by Sahara Kelly
“Invitation? Me? Did you not hear who I am, you dunce?”
“I heard, my Lady. As did most of this borough, half the river Thames and probably a fair portion of Greenwich. The acoustics in Sydenham House have always been accorded high praise, even from the great Catalani.” He sniffed.
“A mere amateur,” sniffed Lady Streatford in her turn, not to be outdone. “His Grace the Duke of Maidenbrooke told us of this event not a week past. I understand that he and his niece frequent these evenings?” She snorted. “I have difficulty imagining why, when dear Countess Lieven is holding court at Almack’s even as we speak.”
“Perhaps you will be attending?” Hobson appeared hopeful. “I would be most happy to call your Ladyship a carriage.”
“Now listen to me, my good man—”
“As a matter of fact, he’s my good man, Lady Streatford. And merely executing my instructions. However, I will take it upon myself to welcome you to Sydenham House this evening, in spite of your lack of an invitation.”
Maud’s words were glacial, and for a moment Ivy was shocked into silence. This was a side of her friend that she’d never seen before. But it was really quite impressive.
Before Lady Streatford could respond with whatever outrageous comment trembled on her lips, Maud continued. “I assume that you are accompanied by Mr Albert Streatford. If so, I will point out that it ill becomes anyone holding the title of ‘Honourable’ to behave as if he were twelve and confronted with his first female.” She gestured to the portly youth who even now was trying to catch the eye of a newcomer. “Please remind him that this is not a house of pleasure, but a house where guests of mine may enjoy themselves. I would take it amiss should any complain about being harassed.” She closed her mouth with a snap.
Lady Streatford, glancing at her son, could not respond with anything other than “oh, very well.” She reached out her fan and whacked Albert around the ear. “Behave.”
“But Mama—” Albert pouted and rubbed his cheek.
“You will find the dancing has commenced…” Maud gestured to the ballroom. “And there are refreshments in the dining room beyond. I hope you will enjoy yourself.”
“And the Duke,” said Lady Streatford as she turned. “Will he be attending? And that delightful niece? Patience or something? Albert was quite entranced with her when we met last week…”
The sweet charm in her tone grated on Ivy, who stepped forward with a curtsey. “I believe they will be here, my Lady. Miss Prudence is a particular friend of mine and we are engaged to meet this evening.”
Lady Streatford raised her own glass, surveyed Ivy, and dismissed her, turning back to Maud. “Please have someone inform his Grace that we are here once he has arrived.” She flashed a glance at Ivy. “This one will do.”
Then, head high, she seized her son’s arm and marched him beside her into the ballroom.
“My Lady, may I…” said Hobson, his face slightly flushed, his clenched teeth betrayed by his twitching cheeks.
Maud sighed. “No Hobson, you may not.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
He rolled his eyes, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I shall exercise restraint then. Oh, the things I do for this family.” He marched off as well, in the opposite direction to the ballroom.
“I don’t understand any of that,” said Rose. “But I do know I don’t like Lady Streatford at all. And her son—well, Prudence was right.”
“Seconded by me,” added Lydia, coming out from behind a conveniently large urn filled with flowers. “I eavesdropped. What a horrid man.”
“How can some people be so—so arrogant?” Judith frowned.
“How can she be here, not at Almack’s.” Maud frowned too.
“She’s after a match,” said Ivy. “Between Albert and Prudence.”
“Over my dead body,” sputtered Maud.
“I agree with the sentiment,” grinned Ivy. “But rather over her dead body, Ma’am, not yours.”
“If only I could let Hobson have his way…” chuckled Maud. “We’ll manage. But for heaven’s sake alert the Duke and Prudence when they arrive, will you? I would not want him blindsided by that old battleaxe.”
“Well, my friends. It’s up to us to keep Prudence safe. I think we can do that.” The look in Lydia’s eye was not dissimilar to a General marshalling his troops.
“Of course we can.” Judith’s eyes narrowed. “I have an idea.”
