The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Over toast and eggs, he fed Betsey from his own plate and asked humbly, “Jane, may we stay another night or two?”

  Jane hesitated. “You could, but . . .”

  He straightened, his expression growing more formal. “Forgive me. I should not have presumed. Are you expecting a full house tonight? If there are no rooms available, then we—”

  “No, it isn’t that. You are more than welcome to stay here. But not just for a few nights.” She swallowed. “Patrick, would you please stay here . . . permanently?”

  His brows rose. “What do you mean?”

  “I would like to make you my partner. Fifty-fifty. I would stay involved for a year or two until the horse farm is up and running, but then you could use the profits to buy my share. After that, The Bell would be yours and Hetty’s. As you’ve long wanted.”

  “Jane, are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I know you had your heart set on managing your lodging house, so I will understand if you don’t wish to come back here.”

  “A charred little lodging house compared to a large coaching inn? I am not an idiot, Jane.”

  “I know you are not, Patrick. I would not offer The Bell to you if I thought you were.”

  “But I thought you were determined to keep the place?”

  “I was. Then. But my heart is not in it any longer. I want to pour my energies into helping Gabriel establish our farm and stables.”

  Patrick rolled his table napkin as he considered. “We already own the lodging house, such as it is. I suppose we could sell it or rent it out.”

  Jane nodded. “And with Mr. Phillips offering to pay for repairs, you won’t be out anything. Or at least not much.” She raised a hand. “But if you don’t want to live here, or if Hetty prefers to remain in Wishford . . .”

  “I will have to ask her what she wants to do.”

  “Yes. You two talk it over in private and let me know what you decide. If you agree, then we can meet with Mr. Coine and make the arrangement official.”

  “I wonder what Mamma would say,” Patrick mused.

  “She’ll like having Betsey closer.”

  “That’s true. And Mr. Locke? What does he say to all of this?”

  “He said it is my decision.”

  “Wasn’t he the one who convinced you to save The Bell yourself?”

  Jane nodded. “He was. And he was right. At the time, I needed The Bell, and I think The Bell needed me. Working to save the inn brought me back to life after John’s death, gave me a purpose. But I don’t need to be the innkeeper of Ivy Hill any longer.” She rose and grinned. “I am looking forward to being the horsewoman of Ivy Hill instead.”

  From her window, Mercy saw Mr. Drake’s chaise arrive in the stable yard a few days later, returning from Portsmouth. Mercy looked in her mirror one last time and prayed, “Am I doing the right thing, Lord?”

  Or was she a fool to refuse this second offer of marriage and perhaps her last? For she had neither seen nor heard from Joseph Kingsley again. And what about Alice? Had God not brought the girl into her life for a reason? Could she—should she—let her go?

  Yet when Mercy thought about accepting James, Joseph’s face appeared in her mind’s eye and her heart ached.

  Mercy gave James a few minutes to get settled and then went downstairs. She let herself into his office and closed the door.

  He looked up, hope flaring in his expression. He set down his pen and rose.

  “Welcome back.” She gripped her hands together and began, “I am sorry to welcome you home with bad news, but . . .” Seeing his smile fall, she rushed on. “Howard Phillips set fire to Patrick Bell’s lodging house while you were gone. He also confessed to setting the one here at your stables.”

  “Really?” His brows lowered. “I thought there was something odd about that young man. Is everyone all right?”

  “No one was hurt, thankfully. But poor Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.”

  “Yes . . .” He nodded, eyes distant in thought.

  “How did things go with your father?” Mercy asked and sat down, knowing even as she did so that she was beating around the bush.

  He considered. “Very well, I would say. He took great pride in showing me his books and all his properties.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Does that mean you’ve decided to move back to Portsmouth?”

  “I suppose that partially depends on you. Have you reached your decision?”

  So much for beating around the bush. “I have.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I am honored by your proposal, Mr. Drake. And tempted to accept. But that would be wrong for us both. You may not believe it now, but I am convinced you will meet someone and fall in love, more deeply than you ever loved Alice’s mother, because you will have the rest of your lives together and not just a few stolen weeks.”

