The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Face heating in embarrassment, Mercy turned and crossed the hall, ascending the stairs without a word. He did not call after her, nor follow. Reaching her room at last, Mercy dropped heavily onto her bed. On the side table, she noticed her vase of faded lily of the valley, flowers dried and fallen to the floor.

  What had happened? How had she gone from being a confirmed spinster to having three men express interest in her in recent months, and two actually ask for her hand? She should be grateful. Happy. Instead she felt sick to her stomach. Oh, God, what should I do?

  In the morning, Mercy rose and dressed with care, feeling uneasy. She wanted to talk to Mr. Kingsley and find a way to bring up Mr. Drake’s proposal, assuming he had overheard at least part of it. But what to say? She tried to recall her conversation with Mr. Drake—specifically what she had said. She remembered him asking her if there was someone else. And she had hesitated—not mentioning Mr. Kingsley, not saying a word. She had been too stupefied by his offer and the possibility of becoming Alice’s stepmother.

  Her reflection in the mirror did not please her. Her face looked pale, her eyes wide and worried. She turned to the bookcase Mr. Kingsley had made for her, running her fingers over the polished surface and smooth beveled edge, knowing his hands had done the same.

  She took a deep breath and went downstairs, looking for him where she had seen him working last—in the passage beyond Mr. Drake’s office.

  But when she got there, she found only Aaron Kingsley at work, high on a ladder, reaching up to reposition a cornice piece. She hoped she would not startle him and cause him to fall.

  “Mr. Kingsley?”

  Manner friendly and open, Aaron said, “Good morning, Miss Grove. Did you need something?” He descended the ladder, a boyish smile on his face.

  “I am sorry to disturb you. I am looking for Joseph. Can you tell me where to find him?”

  Aaron shrugged. “He isn’t here. He asked me to finish this project for him. Surprising, really, when he wanted to do most of the rest of the work himself, or at least oversee it. But now I’m tasked with finishing what he started. Won’t take long. He was nearly done—had been for some time, truth be told. He was dragging his feet to complete it.” He looked at her, eyes sparkling. “You wouldn’t have any idea why, would you?”

  When she hesitated, he went on, “At all events, I shall finish the last of it in a day or two, I imagine.”

  Mercy felt lightheaded. “Joseph is . . . not coming back?”

  Aaron shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s gone to start another project he’s been putting off.”

  She blinked, mind scrambling to make sense of the news. To bring his work at the Fairmont almost to completion and then leave so abruptly after the scene of last evening? It could not be a coincidence.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Where has he gone?”

  “Wilton House. Is there a message you’d like me to give him?”

  Mercy hesitated. There was so much she longed to say to Joseph Kingsley, but nothing she could convey through his brother.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. Well. I will leave you to your work.”

  Mercy returned to her room, using the few minutes before Alice would arrive for lessons to compose herself. If she had thought she looked pale before, now a ghostly countenance greeted her in the mirror—the mirror Joseph Kingsley had thoughtfully found for her.

  What had she done by remaining silent? And what should she do now?

  Jane and Jack Avi went for a ride together—Jane on Athena and Jack Avi on a brown pony named Penny. They trotted down the hill, then carefully crossed the turnpike to reach the Fairmont. A chaise and four waited on the drive, horses harnessed and postilions preparing to depart.

  She said, “This is where Bapu and I used to live, Jack Avi.”

  Jack Avi’s eyes widened. “It’s big.”

  “Yes.”

  He pursed his lips. “I like the farmhouse better.”

  Jane smiled at the boy.

  James Drake came out the front door and handed a valise to one of the men.

  He lifted a hand. “Good day to you, Jane and Jack Avi.”

  The two had briefly met at the wedding, but Jane was pleased James remembered her brother’s name.

  “Are you here to visit Mercy? I’m afraid I am about to leave for Portsmouth, but—”

  “No. We’re just out riding. I wanted Jack Avi to see the place. We won’t keep you.”

  “I have a few minutes. How goes married life?”

