The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  “Now, enough talk of your demise,” she said. “A few more weeks under Dr. Burton’s care and Mrs. Rooke’s stout English cooking and you will be your old self again, with that renewed vigor Dr. Burton mentioned.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “Your optimism is charming.”

  “I want you to live a long, long time, Papa, so I can make up for all the years I was cold and silent to you. That was wrong of me, I know now. Wrong of me to withhold forgiveness.”

  “Do you forgive me, Jane? For leaving you the way I did, without warning? For selling your beloved horse and childhood home without giving you a chance to claim any treasured possessions?”

  “I do forgive you, Papa. Will you forgive me for my unjust resentment? For cutting you out of my life?”

  “Forgiven long ago.” He laid his free hand atop hers. “Now, don’t be sad. Thanks to our risen Savior, I know where I’m going when this life ends. No need to feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t. I feel sorry for me. And for Jack Avi.”

  “He’ll be all right. He has his dear didi.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back.

  Her father’s eyes glistened as well. “How I missed you, Jane.”

  She managed a shaky smile. “I missed you too, Papa.”

  And she knew she would miss him again, all the more, when the time came.

  Jane returned to the farm. After dinner that evening, she walked hand in hand with her husband to the sitting room.

  “Gabriel, I have something to tell you. I am not sure how you will feel about it.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  She took a deep breath and began. “My father is not in good health. . . .”

  “I know, Jane. I am sorry. I’m sure this is difficult for you.”

  “Yes, but there is something else we need to talk about.” She ran her tongue over dry lips.

  His brows lowered in concern. “Shall we sit down?”

  She nodded, and they sat on the sofa together. Jane angled her body to face him. “My father is concerned about the future, about what will happen to Jack Avi if he . . . doesn’t recover. He wants us to care for Jack Avi after he is gone, to raise him as his . . . parents.”

  She clasped her hands tight across her abdomen and waited.

  When Gabriel said nothing, she looked up at him, trying to read his expression. He seemed to be waiting as well.

  “And . . . ?” he prompted.

  “And what? That is the situation.”

  He leaned back, relaxing. “I had already assumed that would be the case. It makes sense—you are the perfect person to raise him, should the worst happen. And as your husband, of course I would share that responsibility and privilege.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Mind? Do you mean, because some people might realize he isn’t my natural son?”

  She chuckled. “I don’t think anyone would assume he was.”

  Gabriel remained serious, brows raised. “Really? I think he looks quite a bit like me. Dark hair, dark eyes . . .”

  She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but it gave her the courage to add, “My father also said that he was glad you would be the one to teach Jack Avi to ‘ride and play cricket and be a good man. A gentleman.’”

  Gabriel gazed upward, eyes distant, as though trying to imagine the scene. Did he find it disappointing compared to the hope of having his own natural-born children?

  He nodded soberly. “I don’t know how qualified I am to teach Jack Avi to be a gentleman, but the rest . . . ? With pleasure and honor.”

  Jane smiled, relief and love flooding her chest. “Foolish man . . .” She leaned near to kiss his cheek. “There is no one more qualified.”

  Mercy and James sat in his office, discussing the possibility of engaging someone to give Alice lessons on the pianoforte. Mercy, unfortunately, had never learned.

  Something caught his eye behind her. “Father . . . this is a surprise.”

  Mercy looked over her shoulder. There in the open doorway stood Mr. Hain-Drake.

  James rose. “I wish you had let me know you were coming. We are in the midst of some work in the hall and have yet to tidy up.”

  The older man waved away the concern as if it were a midge. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “You would not approve of my ‘pet project’ at any rate—is that what you mean?”

  His father frowned. “That is not what I mean. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  Mr. Hain-Drake nodded to Mercy. “Miss Grove, a pleasure to see you again.”

  “And you, sir.” Mercy stood. “Excuse me. I will leave you two to talk.”

  “No, please stay,” James said. “We may need a referee.”

  Mercy hesitated. “I don’t wish to intrude.”

  “It’s all right, Miss Grove. If James wants you here, I won’t protest. I have not come to argue with my son.”

  James gestured to a chair. “Then please be seated.”

  He sat behind his desk while Mercy and Mr. Hain-Drake took the armchairs across from him.

  James looked at his father. “How strange to be on this side of the desk during one of your formal reprimands.” He interlaced his fingers.

  Mercy thought, And how strange to see James Drake nervous.

  Mr. Hain-Drake leaned forward in the chair. “I never intended to demean your hotel here or the one in Southampton. I suppose I hoped to show you that the Hain-Drake interests are an even bigger opportunity you might turn your hand to. But my indirect attempt to sway you clearly had the opposite effect from the one I intended.”

  James asked, “Why would you even want me involved now? You have Francis.”

  “Francis . . .” his father muttered and shook his head. “A good boy—affable, willing—but he lacks focus.”

  “Then hire a competent manager.”

  The older man’s nostrils flared. “I don’t want a manager, I want you—my son—at the helm of the Hain-Drake corporation.”

  James frowned, perplexed. “You stand at the helm, and always have. What is it? Has something happened?”

