Chapter 25
At supper Barnes suggested the three of them walk the fashionable hour in Hyde Park.
“It is important to set the tone.” Barnes blotted his napkin against his lips.
“The news of your run-in with the highwayman has eclipsed talk of the hysteria for the moment, and all eyes will be on you. We must make it plain, on your very first appearance, that I am here strictly chaperoning. We do not want Hartford to doubt Ivy’s reputation for a moment. ”
“Joy,” Owen muttered into his glass, low enough that only Ivy could hear it.
“His lordship is weary from travel,” she said, making an excuse for him. Although a number of people had left the city for fear of catching hysteria, the lure of the social season was too strong for the majority. “We can present ourselves another day.”
“Owen,” he growled. He took another swig of brandy and slammed the glass on the table. “And your brother is right.” He pushed back from the table with a loud scrape, making the footman jump. “Be ready in an hour.” He strode from the room without a backward glance.
“Who put the bee in his bonnet?” Barnes asked, relaxing once Owen was gone. “He has been more ogreish than usual.”
Ivy frowned down at her plate and slid a piece of fish across it with her fork. “Perhaps the city does not agree with him.” Perhaps he is angry about what happened in the field.
Ivy had thought of little else. She knew she would never have another kiss that passionate, that skilled, that heady again. She had thoroughly enjoyed the kiss. She had enjoyed everything they had done.
When she had lain in bed the night after, she had begun to feel ashamed for finding pleasure with a man who was not her husband, but Owen had not seemed to judge her for it. In fact, he had told her he was pleased with her. That she was beautiful. Perfect.
Just the memory of his praise made her flush.
Ivy was a resilient and independent woman, but the way he had taken control of her body had been exhilarating in a way she never could have imagined or known she wanted.
Because she had liked ceding control. She had liked hearing him praise her while he brought her to crisis.
And then Barnes had nearly caught them, and the regret that had flashed across Owen’s face had been so intense that it had made her stomach clench.
He would be miserable if he were forced to marry her—that was if Barnes did not incite him into a duel first—and she would forever feel like a burden.
Ivy did not expect a love match, but she did hope her future husband would at least find the marriage mutually beneficial.
That was one of the reasons she had wished to wed Lord Hartford.
She would never feel anything but warm, friendly affection for Hartford, and she suspected he felt similarly about her, but at least she could offer him companionship.
When it came to Owen, there was nothing she could offer a man determined to avoid the altar.
As for their lessons, in the beginning she had convinced herself she was trying to learn to be a better lover for Hartford, but now she could not imagine doing what she had done in the field with anyone other than Owen.
The thought of kissing Hartford with such passion, or allowing herself to become uninhibited enough to reach crisis the way she had with Owen, was unthinkable.
Panic began to settle into her bones. Perhaps Hartford would not wish to engage in such activities with her. Perhaps he would not desire an heir.
No, of course he would. She was being absurd.
But now that she had foolishly had a taste of passion with Owen, she was not sure she would be able to stand any other touch.
She had urged Owen on despite all his warnings and hesitancy, and now she was afraid he had ruined her, because she no longer wanted a gentle marriage with Hartford.
She wanted Owen.
Ivy mentally chastised herself. It did not matter that she wanted Owen; she could not have him.
He had made his objections to marriage quite clear, and Barnes would never allow a union between them anyway.
She had a brief window of opportunity to find a marriage match that was satisfactory, which meant she must push Owen from her mind and forge ahead with her plan lest she end up married to that monster Reedly.
“I need to dress,” she said, pushing away from the table.
Barnes lifted a forkful of fish. “Choose your gown wisely. This is your first foray into society. And, Ivy, I must warn you… do not be surprised if you run into Father.” The atmosphere between them darkened.
“He lives in London, and he is basking in the social currency your courtship has been building him. I would not put it past him to approach you in public. Mayhap not tonight, since I doubt news of our arrival has spread, but soon.”
Ivy stiffened. “I look forward to dashing his hopes when I end the courtship.”
Barnes nodded. “You and me both.”
In her chamber, Ivy dressed with care, knowing that how she presented herself reflected not only on her but also on Owen.
