by Cheryl Howe
The absolute inappropriateness of the match has done nothing to dissuade me of my conviction.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darien found his nephew sweeping the floor of the estate’s forgotten chapel. Robert Fitzgerald’s shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his fine haircut standing up in places. A large sweat stain butterflied against his newly purchased white shirt.
“If you stop by Hank and Evelyn’s, you could find half a dozen boys you can put to work.” Darien walked between the pews. A quick glance around the littered church found all manner of birds’ nests in the rafters, some still occupied. He hadn’t been to the private family chapel since Philip’s funeral. Darien probably wouldn’t be here now if Ivy’s chill this morning hadn’t chased him from his own home.
Robert swung around to face Darien. His narrowed gaze showed him not to be pleased to see his uncle anymore than Ivy had over breakfast. Perhaps he deserved silence from Ivy. Without so much as a grunt of acknowledgement, Robert attacked the floor with his virtually strawless broom. What in the hell had he done to anger Robert this time?
“Evelyn could add a few bristles to that for you. Looks like you’ve broken most of them.” Darien returned his attention to the church’s interior.
The cloudless afternoon spilled through the stained glass windows. Some of the panes had been darkened with dirt, some replaced with pieces of wood.
“Unless you want to help—bugger off, Darien.”
“That’s no language for a bishop.” Darien spotted a cloth and some beeswax resting on one of the pews. He began to polish the wooden altar. “Suppose you are sprucing up for the ceremony on Saturday?”
“Westhaven will be full tonight with arriving guests. There’s a small rectory in the back that Reverend Brice lived in until he passed away. It’s a bit infested but a far cry better than the chapel.” Robert returned to his sweeping with much less enthusiasm. “Besides, I’m sure I mentioned the ceremony will take place in Crediton. The architecture is quite spectacular.”
Darien paused to shake out his already abused arm. Cleaning the dust, rats and cobwebs from the abandoned church would take a good week, though the chapel was small by any standards. Narrow with low ceilings, the church's dank caved-in feel had always appealed to Darien. The pews opened onto a small stone tower where on a summer day, light shone down as if God spoke to the occupants Himself.
Darien thought the simplicity of the church perfect for a true holy communion with the divine and his future wife. He had wanted to marry Ivy here. She had readily agreed, sharing his sense of wonder about the understated structure. Darien was sure Henry Maddox had requested the famous cathedral for the wedding.
“Did you receive the bloody invitation to tonight’s soiree accompanied by the week's worth of activities? Christ. I can’t believe the old man agreed to any of that prattle,” Darien said.
“I must ask you not to take the lord’s name in his own house, Darien.” Robert kept sweeping and Darien polished in silence.
After a few more minutes of strained efforts on both their parts, Darien ducked beneath the altar to see if he could decipher the relic’s original color. The fine sweat that had begun to dampen his shirt should have some benefits by now or the task was hopeless. He had other things to do than polish the filthy wood. He had a ewe that was ready to birth late in the season—the ram he had purchased on his last visit to Diana was finally earning its price with her first offspring.
Then he looked more closely at the wood’s surface. Finding the year 1782 roughly scratched into the altar’s surface brought back a forgotten memory, disjointed and displaced. A memory Darien had purposely shoved aside.
Philip had died in 1782. Though he had been in no condition to do much that day, much less vandalize the altar, his brother’s funeral was the last time Darien had been in this chapel. It was also the year he and Ivy intended to be married. Then he remembered.
Darien had to get on his knees to slither beneath the altar. He knew he hadn’t gotten taller, but his younger self had obviously been a bit more compact. And agile. But there the markings were. His markings. Above the year was the date. June 2. The day he and Ivy had picked for the wedding. And above that were the initials D.B + I.T. Darien touched the crisp, confident vandalism. The wound to the carved wood jolted Darien like the probing of a fresh injury.
“What are you doing under there?”
Darien jerked and banged his head on the very solid altar table above. The hit sounded harder than it felt or perhaps Darien was too stunned by his recent discovery to notice.
