The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Justina regarded her reflection in the mirror, hands outstretched. “No. It’s perfect.”

  Miss Victor shook her head. “Excuse me, Miss Brockwell, but it clearly does not fit you.”

  “I know.”

  Lady Barbara huffed. “I told you this was a foolish idea, Justina. We should have gone to London, as I wanted.”

  Justina turned toward her mother. “As you wanted, yes, but not as I wanted. Don’t you see? It doesn’t fit. It would suit someone else perfectly well, but not me.”

  “That gown would suit no one, but—”

  “Not the dress! The marriage. The man. I can’t do it, Mamma. I wanted to please you, but I don’t love Sir Cyril, not even a little. I can’t go through with it.”

  Justina’s voice cracked, and tears filled her eyes. “I am sorry, Mamma. I wanted to be the one to make you happy and proud, but the truth is, I am miserable.”

  Lady Barbara frowned. “You are being dramatic, Justina. Sir Cyril is an amiable, handsome man with a title and fortune. What more could you ask for?”

  “Much more.”

  “Sir Cyril has a pleasant disposition and excellent character—a very eligible match for you.”

  “He barely looks at me, Mamma. I don’t think he even likes me.”

  “Of course he does. He asked you to marry him.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell myself when he proposed. But the truth is, I think he likes Miss Bingley more than me.”

  “Nonsense. You are twice as pretty as Miss Bingley, as is your dowry.”

  “I am not so sure about that, but it does not matter. What matters is I am convinced he does not love me, nor can I love him.”

  “How do you know? You have no romantic experience on which to base such a conclusion. If you spurn this chance, how do you know you would ever admire another worthy man?”

  “Because I . . . I already admire another worthy man.”

  The dowager’s eyes flashed. “Ah. And here we come down to it. Mr. Ashford, I suppose. You deem him worthy of you?”

  “I do, but there is no point in arguing about it because he has not made me an offer or even asked to court me. How could he when you told everyone I was practically engaged to be married long before I was!”

  Lady Barbara’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Must I remind you that you already accepted Sir Cyril? Plans are in motion.”

  “I was wrong to do so. I don’t wish to hurt him, or disappoint you, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You would throw away this offer of marriage from a good man from a titled, respected family on the thin hope of an offer from a lesser man?”

  “He is not lesser in my eyes.”

  The dowager threw up her hands. “It is too late, Justina. Mr. Paley begins reading the banns on Sunday.”

  Justina lifted a resolved chin. “I am sorry, Mamma. I cannot do it.”

  “Justina, you do know that to break off an engagement will cause a great deal of talk? Not to mention the fact that Sir Cyril could sue us for breach of promise?”

  “He won’t, Mamma. If anything, he will be relieved. I think he was only marrying me to please you too.”

  “Justina, really. That is ridiculous.”

  “And as far as talk? I can bear that far easier than a lifetime of marriage to a man I cannot love or respect.”

  “Easy to say, Justina. But what will Mr. Ashford think of you after this? You will be considered a jilt.”

  “I don’t care. And if he disapproves, he is not the man I think him.”

  Lady Barbara turned to Rachel. “What have you to say about this?”

  Rachel blinked, surprised to be asked. “Having married for love myself, I can testify to its joys. Justina is my dear sister now; how could I want any less for her?”

  “And you think she will find happiness with Nicholas Ashford, the man you rejected?”

  “Happiness may be fleeting, but joy? Unconditional love? Yes, I think Justina has every hope of finding those with Mr. Ashford, who I believe admires her very much. He may not be highly ranked or polished, but he is noble-hearted, honorable and successful, and from an old family. Not without blemish, I grant you, but a good family nonetheless. And he is master of Thornvale, which is much nearer than Broadmere, don’t forget.”

  Lady Barbara slowly shook her head. “But think of poor Lady Awdry! Neither of her daughters married, one with little prospect of ever being so, and now her only son to be thrown over! If life were fair, Justina would marry Sir Cyril and leave Mr. Ashford free to marry one of the Miss Awdrys, especially as Timothy disappointed those hopes once before. If you insist on breaking things off, I doubt she will ever speak to me again!”

