by Darcy Burke
Summoning a smile to put the man at ease, West removed his hat. “Good afternoon, I am the Duke of Clare.”
The man offered a stiff, hurried bow. “We are honored, Your Grace. I am Alves, the supervisor of this spike, er, workhouse.”
West had heard that slang a few times in Wendover, but still wasn’t sure what it meant. Perhaps if he’d paid just a little more attention on that tour instead of focusing on Ivy, he would know the meaning. “I’ve come in search of someone who might be offering some charitable assistance in the short term. Are you acquainted with a Miss Breckenridge?”
Alves relaxed, his features softening. “Indeed. She’s been a boon to us. Already, she’s made so many improvements to how we function every day.”
“Is that right?” West wasn’t the least bit surprised.
Alves nodded. “Yes, she’s organized our menu to allow for less preparation and cooking time, and she’s realigned some of the tasks so that our housekeepers can work more efficiently.”
Of course she had. “Will she be in today?”
“She already was. You missed her by perhaps an hour.”
Damn. But he couldn’t have come any earlier. He’d arrived late last night, exhausted. “When do you expect her to return?”
“Day after tomorrow. In the morning.”
Excellent. Now he knew precisely when he would see her again.
Alves squared his shoulders and notched up his chin. “May I inquire as to your intentions regarding Miss Breckenridge?” His lip trembled ever so slightly, but his gaze was clear and direct.
West admired the man’s bravery—it was no small thing to question a duke. That he did it on behalf of Ivy made West like the man. “We share a passion for helping those less fortunate. I should like to pay to have the entryway repaired. Do you have workers who can do that if I provide the supplies?”
Alves seemed hesitant, his gaze darting this way and that. “Miss Breckenridge and I discussed this. We don’t have anyone with those skills. She was hoping we could hire someone who would train a few of our inmates.”
“A capital idea.” Again, he wasn’t at all surprised. “I shall coordinate with Miss Breckenridge, then.” And now he had a reason to seek her out.
“Thank you.” Alves sounded uncertain. West took it as nervousness.
“It’s my pleasure to help. See you soon, Alves.” West replaced his hat on his head and took his leave.
As he strode out into the afternoon, it seemed darker than when he’d gone in. That was because several near-black clouds had moved in, and it looked as if it would rain after all.
He hurried back along London Road toward The Paragon and nearly ran into a woman who was coming round the corner. “I beg your pardon,” he said, sidestepping her.
“That’s quite all right,” she responded. “Clare?”
West stopped, trying to place the voice. He turned his head and recognized her immediately. How could he not? Elise, Lady Lamberton, had been one of his first affairs. She was older than him by about five years and still very attractive with sharp tawny eyes and dark blond hair that was swept up beneath her stylish bonnet. He specifically recalled her eyes because they’d been able to convey a pout or an invitation without the rest of her face moving a muscle.
“Lady Lamberton, how lovely to see you.” He swept her a gallant bow as she dipped an elegant curtsey.
She laughed. “How formal we are.” She swept her hand along his forearm. “It’s been an age, but I daresay we know each other well enough.”
“I daresay.” Although he hadn’t tracked her over the past decade or however long it had been. “I trust you are well?”
“Oh yes. Lamberton departed the earth almost two years ago now.”
He’d forgotten that. “I am sorry for your loss.”
She lifted a shoulder. “He was a fine enough husband.” The space between them grew smaller as she edged closer. “I was always comparing him to you, however.” Her tone had turned husky and low.
“You flatter me, my lady.”
“You used to call me your lamb.”
From her name, of course. He’d forgotten about that too. Thinking back, he’d been a bit of a nodcock, going out of his way to flirt and cajole and find cunning nicknames for his paramours. He’d thought he was so clever. And yet he must have been successful, because Lady Lamberton was a beautiful, seductive woman who should’ve been beyond his reach. Back then his paramours hadn’t needed his “help.” He’d pursued her out of sheer vanity and male pride. He wanted to assert himself as a rake, probably because he’d known it would drive his mother mad.
