The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Wanting to intervene, Rachel started toward the stairs, but Timothy forestalled her with a gentle hand. “Shh,” he whispered. “Let her decide for herself.”

  Rachel knew he was right and reluctantly allowed Timothy to lead her down the passage. Justina would refuse the man, would she not? At least Rachel hoped she would.

  Ten minutes later, Rachel was sitting before the mirror in her narrow dressing room, brushing out her hair, when Justina knocked on the door and let herself in. She flopped down on the chaise longue and covered her face with her hands.

  Rachel turned toward her in concern. “What is it? We saw you talking with Sir Cyril. Did he take it badly?”

  “I am engaged.”

  Rachel’s heart sank. “To Sir Cyril?”

  “Of course—who do you think?”

  “But I . . . I thought you would refuse him. I thought you preferred someone else.”

  Justina moaned. “I had no idea it was coming. It had been such a pleasant night. I was tired and happy, my mind full of Ni . . . of other things. When Sir Cyril asked for a moment of my time and walked beside me into the hall, I felt no trepidation. Never guessed what he intended.

  “‘It is after midnight,’ he said. ‘You do know what that means? It is your birthday.’”

  Rachel drew in a sharp breath. She’d forgotten.

  “I know,” Justina said. “It had quite slipped my mind too. I know we planned to have a small family celebration later, after everyone had gone, but I wasn’t thinking about that yet. My thoughts were full of the party.”

  The girl lifted her hands and stared at the ceiling. “I should have guessed. For once he wasn’t smiling that foolish smile of his. He looked sincere and even nervous. He acknowledged our families’ expectations, but said it was my decision.”

  Justina sighed. “I said I would marry him. I think he was as surprised as I was when the words came out of my mouth.”

  “But, Justina, if you have doubts, or your inclination lies elsewhere . . .”

  The younger woman shook her head. “It’s too late. I’ve given him my answer. I feel better, truth be told. Indecision is so tiresome. I shall enjoy being mistress of Broadmere, and Arabella and Penelope will be dear sisters. I will miss you and Timothy, of course. And Mamma. But on the whole, I think I shall be very content. Sir Cyril is more feeling than I credited. I did not do him justice before.”

  “And Nicholas . . . ?”

  Justina hesitated, then sat up, drawing back her shoulders. “I know you want your cousin to be happy, but I should not worry about him if I were you. Everyone admires him. He’ll have no trouble attracting a wife who deserves him. A woman with a strong mind, less easily persuaded by others.”

  “Justina . . .”

  “I am all right, truly. Please try to be happy for me.”

  “I will of course be happy for you, if this is really what you want.”

  “It is. Mamma will be so pleased.”

  After Justina swept from the room, Rachel sat there, heart and stomach twisting. Then she went into the bedchamber and confided in Timothy. He had not expected the news but was not upset by it as she was.

  As Justina had predicted, Lady Barbara was thrilled. They could hear her exclamations of delight echoing down the corridor.

  The next morning Rachel rose from bed, a headache pinching her brow. She was sitting at the dressing table, massaging her temples, when Jemima came in to help her dress and arrange her hair.

  “Are you feeling poorly, my lady?”

  “Just a headache. I am sure it shall pass.”

  “Can I bring you something for it?”

  “No, thank you. I know you have other ladies to attend to this morning.”

  “True, and I had better hurry. . . .”

  Timothy had left for an early morning ride, so Rachel descended the stairs alone. She hoped Nicholas would be down already, so she could relay the news of Justina’s engagement to him in private.

  When she reached the breakfast room, she was relieved to find him standing at the table, his back to her. He turned when she entered, a smile on his boyish face.

  “Nicholas. I am glad to see you up early,” Rachel began, then noticed the ribbon-tied bouquet of anemones in his hands.

  “Good morning. I understand it is Miss Brockwell’s birthday, so I dashed out for these. I wanted to mark the day.”

  Rachel opened her mouth to warn him, but he raised a finger to his lips. “Shh.” He set the flowers at Justina’s usual spot at the table, then stepped eagerly to the covered dishes on the sideboard.

