A Garden for Ivy (The Wednesday Club Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  She shook her head. “Nothing at all. I’m trying not to worry, but it has been far too long without word, for my liking.”

  “So this Ringwood woman,” said Miles. “Anyone know much about her? I understand she may be the source for some of these ridiculous rumours.”

  Lydia nodded. “So we’ve heard. She’s not unfamiliar to town; her family isn’t what you’d call high Ton, but they’re respectable enough. Small country house somewhere in Staffordshire, I think.”

  “The Ringwoods have an undistinguished background, from what I gathered from my researches in Debrett’s,” added Ivy. “No odd offshoots, or Fitz-anythings that might possibly be associated with the Maidenbrooke line.”

  “So no illegitimate offspring fathered by unnamed Dukes?” Matthew asked.

  “Not a one,” she replied. “In fact they’re a rather dull lot when it comes to their history.”

  “I hope you’re not talking about us,” said Sir Laurence, entering the room with his wife.

  “Of course not,” laughed Rose. “Oh, since you’re here…do you know if Miss Beatrice Ringwood has arrived?”

  Maud’s eyebrow rose. “As a matter of fact, yes, she has. I’ve been watching out for her.” She assumed an innocent expression. “Not that I would accuse her of scandalmongering of course, but if she’s been using the Wednesday Club as part of a whispering plot against Maidenbrooke…” The innocent expression vanished, to be replaced by something icy cold. “I shall not be best pleased.”

  Ivy shivered. “Um…well, it’s a possibility, we believe.”

  “Tonight, she’s commanding quite a bit of attention.”

  “Why?” Lydia turned to Maud. “What’s she doing?”

  “Showing off an engagement ring,” replied Maud. “Apparently she’s snabbled herself a fiancé, and wants the world to know about it.”

  “Any idea who the victim is?” quipped Prudence with a certain amount of acerbity.

  Miles huffed out a laugh. “Well put.”

  Mowbray chuckled as well, resting carefully on the arm of Prudence’s chair. “She can’t be that bad, can she? Or Lady Maud would never have let her over the doorstep of Sydenham House.”

  “She’s given us no cause for concern,” agreed Maud. “It’s only since these rumours began that I’ve heard her name mentioned more than a time or two.”

  “And her future husband?”

  “A gentleman by the name of Sir Timothy Barrett. Heading for a career in law, I understand. He’s in Chambers with somebody or other whose name I forget.”

  “Angling for a peerage, no doubt,” added Miles wryly.

  “Aren’t they all?” Sir Laurence raised a casual eyebrow.

  “Well,” said Lydia, “Back to the matter in hand…does this Sir Timothy add anything to our thoughts on where these rumours about Maidenbrooke are originating?”

  There was silence for a few moments.

  “Obviously not,” sighed Ivy. “But it’s another name to research.”

  Maud rose. “We should return, lest our absence cause comments. Lydia, why don’t you and Mowbray come with me, Ivy and Prudence can follow in a few moments, and the rest of you can return via the dining room if you’d like?”

  “What about me, dear?” Sir Laurence whined. “You forgot me.”

  “Never, darling,” she purred. “But you are off in pursuit of your usual activity, which is quietly downing a small glass of your favourite Scotch in the privacy of your library.”

  “Am I now.”

  “Indeed. You’ll be back in the ballroom shortly, of course.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I’ll be watching for you, too.” She shot him a look. “Only one small glass.”

  He sighed.

  Ivy left with Prudence, as directed, only to find Sir Ronan strolling toward them. “And there you are, ladies.” He smiled, the twinkle in his eyes directed at the younger lady. “You deserted me, Miss Prudence. This dance is mine and I’m taking you in to dinner after it. I’ll hear no objections.”

  Prudence glanced at Ivy. “May I?”

  Ivy sighed. “I’m helpless against this man’s charm. But a caution to both of you. No more dances or you’ll be starting your own gossip and we don’t want that.”

  Sir Ronan nodded. “Understood, your Grace. I’ll have a care for this one.” He turned his smile to Prudence, who flushed slightly. “She’s a jewel to be treasured, is she not?”