How on earth had his mother crept her way into his thoughts?
West rolled his shoulders and focused on the beauty in front of him. “That was a very long time ago.”
“It was.” Her gaze traveled over him slowly, like a cat picking its way through a maze of puddles. “I would say that I’ve almost forgotten, but that would be silly of me. And disingenuous.” Her lips curved coquettishly.
West didn’t know what to say. Normally, he would engage her flirtatious behavior, but he strangely didn’t want to.
She took another tiny step toward him. Her rose-scented perfume reminded him of the long-ago past, of heated encounters and satisfying couplings. Something in him stirred, a primal arousal, but he didn’t respond to it.
“My house is in Queen Square. You’re welcome to come by this evening—late. I’m attending the assembly later.” Her expressive tawny eyes seemed to smile all on their own. “Perhaps I’ll see you there?”
Damn. She would. But he wouldn’t be looking for her. He’d be searching for Ivy. He didn’t want to give Lady Lamberton the impression he was interested in rekindling their affair. “Perhaps.”
Her eyes did that pouting thing he remembered. It had never failed to persuade him to do whatever it was she’d wanted. But he was older now. Wiser. And not interested in her sexually.
Really? He wasn’t in a liaison currently. She was a widow. This would be a perfect arrangement.
Except he didn’t want her. He wanted Ivy. But for what? He didn’t see her engaging in an affair with him. What the hell was he doing?
“Clare?” Lady Lamberton’s query pulled him from his introspection.
Thankfully, a raindrop landed on his sleeve. “It’s starting to rain.”
“Hmmm, I don’t suppose your house is close by?”
Hell. “I am deeply flattered; however, I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged.”
This time she actually pouted, her lips forming a rosebud moue. “I see. Pity.” She inhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes provocatively. “Well, if something changes, I’m at number twenty-two.”
She gave him a saucy smile and continued on her way. Her maid, who’d stood at a discreet distance, quickly followed behind her.
West made his way back to his town house, his mind churning. When was the last time he’d gone this long without intercourse? He couldn’t recall. And yet, he’d just turned down an obvious invitation to do just that.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t been physically attracted to Lady Lamberton. On the contrary, his body had felt an attraction for her. It just hadn’t extended to his brain. The idea of sex with her—with anyone who wasn’t Ivy—was distasteful.
Good Lord, what was happening to him?
The woman staring back from the mirror wasn’t Ivy. Well, it was, but it wasn’t an Ivy she recognized. Her red-gold hair was swept into an elegant, complicated style of braids and curls with pearls woven through the locks.
“Ah, don’t you look lovely,” Lady Dunn said, stepping into Ivy’s small bedchamber.
Aquilla grinned. “She does, doesn’t she?” She and Lucy had surprised Ivy earlier by bringing her a new ball gown and insisting that she allow Lady Dunn’s maid to dress her hair. Barkley had enjoyed every moment, since Lady Dunn never required such a style.
“She needs one more thing,” the viscountess said, making her way to Ivy with her halti
ng gait. She wasn’t using her cane.
Ivy pivoted on the stool to address Lady Dunn. “Where is your cane?”
“Bah, I don’t need that right now. Focus on yourself for once, gel.” She presented a pearl necklace, lying in the palm of her hand. “You’ll wear this tonight.” She looked to Barkley, who plucked up the strand and went about fastening it around Ivy’s neck. “Now, you’re just right.”
Ivy turned to look at herself in the glass and was surprised to feel a rawness in her throat, as if she’d run outside in the freezing cold.
“She’s not just right, she’s radiant!” Aquilla declared.
“I agree,” Lady Dunn said softly. “Now let’s be on our way.” She hobbled from the room as Ivy stood.
She swept her hands over the rich blood-red silk of her gown. It was bold and daring, far more suitable for Lucy, but then she’d been the one to select the fabric. They’d done a fair job of approximating Ivy’s size, and Barkley had completed the last-minute alterations.
Lucy handed her ivory elbow-length kid gloves. “You just need these.”