  “Oh, Mamma. We cannot make decisions based on the Awdrys’ matchmaking needs. Besides, I think Horace Bingley admires Penelope Awdry.”

  “You mean Arabella, surely.”

  “I do not. I would never have credited Horace with such excellent taste, but he astounded us all at the house party. Penelope most of all.”

  “Good heavens. What next?” The dowager rose. “Please do nothing hasty, Justina. Promise me you will think it over tonight.”

  “I have already—”

  Rachel laid a staying hand on Justina’s arm. They had come so far, and Lady Barbara seemed on the cusp of agreement.

  Comprehending Rachel’s warning, Justina amended, “I shall, Mamma. If you like.”

  Justina turned to the dressmaker, who had remained silent and inconspicuous during the battle of wills. “I am sorry, madame. I hope you will be able to salvage the dress and sell it to someone else. I hate for you to lose all that time and expense.”

  The dressmaker managed a stiff smile. “Thank you, but don’t give it another thought, Miss Brockwell. It is not your fault. I wish you happy, whatever you decide.”

  Lady Barbara said, “Rachel, would you and Justina mind walking home? I will follow shortly in the carriage, but Madame and I have some business to discuss first.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “Mamma . . .” Justina began to protest, but Rachel took her arm, fearing further argument would hinder the fragile agreement between them.

  “Come, Justina. Let us go home.” She all but pushed her sister-in-law out the door. Miss Victor could fend for herself. At least, Rachel hoped she could.

  Justina burst out of the shop like a bird from a cage and nearly bowled Nicholas Ashford over.

  “Oh! Miss Brockwell. Forgive me.” He took her by the elbows to steady her.

  Rachel followed more sedately and closed the door behind them.

  “Nothing to forgive, Mr. Ashford,” Justina said. “I am the one who knocked into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going in my excitement.”

  He did not, Rachel noticed, instantly release her arms.

  “And what has you so delighted, if I may ask?” He smiled, though his eyes remained wary. He nodded toward the shop she’d just exited. “You are pleased with your wedding dress, I presume?”

  She beamed. “Not at all. It does not fit nor suit me. Not in the least.”

  His brows rose. “And this pleases you?”

  Justina nodded, eyes sparkling. “The wedding is off. Or soon will be.”

  His eyes widened and his mouth parted. “Because of a dress?”

  She shook her head. “Because the bride and groom were not suited. It just took me a while to admit the truth of it once and for all. But now I have, to my mother’s disappointment. You must think me terribly selfish, not to mention a shameful jilt.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Brockwell, I think you exceedingly brave. Not to mention beautiful.”

  He seemed to realize he was still touching her and regretfully removed his hands, offering his arm instead. “May I walk you home?”

  Justina hesitated. “I . . . would like nothing better, Mr. Ashford, truly. But I had better not. Not until I have had a chance to speak with Sir Cyril.”

  “Ah. He does not yet know?”

  “N
ot yet. I have only just convinced Mamma of my change of heart. Though it wasn’t really a change. Amiable as Sir Cyril may be, he never won my heart.”

  “Do you think another man might succeed in doing so . . . someday?”

  Justina smiled. “Yes, I think there is every hope he shall.”

  Eva was sorry to see kind Justina and Rachel leave her shop. She clutched damp palms and faced Lady Barbara.

  The dowager began, “Well, madame, I assume you were an accomplice in this little farce of my daughter’s. No one could have unintentionally missed the mark so badly.”

  If only that were true, Eva thought, opening her mouth to correct the misapprehension, but Lady Barbara went on undeterred.

  “I want you to know that I don’t appreciate your part in today’s drama, and you will certainly not be receiving any more commissions from me. Nor will I be paying for this”—she twirled her hand toward the discarded heap of material—“waste of my time and yours. I will have the advance back as well.”