  “Oh pshaw,” scoffed Prudence, tucking her arm through his. “Dance, sir. Save your compliments for those more impressed by them.”

  Ivy watched them walk toward the floor where the couples were assembling. They were well matched, she mused. He was older, of course, but Prudence had bloomed this Season from a shy young miss into a young woman gaining confidence all the time. She was intelligent, well-read, and more than a match for many of the women currently engaged in the measures of the dance.

  What would Colly think of such a pairing?

  The thought darted through her head and left a sense of unease in its wake. Where was he? What was he doing at this moment?

  Would there be a note from him awaiting her when she returned?

  That idea almost had her hurrying for her cloak, but she knew that being here with Prudence and pretending that all was well helped squelch the tide of those damn whispers.

  Moving toward the dance, she surveyed the women present. Which was Miss Ringwood?

  A loud laugh to one side of the room drew her eyes, and she noted a tall brunette flashing her hand around, to the great excitement of a small gathering.

  That, Ivy knew, had to be Miss Ringwood, unless some other hopeful had also managed to get herself engaged recently.

  She studied the girl, noting the quietly modest gown, Roman nose and prominent front teeth. Not a classic beauty, but attractive in her own way.

  A gentleman came up to her, took her hand and kissed it possessively. This must be Sir Timothy, the future groom. He was also quite tall, so they were well matched in height. Dark hair, darker than hers, but neatly cut as befitted a future barrister.

  His clothing was correct but not flamboyant, and he would not have stood out from a crowd of his peers.

  But there was something…

  “You’re frowning,” said Rose, walking to her side. “What is it?”

  “There’s something about that man. See? Over there?” She directed Rose’s attention to the side of the ballroom. “That’s Miss Ringwood, I believe, and next to her is her new fiancé.”

  “I see them,” said Rose from behind her fan.

  “Look at him,” Ivy turned her back on them, not willing to be observed paying too much attention. “Doesn’t it seem to you as if there’s something familiar about him?”

  “Hmm.” Rose casually ran her gaze around the room and then back to the subject under discussion. “You know…maybe…” She sighed. “There is something about him, but I’ll be damned if I can put my finger on it…”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prudence tried to catch her breath at the end of the dance. “My goodness, Mr Carmichael. You are certainly an energetic partner.”

  The young man opposite her bowed, his face heated with colour. “It is such a pleasure dancing with you, Miss Hartsmere-Drake. You have such elegant vivacity and style…”

  “Doesn’t she, though?” A cool voice answered the fulsome commentary. “A rare bloom indeed. We can all agree on that.” Sir Ronan took Prudence’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “And now, lad, you’ll forgive me, but Miss Hartsmere-Drake’s aunt is looking for her and I’ve undertaken to restore this elegantly vivacious young lady to her side.”

  “Oh, I…ah, well then…” Mr Carmichael bowed low. “Thank you again for the pleasure, Miss Hartsmere-Drake. I hope that when next I see you, I might beg the honour of another dance…?”

  “I’m sure she will look forward to that, sir.”

  Before Prudence could utter a word of her own, Sir Ronan had spun her away
and was walking her off in the opposite direction.

  “I can speak for myself, you know,” she retorted as they neared the ballroom door. “If given half the chance, that is.”

  Unrepentant, Sir Ronan grinned down at her. “Come now, Miss Prudence. If you’re trying to tell me you were entranced by that poor lad’s awkward attempts at flirtation, I’ll not believe it.”

  “I wouldn’t call that flirtation,” she remonstrated.

  “Neither would I,” he laughed. “And yet it was the best he could do.”

  She lifted her chin. “I think you are being cruel, sir. You have years of experience at this sort of thing, I’m sure. Young Mr Carmichael has not attained your level of competence.”

  “So you’re saying I’m an experienced flirt?”

  She eyed him. “I’d wager on it.”

  “How much?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never wager with an Irishman, darlin’. Not unless you mean it.”

  “Oh.” She thought about that. “I suppose I could wager a dance next week?”

  “Hmm.” He drew her to one side as the departing throng made its way to the hall. There was now quite a crowd gathering belongings and summoning carriages, so their presence was barely noticed. “Not much of a wager. You’d dance with me no matter what.”