The gloves were finer than any pair she’d ever owned, just like the dress. “I still don’t understand why you went to all this trouble.” Ivy had a horrible feeling they’d wanted her to look nicer now that they were countesses. But no, they weren’t that small-minded.
“Because we thought it would be fun,” Aquilla said. “How many times did we talk about being the belle of the ball? Now it’s your turn.”
Ivy tugged on the gloves. “But I don’t want to be the belle of the ball.” Once, long ago…she had. And now that she was garbed in such finery, for the first time she felt like she was. It was an odd sensation, for she was still fairly certain she didn’t deserve it. Furthermore, what was the point? She was like Cinderella. Tomorrow, she’d go back to being a companion in her dull gown and staid hairstyle.
Lucy was scrutinizing her, which made Ivy’s neck itch. She finished pulling on the second glove. “What is it?”
“Did we force you into something you don’t want?”
On the contrary. She was afraid they’d introduced her to something she would.
Ivy looked at both of them and smiled. “No. You have the kindest of hearts, and I’m so grateful to have your friendship.”
Aquilla pulled on her gloves. “Then let us away. You have a ball to be belle of.”
When they arrived at the Assembly Rooms, Ivy accompanied Lady Dunn to the cardroom while Lucy and Dartfort and Aquilla and Sutton made their way to the ballroom.
After ensuring Lady Dunn was situated, Ivy glided into the ballroom, feeling as if she were in a dream. She’d been to dozens and dozens of balls over the years, but this one looked different. Which was nonsense. It was precisely the same. It was she that was different.
Overhead, a thousand candles glimmered, casting a warm glow over the massive space. Music drifted down from the musicians’ gallery as people danced in lines along the length of the ballroom. Ivy hadn’t danced in years and doubted she ever would again.
She located Lucy and Aquilla. They were dancing. But Ivy didn’t feel bad about it. Even before they’d married, they’d occasionally danced. Ivy, on the other hand, as a companion, hadn’t ever been asked.
Would anyone ask her tonight? She certainly looked the part. Her brain conjured an image of West—dammit, Clare. Oh, what difference did it make what she called him in her head?
She saw him in her mind, his pitch-black hair waving back from his temples, his wickedly dark eyes moving over her with seductive intent. He’d be garbed in black save a colored waistcoat—a brilliant blue or a stunning gold—and the stark white linen of his cravat and shirt.
An ache formed in her gut and spread out through her body. How she wished he were here, that he could see her like this. He’d ask her to dance, she was certain. And she’d say yes.
But he wasn’t here, and nor would he be.
Ivy went to the wall and took up her usual position. It had never bothered her before, and she decided right then she wasn’t going to let it trouble her tonight either.
The dance concluded, and her friends made their way to Ivy’s side.
When they arrived, Dartford offered her a bow. “I’d be honored if you’d allow me the next dance.”
Ivy coaxed her lips into a smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I think I prefer my wallflower status. I mean no offense, but I’d like to spend the evening with my friends.” She inclined her head toward his wife and Aquilla, who laughed softly.
“I told you she’d say no,” Lucy said on a sigh. She briefly clasped her husband’s hand. “But I love you for asking.”
Dartford gave Ivy another bow. “If you should change your mind, you have only to say so. For now, I suppose Sutton and I are for the cardroom.”
Sutton pointed himself toward the doorway. “Indeed. We wouldn’t want to interfere with your wallflowering.” He winked at his wife.
Aquilla rolled her eyes. “Thank you. Wallflowering is extremely important and requires our undivided attention.” She waved her fingers at him and Dartford as they departed.
“I thought they’d never leave,” Lucy huffed good-naturedly. “Where shall we take our position?” She glanced around at the chairs along the wall, very few of which were occupied. “I suppose we can take our pick.”
“Let’s not sit just yet,” Aquilla said. “I don’t want Ivy’s dress to crease. We should move to a more visible location so that a gentleman may ask her to dance.”
Ivy shook her head. “One already did, and I said no. I’m content to sit. Preferably in a corner.”