“Are you all right?” Robert dropped to his knees before Darien.
“Not really.” Darien rubbed his head and moved from beneath the altar’s shadow. “It seems I’ve discovered another one of my ghost’s footprints.”
“You carved your initials into the altar, Darien? Do you hold nothing sacred?”
Darien’s thoughts turned to Diana and his father’s reaction to the news of her death. Had his father actually loved her? Waves of guilt followed as he had to admit the truth to himself. Darien had used Diana so carelessly and then he’d tried to accuse Ivy of his own misdeeds because he could not stand himself.
He looked at Robert, explaining, “That was to be the date of our wedding, Ivy’s and mine. We carved our initials a couple of years prior. The earl claimed he approved of the match as long as we had a long, rather quiet betrothal. He wanted Philip to announce something first. Unfortunately, Philip had not yet decided on his bride-to-be, though Westhaven had already given him two deadlines. Philip hated to displease him.”
“That was the year he died, wasn’t it?” Robert said softly. “We were still banished in Ireland but my mother cried for a month. I’m sorry I never had the chance to meet him.”
Darien rested his elbow on his raised knees and stared at his filthy work boots. “Philip rarely caused a stir in the family doings. That was my job. But he had delayed picking a bride, forcing me to delay my wedding with Ivy. Perhaps I sensed what was to come, but I carved this on one stolen afternoon while Ivy visited Westhaven with her family.”
Robert stood and looked down at Darien with the same frown with which he had greeted him.
“Ivy carved her initials herself,” he said as he glared up at his nephew. “After I had already started the rest, of course. She tried her best to dissuade me.”
“Tell me, do you actually intend to marry Ivy this time? I’m not entirely sure you two reuniting is a good idea. I’m afraid no good will come of any of this.” Robert walked off the platform that held the altar and again began his attack with the broom.
“Are you speaking of my relationship with Ivy or your own prospects?”
“Do you have any idea of what becoming bishop at such a young age can mean to my future?”
Darien stood and picked up the beeswax and the cloth, attacking the pews while following Robert. The rediscovered carving on the altar disturbed Darien, drawing him to his own past. What if he had run away with Ivy to Scotland when his father had first persuaded him to extend their engagement? What if he could keep his nephew from making this mistake of not taking action? Not only for himself, but for the woman he loved.
“This position means a huge financial gain. I would be in the military right now, perhaps overseas fighting for my life, if not for your father’s patronage.”
“And is it worth the price of your heart? Your mother didn’t make such a choice when she ran away with your father.”
“The circumstances were much different. Yours truly was on the way, as you well know.” Robert paused, glanced at Darien, then went back to sweeping the floor. “Being isolated from her family all those years was not easy on my mother. I suspect if she had it to do again, she’d have stayed clear of the dashing captain with his Irish brogue and dress uniform.”
“I’m sure we all would do things differently if we had the chance, or at least think we might.” Darien found a dust pan and hand broom. He scooped up piles of debr
is and put it into a large barrel already half-full. “Have you even told Arianna of your feelings for her?”
“Your grandfather has basically kept my family clothed and sheltered for years. And being the largest landowner in the parish, he is also my most important patron. I am in no position to be anything other than Arianna Maddox’s Latin tutor.” Robert turned his back on Darien and continued sweeping.
“My relationship with Arianna proved nothing but a light flirtation, innocent in the extreme,” Robert said to the far wall. “I knew I had nothing to offer her. If I led you to believe otherwise, it was merely my imagination taking on a life of its own.”
A bundle of windswept papers had caught underneath the pews. Darien crawled on his hands and knees to yank them free.
“So you’ll be at the dinner tonight honoring Arianna and the earl’s engagement?” Darien asked.
“After last night, I’m not sure Westhaven will welcome me back. I had no idea of his relationship to that actress woman or I wouldn’t have said a word. Besides, I have too much to do.”
