by Cheryl Howe
“Come stay with me for a bit. Let me take care of you,” Ivy implored.
Diana reached for a crystal cordial glass resting on a cluttered stand. “I am comfortable here surrounded by my things.”
The small quarters were crammed with a large painting of Diana in her prime. The artist had captured her draped over a fainting couch, a thin dressing gown accentuating her lush curves rather than disguising them. Ivy glanced from the myth of Diana to the woman she had become and hoped her smile did not wobble.
“Does the earl know of your condition?”
“We have not spoken since his wife became ill two years past. He paid me well for our time together. I require nothing else from him. I assume he’s well.”
Ivy shifted, too ashamed to pursue her true motives for finally coming to visit a ghost from her past. She just wished it were figuratively instead of literally. Poor Diana. My God, but she was Ivy’s age when Diana had first come to her rescue after rumor spread that she had become Darien’s father’s mistress. However, since then, Ivy had come to think of Diana’s instruction on how to survive social ruin as the road to her demise. Still, Diana’s intentions had been pure, or at least as pure as Diana could ever be.
“As you know, I don’t stay in touch with the Blackmores.” Ivy justified the omission of her plan to attend the engagement ball with Darien as an act of kindness. It was too cruel for Diana to know that her long-time lover had chosen to take a young bride the moment his late wife had been respectfully mourned. Darien should have come to Diana instead of Ivy to truly create a proper scandal at his father’s betrothal celebration.
“But you said you saw Darien in the country,” Diana insisted. Eagerness broke through her practiced detachment, a protective tactic she had drilled into Ivy’s head years ago.
“From a distance. Darien created the scene with the host the instant he spotted me. He stormed out shortly after.” Ivy told her half-truth with a steady gaze. Truly, she did not know what to make of hers and Darien’s last meeting.
“But he’s well?” Diana’s voice held a wistfulness Ivy attributed to her friend’s fascination with true love. She had never stopped trying to push Ivy to reconcile with Darien no matter how impossible that was.
“He drinks too much and doesn’t take care of himself.” Ivy refused to let how much that upset her show in her tone.
“A man after my own heart.” Diana retrieved her sherry and toasted Ivy. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a nip?”
“No, thank you, as I said I have another engagement this afternoon.” Ivy would love nothing more than to escape the grim reality of an aging mistress, but she could not abandon Diana to such dire straits. “Diana, I must insist that you let me call a physician. You have lost so much weight.”
“There is a reason for that. I have a secret. A wonderful one.” A bit of the old sparkle that had made Diana the most sought after courtesan on the continent smoldered in her upturned blue eyes. She pulled back a silk drape which Ivy thought had disguised a basin to reveal a wicker basinet. Ivy leaned forward and gasped at what she saw.
“I have a daughter. Isn’t she sweet?”
The wee babe lay motionless until Diana reached for it and lifted it out of a satin and lace bundle of blankets. The child squeaked in protest but did not appear to have the strength to open its tightly closed eyes. Nor did Diana appear to have the stamina to safely hold the child. Her thin arms wobbled, mere sticks under her embroidered dressing gown. Ivy leaned forward to grab the child lest Diana drop the infant. When she then tried to lay the limp bundle in Diana’s arms, she refused.
“No, you hold her. Please. She does not get the attention she needs, I fear.”
Ivy pressed the child to her chest to stop its sudden trembling. Its lips had turned purple in the cold, damp air of Diana’s thin-walled room.
“Diana, I don’t know what to say. Is Gregory Blackmore the father?” She watched as Diana patted away the perspiration that had formed on her upper lip from the small effort. How in the world was she caring for this child?
“You know I have not laid eyes on the man in some time. My angel’s father was something of a novelty. He was not even a paying paramour. Merely a lonely soul who had been tossed aside such as I.” Diana brushed away an oily blond clump of hair that had fallen into her vulnerable gaze. She lifted her slight chin. “That’s not to be repeated. If anyone asks, I am abroad dancing with the Prussian King.” She laughed and reached for her sherry. “Not that anyone would. Madame Diana de Rachelle is already a relic of a bygone era. A faded rose pressed in a lyrical book, then abruptly forgotten.”
