by Regina Scott
Mr. Cowls’s gaze was well above her head. “I have reason to believe he is a Bow Street Runner, madam.”
Ice raced up her spine. Meredith picked up her lavender skirts and swept down the corridor for the kitchen. Fortune stalked at her side.
As her butler had said, a fellow with a pocked face and thick brown hair half hidden by a tweed cap leaned against the doorjamb to the rear garden.
“Sounds like a fine lady to be working for,” he was telling Cook, who was finishing her supper preparations as she chatted with the investigator assigned to the Bow Street magistrate’s office, their pot boy sitting with hands wet from the scrubbing to listen. “But I heard her fortune came to her in scandal.”
“No,” Cook said, knife slicing through a carrot. “Fortune attached herself to the mistress some time ago.”
He blinked in obvious confusion, then straightened as Meredith moved into the room.
“What do you think you’re doing, disturbing my staff?” she demanded.
He touched his cap. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. Just looking for a friendly ear.”
“An earful of gossip, you mean,” Meredith countered. She bent and scooped up Fortune before the cat could escape past his legs into the walled garden beyond. “Why are you here? Who asked you to look into my affairs?”
He held up his hands. “Now, then, no complaint’s been made to the magistrate. I’m simply asking for a friend.”
Meredith glared at him. “What friend?”
He lowered his hands. “Wouldn’t be much of one if I named names. Suffice it to say, a man deserves to know who he’s marrying, Miss Rose.”
The sound of that name never failed to stab her. Did he know it? And why insinuate Julian had set him to this questioning? Julian knew all about her past. He had no reason to wonder about her. Did he?
She glanced up at the fellow. Those green eyes were shrewd, watching her, assessing.
“And you’ve made a mistake,” she told him. “There is no Miss Rose in this house. If I hear of you bothering my staff or acquaintances again, I will speak to the magistrate myself. Now, begone.”
Fortune put back her ears and hissed at him.
The Runner backed away. Meredith watched until he turned and let himself out of the gate.
“Wait a moment, then follow him,” Mr. Cowls told their pot boy. “I want to know his client.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try.” The boy shook the suds off his hands and crept out the door.
“Forgive me, madam,” Cook said, gaze on the tiles of the floor. “I didn’t mean to gossip. He came to the door looking for scraps, he said. I just thought it would be kind to pass the time.”
He’d been looking for scraps, all right, anything he could find that put Meredith in a dismal light. Why? She’d kept to herself before agreeing to Julian’s courtship. Her clients were all happy with her support—look how quickly they’d accepted her wedding invitation.
No, this Runner had to have come on the behest of the same person who’d sent someone to question Sir Harry and his staff about Patience. Surely not Julian. Julian loved her, was going to link his life to hers. So who had decided to probe into her background now? And what were they hoping to find?
Worse, were her clients in danger?
She whirled to face her butler. “Send word to Lady Worthington that I will be delayed. I must write to Jane, Patience, Charlotte, and Ivy. Have someone ready to take the notes as soon as I finish. I’ll alert Lydia and Yvette when I see them. And send word to Mr. Mayes to call this evening. Someone is trying to hurt us, and I won’t allow it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ivy ran her hand over the gleaming copper pan. “And you say Lord Kendall ordered these?”
“To encourage our new baker,” Mrs. Sheppard told her as they stood in the busy kitchen. “Along with four sheets, a set of porcelain mixing bowls, and a rolling pin. And I wonder—what would you think of a Rumford range?”
“I’d be ever so grateful, your ladyship,” Mrs. Grunion said with a wistful sigh that loosened the apron on her chest.
Ivy had heard of the invention. Instead of juggling pots in the hearth, a lady could use a Rumford range to cook each pot in a long row, with the heat regulated under each pot. To think of such a wonder, in her kitchen!
Ivy lowered her hand. “It would be marvelous, Mrs. Grunion, but I cannot justify the expense. Even these may be too much. Perhaps we should send them back.”