  Prudence managed to stop her jaw from dropping. “Good God, Sir Ronan. You are the most abysmally self-confident rogue, aren’t you?”

  “So you wouldn’t dance with me?”

  She blinked. “That’s not the point.”

  “I’m a good dancer, though, you’d agree? And our steps are well matched?”

  “Er…yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  “I just did.”

  Prudence clenched her teeth. “You can be quite aggravating as well.”

  “Only when my interest is caught.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t have any kind of answer ready for his blunt honesty.

  “Here’s what I think,” he said casually. “You want to wager with me. You believe I’m an experienced flirt and you’re prepared to wager on it, right?”

  “That’s correct.” Just looking into those eyes, Prudence knew she was absolutely right.

  “How do we determine the winner?”

  It was a valid question, but before Prudence could form an answer, the Celchesters, Mama and daughter, passed them. Lady Celchester threw Sir Ronan a frowning glance as Miss Henrietta seared Prudence with a decidedly unpleasant gaze.

  “I have it,” said Prudence wickedly. “You shall endeavour to obtain a dance from Henrietta Celchester. She doesn’t care much for dancing, and her Mama will only permit gentlemen she considers suitable candidates to even solicit one. She loathes flirtatious behaviour more than anything. So if you can persuade them both into letting you dance with Henrietta?” She grinned. “Then I will have lost my wager and you will have proved you can charm your way into a dance without any sort of flirtation.”

  “Perhaps I might just be an eligible candidate for Miss Henrietta’s hand, though. Did you ever think of that?”

  “No.” Prudence shook her head. “You’re too…”

  “Too what?”

  “Never mind.” They moved forward as the crowd thinned. “Now as to our wager. I think perhaps a small sum to be given to charity might be in order. Shall we say…five shillings?”

  “I’ve a better idea.” He leaned toward her. “A kiss, Miss Prudence. Should I win, I shall claim a kiss from you at a time and place of my choosing.”

  Prudence gulped, struggling against the strange warmth that billowed up from deep inside to send heat to her cheeks. “You are very sure of yourself, sir.”

  “I am that, dear one.” His eyes were all twinkles as he gazed at her.

  “Stop doing that. Stop twinkling at me.”

  “What?”

  “Oh never mind. There’s Ivy.” Prudence waved, desperate now to get away from this man who disturbed her equilibrium far too much. “Ivy? We’re over here.”

  “Oh good. What a crush. Sir Ronan, thank you for keeping an eye on Prudence.” Ivy passed over her niece’s cloak. “Here, the carriage is on its way…”

  “Always a delight, your Grace,” he grinned. “She’s no trouble at all.”

  Ivy’s eyebrow lifted. “And none of your much-vaunted charm, if you please. We’re both tired and ready to go home. I’m just not up to witty repartee tonight.”

  Sir Ronan’s face sobered. “You’ll hear soon, Ma’am. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” sighed Ivy. “It’s been a delightful evening, albeit frustrating. I never found a moment to approach Miss Ringwood, and then I was told she’d left already. Apparently to drop in at Almack’s and flaunt her ring even more.” She rolled her eyes. “I apologise. That was an unkind remark. But I am worried, as you guessed. And here’s our carriage. We’ll bid you good night, sir.”

  “Sir Ronan.” Prudence dipped a curtsey.

  “I look forward to our next dance, Miss Prudence. Good evening to you both.”

  “He’s an intriguing man, isn’t he?” Ivy gazed after his departing figure.

  “Indeed,” returned Prudence. She yawned, hiding it behind her fan. “I’m tired too, Ivy. Let’s go home.”

  “You’ll hear no arguments from me.”

  The two of them managed to make their way to the top of the steps, where a firm breeze ruffled their hair. For Prudence, it was a chance to take a breath and relax.

  For Ivy, however, it was something else.

  A shiver of some kind, a chill…whatever it was, her skin broke out in goose pimples and she told the driver to hurry.

  Something awaited them, and she felt a decided tremor of apprehension as they clambered into the carriage and shut the door.

