into the sideboard, a dish of rashers crashing on top of her. That was what Barnes had walked in on.
As irritating, uptight, and overbearing as Barnes was, Ivy would never forget the sense of relief that had settled over her when he had burst through the door.
He had been very, very angry. Not their father’s kind of angry, where he became red-faced and mean with spittle flying from his lips.
No, Barnes had been so angry that he had been pure, Arctic ice.
“Barnes pulled my father off Ezra and shoved him against the wall and said something so low I could not hear it, but my father paled to the pallor of a ghost. That night he packed his belongings and moved to the London house. He has not been back once, but he still reigns over us by letter, and punishes with the purse strings.”
She shivered at the expression on Owen’s face, and in that moment, she knew he could be just as icy and violent as Barnes. “He will not hurt you again, Sunshine. Ever.”
No, he would not. She had made certain of that. If she ever ran into her father again and he dared lay a hand on her, he would be in for a nasty surprise. Ivy would never be afraid of Mr. Hollister Bennett again.
“Not physically, but he can hurt me in other ways, such as forcing me into marriage. I think he has deliberately chosen horrid suitors to punish me. You have eight young sisters, Owen. I hope you remember how their lives and future happiness rest entirely in your hands when it comes time for them to marry.”
“I do not intend to sell my sisters like cattle. They will stay here.”
She laughed. “Will you keep them old maids?”
“If that is what they wish.”
“You are a good brother.”
He glanced away. “Hardly. I did not bother to visit them once before my father died. I did not think of them at all, except to bemoan that none of them was a boy.”
“Why should their sex matter?”
He lifted the teapot and poured another splash into his cup. “I had an arrangement with my father.” He threw the tea back like it was alcohol, and set the cup on the saucer with a click of porcelain. “If he sired another male heir who could legally inherit the estate, I would renounce the title.”
Ivy gasped. “Can that even be done?”
He met her eyes. “We would have found a way. But in the end, it did not matter. He had eight more children, and all of them ineligible to inherit by British law.”
“Do you hate being a viscount so much? It comes with such tremendous privilege and wealth.”
“I had more wealth before the viscountcy,” he muttered. “It also comes with tremendous responsibility. More than that, I had wished to sever any and all association with my father.”
“Was he that much of a monster?”
“Yes.”
At the flat, singular word, chills raced up Ivy’s arms. “It seems we were both unfortunate with the men who sired us.”
He smiled softly. “Is that the origin of our love story? Bonding over our fathers?”
Her heart thrashed confusingly in her chest for the space of three beats before she realized he was talking about their supposed love story for their supposed courtship. Of course he was.
“We were fortunate at the previous parties that we were not asked to delve too deeply into how we met. We had best align our stories now,” he said.
“I have the perfect answer to that question. Our courtship started the moment you laid eyes on me. The sun burst from between the clouds and shone down, illuminating me like the divine. You later told me you thought you were looking at an angel descended from heaven. After that moment, you knew you could not take one more breath without me by your side.”
The look he gave her was so incredulous that she almost let her face twitch.
“It is a good thing we are going over it now,” he said dryly. “I fear by the time you told that story across the ballroom, you would have embellished it to the point where I fell to my knees and sobbed into your skirts at the sight of your beauty.”
“That is not bad.”
“The story is we met when Barnes and I were at Harrow. You and I have corresponded over the years, and when I arrived and met you after all this time, I knew I had to court you.”
“I suppose that is more believable than my story,” she said grudgingly.
“Do not mistake me: your story was perfectly believable, Ivy. You are sunshine itself, and no one would doubt that you could bring a man to his knees, but I prefer to keep the ton’s interest in you at a reasonable level.
We want to entice Lord Hartford, but we do not want him making any rash declarations of love yet. ”
“I disagree. That would be spectacular. Then I could jilt you for him. It would solve all of our problems.”
Owen’s thunderous expression said otherwise.