  “But I spent it on material, and . . .” With a glance at the woman’s stony face, Eva changed tack. “Of course, my lady. As soon as I can.”

  “By the end of the week, if you please. Unless you wish me to make my disapproval of you and your services known to all of my large acquaintance.”

  Eva swallowed. Did it matter? She was ruined at all events. But honor dictated she pay the woman back. “I shall repay you, my lady. And I apologize for . . . everything.”

  The dowager studied her through narrowed eyes, as if gauging her sincerity. Then, satisfied, she turned on her heel and stalked out.

  After the door slammed, Eva stood there, slowly shaking her head. She had failed to make Miss Brockwell’s gown. Now what? Perhaps it was time to set aside her dream for good and return to the troupe, a failure.

  The next day, Rachel and Sir Timothy accompanied Justina to Broadmere to make the unhappy call. Rachel went for moral support, and Timothy in case Sir Cyril threatened to sue the Brockwells for breach of promise, though he did not seem the type to sue a family friend. They hoped.

  Rachel and Timothy waited at the far end of the great hall as chaperones, while Justina and Sir Cyril sat in facing armchairs at the opposite end. Justina spoke for a few minutes in low, solemn tones. Rachel could guess the words but not hear them.

  Sir Cyril expelled a long breath and sank back against the cushions. Crestfallen? Dejected?

  Then his louder voice reached them. “It is as I expected. Your mother seemed far more in favor of the match than you were. In truth, I was surprised you accepted me.”

  “You don’t mind, then?” Justina asked.

  “No, Miss Brockwell. You have not injured me. My mother will be disappointed, of course. But perhaps she and your mother may console each other.”

  Justina rose. “Thank you for understanding.”

  Sir Cyril walked her back to the waiting chaperones, his expression grave. “Well, Brockwell, I don’t want my mother and sisters to suffer from any more gossip than necessary, so I hope we can resolve this quietly. Thankfully, our vicars have not yet read the banns.”

  Timothy nodded. “I will talk to Mr. Paley as soon as we get back.”

  “I appreciate that. And I will talk to our clergyman as soon as I bid you farewell.”

  He turned to Justina and took her hand. “I wish you happy, Miss Brockwell.”

  “And I you, Sir Cyril. Good-bye.”

  He bowed over her hand, then met her gaze. It was the first time Rachel had seen the man look her in the eye.

  chapter

  Forty-Four

  Although Jane still rode to The Bell every day, she slept at the farm now and was slowly moving her belongings from the lodge to the farmhouse.

  She thought Jack Avi would enjoy visiting the menagerie while it was in town and planned to ask her father if she might take the boy there the next time they came to see her. The Earl’s Menagerie had proved so popular, drawing visitors from surrounding villages and even populous Salisbury, that Mr. Victor had gained permission to extend the troupe’s stay in Ivy Hill.

  But Jane’s father did not stop by The Bell or the farm as she’d expected. As far as Jane knew, he had not returned to the village since he’d shared a meal at Ivy Cottage with the Miss Groves. As the days passed without seeing her father or brother, Jane grew concerned. She hoped he and Jack Avi were well. Priya too. She decided to ride over to Wilton and see them.

  When Jane arrived at the inn and went upstairs, she again found Jack Avi in the corridor, this time kicking his ball back and forth down its length. She decided she would take him outside to play again, if nothing else.

  “Hello, Jack Avi.”

  The boy beamed. “Didi!”

  “Where’s Bapu?”

  The boy pointed across the passage to her father’s door left ajar. Jane looked into the room and saw Dr. Burton bent over the bed, a long tube to his ear, listening to her father’s heart. Her breath hitched. Was he ill?

  She stepped back and for a few moments just stood there, unsure whether to go in or wait outside. Before she could decide, the door opened wider and Dr. Burton stepped out.

  “Ah, Jane. I am glad to see you.”

  With a glance at Jack Avi, out of earshot down the corridor, she asked, “How is he?”

  The physician grimaced. “Not as well as I would like, but as I said, I have little experience with foreign fevers.”

