“Or what?”
His answer stuck in his throat as images of a hurt, crippled Ivy filled his mind, as he acknowledged her vulnerability beneath her man’s persona. His hand fell to his side. He had interrupted simple roughhousing of the sort he had once engaged in, but it was life’s sundry other calamities, and his inability to protect her from them, that rendered him nearly immobile with fear and with a sense of past failure destined to repeat itself.
Grown silent, Ivy stared up at him, into him, if that were possible. Whatever she saw, whatever she came to understand about him in those pensive moments, gradually softened her expression. “Never mind,” she said gently. Her fingertips brushed his sleeve. “I wasn’t hurt, and neither was Preston.”
Minutes later, the carriage stopped outside Ben’s office. “I forgot my hat earlier,” Simon explained when she questioned him. “Wait here.”
She slid along the seat after him. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
She remained adamant. “Each chance I have to be part of this academic environment is a gift, one that must sustain me for the rest of my life.”
As she spoke those last words, his chest constricted painfully. The rest of her life—spent somewhere else, without him. Shouldn’t that come as a relief? When she completed her mission and left Harrowood forever, she would no longer be his concern or responsibility. He need not spend his days worrying about her happiness, her welfare . . . good God, whether she lived or died.
Yes, he should be thoroughly, ecstatically relieved to have escaped such a burden. So then why this awful ache inside him?
Ben hadn’t returned from his meeting with the trustees; his office door was closed but unlocked. Inside, Simon retrieved his top hat from where he had left it on the sofa, nearly crushing the brim as his fingers fisted far too tightly around it. He relaxed his grip, but as he moved to leave, he saw that the bookcase had captured Ivy’s attention. Her forefinger running along a shelf at eye level, she scanned the titles, her face alight with interest.
Simon waited for her by the door. “You do realize that I’ve many of these same volumes at home, and you’re welcome to read any of them there.”
“Perhaps, but how often am I able to examine the reading material of a dean of natural philosophies?” She continued her scrutiny. “But what’s this?”
Reaching the corner where the bookshelf met the room’s outer wall, she plucked something from atop the row of books. In her hand lay a folded paper. “It seems I am not the only female to venture inside these hallowed halls.”
Simon moved closer. The notepaper bore a scalloped edge and an embossed monogram he couldn’t quite make out. Ivy brought it to the desk and smoothed it open. A crease forming above her nose, she traced a finger over the letters. Her eyebrows arced. “Simon, these initials. They are your sister’s.”
Chapter 16
“Let me see that.” In an instant Simon crossed the space and took the notepaper from Ivy’s hands. His stomach all but dropped to the floor.
At the top of the page, an uppercase G linked with a swooping B, with a lowercase de poised above them. Five words had been scribbled in smeared ink across the ivory paper.
Dearest Simon,
Forgive me. I . . .
That was all. In frustration he held the unfinished letter closer, as if he could discern more, perhaps detect the imprint of a message written in disappearing ink. “This is Gwendolyn’s. But blast it, why didn’t she continue? What was she going to tell me?”
Ivy searched his face. “She must have been interrupted.”
“Yes, but by whom? When I was here earlier, I asked again if anyone had heard from her. Colin and Errol repeated their denials of yesterday. Ben, on the other hand, acted thoroughly surprised to hear of her departure from London.”
“Perhaps it’s been here since before she went away.”
“That was months ago. Someone would have noticed it before now. The charwoman . . . Ben himself. It could not have lain there all this time.” He held the paper out for Ivy to see. “It isn’t particularly dusty. She must have been in this room quite recently.”
“Could Ben Rivers have been lying?”
“No. At least . . . I hope to God not.” Ivy’s question sent a chill across his shoulders and triggered a decision. “It is time to call in the authorities.”
“Simon, the queen—”
“Indeed, let us consider the queen. She has accused Gwendolyn of theft, a criminal act, meaning that merely finding Gwen will not resolve the issue. She is in a great deal of trouble, both to her person and her reputation. I believe the time for discretion is well past. The queen made a ridiculous demand of you with this oath of secrecy. She behaved more like a moonstruck child than a monarch—”
“That isn’t fair.” Ivy squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Victoria is a lone woman surrounded by men, many of whom find fault with her solely on the basis of her being a woman. Do you know what a scandal could do to her reign? She has pledged her life to the service of this country, and in return she wishes one thing for herself: to marry her cousin Albert.” She drew herself up taller still. “Your sister’s actions have jeopardized that wish. I am sorry Lady Gwendolyn is missing. I will do everything in my power to help you find her. But I cannot allow you to destroy the only personal dream Victoria has left to her.”
A quality in Ivy’s tone led him to realize they were discussing not only the queen but Ivy herself. He understood her wishes and her frustrations, too. He supposed her aspirations were in large part what had prompted her to shrug off his proposal. But while he hadn’t shaped the society they lived in and would have made changes if he could, he could not ignore the realities—not as they affected the queen, his sister, or Ivy herself.
“The queen endangered her own wishes when she went behind the backs of her advisers and ministers to conduct a secret love affair.” A squeak of outrage issued from Ivy’s throat, but he headed her off by continuing, “Just as my sister’s brash actions have endangered her freedom and welfare.”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ll say that I’ve endangered my own welfare by venturing from home alone and taking on a man’s role.”