  Rachel’s stomach clenched. “That is very kind of you, Nicholas, but I must tell you that—”

  Miss Bingley and Penelope Awdry walked in together, talking amicably. Rachel restrained a sigh. She pasted on a smile and greeted her guests, offering to pour them coffee. Horace Bingley entered, his face lighting up when he saw Penelope. Rachel had not expected to see him so soon; he was not known to be an early riser. Horace piled his plate high and sat directly across from Penelope. His sister, Rachel noticed, hid a grin behind a sip of coffee.

  A few moments later, Lady Barbara sailed into the room, countenance glowing. A weary-looking Justina trailed more sluggishly behind her, shadows under her eyes, followed by Sir Cyril. Lady Barbara did not usually come down for breakfast, preferring a tray delivered to her room. But today was no ordinary day. Dread twisted Rachel’s stomach as she braced herself for the announcement to come.

  “Good morning,” the dowager said cheerfully. “I trust everyone slept well?”

  The others politely nodded their agreement. Rachel said nothing, for she had slept poorly indeed.

  “Good.” Lady Barbara motioned Justina and Sir Cyril forward. “It is a pity not everyone is present, for we have happy news to share.” She looked pointedly at Sir Cyril.

  Sir Cyril cleared his throat and announced, “Miss Brockwell and I are engaged.”

  Nicholas stiffened. Miss Bingley’s mouth slackened in surprise and, if Rachel was not mistaken, disappointment. They all remained suspended in awkward silence for several moments. Horace sent his sister a worried glance, then dutifully offered his well wishes. Taking his lead, Penelope and Miss Bingley murmured their congratulations as well.

  Justina, Rachel noticed, avoided looking at Nicholas. Her gaze fell upon the colorful bouquet at her place. “Oh, anemones, my favorite! How kind of you to remember, Sir Cyril.”

  The man chuckled uneasily. “They are not from me, I’m afraid. Capital idea, though.”

  “Congratulations to you both,” Nicholas said, his voice strained.

  Justina looked at him then, and realization flickered in her eyes. Blinking, she turned and stepped to the sideboard, blindly scooping things onto a plate. Then she sat and halfheartedly poked at her food.

  Arabella Awdry entered last, and Lady Barbara lost no time in announcing the news again to her.

  “Excellent! Mamma will be delighted,” Arabella exclaimed. “And what a beautiful bride Justina shall be.”

  Justina smiled wanly in reply, but one glance at Nicholas told Rachel the thought pained him. His shoulders sagged, and he ate not a single bite.

  A few moments later, Justina rose. “I . . . find I am not hungry after all. Too much rich food and excitement last night. Please excuse me.”

  Lady Barbara frowned but made no protest.

  After breakfast, guests began to disperse, some strolling outside to take the air on the beautiful morning, while others went up to their rooms to oversee the packing of their belongings.

  Stepping into the hall a short while later, Rachel saw Nicholas opening the front door, valise in hand.

  “Nicholas, wait. You must say good-bye at least.”

  He winced and turned back. “I apologize.” He bowed. “Thank you for your hospitality and for including me in your party.”

  Rachel walked near and lowered her voice. “I am sorry things did not turn out as we hoped.”

  “Me too.” He inha
led, then heaved a weary sigh. “Well, I’d better dash. My mother hoped I’d return in time to take her to the Wishford market, but I fear it’s too late.”

  Searching his face, Rachel said softly, “Perhaps it is not too late.”

  He held her gaze a moment, his mouth curved into a sad smile. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  Rachel watched him go with a heavy heart. Suddenly Justina was at her side, silently slipping a hand into hers. Rachel glanced at the girl’s resolved profile, her gaze fastened on Mr. Ashford’s retreating figure.

  Rachel whispered, “Are you sure?”

  Her young sister-in-law nodded, even as her chin trembled.

  Then the two women watched Nicholas walk down the long drive until he disappeared from view.

  chapter

  Twenty-Six

  Four days after Mr. Kingsley and Esther departed together, Mercy went downstairs during Alice’s recess for a cup of tea. She saw Mr. Drake standing at the window overlooking the stable yard and crossed the hall toward him.