  Jane’s stomach clenched. “He has a fever?”

  Dr. Burton looked at her in surprise. “Not now, no. But he suffered two serious illnesses while in India and they’ve taken their toll on his heart, especially. Has he really not told you any of this?”

  “No.”

  “Then I should not be the one to do so.”

  “I am glad you did. What should I do? Shall I take him to London? Is there someone with more such experience you could recommend?”

  He looked up, squinting in thought. “Actually, let’s not inflict another journey on him just yet. The man has already traveled enough for two lifetimes. My son Franklin is also a physician, as you may recall. These last several years he has been with a teaching hospital of some renown—Guy’s Hospital in London. He is planning to visit me next week. Let’s have him evaluate your father before we decide what to do next.”

  “May we move him to Ivy Hill at least? I would like to care for him there.”

  “Yes, a good idea if you can convince him. It will also be easier for me to oversee his treatment there. A room at The Bell, are you thinking?”

  “Yes, if he can manage the stairs.”

  “He should be able to. For now.”

  “Anything else I can do?” Jane asked. “Medicine, a special diet?”

  He considered. “Nothing beyond good food and plenty of rest for the present. He is still well able to care for himself. Later, I think it would be wise to ask Mrs. Henning or perhaps Sadie Jones to serve as chamber nurse. There are some things a man doesn’t want his daughter helping with.”

  Later? How much later? Jane wondered, stomach sinking. “Yes, I understand. And thank you for coming here to see him, Dr. Burton.”

  “I suppose he didn’t want to burden you, but I have to say I’m glad you know.”

  Jane nodded. With another glance toward her little brother, she asked, “Jack Avi is in good health, I trust? And his nurse?”

  “The boy is perfectly hale, yes. I must assume the nurse is in good health too, though she won’t let me anywhere near her.”

  “I see. May I go in and talk to my father?”

  “Let me make sure he is fully dressed.” He ducked his head back into the room, murmured something, and then stepped back out, holding the door for her.

  Jane stepped inside. “Hello, Papa.”

  He took one look at her face and grimaced, muttering something under his breath. “Burton blabbed, did he?”

  Jane said gently, “You should have told me yourself.”

  He looked away from her. “I did
not want you to accept me back into your life only out of pity.”

  “I can understand that concern, initially. But you’ve been here for some time now.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you. You were busy with the inn and wedding plans.”

  “Not too busy for you, Papa,” she said, then prompted, “Dr. Burton mentioned you’d been seriously ill?”

  He nodded. “The Indian climate can be dangerous. Thousands of soldiers and men with the East India Company succumbed to bilious fevers, dysentery, small pox, typhoid. . . . I escaped all but minor illnesses when I lived there as a young man. But the last few years have been a trial. I was laid low with malaria and other fevers more than once. And Rani and I were both afflicted with cholera last year. As you know, she did not survive. I did, but apparently all those illnesses have weakened my constitution. And my heart.”

  “So Dr. Burton mentioned. He wants his son to have a look at you next week. He trained at Guy’s Hospital in London.”

  Her father waved a dismissive hand. “I have already been to the hospital in Madras and consulted native healing men as well as company doctors. There was little anyone could do, beyond prescribe a return to my native climate.”

  “Is this why you came back when you did?”

  “No. At least, not primarily. Receiving your letter after so many years of silence seemed like a clear sign to me. Time to go back. At least for a visit, to see my dear daughter again. If she would still have me.”

  “Of course I will, Papa. I do. I am glad you’re here, and I’m sorry for hanging on to my resentments so long. It was petty and foolish of me. What if you had died there and never came back?” Tears filled Jane’s eyes at the thought.

  “But I did come back. My dear . . . You see now why I didn’t want to tell you? There, there.”

  He patted her hand. “I also confess to you that I thought of leaving Jack Avi in India with his aunt and uncle. It seemed cruel to rip him away from the only country and people he has known, especially when there is a real chance I might not live long enough to see him grow up.”

  “Oh, Papa, don’t say that,” Jane murmured, heart aching.