“Her name was Diana de Rachelle and you couldn’t have known.” Darien, however had known, but that didn’t stop him from doing the exact thing that Ivy had been condemned for. Instead of acting like the wounded party over the years, Darien should have done something to clear Ivy’s name, at least in regard to that particular transgression.
Darien unfolded one of the crumpled and yellowed papers.
His own name in script caught his eye, followed by Ivy’s. The carefully written schedule for a sermon over a decade ago included the first calling of their intent to marry. Though Darien expected Ivy and he would have been married by a special license like most couples of his class, his mother had a fondness for village custom. When she had asked him if he thought anyone would object to the publishing of the banns in the local parish, Darien had actually laughed. He had no idea she’d gone and done it.
“Come to dinner tonight.” Darien gently folded the piece of paper and tucked it in the inside pocket of his rough wool coat. “Especially if Miss Maddox no longer holds an interest for you. There will be other guests there, and I don’t want Ivy to feel…ostracized.”
“Then let her go, Darien. Whatever bargain you struck with her, let her out of it. She’s suffered enough. Her past even followed her to Cornwall, and why she would allow all that rubbish to be stirred up again is beyond me.” Robert tossed down the broom and stalked outside.
Darien followed his nephew. Robert stood on the church’s front step, his face tipped toward the blue, cloudless sky.
“The dust,” Robert said and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s giving me a headache.”
“You know, my father wanted me to marry Arianna Maddox. He’s only doing so because I refused.”
Robert curled his fist. “Do and I will break every bone in your body.”
“I would not think of intruding on your light flirtation, Robert.” Darien grinned at his usually peace-loving nephew who indeed appeared to be in need of a good brawl. Instead of picking a fight to accommodate him, as was Darien’s custom, he bowed. “Besides, if I have my way, I will never let Ivy go.”
***
The disjointed voices drifting down the long hall of Westhaven’s estate created a steady buzz. Darien paused and squeezed Ivy’s hand. She tensed as if they were about to walk into a swarm of bees. Once again, he became ensnared in her creamy breasts encased in a curve-hugging, low-cut crimson gown. A fiery opal surrounded by garnets hung on a diamond choker at her neck. The bold jewelry and beautifully styled dress could not outshine the allure of Ivy. No one for a moment would dispute that she had to be the most expensive courtesan in all of England. Maybe even the world.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “We don’t have to do this. You seemed nervous leaving Melody at Hank and Evelyn’s house. Despite all the children running wildly about, they are quite capable.”
“And miss my opportunity to play the wicked woman? I shall be the smote in the eye of the virgin bride. My worries were for Hank and Evelyn, and their brood. No one shall have much sleep tonight.”
Her tone was light, playful, seductive. Yet, distant. They had not discussed Diana or their argument, but had been on their most polite behavior with each other. Darien found he missed their former intimacy. He preferred the tussled and milk-stained Ivy, a squalling child in her arms, to the charming and exquisitely dressed stranger beside him.
“Thank you for being here with me. Tonight, I promise not to embarrass you.”
“You never embarrass me, Darien. Never.” She touched his face and vulnerability showed through her flawless exterior.
He shrugged but looked away. Last night, he had lied to Ivy. He had never stopped loving her. Not a little bit, not an ounce. This evening, he had discarded his farm wear for a black velvet jacket and burgundy breeches. A black waistcoat with matching burgundy embroidery topped a crisp white shirt recently pressed by Evelyn. Darien refused to wear stockings, but his boots were black leather polished to a fine sheen. Not once had their Italian soles touched sheep shit. Darien hoped they made a striking couple. He intended to make this night as pleasant as possible for Ivy.
His talk with Robert had awakened something in Darien he had kept crushed—hope for him and Ivy. A future with the only woman he could ever imagine loving suddenly seemed less an impossibility. Yes, he had his regrets, but some could still be corrected.
A young servant Darien did not know bowed as they entered the salon. Immediately, the buzz ceased and all eyes turned toward them. The group gathered was much older than expected, and much smaller. They all must have been speaking loudly at the same time.