Mrs. Grunion’s round face fell, and the housekeeper caught Ivy’s hand as if fearing she meant to snatch up the new items right then. She must have remembered her place, for she quickly dropped her hand. But she didn’t give up on her quest.
“Please, your ladyship, don’t refuse the gifts. He was so delighted to help.”
Ivy’s heart softened. “Very well. Thank you for your input, Mrs. Grunion. Mrs. Sheppard, may I have a word?”
The housekeeper followed her out into the corridor, shutting the door on the cook’s curious gaze.
“You won’t speak to him,” Mrs. Sheppard said as they started down the corridor. “It would spoil his joy in surprising the baker.”
“Not today,” Ivy promised her. “But I wanted to talk to you about the household budget. If we mean to invest in new pans and such, we must economize elsewhere. Ask Mrs. Grunion to make soup the main course at least once a week, and no more sending to London for meat and vegetables. We can buy from local farmers.”
Mrs. Sheppard frowned. “Are we having financial difficulties, my lady?”
“Not yet,” Ivy said. “And I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there’s all the ingredients we’ll need to bake for Miss Thorn’s wedding.”
“I’ll see to it,” the housekeeper assured her. “I can move things around in the household budget.”
“Good,” Ivy said as they reached the entry hall. “Now, another question. The Duchess of Wey mentioned an invitation that should have arrived for me from Miss Thorn. Do you know what might have become of it?”
Mrs. Sheppard glanced to Travis beside the door. “I’ll look into the matter, your ladyship, and ensure any correspondence is delivered to you immediately.”
Ivy thanked her and headed upstairs for Kendall’s daily visit with Sophia.
She had suggested that he spend more time with his daughter each day and was doing what she could to see those visits successful, for him and for Sophia. She’d looked through the old nursery and located several clapboard books, the hand-tinted colors mellowed with time, as well as a few toys that might suit a baby. Now she seated Kendall in the oak rocker and brought him his daughter and a book.
He accepted Sophia carefully but eyed the book with a frown. “What am I to do with that?”
“Read to her,” Ivy said as Sophia reached for the book.
“I need both hands to keep her safe,” he protested.
Perhaps not safe, but certainly secure. Already Sophia was wiggling against her father’s grip, which was obviously tightening.
“Watch me,” Ivy said. She took the baby back from him and went to sit on the other chair in the room. “Balance her on your knee like so, and put one arm around her back, your hand on her hip. She is well anchored, but still capable of moving so she won’t resist confinement.”
He stood and wandered closer. “Ingenious,” he murmured as if she’d been the first mother to think of the tactic.
“Hold the book in your other hand. These pages are thick enough you could let her turn them herself.” She lifted the book and spread the pages with her fingers. Sophia’s eyes widened as she gazed at the picture.
“Ride a cock-horse to Banbury cross,” Ivy read, “to see a fine lady upon a white horse. Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes.”
Sophia leaned forward and reached for the book.
Kendall flung himself at her. “She’ll fall!”
Sophia took one look at his concerned face and broke into wails. He collapsed back, concern
turning to dismay.
“Go sit on the rocker,” Ivy told him kindly.
She could feel his reluctance. Very likely few people ever ordered him about, even in kind tones. She certainly wouldn’t have dreamed of it a month ago, but someone had to intervene between him and Sophia. Still, he went and sat, so stiffly he might have been made of oak too. Ivy brought him the sobbing baby.
“Hold her close, pat her back,” she instructed him. “Talk to her.”
He settled Sophia against him, but he could not seem to bring himself to lift his hand off her and pat her. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he said.
Sophia gulped down a cry, then stuck a thumb in her mouth.
He thrust her back. “Do you see that? She’s starving. When was she last fed?”
Sophia started crying again.
“She was fed an hour ago,” Ivy told him. “She isn’t starving. Babies suck their thumbs to comfort themselves.”
Kendall gazed at his sobbing daughter. “Which means I failed to bring her comfort.”
“Try again,” Ivy urged. “Show her how much you love her.”