  The man’s eyes flashed to Mercy, then back to his son. “I am ill. I don’t tell you that to garner sympathy, which I doubt would be forthcoming at any event. More likely you will see it as another ploy to manipulate you. But it’s not. It’s plain fact.”

  James’s expression tightened. “What does Dr. Larson say?”

  “It’s cancer. Advanced.”

  “And his prognosis?”

  “Not cheery. A few months. Half a year, if I’m lucky.”

  James squeezed his eyes shut. “I am truly sorry to hear it, sir.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. But still, I . . . There must be someone else who can take over the business.”

  “James, if it were only the business . . . only my livelihood, I would not press you. But there is your mother to think of. Your sister. Your niece and nephews. All of them depend on Hain-Drake enterprises for their future security. I can’t in good conscience leave Francis at the reins. He’ll run the whole operation into the ground before I’m a year in my grave, smiling all the while, happily unaware.”

  “Surely he’s not as incompetent as all that.”

  “I exaggerate, I own. But he isn’t you, James. You’ve got the Hain-Drake ambition, the talent. You are as capable as I am and twice as personable. I have every confidence that, after a few months working beside me, you would lead the Hain-Drake interests into a long and successful future. Is it wrong to want to leave a legacy? To have something I began, something bearing my name, to live on after I’m gone?”

  “No, sir. But you astound me. For you have never praised my abilities before.”

  The older man looked him in the eye. “You’re wrong. I have. Just not in your hearing.”

  James held his gaze a moment longer. His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “I appreciate your confidence, Father. Truly. But I own two hotels.”

  �
�Sell them. Or as you advised me, hire a competent manager.”

  Mr. Hain-Drake stood, not quite steady, and grasped the chair back for support. James rose to help, but his father stayed him with a commanding hand and fierce look. “I am not an invalid yet.”

  At the door, he turned back. “I will leave you to think it over, to consider my offer from all sides. But remember this. You are my primary heir, James. Of course, I will provide for your mother and leave something for Francis, Lucy, and their children. But the bulk of my holdings, business interests, and property are in your name. You would be a foo—”

  His gaze darted to Mercy before he lowered his head and said, “Please don’t reject my request. But whatever you decide, know this.” He looked at James and his voice grew rough. “I am proud of you, son, and have been for a long time.”

  He turned and strode from the room, but in the hall, he faltered, and his waiting manservant was beside him in an instant, taking his arm. Mercy was surprised Mr. Hain-Drake did not shake off the underling. Instead, he leaned on the younger man’s arm as they crossed to the front door and disappeared from view.

  Mercy turned back to James, watching his face with concern.

  He sat looking stricken and amazed at once.

  Elbows on the desk, he laid his head in his hands. The urge to wrap her arms around him tugged at her, but she resisted. He was not a little boy in need of comfort, however much he looked like one at the moment.

  James glanced up. “I don’t know what to say. Did he sound sincere to you, or am I fooling myself?”

  “I believed him thoroughly sincere.”

  “I can hardly believe it. Words I had come to accept that I’d never hear from the man.”

  “He is proud of you, James. He is.”

  Tears brightened his green eyes into glittering emeralds. “I am only sorry illness is what brought him to say it.”

  Mercy’s heart squeezed. Unable to resist any longer, she rose and stepped to his desk, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Still staring blindly ahead, he reached up and laid his hand on hers.

  “Thank you for staying.” His voice wavered between emotion and humor. “I would have thought I was imagining things were you not here as witness.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I am not certain. I must think. But first I will insist he get the best medical care available. Or I will send someone to him.”

  Mercy nodded her understanding while questions arose in her mind. If James moved back to his parents’ estate, taking Alice with him . . . would she ever see either one of them again? Would he ask her to continue on as Alice’s governess in far-off Drayton Park? Could she really leave Ivy Hill, leave Aunt Matilda, Jane, and Rachel, to remain a lowly governess among veritable strangers?

  It would be foolish to do so. And what about Joseph Kingsley?

  chapter

  Forty-Seven

  The next day, James wrote to his father’s old friend, Dr. Larson. He also wrote to a well-reputed physician he knew and asked if he would be willing to visit his father to spare the ill man the exertion of another trip, offering to pay him handsomely for his time.

  Later that evening, Mr. Drake, Alice, and Mercy relaxed together in the quiet sitting room. Mercy read a book, while Mr. Drake and Alice played a game of draughts.

  He looked from Alice to her and said, “How pleasant this is.”

  Mercy met his gaze and returned his smile. “Yes.”

  Game finished, Alice rose and sat next to Mercy on the lushly upholstered sofa near the fire. She patted the space on her opposite side. “Come and sit with us, Papa.”

  “Very well.”

  He rose and joined them on the sofa, Alice between them. The girl was already holding Mercy’s hand and now grasped Mr. Drake’s hand too.

  Alice exhaled a wistful sigh. “How happy I am when we are all together. I wish it could always be like this. Don’t you?”

  Awkwardness prickled over Mercy. How much the girl assumed. But was it any wonder? She felt Mr. Drake watching her and glanced over, meeting his gaze above Alice’s blond head.