  He glanced over at her approach, then gestured outside. “Joseph is back from his trip.”

  “Oh good.” Relief and worry wrestled within her. Had Esther returned as well?

  Mercy joined him at the window. Beyond the dusty chaise, Mr. Kingsley and Esther stood talking beneath the sweet chestnut tree, half hidden by its branches. Back to the window, his broad shoulders suddenly expanded as he embraced the petite woman.

  Then he angled his sandy head and kissed her passionately. Shock ran over Mercy, her heart banging painfully in her breast. Sister-in-law indeed. Apparently they had grown even closer during their trip.

  Mercy turned away, unable to watch a moment longer. She stood, back resting against the hard wall, hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath. What a fool she had been to let herself care for Mr. Kingsley so deeply. To imagine admiration in his eyes when all along a passion for another woman—a forbidden woman—burned in his heart.

  Had he ever admired her, or had he simply felt sorry for Miss Grove, the plain spinster? The thought cut deep. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back.

  Mr. Drake turned to her, face grim. “I am sorry.”

  If he spoke words of pity or tried to comfort her, she’d never be able to hold back the tears. “Please,” she whispered, “I just need a moment alone.”

  His expression softened. “Of course. But if you need anything or want to talk later, let me know.” He pressed her hand and strode away, leaving her to her solitary misery.

  Mercy told herself she had no right to feel betrayed. Mr. Kingsley had made no promises to her, no declarations. But his actions, his many kindnesses, the fond way he had looked at her . . . she had taken each as a sign, a gift, to be treasured and remembered. Foolish creature.

  “Miss Grove?”

  Mercy looked up at the sound of his voice. She blinked to bring the approaching figure into focus. Joseph Kingsley.

  She drew in a shaky breath. Had he seen her spying from the window? Rushed upstairs to try to explain?

  She turned toward the window once more . . . and stared in disbelief. The man and women still stood there, locked in an embrace. The man shifted, and she saw more of his face. Not Joseph. His younger brother, Aaron.

  A strangled cry of mortification and relief escaped.

  “What is it?” Joseph asked. “What’s wrong?”

  In a moment he was by her side, looking out the window to see what had caused her singular reaction.

  He said nothing, but a glance at his profile revealed the tightening of his jaw. The frown. Was he jealous? Did he feel betrayed as she had a moment before?

  “You . . . do not approve?” she whispered.

  “Of kissing in broad daylight for all the world to see when he’s supposed to be working?”

  “I meant of them as a couple.”

  He grimaced. “I told him to wait until he had more to offer her, until he had saved up for a house and could better support her. He spends every farthing he earns before it reaches the bottom of his pocket. But apparently he didn’t listen, which I imagine is no surprise to anyone but me.”

  He looked at her. “I’m sorry if seeing that shocked or scandalized you, Miss Grove. They apparently missed each other a great deal while we were away, but I will talk to him about being more discreet in future.”

  Her mind wheeled, absorbing the truth like a dry sponge. “No, I am not scandalized. I thought . . . Never mind. I was just surprised.” She drew a shuddery breath. “Did you . . . have a good trip?”

  “Not sure how good, but we accomplished what we went for. Esther had received urgent word that her mother had suffered a fall, caused by a broken step.”

  “Oh no.” Mercy knew the woman was Naomi’s mother as well, and therefore his mother-in-law.

  He explained, “I escorted Esther to the house in Basingstoke and attended to the step while she attended to her mother.”

  “Was she badly hurt?”

  He shook his head. “Thankfully it turned out to be just a sprained ankle. Nothing broken. We celebrated Easter together while we were there.”

  “Good.”

  He tilted his head and regarded her, concern etched in the lines of his face. “Are you certain you’re all right? You looked so upset when I came upon you just now.”

  Dare she tell him? How humilating. How . . . revealing.

  She managed a wobbly smile. “I am all right. Now.”

  He stepped closer, and his Adam’s apple traveled up and down his muscled neck. “I wonder, Miss Grove, might you have dinner with me sometime?”