It was as if she’d lit a fire in a cold, dark room. His look softened, his countenance warmed. He cuddled his little girl, set the rocker in motion. Sophia lay her head against his chest and sighed contentedly, cries dwindling to a hiccough.
He gazed down at her dark head in obvious awe. “There’s Papa’s little darling. Everything will be all right. I promise.”
Sophia’s eyes drifted shut.
Ivy’s heart soared. This, this moment was why she was in this house, why she’d agreed to marry him. She wanted to hold them both close, share the love that glowed around them.
Would there ever come a time when she was held in those arms, when Kendall whispered words of love meant only between a husband and wife?
She was showing him how to be a father. Could she show him what it meant to be a husband again?
Daring thought, but it refused to leave her over the next few days. They were coming to know each other well. Did he notice nothing to encourage him closer? Was there something she was willing to change that might make him see her differently? Was it right to encourage him closer when she’d agreed to a marriage of convenience?
She hadn’t realized her internal debate was showing externally until Mrs. Sheppard asked for a moment of her time while Sophia was being changed and Kendall closeted with his steward.
“Is there a problem with the household staff?” the housekeeper asked, face bunching in concern, as she addressed Ivy in her suite.
“No, certainly not,” Ivy assured her. “You’ve all been wonderful.”
“Then perhaps the decor fails to please her ladyship?” Mrs. Sheppard persisted, wandering over to tug the drapes wider. “More flowers in the rooms? Different varieties? New paintings?”
“The house is beautiful,” Ivy told her. “Have I done something to indicate otherwise?”
“Not in so many words,” the housekeeper allowed, returning to her spot on the deep green carpet. “But, if I may say so, your ladyship seems unaccountably pensive of late. The staff is concerned.”
The thought that the busy staff would notice, and care, touched her heart. “Thank you all for your kindness,” Ivy said with a smile, “but I’m fine. Perhaps just considering my role at Villa Romanesque.”
Mrs. Sheppard drew herself up. “You are the lady of the manor. I defy anyone to say otherwise.”
What a champion she’d gained in the housekeeper. Perhaps enough of a champion to appeal to for help now?
Ivy eyed her. “You knew the previous lady of the manor, Lord Kendall’s first wife.”
Mrs. Sheppard shifted, grey skirts swinging, as if the mention of the deceased troubled her. “I did. And Lord Kendall’s mother before her.”
Ivy spread her hands. “What can I do to be more like them?”
“Why would you want to be more like them?” Mrs. Sheppard demanded. As Ivy reared back, the housekeeper pressed two fingers to her lips.
“Forgive me, Lady Kendall,” she said, lowering her hand. “That was not my place. I meant no disrespect to those ladies, God rest their souls. It’s simply that you are a different sort of person.”
Her shoulders felt so heavy she could only let her hands fall. “Then there is no hope for me.”
Mrs. Sheppard took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “You mistake me. Lord Kendall’s mother was a tyrant who spent every moment ruling her son and her husband with an iron hand. The previous Lord Kendall praised her devotion, but I think the poor man grew five inches after she was gone. The last Lady Kendall was as frail as a butterfly. She had to focus on her own needs merely to survive, so a certain self-interest was to be expected. You are stronger, kinder, and more compassionate than both of them combined. Do not try to be their equal. You are already far superior.”
Ivy’s lips were trembling, and she had to stop herself from hugging the housekeeper. “Oh, Mrs. Sheppard, thank you. You cannot know what your words mean to me. If only Lord Kendall saw me the same way.”
“Ah.” The housekeeper stepped back. “That is easily remedied. I will have a word with Percy about your hair.”
Ivy’s hand flew to the bun at the top of her head. “My hair?”
“Just gilding the lily,” Mrs. Sheppard assured her. “A few changes in wardrobe and accessories will make all the difference. Percy will know what to do.”
Ivy swallowed, lowering her hand. “Might there be someone other than Percy who could provide advice? I’m not sure she likes me much.”