“Away with you, then,” said Maud. “Let me know if you need my help.”
Ivy nodded. “I'll wait here for a little while. They should arrive soon. It will look more natural for me to accompany them.”
With an approving nod, Maud led the other three back into the fray, while Ivy eased down onto a soft chair to await the Duke’s arrival.
She sat straight and still, as a young lady should, but inside her heart was doing that odd little dance it had learned to perform whenever his Grace was near.
So silly. So very silly.
*~~*~~*
“A busy evening,” commented the Duke as he escorted his niece into the Sydenham House foyer. Music echoed through the rooms, as did the laughter and hum of conversation.
“How lovely,” smiled Prudence eagerly. “Oh and here’s Ivy.” She waved as her friend approached.
To the Duke’s eyes, Ivy was elegance personified; her delicate green gown emphasising her colouring, yet doing so in a subtle way that could not be condemned as garish. His gaze rested on her as she moved quietly to their side.
“A personal welcome, Miss Ivy?” He lifted his brows with a smile. “You are very kind.”
She nodded, dropping a curtsey. “Not really, your Grace. I’m here to warn you both.”
“Oh? About what?”
Prudence blinked. “Is everything all right, Ivy?”
“It was…until the Streatfords arrived.”
“Damnation.” An oath was surprised from the lips of the usually controlled Duke.
“I have a few other words I might also suggest, your Grace.” Hobson arrived with a bow, ready to accept their outerwear. “Sadly, my suggestions as to a solution to the matter in question were turned down by my mistress.”
His face revealed little, but the Duke managed not to chuckle. He could only imagine some of the inventive ways Hobson might have found to manage the Streatfords.
“I thank you for your enthusiasm, Hobson. And I appreciate the thought.” He leaned forward, turning away from the ladies. “I might just call upon you later, if matters degenerate.”
Hobson lowered his head respectfully, spine rigid. “It would be my honour, your Grace.”
“I take it the dishonourable Albert is here too?” Prudence’s lips curved into a very respectable sneer.
Ivy nodded. “Sorry. Yes, he is. But even now, we’re working on a plan for your protection, Prudence.”
She blinked, then looked intrigued. “You are?”
“With your Grace’s permission,” began Ivy, linking her arm through Prudence’s and leading her toward the ballroom.
“You have it,” he mumbled, following them and trying to hear what Ivy was saying. But the sound of the small orchestra playing a lively waltz masked most of her words, and he sighed, knowing he’d just have to wait and trust that her affection for Prudence would indeed protect her.
As soon as they appeared, three young ladies swarmed them, seizing Prudence and bearing her off with smiles and laughter.
Within moments, she was part of a merry crowd on the far side of the ballroom, and minutes after that she was being swept around the floor in the arms of Matthew Davenport.
“Aha,” smiled Ivy. “The plan has begun.”
The Duke blinked. “And that would be…”
She wrinkled her nose and then chuckled. “At a guess, I would think that it’s to keep Prudence fully occupied with her friends, both for dances and food, thus eliminating any chance of the dishonourable nincompoop from making a nuisa
nce of himself.”
Glancing over the crowd, the Duke glimpsed Lady Streatford, who had apparently observed their arrival. She was rising, clearly drawing a bead on his own person.
“In that case, may I request that you include me in your plan?” He held out his hand to Ivy.
“What?”
“Dance with me, Miss Ivy.” He grabbed her. “Now.”
Understanding flooded her expression. “Of course, your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”
She was in his arms and amongst the dancers with barely a whisper of her gown, sliding to the rhythm, matching his steps and smiling up at him, displaying all the proper charm expected of a well-bred young lady waltzing with a Duke.
Only he could see the imp of mischief dancing in the back of her laughing green eyes. There were several freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, tiny red curls escaping from her smoothed hair, and the curve of her lips accentuated their lush rosy fullness.