  Hope flared, but Mercy hesitated. “I . . . would, but I usually dine with Mr. Drake and Alice. He likes to hear what we studied each day.”

  “Ah.” Disappointment flashed across his countenance, and he looked down.

  “But I sometimes return to the coffee room for a cup of tea after Alice has gone to bed.”

  He looked up at that. “Do you indeed?”

  She nodded. “Not every night, but now and again.”

  He thought. “I have a family obligation tonight, but I might wander back here tomorrow evening, if you think you might be having a late-night cup of tea?”

  She grinned. “Yes, I think there is every chance I shall be thirsty by then.”

  Mercy enjoyed taking her evening meals with Mr. Drake and Alice. The coffee room possessed a casual atmosphere, its tables filled with coachmen, off-duty staff, locals, and a few regular guests who preferred it to the more formal dining parlour. Greetings were exchanged from table to table, and diners had quickly grown accustomed to seeing Mr. Drake eating with his adopted daughter and her governess in their midst. There was nothing private or suggestive about the arrangement. The three of them were often drawn into conversations and good-natured laughs with the others. Mercy had become comfortable with the situation and contributed to the conversation when she could.

  But the day after Mercy’s discussion with Mr. Kingsley, Mr. Drake stopped by the schoolroom and announced, “I thought we would dine in one of the private parlours tonight, if you don’t mind. I have invited two guests to join us. A dancing master and his wife, traveling by post chaise to London. They seem most interesting and amiable.”

  “Oh. Of course,” Mercy reluctantly agreed. “Though I would be happy to dine on my own while you entertain your guests. You needn’t feel obligated to include me.”

  “Not at all. I think you would enjoy talking with them and vice versa. Shall we say seven o’clock?”

  Mercy nodded. “Alice and I will be there.”

  At the appointed hour, Mercy and Alice dressed for dinner and walked downstairs together. They entered the private parlour, set with lovely old Fairmont china and silver, and lit by candelabra.

  Mr. Drake introduced them to an attractive couple in their mid to late twenties—a dark-haired man and a pale-blond woman.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Valcourt, please meet my daughter, Alice. And her governess and frien
d, Miss Grove.”

  If they were surprised to be introduced to the governess, they had the good grace not to show it. But then again, some people would probably look down on a humble dancing master.

  Mrs. Valcourt was so beautiful and well dressed that Mercy initially felt intimidated. But the woman’s manner was so thoroughly unaffected and friendly that Mercy’s unease quickly fell away. When they all moved to take their places at the table, Mercy noticed a slight mounding of Mrs. Valcourt’s abdomen and guessed she might be expecting a child.

  Together the five of them sat down and began the meal. Conversation flowed easily with the charming couple, married nearly four years. They lived in Devon but were passing through, taking in a few sights, including Stonehenge, on their way to town. Mrs. Valcourt explained that they visited London occasionally to meet with the publisher who printed her husband’s books of dance music and instruction. Pride and affection shone in her eyes as she described his accomplishments, but Mr. Valcourt dipped his head modestly.

  “Only three books, Julia. I am no John Playford.”

  She patted his hand. “Not yet.”

  Mr. Drake congratulated him, then said, “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to give Alice here a dancing lesson? I would be happy to cover your usual fees, of course. I don’t believe she has had any instruction in dance, has she, Miss Grove?”

  “I’m afraid not. Though is she perhaps a little young?”

  “Never too young to start and never too old.” Mr. Valcourt smiled. “I would be delighted, assuming Miss Alice would like to?”

  Alice nodded shyly, cheeks dimpled.

  The dancing master looked from Mr. Drake to Mercy. “And perhaps the two of you would join us? Easier to teach a figure with another couple or two.”

  Mr. Drake lifted a casual hand. “Of course. What say you, Miss Grove? Are you willing to give it a go?”

  Mercy hesitated. “I am afraid I am not terribly graceful, but if it will help, I will do my part.”

  Later, after they had eaten their dessert, Mr. Drake asked the servants to move aside tables from the end of the formal dining parlour nearest the pianoforte. The women drank tea and the men coffee while they waited.