The housekeeper’s lips tightened. “She is being well paid to serve you. If she doesn’t enjoy the duty, she can find other work. Leave this to me, your ladyship. We will show Lord Kendall the gem you are, and I have no doubt he will come to appreciate you as much as we all do.”
~~~
Kendall breathed deep of the warm summer breeze as he and his steward returned from reviewing the progress on reroofing the tenant cottages. His tenants were pleased; his steward was pleased. He had every reason to be pleased as well, if for an entirely different reason.
He was coming to know his daughter.
What an amazing creature! So curious, so clever. Just the other day she’d begun spouting syllables. They hadn’t added up to words, yet, but Ivy said it was only moments before Sophia said Papa. That would likely be one of the finest days of his life.
Doctor Penrose had been equally delighted.
“Stronger than she’s ever been,” he’d said at his last visit. “Lungs and heart sound good, and her weight and height are approaching what I would expect for her age. I believe it safe for me to call once a month. Your staff is to be congratulated.”
It wasn’t the staff. It was Ivy. Her care of Sophia was nothing short of brilliant. He could not imagine life without her.
Except when he looked at Sophia and saw Adelaide looking back at him. Then he felt small, lacking. He had promised to love Adelaide with all his heart. Was it right that now, more often, his thoughts veered to Ivy?
“Looks like we have a visitor,” his steward said with a nod toward the drive. Kendall recognized the coach and urged his gelding faster.
Sir Alexander was just alighting, satchel under one arm.
“My lord, well met,” he said, as Kendall reined in and dismounted. “I’ve brought those papers we discussed. If I could have a moment of your and the lady’s time, we can sign them, and I’ll be off.”
The steward excused himself, a groom took charge of Kendall’s horse, and Kendall accompanied the solicitor into the house, directing him to the study while he sent Travis to locate Ivy. Then he joined his man of affairs.
Mrs. Sheppard brought lemonade and biscuits and curtsied before leaving them. Sir Alexander poured himself a glass.
“I hope Lady Sophia remains well,” the solicitor said, holding the sweating crystal in his hands.
“She is in the best possible health,” Kendall told him, pouring himself a glass as
well as he sat next to his man. “Better than ever before. She is about ready to crawl. Ivy says there will be no stopping her then.”
Alex rolled the glass back and forth between his palms. “Lady Kendall spends a great deal of time with the girl, I take it?”
Why did he make that sound distressing? Did he feel Kendall had taken advantage of Ivy’s good nature? There were moments Kendall wondered.
“Ivy is devoted to her,” he told the solicitor. “Sophia would not have come so far, so quickly, without her. I am certain of that.”
“Well,” Alex allowed, leaning back, “they say babies are indiscriminate creatures. So long as you find a proper governess before Lady Sophia is too old, I’m sure she will still grow up to be her mother’s daughter.”
Immediately his guilt began whispering. You see? Even Alex knows you must do more to honor Adelaide’s memory.
Ivy entered just then, and Kendall set down his glass to rise and meet her. Alex stood more slowly, setting aside his glass and going around to take his place behind the desk, for all the world as if they had come to see him at his office.
Kendall shoved aside the mild irritation at the gesture. Alex was nothing if not efficient. It would be easier if Kendall and Ivy were standing together.
“Sir Alex would like us to sign the dower arrangements,” Kendall explained as he reached Ivy’s side. “It shouldn’t take long.”
She smiled, like sunlight brightening his study, and he could not help but admire the way the rose-colored gown matched the shade of her lips. She had always been lovely, but lately something had changed. Her hair seemed softer, little tendrils brushing her cheeks, the color more golden. And he hadn’t realized just how impressive her figure was until she’d tied a sash under her bosom.
Admiration. Just admiration.
He stuck out his arm for her to take and kept her a stately distance away from him as he escorted her to the desk and released her.
Alex had spread the pages out for them. “Everything as we agreed, my lord. A generous dower arrangement—house of her own, funds to support herself. The usual sort of thing.”