  “Very well, thank you. Gabriel is his old self again. And we just bought two thoroughbreds at the auction in Salisbury.”

  “Good for you. I was sorry to hear your father is . . .” With a glance at Jack Avi, he said, “Under the weather.”

  “Thank you, James. We hold out every hope of recovery.”

  Alice came outside, armed with a carrot. She asked if she could feed the pony and, when Jane nodded, tentatively approached the animal. She stroked its mane and offered Penny the treat. The two children laughed to see the long orange stick hanging from its mouth like a cigarillo.

  “May I lead the pony to the horse trough for a drink?” Alice asked.

  “All right,” Jane replied. “But please come right back.”

  James turned to watch the children go off together, his expression wistful. “Look at the pair of us, both adding to our families in unexpected ways.”

  Jane nodded, thinking he might ask more about Jack Avi or her father’s condition, but he did not. He seemed distracted.

  She asked, “Everything all right with Alice?”

  “Hm? Oh yes, she’s happy and healthy.”

  “And how is Mercy?”

  He looked up to consider the question. “Confused, I would say, right about now.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I asked her to marry me.”

  Jane felt her eyebrows shoot high. “That would explain it! Good heavens. Has she given you an answer?”

  “Not yet. I’ll be gone for a few days. Hopefully that will give her enough time to decide.”

  Jane glanced around, making sure no one was near. “You show excellent taste in asking her, but I had thought Mercy’s affections lie in another direction.”

  “Do you mean the professor? She has already refused him.”

  “No, someone else. But I had better not speak out of turn.”

  He cocked his head to the side, expression serious. “Perhaps you had better.”

  When she hesitated, he said, “If you are referring to Joseph Kingsley, I believe he once admired her, but nothing came of it.”

  “Maybe he is shy. And remember, there is Alice to consider as well.”

  He frowned. “It was never my intention to put Mercy in an awkward position, nor to use Alice to manipulate her into accepting me. If I thought there was anything between her and Kingsley I would not have proposed. Truly.”

  “I believe you, James.”

  He took a step closer to her horse and lowered his voice. “We recently saw him kissing another woman, so I assumed his affections were now engaged elsewhere and Mercy’s were free.”

  Jane stared at him. “Mercy saw this too?”

  He nodded.

  Jane searched her memory, surprised Mercy had not mentioned it. “I see . . .”

  Alice and Jack Avi reappeared around the house, talking companionably. On the drive, a postilion mounted the lead horse.

  “Well, safe journey, James. I will look forward to hearing what your future holds.”

  He nodded. “So will I.”

  Mercy came out to join Jane, Alice, and Jack Avi, and together they waved Mr. Drake on his way. From her vantage atop Athena, Jane watched her friend’s face, uncertain if she should reveal what James had told her, especially with Alice there.

  “Everything all right, Mercy?” she asked instead.

  “Hm? Oh, yes. That is, I hope so. You haven’t seen Joseph Kingsley today, have you?”

&n
bsp; “No. I have not seen him, though Mr. Drake was just telling me that you and he recently saw him”—with a significant look at Alice, Jane finished—“with someone else.”

  Mercy must have read between the lines. “Did he? Oh! I wonder if that is why he . . .” She looked down, thinking, and let the sentence dangle. Then she said, “That was not Joseph we saw, by the way. It was one of his brothers.”

  “Oh? Mr. Drake thought it was.”

  “I did too, at first. I did not think to let Mr. Drake know we were wrong. Perhaps I should have.”

  “Yes. Perhaps,” Jane murmured, unsure how much to say.

  Something in her tone must have given her away, for Mercy tilted her head and asked, “What else did Mr. Drake tell you?”

  “That you have a decision to make.”

  Mercy’s face puckered. “Oh, Jane. Mr. Kingsley left. Abruptly. Right after Mr. Drake . . .” Glancing over and finding the children still distracted by the pony, Jane whispered, “Proposed. He’s gone to work on some project at Wilton House, his brother said.”

  Athena stomped a restless hoof. “Shall I return with the gig and take you there?” Jane offered.