“But surely the father of your child would be eager to help?”
“No, he does not even know. It would cause more pain than his family could bear.”
Ivy pressed the child close to her and rescued a blanket from the bassinet to provide more warmth.
“To hell with his family,” Ivy said. “She is his family. She deserves better than—” She stopped herself from using the word squalor. “You both deserve better accommodations. A place in the country perhaps.”
“I abhor the country. You know that.”
“But surely fresh air would not only be beneficial for the child but yourself. London is notoriously harsh on lung ailments. Especially with the summer heat nearly upon us.”
The sewers outside Diana’s humble building would be foul and steaming with disease in less than a month. The place emitted a moldy scent that would surely turn sour with the slightest rise in temperature.
“Funny you should mention it, because I hoped you might take my angel to Cornwall for the summer months.”
“Perhaps I could do that as long as you accompany us.” Ivy would be eager to leave London after the ball. Living the life of a shunned recluse in Cornwall was a far better fate than Diana’s. London was too cruel for one who had gone out of fashion.
“Her given name is Melody, by the way.” Diana’s voice became lyrical as she spoke of her child. “And she is such a joy. I never thought I could love anyone as much as her.”
“And her last name?” Ivy was going to pen a long letter to the man in question and unveiled threats would be made.
“How does Templeton sound?”
Ivy stiffened. “Since I do not have a brother and my father is no longer living, I assume you are asking for me to claim her.”
“Would you? Even on the wrong side of the sheets, she would make a lovely duke’s daughter.”
“Marcus would know the difference and besides, we officially ended our association nearly a year ago.”
“Perfect timing.” Diana brightened. “Oh don’t worry so. It’s causing a crease in your brow.”
“Diana, I have taken your advice on most things and you have saved me from more heartache than I could bear, but I must say that now would be an appropriate opportunity to worry.”
“You might indeed be right, but I can’t wish away my little love. She is more than I deserve. Please, you must see that she has a good home.”
The baby did not stir on Ivy’s shoulder. A bottomless futility opened in Ivy’s heart.
“You will both come with me to St. Keynes for the summer. The local well is said to grant wishes,” she added in a ploy to appeal to Diana’s fanciful nature. “I have an obligation to attend to this weekend and then we shall promptly leave London. We can decide upon Melody’s future over a cup of tea in my garden.”
Diana gazed directly into Ivy’s eyes and all of her mentor’s practiced good humor fell away. “Do you honestly think I would survive the trip?”
Better than her child, but it pained Ivy to even think it, much less say so aloud. “Then you shall come to my home in London and we will fatten you up. We’ll summon my personal physician, Dr. Ferguson. You shall be well enough to travel before the roses have lost their blooms.”
“I have already seen a dozen physicians. I refuse to be bled or burned or anything else ever again.”
“Very well, bu
t at least my staff can attend to you and Melody. You need rest.”
“I do not intend to be known in London and especially not in relation to my little girl. My dying wish is to spare my daughter the branding of bastard offspring to an infamous whore and opium addict.”
“You are not a whore.”
Diana laughed. “You are too honest for your own good, my love. I came from nothing and I shall return to nothing. You are not like me, Ivy. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Do not speak so.” Ivy cradled the infant’s skull and hugged her tighter.
“Forgive me.” Diana laid her head against the chair. “I am weary to the bone. Be a dear and take my little angel for a while. As much as I love her, her care has been more than I can manage. I fear her health suffers because of my poor mothering.”
“I am quite sure she will be fine with a little fresh air. I shall be glad to take her but you must come with us. How shall I feed her?”
Ivy jostled the small bundle until she felt a puff of soft air against her neck. The child certainly was not taking solid food yet.