Maddox, who appeared positively youthful next to the two old gentlemen leaning on canes, turned to glare at Darien and Ivy.
Darien put his hand on Ivy’s lower back and searched for an ally. His niece, Lea, sat next to her father on a lime-green settee. Her plum gown with satin trim clashed with the furnishings. A green and purple peacock feather, her only adornment, drooped from her auburn hair. She appeared as miserable as Ivy no doubt felt.
“Are we early?” Ivy said near his ear.
Darien found his sister in a grouping of chairs, surrounded by three matronly relations Darien could no longer remember. Robert was nowhere to be found. His nephew’s absence confirmed Darien’s suspicion that Robert was far more upset by Arianna’s marriage than he dared admit. And that’s how one’s ruin began. Darien did not want to see his nephew spend the next ten years of his life being a drunken recluse. Pride would not interfere with Darien’s relationship with Ivy ever again.
Arianna Maddox suddenly stood before them in the center of the formal receiving room, a clear viewing for the guests scattered in chairs and sofas. Her gown of white lace ruffles entwined with pale pink ribbon created a halo around Miss Maddox. She resembled a strawberry cream pastry. Her youthful innocence had been accentuated, probably the thing for most brides, but considering the groom, Darien found her appearance terribly disturbing.
He must find a way to stop this wedding before it happened. Not for revenge against his father, or to find out what really happened to Philip, or even to save his pig-headed nephew, but to save Arianna.
Arianna stared up at Ivy and the two contrasted like Eve facing down the Virgin Mary. They were mirror images in some transposed world. Darien thought the scene would make a telling painting, Ivy in red, her full milky breasts contrasted by the fiery jewel at her throat. Her lush curves impossible to ignore. And Arianna, slight in the layers of her lace-trimmed dress, a delicate charm at her throat.
“Miss Templeton, you are looking stunning tonight,” Arianna gushed.
Darien widened his eyes at the girl’s obvious admiration. Arianna Maddox practically glowed in Ivy’s presence.
“Thank you, Arianna.” Ivy’s casual use of the girl’s first name caused her to blush.
“I made you something.” Arianna dropped her gaze and shrugged. “It’s silly, I know,
but you were so kind to offer your compact. I did not realize that the painted enamel flowers were encrusted with jewels until I came home. My mother thought I should return it but, I do so love it.”
“I am so glad it has found a proper home. A woman of substance, which you are very soon to be, Arianna, should never be without the finest of accoutrements.” Ivy glanced at Darien as if he were a gob of the chocolate she relished, which almost made him blush.
“Well,” the girl pulled a trinket from the pocket of her skirt and stared down at it as if the tiny bouquet were a piece of large lint. “I don’t know if you care for posies.”
She held the dried offering out to Ivy. Fat lavender blooms were entwined with a vine of ivy and braided ribbons. “You can tuck it away in your things to make them smell fresh.”
Ivy took the bundle and brought it to her nose. She sighed deeply, a sensual moan disturbing the opal and catching the light. Even Maddox tensed from his position in the corner.
“This is divine. Lavender smells different when grown in the West Country. This is my favorite scent in all the world.”
“I did not realize you two were such fast friends?” Darien said, ready to excuse himself to retrieve them drinks.
Arianna startled as if she were just made rudely aware of Darien’s existence. She curtsied abruptly, almost sending her off balance. “Lord Blackmore, how nice to make your acquaintance.”
“I did not realize you two were not properly introduced,” Ivy said. “Forgive me.”
Darien bowed and shook Arianna’s gloved hand, which she quickly yanked away.
“Hard to believe you shall be my mother, isn’t it? Shall I call you Mum, Mama or Mommy?” Instead of finding his comment funny and irreverent, Arianna appeared green. “I’m only joking, Miss Maddox. May I fetch you refreshment.”
Arianna’s mother hurried from across the room and put an arm around her daughter. “Arianna, why don’t you play for us before dinner?”
Mother and daughter retreated to the piano.