  He looked about to object, so she quickly added, “And I . . . love someone else.”

  “Joseph Kingsley?”

  “Yes. How long have you known?”

  James sat down. “I knew he admired you when you first came here. Couldn’t miss how the man’s gaze followed you wherever you went—and the stilted way he spoke of you, which said more about his high regard than any flowery speeches would have. But I assumed you didn’t return his interest, since nothing came of it in all that time, day in and day out, the three of us in the same house. And then we saw him kissing that blond woman. I could see you felt betrayed, but I assumed you were finished with the man and vice versa.”

  “That was Aaron Kingsley, not Joseph. I mistook the one for the other, as you did, at first.”

  He reared his head back. “Are you quite certain?”

  “Yes, in fact Aaron and Esther are engaged to be married.”

  “Oh.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “Well then . . . why hasn’t Joseph proposed to you? What is the fool waiting for?”

  Mercy sighed. “He may admire me, but he thinks he is not educated enough, nor able to provide a comfortable home. Not worthy, I believe was the word he used.”

  James nodded. “I can understand that sentiment. You are a woman of inestimable worth, Mercy Grove, and the man you marry will have a great prize in you.”

  “Thank you. That is very kind of you to say.”

  “Not kind. True.”

  She looked away from his too-direct gaze. “I believe Joseph overheard your proposal, and that is why he left the Fairmont. He knows how fond I am of Alice and probably assumes marrying you is the answer to my prayers.”

  “But it isn’t, is it?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He inhaled deeply. “Bad news for me, but good news for him.”

  “I am not sure he would agree.”

  “Well then, my dear Miss Grove, the power to convince him lies upon your lips.”

  Mercy’s eyebrows shot up. What was he suggesting . . . ?

  He raised a hand. “I meant, a word from your lips would be enough to spur him to action.” He tipped his head to one side, grinning impishly. “Though now I think on it, a kiss would spur him to action as well, if not better.”

  Heat rushed to Mercy’s face.

  He rose, green eyes glinting. “You are charming when you blush, Miss Grove. In fact, I had better summon Kingsley before I am tempted to take my own advice.”

  He dragged his gaze from her face and stepped to the door.

  “But he’s gone,” she blurted. “Left to begin another project at Wilton House.”

  He turned back. “True, but on my way through Wilton I asked him here to collect his final wages. I believe he is inspecting his brother’s work just around the corner.” He grinned and swept from the room.

  James certainly recovered quickly, she thought. With every receding footfall, Mercy’s heart pounded hard.

  She heard him call down the passageway, “Kingsley? Miss Grove would like a word with you in my office. Don’t keep her waiting any longer, man.”

  Mercy flushed anew, and her pulse race
d in anticipation. Would Mr. Kingsley think her too forward or presumptuous?

  Joseph tentatively entered the room, hat in hand, questions written on his handsome face.

  Her mouth went dry. “Close the door, if you would, Mr. Kingsley.”

  He kept his gaze on her as he slowly reached back and shut the door. He stood there, studying her with wary expectation. Was he afraid she was about to tell him she and Mr. Drake were marrying? Or would he feel betrayed that she had briefly considered James’s offer, and rebuff her?

  Mr. Drake’s words ran again through her mind. “The power to convince him lies upon your lips . . .”

  Joseph took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “You wanted to speak with me, Miss Grove?”

  The words lodged in her throat. She pressed her lips together and slowly moved forward, legs trembling and stomach knotted. She walked directly to him, then a half step closer, looking up into his face, gauging his reaction. When he didn’t step back or pull away, she rose on tiptoes, lifting her mouth toward his. She flashed another tentative glance into his eyes, saw them widen and focus on her mouth. He seemed to be holding his breath. She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his. Slowly, softly, one second, two, three . . .

  Then she lowered her feet to the floor and whispered, “That is all I wanted to say.”

  He released a ragged breath, his gaze fastened on hers. He lifted his hands and framed her face. “You’re not marrying him?”