“Yes, I was hoping you might be able to find a wet nurse. I had vowed to do it myself but alas my milk never came in.” Diana coughed. “I have bartered some of my gowns for the services of a neighbor and I fear she is cheating me. Melody comes home red in the face, her cheeks stained with tears and dust. I think the awful woman swaddles her and hangs her on a hook.”
Ivy closed her eyes and pressed the small bundle to her chest.
“I’ve spoon-fed Melody water and sherry but I think breast milk from a robust country lass would make all the difference.”
“I shall arrange everything.” Ivy stood, an urgent need to see to the poor child’s welfare overruling her concern for Diana. “I shall find a nurse for Melody and when she is settled, you shall come round for a visit to witness her improved health. Agreed?”
Diana beamed with the radiance that reminded Ivy of another time—a time when Diana was the toast of the beau monde—rich, beautiful, untouchable and admired.
“Agreed.” Diana reached out a trembling hand. “You are saving Melody’s life. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m saving both your lives. You shall visit next week or I shall hire rough men to drag you to my townhouse.”
“I shall dream of nothing else.”
Ivy smiled for a moment, believing Diana could return to her old self, but then she coughed into her white handkerchief, and Ivy spotted a splattering of crimson. Ivy clutched Melody to her heart and rushed out the door. She would find the best wet nurse in all of London, and she would be in her employment by night’s end, even if she had to pay an early visit to Darien’s father.
I know you insist that you are unfit for polite society,
CHAPTER TWO
Darien examined Ivy perched on the wide leather seat opposite him. Her brow furrowed in serious contemplation of the misty glow cast by Mayfair’s street lamps as she gazed out the carriage window. All they needed was her great-aunt Mercy dozing in the corner beside her, and ten years would have magically melted away.
Ivy abruptly jerked her wary gaze to him as if he would pretend he’d not been unabashedly staring.
“This is all very strange, isn’t it?”
“Not so strange,” Darien said, enjoying too much being alone with her in the confines of the shadowed carriage. Jesus, but he almost experienced a twinge of nostalgia.
“I did not expect you to show up sober, you know. In fact, I did not expect you to show up at all. Perhaps that was merely wishful thinking.” She leaned back in apparent resignation and slipped on the placid mask he’d most often seen her wear since their separation.
When he could no longer help himself, he would go to great lengths to catch a secret glimpse of her. “Come on, love. Aren’t you the least bit intrigued to see the expression on the old man’s face when you arrive on my arm? Bloody hell, my presence alone will give him a bloody seizure.”
Ivy blanched and at close range her polished elegance could not hide the fear in her expressive green eyes. Darien leaned forward to reach for her satin-clad hand then remembered the years that stood between them and drew back.
“The old man’s that much of a bugger, aye? The way he told it, he bloody well charmed the lasses senseless on a regular basis.”
“Stop torturing me. I’m giving you what you want.” Ivy pressed her knuckles against her mouth and returned to staring out the window.
Darien dropped his gaze to block out the slight tremble of the peacock feather emerging from Ivy’s auburn hair. Any hint of true vulnerability from her would be his undoing.
“When did you adopt the speech of a hackney driver? Or is it part of your performance this evening?” she asked, breaking the strained silence.
The chilly disdain in her voice gave him strength.
“Fear ‘tis habit.” Darien shrugged but her observation warned him he was babbling like a fool, speaking in a relaxed way as he would to those who still accepted him no matter how much he tried to destroy himself. “I shall strive to restrain my vulgarity for the remainder of the evening, Miss Templeton.”
“I didn’t mind it.” She stared out the window again, avoiding looking at him directly, he suspected. “It’s difficult to adjust to how little I know you.”
Darien remained silent, feeling just the opposite. She was still the same girl with whom he had fallen impossibly in love. The pale powder she brushed across her nose to hide a spatter of freckles could not change that.