  Mercy shook her head. “No. How forward that would be. I don’t know if he’s angry or hurt, or if he decided to simply make way for Mr. Drake. If he’s left to avoid me, I won’t chase after him.”

  “But if there has been a misunderstanding . . . ?”

  Mercy shook her head. “Mr. Drake may have misunderstood, but I knew the truth and still I did not refuse him. If Mr. Kingsley is angry with me, I couldn’t blame him. Oh, Jane, I don’t know what to do.”

  Jane shifted in the saddle. “How do you feel about Mr. Drake?”

  “We are friends. I am fond of him.”

  “And Mr. Kingsley?”

  “I think I love him. But neither man has said he loves me.”

  Jane studied her in surprise. “Oh? Something you told me led me to believe Mr. Kingsley had.”

  Mercy shook her head again. “He has never said the words, but his looks, his many kindnesses—fitting out my room here on his own time, rescuing me from the smoke, defending me to Mr. Drake’s friends, making me a bookcase out of oak . . .”

  Jane felt her brows rise. “And you say he hasn’t told you he loves you?”

  Mercy nodded as realization dawned. “You’re right. He has. But I don’t know that Joseph will ever propose, and Mr. Drake has. Would I not be a fool to refuse him?”

  Jane reached down, offering her gloved hand, and Mercy grasped it.

  “I can’t tell you what to do,” Jane said. “But you, Mercy Grove, are the furthest thing from a fool.”

  chapter

  Forty-Eight

  The next day, Thora came by and asked Jane if she wanted to go with her to visit Patrick, Hetty, and Betsey. She did indeed. They stopped by the dressmaker’s shop to see if Eva wanted to join them, but she was busy with two out-of-town customers and couldn’t get away.

  Jane left Colin McFarland in charge, as she had done with more regularity since marrying Gabriel—although she knew the younger man still felt at loose ends when left on his own, especially if a problem arose with a guest, staff member, or supplier.

  The Bell had been Jane’s focus for most of the last year. She had poured a great deal of her energies, waking hours, and sometimes her sleeping hours into it. But the truth was, her heart wasn’t there any longer. Her heart was with Gabriel Locke, and their horse farm, and their future.

  She sighed and wondered again if it was time to hire an experienced manager, at least until Colin had more experience himself.

  They rode in companionable silence, Thora now and again casting curious glances her way. Finally she asked, “Everything all right?”

  “Hm? Oh yes.”

  “Difficult dividing your time between the inn and the farm, I imagine.”

  Her former mother-in-law knew her so well.

  “Yes. But I am well, just a little tired.”

  Jane hesitated to bring up the subject that had been on her mind for weeks. She took a deep breath and launched in. “I know you don’t approve of employing outside managers, and I agree family is best. But now that you and I and Patrick are all married and busy elsewhere . . .”

  Thora grimaced. “Someone with fancy ideas moving in and changing everything, hiring a fine cook and wasting money on foolish falderals?” She sent Jane a wry glance. “Oh, wait. You’ve done all that already.”

  “I did not,” Jane protested on a laugh. “Not the fine cook part.”

  Thora chuckled, and they rounded the bend into Wishford.

  Jane considered and then said, “Of course, we would have to find someone like-minded and trustworthy, who would serve The Bell and make improvements gradually and only after consulting us.”

  “Someone like that would expect high wages, Jane.”

  She sighed again. “I know.”

  Jane looked toward the town as they approached and noticed a menacing column of smoke spiraling into the sky. Alarm twisted through her. It was probably just someone burning rubbish, she told herself.

  She found her thoughts returning to the day before the coach contest, when she and Sir Timothy had been out riding and smelled smoke near Fairmont House, only to discover Mr. Drake’s new stable building in flames. Sir Timothy had suspected arson, occurring as it had, right before the contest that would decide which hostelry should win the Royal Mail contract.

  In the end, however, Mr. Drake had been content to let it pass as an accident—a cigar dropped by a careless builder, perhaps, or a stray spark from a lamp. Jane had never been fully satisfied by that explanation but had been so consumed with the pending contest and her struggles with The Bell, that she’d pushed it to the back of her mind.