  *~~*~~*

  The drive seemed to take hours, even though it was scarcely more than thirty minutes door to door. The crush of guests slowed their progress considerably, and Ivy wanted to fidget, to bang on the roof and tell the driver to spring ‘em…

  “What is it?” Prudence put her hand on Ivy’s arm. “You’re as jumpy as a cat on a hot hearthstone…”

  “It’s…” she sought the right words. “A feeling, Prudence. I get them sometimes. You could say a premonition, I suppose, but it’s more of a sensation that something isn’t right. My teeth ache a little and I feel as if I have stinging nettles brushing my skin.”

  Prudence frowned. “That sounds most unpleasant. Can I do anything?”

  Ivy shook her head. “No. I’ll be better when we get back to Hartsmere House.”

  “Well let’s make haste then.” The irrepressible girl let down the window, stuck her head out and yelled at the driver. “Spring ‘em, Mr Tadson. Make all haste.”

  She withdrew her head and slid the window back up, bouncing as the carriage pace picked up considerably.

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?” Ivy gaped at her.

  “Because you’re a Duchess. And I don’t believe Duchesses do things like that.”

  “They should,” she sighed.

  The encouragement worked, and within no more than another ten minutes, they were finally drawing up in front of their door.

  And there were lights on, more than there should have been.

  Ivy almost tumbled from the carriage in her haste to get inside. The door swung open with Woodleigh on one side and Elvina on the other.

  “Elvina?” Ivy ran up the steps. “What are you doing here? I thought you would stay with Grandmama at Siddington.”

  “I was going to,” the older woman replied, taking Ivy’s outstretched hands. “But I was called, my dear. I felt it. Did you?”

  “Yes,” breathed Ivy, knowing immediately what Elvina meant. “Yes. Just now. I had to get here so badly…”

  “Your Grace,” said Woodleigh, looking quite disturbed, which wasn’t like him at all. “A message arrived, addressed to you, not half an hour since.”

  “A message?”

&nb
sp; “I think it may be news, your Grace. News of his Grace perhaps…” Woodleigh handed over a grubby envelope. “We didn’t open it, but both Mrs Ashrayn and myself have some forebodings as to its contents.”

  “Oh God.” Prudence heard the words and ran to them as a maid shut out the cooling night air.

  Ivy broke the blank seal and unfolded the paper.

  “I am unwell. Please give this note to my wife…” Ivy gulped down a gasp as she squinted at words suddenly wriggling before her tear-filled gaze. “I am at the Pig and…and…” She frowned. “Prudence, can you make that out?”

  “Pig and…er…peacock. Pig and Peacock.”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Ivy blinked away more tears. “I am at the Pig and Peacock in Tesham. Need you…”

  She stared around the hall blindly. “What shall I do?”

  Elvina placed her hands on Ivy’s shoulders. “You will go to your husband. Do you hear me? We will travel together, this night, to wherever he is. And we will bring him home.”

  “I’ll pack our bags,” said Prudence.

  “No,” said Ivy, shaking her head. “Not you, love. Colly wouldn’t be happy if you were there. Please, stay here and be our anchor. Send a note to Rose and Lydia. Ask them to come and keep you company. Or better yet, ask Maud.” Her thoughts screamed frantically in her head.

  “I’ll take care of that, your Grace.” Woodleigh stepped forward. “I’ll have the maids pack. Mrs Ashrayn’s bags are still here, so you have time to change and refresh yourself.” The concern and care in his voice nearly undid her, but she pulled herself up and regained some kind of poise.

  “Right then.” She glanced around. “If the maids could put some garments together, and ask a footman to add a few things for my husband, that will be perfect.”

  She glanced at Prudence. “Where’s Tesham? It’s not familiar.”

  Prudence looked helpless. “I don’t know.”

  “A small village just outside Aylesbury, I think,” said Elvina. “It’ll be a two- or three-hour drive at this time of night.”

  “However long it takes, we must go. Woodleigh, would you ask Mr Tadson if he’s up to it? And if so, have him put the horses to the travelling carriage. We’ll need something comfortable for his Grace if he’s still not well when we get there.”