The gothic iron torches illuminating Henry Maddox’s red brick townhouse came into view and Darien needed a drink more than he could ever remember in his life. He pulled at his ruffled neck tie. He’d not set foot in the company of this band of vipers since…
“I know this will be difficult for us both, but we are here for Robert and his girl.” Ivy’s warm hand covered his, snapping Darien from his panicked stupor and in an instant reminded him of all he had lost. “Philip would forgive you.”
Darien yanked his hand away. “But would he have forgiven you?”
He turned away from her, contemplating the guests trudging up Maddox’s marbled steps, sure his well-placed arrow had found its mark. The moment he walked through the double doors he would find a drink, anything, champagne, sweet wine, even sherry, heaven forbid—anything to numb the raw pain that clawed at his insides. Then he would apologize for his cruel words, maybe even for letting Ivy sacrifice herself on his behalf.
Their rented carriage rolled to a stop and a liveried servant opened the door. Ivy took the man’s hand and jumped out without hesitation, not waiting for Darien’s assistance.
After lingering long enough to pay the driver and persuading him with an extra pound note to wait down the street, Darien had no choice but to follow. He seriously wished he had grabbed a hunk of her voluminous skirts and hauled her back inside the hackney. Did he really think their presence here would change a damned thing?
Darien trailed Ivy’s militant march up the marble steps, bypassing couples who patted their elaborate coiffures and adjusted their finery before making their grand entrance. The gasps of recognition were audible.
Darien caught up with her before she strode through the open double doors, light and music spilling from the house. He pulled her into the shadows so he could catch his breath. A fine sheen gathered under his satin coat and ridiculously embroidered vest.
“Are you not going to wait for me?”
“I tired of that long ago, Darien. Some of us were not born with the luxury to consistently be a wastrel.”
“Touché. I deserved that.”
Her breath came hard and fast and her flushed cheeks aroused him in a way her innocence—the way he remembered Ivy when he had loved her purely—had not. This would be his new fantasy, Ivy full grown, beautiful and with a will strong enough to crumble any man’s.
“This might be a game to you, Darien—a pugilist match that you would bet on at White’s to relieve the mono
tony of your gin-tinged life—but I do not enjoy holding myself up to ridicule like a carnival peculiarity. I would love nothing more than for London’s elite to forget Ivy Templeton ever existed.”
Darien, sober after dusk for the first time in his adult life, felt himself pale at her words. Yes, he knew he was acting the fool, but she did not know all of it. And he wanted to confess everything. He met her unreadable depths harbored by dusky lashes and wide, almond-shaped eyes. He could never trust Ivy again no matter how much the gnawing memory of her reared its tempting head.
“Don’t worry, I intend to pay you handsomely. It’s one night of discomfort to save the innocence of a young girl who holds the heart of someone we both care deeply about. Try not to be such a martyr. I’m sure you’ve suffered worse.”
“I hope handsomely in your book involves several zeros. We have gathered a crowd.” She held up her arm, waiting for him to offer her escort.
Instead of steering her past the gawkers, he grabbed her hand and pulled her abruptly to him. Nose to nose, he whispered, “Thank you. And there are not enough zeros to repay you for the pleasure of your company tonight.” He kissed her on the lips, hard and quick. “I mean it. It’s bloody good to have you on my arm again.”
“Darien …” She opened and closed her mouth. Her momentary shock was worth revealing his mutinous heart.
“Let’s be on with it, then. I’m sure news of our arrival has spread through the whole bloody ball by now.”
Ivy entwined her arm with his, and he felt some of the tension leave her body.
Damn it all, but it was good to have her by his side again. He hadn’t said all that sentimental drivel just to ensure that they appeared to have reconciled rather than on the verge of another nasty public display.
They walked up to the door and a few bold gents greeted them with a knowing gleam in their eyes. The women hid behind their escort’s backs, but he noticed they peeked over velvet-clad shoulders, a slight grin as they examined both he and Ivy as if they were returning heroes from the wilds of Africa.