“Nonsense. You look far too beautiful to cloak yourself in the shadows.”
“Thank you, Aquilla, but there’s really no need. It’s enough that I’m here with both of you. That’s all I want.”
Lucy and Aquilla exchanged looks, and Ivy grew suspicious. “You aren’t trying to put me on the Marriage Mart, are you? I’ll disassociate myself from both of you immediately.”
Lucy touched her arm, her fingers grazing along Ivy’s kid glove. “No, we aren’t. Truly. I think we both forgot for a moment that you aren’t us. You really don’t wish to marry.”
“Neither did either of you,” Ivy retorted, perhaps a bit too harshly.
Aquilla winced. “I think I forget that sometimes. Marriage to Ned has far surpassed anything I could have imagined.”
“As has marriage to Andrew,” Lucy said softly. “I guess we just want to see you as happy as we are, but that’s unfair. Happiness is not based on marriage. We know you are quite content with your life. You enjoy an independence many women can only covet.”
Ivy relaxed a bit. They understood. Why, then, did she still feel a lingering sense of unease?
“Come,” Aquilla said briskly. “It’s time to call a meeting of the League of Invincibles.” She led them off to the side, not quite the corner, but close enough for Ivy’s comfort.
The league was the name they’d given themselves quite some time ago. They’d found strength in having a secret club of sorts. Back then, they’d met to discuss books and events, they’d visited museums, and of course, they’d banded together at balls and musicales and everywhere else they’d managed to find themselves.
“I must say, I don’t know a good many of the people in attendance,” Aquilla said as she looked about the room. “Who is that beautiful woman over there? She seems to be holding court.”
Aquilla inclined her head toward a woman standing several feet from the dance floor. Garbed in a silvery blue gown and with rich blonde hair dressed with what looked to be diamonds, she was more than beautiful—she was ethereal and dazzling, like something from a dream. She was also past the blush of youth, which gave her an air of sophistication and poise that Ivy longed to possess.
“I think that’s Lady Lamberton,” Lucy said. She’d always been the best with names and recognizing people. “She’s a widow, and it seems to agree with her.”
Ivy felt a su
rge of envy. Lady Lamberton was in a most advantageous position—she had money, position, and independence. At least, Ivy assumed she had money given the way she looked. That gown and the diamonds in her hair cost more than Ivy made in a year. She suddenly felt strange in the gown she was wearing. It had been a gift, but after a decade of providing everything for herself, she wasn’t sure she was comfortable accepting it. Not that she wouldn’t. To do so would crush her friends, and she didn’t wish to do that.
“She looks a bit like a swan,” Aquilla observed. “I would’ve envied her a year ago.”
Lucy nodded. “Me too.”
Ivy said nothing, but as each moment passed, she realized their lives were irrevocably different now. The friendship they’d enjoyed would continue, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same.
Oh, this was ridiculous! Ivy refused to feel maudlin. So she wouldn’t find the kind of happiness and contentment her friends had. She didn’t want it. “I envy her independence,” she said with a sly smile.
Lucy chuckled. “Yes. That.”
They continued to look around the room and comment on the various attendees. As the music for the dance set concluded, the other sounds of the ballroom diminished. It wasn’t exactly quiet, but it was nearly so, with a whisper here and there.
“Someone’s arrived,” Aquilla said softly as she craned her neck in an effort to see who’d come in.
People moved aside, providing a sort of thoroughfare for the new arrival.
It was a gentleman. Tall with hair as dark as midnight and a walk as arrogant as sin. Ivy knew him immediately, of course.
“Is that the Duke of Desire?” Aquilla asked.
Ivy couldn’t look away from him. “Yes.”
And he was striding directly toward them.
“Is he coming this way?” Lucy asked.
“I believe so,” Ivy responded. Her heart had picked up a deep, staccato rhythm when she’d identified him. Now it fairly pounded from her chest. The ballroom was nearly silent, and yet she heard a rushing in her ears. Heat flushed through her body, and her knees turned to water.