  She shook her head. “I told him I could not.”

  “But it would give you the desire of your heart.”

  Again she shook her head. “You are the desire of my heart.”

  Light flashed in his eyes. He laid his forehead against hers and breathed, “Thank God.”

  He wrapped one muscular arm around her small waist and drew her close, the warmth of his body enveloping her. She laid a hand on his chest and felt his strong heartbeat. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and leaned down, pressing gentle kisses to her temple, her forehead, and finally her mouth. Then he angled his head the other way and kissed her deeply and firmly.

  Again he laid his forehead against hers, catching his breath. Drawing back slightly, he looked into her eyes. “Mercy Grove, will you marry me? I will try to deserve you.”

  “Silly man. You already do. In fact, you deserve someone far better”—she gave him a teasing smile—“but I shall have to do.”

  chapter

  Forty-Nine

  Mercy shared her joyful news with Aunt Matty, Jane, and Rachel. While she was at it, she also asked Rachel if she might teach reading at the circulating library, and her friend was quick to agree. Afterward, Mercy wrote to her parents to announce her engagement, asking them to come and meet Mr. Kingsley when they could. Meanwhile, she and Joseph met with Mr. Paley, who agreed to begin reading the banns as soon as possible.

  Then Mercy made a decision. She sorted through her gowns, picked an old favorite, and went to see Eva Victor. When she neared the shop, she saw that the display window held hats, bonnets, and one pretty but simple daydress. On the wall hung a new small sign, adding her given name:

  VICTORINE’S

  MISS E. VICTOR, PROPRIETOR

  Mercy let herself in and saw the dressmaker standing at the shop counter, packing a straw bonnet in a bandbox.

  She looked up when Mercy entered. “Miss Grove, how are you?”

  “Better than ever. I have just become engaged to marry Joseph Kingsley.”

  “That is excellent news,” Eva replied, her hands in constant motion. “I am truly happy for you.” She added a layer of tissue and covered the box.

  Mercy smiled. “So am I.” She looked again at the sparse display window, with its hats and single dress. “I understand you donated several things to the almshouse while I was out of town. Did you give away every one of your mentor’s gowns?”

  The woman waved a dismissive hand, then tied a string around the bandbox. “I decided it was time to display only things I have actually made myself.”

  “Well done. I applaud you.” Mercy studied her face. “Eva, you’re not leaving are you?”

  Her hands finally stilled. “Honestly, I am not sure.”

  “I hope you stay.” Mercy lifted the gown over her arm. “In fact, I came to ask if you might smarten this up for my wedding. It is one of my favorites, though it is rather plain.”

  Eva’s mouth loosened. “I am surprised you would ask me, knowing what you know of me.”

  “My dear Miss Victor, none of us is perfect, and everyone deserves a second chance. I know it isn’t the same as a commission for a new gown, but I hope it demonstrates my support, my . . . friendship.”

  Tears brightened Eva’s eyes. “It does indeed.”

  And Mercy decided then and there that even if the gown ended up worse for the effort, she was glad she’d asked her.

  Eva stepped around the counter and lifted Mercy’s gown. “Let’s see what we have here . . . Ah, yes. Simple but elegant. I could easily envision a few embellishments to the neckline and sleeves. Perhaps a ribbon at the waist.”

  “Nothing too showy, if you please.”

  Mercy had no wish to look the part of a fashionable London lady. She was a modest village woman of one and thirty years, soon to be a teacher again and a carpenter’s wife. All roles she was overjoyed to fill and the only ones she longed for.

  Mr. and Mrs. Grove wasted no time in traveling to Ivy Hill to meet Mr. Kingsley. After the quiet, awkward meeting, her parents granted their blessing.

  Later, in private, her father told Mercy that he would have preferred a more learned man for his only daughter, but if she really loved him, he was happy for her and would not object. Her mother was unexpectedly gracious and accepting, not once bringing up Mr. Hollander.