She chose a dark maroon velvet walking dress, complete with a pair of gloves and a little matching hat.
She laced herself into a sturdy pair of boots with a heel, pinned her curls firmly in place, and nodded in satisfaction at her reflection.
She looked fresh and proper, the material of her gown so clearly vibrant that it had to be new.
The outfit was in high fashion, and it felt like armor that would protect her from the discerning eyes of the ton.
When she descended the stairs, her gloved fingers trailing the scratched banister, Barnes nodded in approval and turned away, while Owen’s gaze swallowed her.
He extended his arm, and she put her fingertips lightly on his black frock coat, and they exited the house with Barnes trailing a respectable distance behind.
The moment her feet landed on the Mayfair streets, colors, scents, and sounds burst around her.
It was a two-mile walk to Hyde Park, and she took in every lavish moment with awe.
Ivy had been to London before, but never to the fashionable heart of it.
Women everywhere were eager to be seen, wearing feathered hats and bold colors, the latest of which was a garishly bright “parrot green” that almost hurt her eyes.
Carriages drove past, dust flying in the air to mingle with the ever-present cloud of coal smoke, the horses’ coats glistening in the early evening light.
A girl was selling flowers on the corner, while a boy covered in black soot dodged past. For a woman who had spent the majority of her life on quiet, romantic country lanes, it was a shock to Ivy’s senses.
While she walked silently beside Owen, she imagined what it would be like to teach self-defense at the Dove’s school for governess spies. Was Perdita’s nearby? What sort of women attended? How long could she expect to be employed there?
“We shall be on the front page of the papers tomorrow,” Owen muttered.
Ivy snapped out of her daydream to realize that as they had neared Hyde Park, they had attracted more and more attention.
Folks were trying not to openly gawk, but the furtive glances were obvious all the same.
Barnes had drawn closer, tipping his hat and calling out gallantly to those he knew, making his presence known.
When they reached the footpath that wound near the carriage way, Ivy’s fingers were nearly cramped with how hard she was gripping Owen’s arm. She deliberately relaxed them.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I knew to expect scrutiny, but I did not understand the level of—”
“Lord Brackley, is that you?” An older woman in an impeccable ensemble and mink muff lifted her glittering gaze to Owen.
“My lady.” He swept her a bow, while Ivy panicked that she did not remember who the woman was. She should have refreshed herself on the names and titles of the peerage.
The woman gazed past him, her birdlike eyes landing on Ivy. “Is this the governess everyone is talking about?” Her sniff said everything she thought about that.
Owen stiffened under Ivy’s touch. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Barnes react in a similar manner.
“Lady Ruth, this is Miss Ivy Bennett, the granddaughter of the Marquess of Rothford, and, should my courtship prove fruitful, the future viscountess.” He inclined his head to Barnes. “Her brother, Mr. Bennett.”
Lady Ruth harrumphed, dismissing Barnes with barely an acknowledgment, her eagle eyes returning to Ivy. They swept over her hair and gown with such vulgar assessment that Ivy was appalled. And here she had thought the ladies of the ton had manners!
The lady’s lip curled when she could find no fault with Ivy’s dress.
Dismissing Ivy as she had Barnes, she turned a rusty smile on Owen.
“My daughter, Lady Cora, has returned from the country to attend the opening ball of the Season. She is the loveliest harpist; ’tis like standing in the presence of an angel when she plays. Will you be in attendance, my lord?”
“Miss Bennett, Mr. Bennett, and I have accepted our invitations.”
“Excellent.” With one last disdainful look at Ivy she added, “I do hope you will save Lady Cora a dance. I know your father would have approved of her.”
Once the odious woman had swept away, Ivy whispered, “Lady Ruth?”
“Countess of Glenwood,” Owen explained, his tone hard.
“How do you remember all of their names after being gone for so long?” If Lady Ruth was any indication of what was to come, Ivy wished the fashionable hours over already.
His lips tilted downward. “I was forced to memorize them as a boy, and it seems they have stuck despite my best attempts to forget them. There will be younger people I do not know.”
“I know most of them,” Barnes said, appearing at his side. “I will supply their names when appropriate.”
Owen cut him a disbelieving glance. “You would help me?”