  “Look, Thora. Something is burning.”

  Thora frowned. “I don’t like the looks of that.”

  She urged the horse to greater speed. “Maybe someone’s brush fire got out of control.”

  The church bell clanged a warning signal as they turned up the first side street, following the column of smoke to its source.

  Jane’s heart pounded and her stomach clenched. Oh no. Please, God, no. . . .

  For there at the end of the lane stood Patrick and Hetty’s lodging house, one side engulfed in flames.

  Several hours later, the fire had been put out, the water brigade disbanded, and neighbors began returning to their homes. Jane stood talking quietly to Talbot and Gabriel, who had come from Ivy Hill with several other men to fight the fire when word had reached them.

  Jane noticed Patrick slump down on a tree stump a safe distance from the charred lodging house, exhausted, face and hands smeared with soot.

  Hetty walked over and sat beside him, stretching one arm around his shoulders. The stray terrier came and sat at her feet, and she idly reached down and stroked its ears.

  Thora stood at the edge of the property, bouncing Betsey in her arms to keep her safely away from the rubble. The girl chattered happily, blithely unaware of the tragedy surrounding her.

  After giving the couple some time alone, Jane excused herself from the men and went over to speak to them. “I am so glad you are all right.”

  “That was what I was just telling Patrick,” Hetty said with surprising pluck. “It’s a setback, but at least none of us were hurt. That’s what is most important.”

  “True,” Patrick agreed, though he looked weary and defeated.

  Talbot and Gabriel joined them. Talbot said, “We’ll have to give it a day or two for the smoke to clear, and then we can go in and begin assessing the damage. Decide how best to proceed.”

  Gabriel added, “We could ask the Kingsley brothers to come over and take a look.”

  Two local magistrates, Lord Winspear and Sir Timothy, strode down the street with Wishford’s current constable.

  Approaching Patrick, Sir Timothy began, “We have good news and bad news.”

  “I’ve had enough bad,” Patrick sa
id. “I’ll take the good.”

  Timothy nodded. “Very well. Mr. Phillips from the Crown has offered to pay damages.”

  Patrick’s face stretched long with incredulity. “Mr. Phillips? Why would he?”

  Instead of answering directly, Timothy turned to Jane and asked, “Do you recall the fire at the Fairmont before the mail coach contest? The damage to Mr. Drake’s new stables?”

  “Of course.”

  “Mr. Drake deemed it an accidental fire, but I was never fully convinced.” He returned his gaze to Patrick. “We have just learned that Howard Phillips set both fires. He was overheard bragging about it in the public house after too many pints.”

  “No . . .” Jane breathed.

  “Thunder and turf,” Patrick exclaimed. “Why?”

  Lord Winspear explained, “He heard his father grumbling about the Fairmont, and more recently Mr. Bell’s lodging house. Complaining about the new competition. Mr. Phillips says he was only worrying aloud, never thought his son would do anything like this. He meant only to spur him to work harder to help make the Crown more profitable. But apparently that sounded like too much work to Howard. So he decided to deal with their competitors by setting fires.”

  Patrick muttered, “That little—” But Hetty shushed him just in time with a hand to his arm.

  “What will happen to him?” Jane asked.

  The older magistrate grimaced. “Prison or transportation, most likely. This is beyond the scope of the petty sessions and will likely be settled at the county assizes.”

  “Poor Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.”

  “I agree,” Timothy said. “It’s a bad business.”

  Hetty nodded. “Bad for business, indeed.”

  The Talbots drove Patrick, Hetty, and Betsey back to The Bell, where Jane offered to fill baths and insisted they take the best room. They tried to protest, but Jane held firm, urging them to wash and rest, and saying they would talk more in the morning.

  The next day, Patrick joined Jane at breakfast, eyes still red from the smoke. He carried Betsey with him to give Hetty another hour of much-needed sleep. How much marriage and fatherhood had changed him already.