  She expected him to gently demur, to remind the girl she would not need a governess forever, though of course Miss Grove would always be a friend.

  When he said nothing, Mercy opened her mouth to say something along those lines.

  But Mr. Drake spoke before she could get the words out. “I agree it would be very nice, Alice.”

  Alice beamed up at him, then turned to include Mercy in the same gratified grin.

  Iris knocked and popped her head in. “Time for your bath, Miss Alice. The tub is filled and ready.”

  Alice groaned but rose dutifully. Mercy made to rise as well.

  Mr. Drake said, “Stay a moment, Mercy, if you would.”

  Once child and maid had gone, silence stretched between the two adults, broken only by the impatient ticking of the mantel clock. Mercy swallowed, feeling ill at ease now that Alice no longer sat between them, and wondering if he would move to another chair or if she should.

  He shifted on the sofa to face her. “You see how attached Alice is to you.”

  “She is attached to you too. How sweet to hear her call you Papa.”

  “Yes, thank God. But I wonder if you see the situation as I do.”

  Confusion flared. “What do you mean? Do you fear it will become more difficult for Alice the longer I continue teaching her? For we both know I cannot remain her governess forever, especially if you move to Portsmouth.”

  “True.” He considered, then added, “At least in Portsmouth, no one knows Alice as the daughter of Lieutenant Smith. Life might be easier there. She—we—could have a fresh start.”

  Had he already decided to move? Dread filled Mercy, and she silently formed an argument that would convince him to allow her to remain longer, even as a part of her knew that for Alice’s sake, the cord should be cut as quickly as possible. Especially if he planned to return to his parents’ home.

  Voice low, he said, “You see how happy she is now. I hate the thought of hurting her. Or you, of course. Will you put me out of my misery, Miss Grove?”

  Mercy held her breath. Here it was. He was asking her to let Alice go.

  Mercy clasped her hands, hard, then said, “If you think it will hurt Alice more in the long term for me to remain, then I shall leave directly—end your misery and start mine.” She chuckled feebly, hoping humor would cover her disappointment.

  “I am not asking you to leave. I am asking you to marry me.”

  Mercy gasped. Had she misheard?

  Whatever he saw in her expression made him wince. “I am far from perfect, we both know, but I hope you are charitable enough to allow that marriage to me would not be a completely miserable state.”

  When she remained silent, he looked hurt, and said, “Miss Grove, I know ours is not a love match, at least at present, but I would endeavor to make you happy, I promise you.”

  Mercy stared at him, unable to find any sensible words in her stunned mind.

  He pressed on, “What better solution is there? You love Alice and she loves you. I have no wish to be the cause of pain to either of you.”

  She swallowed. “But to marry?”

  “Yes. You deserve better than the life of a governess, a temporary position followed by an uncertain future. I had hoped an offer of marriage would seem a more appealing prospect, but my injured pride aside, I can see that it might not seem so, considering all you know of me.”

  Still she hesitated, thoughts jumbled. An immediate refusal died on her lips. Was he not right? Would she not give anything, or almost anything, to remain with Alice forever? Was this not what she longed for?

  “I thought of asking you earlier,” he said. “But we were not well acquainted then. Now, after living in close quarters and caring for Alice together, I thought we had grown fond of one another. At least, I am certainly fond of you. Surely in time our relationship might grow into something . . . more. I already respect, adm
ire, and care for you. And hopefully, you will be able to forgive my past indiscretions and come to respect and care for me as well.”

  She blinked, mind whirling. Where to start? “But your parents . . .” she blurted. “They know me as a governess.”

  “My parents like you already. They would be surprised but pleased, I think.” He tilted his head to regard her more closely. “Is it marriage in general you disapprove of, or me in particular?”

  “I am not opposed to marriage. Though I had thought it unlikely . . . until recently.”

  “That’s right. . . . You were recently considering a proposal from that dry crust of an academic old enough to be your father. Surely marriage to me would not be as bad as that.”

  “He was not as old as my father—but his age is not why I refused him.”

  “Then, is there someone else?”

  Was there? Did Mercy want to bring up Mr. Kingsley now, considering this opportunity to remain in Alice’s life—to be her mother by marriage? Especially when it was by no means certain that Mr. Kingsley would ever feel himself in a position to marry again and ask for her hand?

  But to marry a man she did not love, who seemed to shift his attentions from one woman to the next, while his heart remained untouched, as Jane herself had once mentioned?

  But Mercy was fond of James, and they were friends . . .

  A marriage of friendship. Would it be enough? Mercy was not sure.

  He drew himself up. “Well, I see that I have stunned you.” He rose and turned to her. “I will give you time to think it over. I am going to Drayton Park tomorrow for several days, to talk to my father’s physician in person and see that he gives a second opinion. Might you give me an answer when I return?”

  Mercy nodded and rose on wobbly legs.

  He stepped forward, hesitated, and then took one of her long hands in his. “Until then.” He pressed her fingers and quickly released her.

  Mercy walked from the room into the reception hall, stopping midstride when she saw Joseph Kingsley standing there frozen, coat on, toolbox in hand. For a moment their gazes held. He said nothing, his veiled eyes difficult to read. Had he overheard?