He was getting used to his body tightening around this woman, but still found it a shock when he responded to her in a way that was unique in his experience—with what could best be described as a momentary stutter in his heartbeat.
His arms pulled her a little closer. “I enjoy dancing with you, Miss Ivy.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I—er—thank you, sir. I also enjoy these moments. We seem to be well suited, in spite of your height.”
“Or your lack thereof,” he teased.
She weighed that comment. “True. I cannot pretend to be anything other than short.”
“And yet here we are, turning and progressing in perfect step with each other.” He demonstrated the validity of that statement by whirling her into a fast turn.
“Oh my,” she whispered, her eyes glued to his face. “Indeed yes.”
“We must have at least one more dance, so that I may count this evening as a success, in spite of the Streatford threat.”
She blinked, then nodded and eased away from him just a little. It was as if he’d inadvertently reminded her of where they were. He cursed his wayward tongue, but the damage was done.
“Is she watching?” Ivy raised her chin.
“Like a hawk over a mouse,” he answered scathingly. “Damn woman hasn’t taken her eyes off myself or Prudence since we walked in.”
“How can people be like that?” Prudence sighed as they turned to reverse down the length of the ballroom.
He took advantage of her abstraction to pull her back into his arms more closely. “It’s bred into many of them, you know. Raised to believe they’re better than everyone else.”
“You’re not like that,” she answered promptly, then gasped at her own temerity. “Forgive me, that was an appallingly personal comment and quite out of line…” Her cheeks filled with colour.
“I’m taking it as a huge compliment, so don’t you dare apologise.” He smiled down at her. “Any time anyone tells me I’m not like the Streatfords, I am thrilled beyond measure.”
She couldn’t help the laugh his words engendered, and as he saw the delight and amusement flood her expression, something stirred inside him. Something that sent a tremor through him, nearly made him stumble, and took a good portion of the breath from his lungs.
What the devil was that?
Chapter Five
There was no question that Ivy enjoyed dancing with the Duke.
Something about the way his arms encircled her, or the look in his eyes when he smiled down at her during the measures—she chastised herself intensely for placing any kind of importance on what she believed to be his naturally polite nature.
And yet…
As the music ended, he manoeuvred them to within speaking distance of Prudence, thus ensuring that they were surrounded once more by friends.
Lady Streatford’s progress toward them was thwarted as another older lady tapped her on the arm and pointed at Albert with a frown.
“Oh dear,” sighed Lydia, looking at the couple. “It seems as though the nincompoop has been misbehaving himself.”
Ivy couldn’t turn and stare, much as she wanted to. “Who is it this time?” She leaned toward Lydia as if in conversation.
“Lady Celchester,” answered Lydia. “I would guess Albert has been lurking around Harriet.”
“Her daughter?”
“Her niece.”
“Urgh. He is such a bore. As is his mother.” Ivy bit her lip. “And I feel somewhat responsible for their presence in an obscure and roundabout sort of way.”
Lydia snorted. “Don’t be absurd. It’s as plain as the nose on your face she’s here to snabble Prudence for her misbegotten offspring. And that is in no way your fault or your responsibility. Someone like that would have followed any potential match for her annoying son, no matter where the path led.”
“Exactly what I’ve been saying,” endorsed Prudence, coming up to the conversation and slipping her arm through Ivy’s. “Uncle Colly and I are the reason she’s here. You, my dear friend…” she tugged on Ivy’s arm, “you are my guardian angel. You and Lydia and everyone. The great plan is a huge success and my dance card is filled.” She held it up with a smile. “All people I like. So I can turn down Albert with a perfectly clear conscience.”
As if summoned by his niece, the Duke moved to her side. “Miss Ivy. Prudence tells me she’ll be taking supper with her friends. May I join you?”
“Of course, your Grace,” smiled Ivy. She leaned toward him a little. “There is strength in numbers.”
He grinned back; the smile easing the more customary serious expression he tended to exhibit. “My sentiments precisely.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”
“We shall indeed.” She nodded at Prudence. “Food awaits.”