  The Grove and Kingsley families were already slightly acquainted, both having lived in Ivy Hill for decades, but they had never taken a meal together. Joseph’s family invited Mercy and her parents to join them for dinner. The Kingsley home was not ostentatious in the least, but it was large, expertly crafted, and exceedingly well maintained.

  When they arrived, the Kingsleys were all warmth and welcome. Mercy’s father took to them immediately, while her mother seemed a bit overwhelmed by the boisterous brothers. After the meal, however, she and Mrs. Kingsley found a quiet corner for a pleasant conversation.

  The next day, when Mercy and her parents sat down to discuss wedding plans, her mother began, “Mercy, Ivy Cottage is a bit small for a wedding breakfast. That is why your father and I married in London, out of my parents’ house. However, if we limit the number we invite—”

  “No, Mamma, I want everyone to be there. Everyone who wishes to be.”

  “Anyone who wishes may attend the wedding itself at church, of course, but fit everyone into our snug cottage, especially considering the size of the family you’re marrying into? Impossible.”

  “That is all right, Mamma. I do not wish to have the breakfast in Ivy Cottage.”

  “But it is your home—or was, for many years. And just because a few things have not gone your way this last year does not negate the pleasant life we’ve given you here.”

  “You are right, Mamma. I have much to be thankful for. But it is George and Helena’s home now. I would like to have my wedding breakfast on Ivy Green. It is where I’ve always imagined it, in my heart of hearts, when I allowed myself to daydream that I might one day marry. I picture the gates of the back garden thrown wide and everyone I love spilling out onto the green—friends, family, children running and laughing. A banquet table and musicians . . .”

  “Mercy, do be sensible. Consider what happened the day of Jane Bell’s wedding. Matilda told me she originally wanted to hold her wedding breakfast in The Bell courtyard, but it rained, so everyone had to squeeze into the dining parlour and common coffee room!”

  “And we managed perfectly well. It was lovely. But just because it rained on Jane’s day does not mean it will rain on mine.”

&n
bsp; “Mercy, we live in England, and it has been an outstandingly wet year. One must expect it to rain.”

  Mercy supposed her mother was right. An outside wedding breakfast was a risk. But it was what she had always wanted—and now all the more, since she felt like a guest in Ivy Cottage, and not a warmly welcomed one.

  Her mother continued, “Perhaps we could look into hiring the Fairmont. There would be sufficient room there, I imagine, and we could engage their cook—a French chef, I believe you said? I doubt Mrs. Timmons is up to the challenge herself. Would Mr. Drake accommodate us at a reduced rate, your being in his employ? Matilda did mention in her letter that he counted you as a friend and not merely a governess.”

  Generous Mr. Drake was unlikely to be offended by such a request, but Mercy did not want to ask him, nor would Mr. Kingsley be keen on him hosting their wedding breakfast, considering the man had proposed to her.

  “Mr. Drake is busy learning all about his father’s extensive business affairs. He has more pressing matters to deal with at the moment than my little wedding breakfast.”

  “Little? Hardly. It sounds as though you wish to invite everyone in the county! Oh, that you had been half as popular with gentlemen of good fortune as you seem to be with everyone else.”

  “Mamma. Mr. Kingsley is a successful builder.”

  “I know, my dear. We hear good reports of him. Still, I can’t help but wish Mr. Drake had been the one to ask for your hand.”

  Mercy decided it would be wisest not to tell her he had.

  Her mother went on. “I brought with me the handsome veil of Mechlin lace I wore at my own wedding.” She lifted the bandbox beside her chair and extracted the item within. “The bonnet is not the latest style, but perhaps with some alteration . . . ?”

  “It’s lovely, Mamma. I would be honored to wear it.”

  “Now, as far as your gown . . .”

  Mercy lifted her hand. “Don’t worry, I have already spoken to our new modiste about it.”

  She did not wish to rob her mother of any pleasure but feared if Catherine Grove were involved, she would end up wearing a dress with many flounces and bows, more appropriate for a far younger bride—or even her young bridesmaid, Alice.