As if responding to a signal, Matthew, Judith, Rose and Lord Miles Linfield joined the little party, with Sir Ragnor Withersby appearing shortly thereafter.
It was a merry time, and Ivy thoroughly enjoyed watching the Duke relax in such congenial company.
She couldn’t help but notice, however, the steely looks of disapproval that were being cast their way from the corner of the room where Lady Streatford and her son were also dining. Alone.
“Do you think that Lady Maud will be able to prevent them from returning?” Prudence delicately dabbed her lips with a napkin and used it to conceal her comment to Ivy.
“If she can’t, I will be most surprised.”
“The Streatford name is not without consequence…”
“But the Sydenham name has more. And is better liked.” Ivy grinned. “Would you care to place a wager on the winner were it to come to a fight?”
“Lord no,” giggled Prudence. “Lady Maud would lay her out in lavender within seconds.”
Ivy nodded. “So I would hazard a very strong guess that this will be the first and last visit to the Wednesday club by the Streatfords. Especially Albert.”
Once again, the unpleasant young man had returned to his ill-mannered habit of ogling the ladies present.
Ivy made a little moue of distaste. “I have to say, I seriously dislike Albert. There’s nothing honourable about him whatsoever.” She caught the Duke’s eye as she spoke. “Meaning no disrespect, your Grace.”
He rolled his eyes. “Since I agree with you on every point, Miss Ivy, that comment is unnecessary. The man is a disgrace to the Streatford name, and I have tried my best to point that out to his doting mama. Who, in my opinion, is doing more damage than good by allowing him to behave thus.”
She nodded. “I agree.”
The music struck up in the ballroom, signalling the return of the musicians, and the group rose as one, Prudence checking her dance card. “Matthew, I believe this is our dance?”
Matthew sighed. “If you say so, Miss Prudence.” He slumped dramatically. “I must suffer for your pleasure.”
Lydia whacked him with her fan. “Enough of the theatrics. You know you enjoy dancing with Prudence. Get to it.”
He chuckled. “Of course I do.�
�� He held out his arm. “Come along, Miss Prudence. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
He whisked her away, and Ivy couldn’t help admiring the sight of the two of them laughing as they joined the couples lining up in preparation for the dance.
The Duke came to her side. “A pleasant sight,” he murmured. “Would that I could enjoy it, but I am promised to Lady Doherty. And there she is.” He bowed to Ivy, who dipped him a polite curtsey as he departed to do his duty.
She watched for a little while, standing to one side, having no partner of her own for this particular dance. Judith and Ragnor were happily twirling through the measures, as were Rose and Miles. Their wedding was done, their honeymoon over, but they still smiled at each other as if it had been only yesterday.
Two of her friends wed, and—in defiance of the Ton—for love. She was delighted for them both, but worried about Prudence’s fate. The young lady had become a true friend, and Ivy would hate for her to be matched to an eligible husband, only to find the warmer affections lacking in the marriage.
The Duke, who was at the moment performing his part in the measures with great elegance and his customary lack of expression, had his niece’s best interests at heart. She was convinced of this. But he was also a practical man. His choice would be someone kind, pleasant, and ready to be a good husband to Prudence. But would she love him?
Ivy wasn’t completely persuaded that affection would be on the top of the Duke’s list of criteria. He was an excellent and patient uncle. But he was also a Duke with a solid grasp of the practicalities of life, estates, inheritances and all the fuss and bother that went along with them.
She sighed and turned away, looking for a quiet spot to rest her feet for a few moments. Lady Maud, well aware of the problem of dancing slippers, had thoughtfully managed to add many chairs around the edges of the ballroom, some tucked behind plants and pillars.
Ivy found an empty one, sat down with a little sigh of pleasure and unfurled her fan, prepared to enjoy the sight of several dozen couples moving in unison to the music. It was colourful, rhythmic and mesmerising, holding her attention for more than a few minutes.