“Haven’t you?” He should have added that she had endangered them both by walking into his open arms. She had lost her virginity, while he had lost the walls of safety he’d erected around himself at Aurelia’s death. But those were things that couldn’t be changed.
“Blast you, Lord Harrow.” Ah, the return of sarcasm. Ivy scowled. “You fail to grasp the most vital point of all. The point of me.” With both hands she slapped her lapels.
His forehead began to throb. “And what point would that be?”
“That endangering oneself is not always a thing to be avoided. That men are encouraged to do it every day of their lives, from when they are boys and jump their horses across streams and over rock walls.”
She came closer, until they stood toe to toe, almost nose to nose, so close the fragrance of her hair and skin mingled confusingly with the manly scents of her woolen coat and starched cravat, a tantalizing blend that made following her convoluted logic that much more challenging.
“Has it not occurred to you that perhaps Gwendolyn had a damned good reason for doing as she did? That ill-advised though her actions were, they were incited by desperation and the insurmountable frustrations that go along with being female?” She had the audacity to poke his chest with two fingers, as though he personally had caused Gwendolyn’s frustrations . . . and Ivy’s, too.
He peered down at the textured notepaper, which he’d unconsciously crumpled in his fist. Was Gwendolyn’s disappearance his fault? He had always tried to be a good brother, though admittedly he’d grown distant in those long months following Aurelia’s death. Still, if he had known of Gwendolyn’s feelings for Colin, he would not have been entirely disapproving of an attachment between them. His sister was young, and he would have insisted on a
yearlong courtship at the very least before he allowed an engagement to proceed. . . .
But he’d been kept in the dark about the entire matter. Gwendolyn and his supposed best friend had sneaked about, defying every proper convention, until Gwen had been left all but ruined. After that, there could be no permitting any relationship between them. No responsible elder brother would have behaved differently, and surely Gwendolyn should have realized that he had done his best for her in placing her in the queen’s household.
“Has it never occurred to you,” he countered evenly, “that doing what is best for others, no matter how painful or unappreciated, is part of the frustrations a man must bear?” When her perplexed expression deepened, he added, “Perhaps, Ivy, you should think about that.”
He turned to go. She caught his elbow. “What about going to the authorities? Will you defy the queen’s command for—?”
At the clatter of footsteps in the corridor, he pressed his hand to her lips.
Ivy considered biting Simon’s finger until she, too, heard what had prompted him to cover her mouth.
A second or two after Simon released her, Benjamin Rivers stopped short in the doorway. “Simon. And Mr. Ivers, too, I see. I thought I heard voices.”
“I forgot my hat earlier. But see here, we discovered this in your bookcase.” His expression darkening, Simon thrust Gwendolyn’s unfinished note beneath the other man’s nose. “Ben, has my sister been to see you or not?”
The man regarded the item with a frown. “I told you, I wasn’t even aware that Gwen had left London.”
“Then how—” Simon’s voice surged. He paused, and Ivy perceived his effort to rein in his temper. He asked more quietly, “How did this come to be on your bookshelf?”
“I don’t know.” The dean of natural philosophies rubbed his temple, then pushed charcoal strands of hair from his brow. “I am as mystified as you are. Perhaps she came to see me when I wasn’t in....”
“And tucked a note in among your books?”
“I can’t explain what she might have done, or why.”
“Wait one moment.” Ivy turned and moved back to the shelf. “The note was just about here, tossed to the very back of the shelf. Obviously Lady Gwendolyn had wished to leave Lord Harrow a message. Perhaps she could not put into words what she felt and instead left a sign.”
“A sign of what?” both men asked simultaneously.
“Of where she intended to go next.”
Their vocal skepticism notwithstanding, Ivy began calling out the titles near where she had discovered the note. When none elicited a response from either man, she named the authors instead, many of whom she recognized from her studies. “Carlisle, Clausius, Faraday, Galvani, Granville, Guericke . . .”
“Wait.” Simon moved beside her. “Did you say Granville? Alistair Granville?”
Ivy tipped her head sideways to read the spine. “Alistair Granville. Yes, right there.” She pointed to the tome.
Simon pulled the clothbound volume from the shelf. “Diamagnetism and the Perpendicular Forces of the Earth’s Magnetic Fields,” he read from the front cover. He flipped the book open and fanned through the first few pages.
“It wouldn’t be unlike Gwen to leave cryptic clues as to her intentions.” He looked up at the dean. “Could my sister have meant to hint that she would go to Windgate Priory?”
“There is one way to find out.”
Simon nodded. “I was planning to visit Alistair anyway. Come, Ned, we’d best set out now if we’re to make it back to Harrowood before nightfall.”
Ivy waited until they climbed back into Simon’s carriage before she ventured to ask, “How much does your sister understand about your work?”
Simon placed his hat on the seat between them. “I’ve wondered that myself. Despite her impulsive nature, Gwendolyn possesses a sharp mind.”
“Do you think she grasped the significance Victoria’s stone could play in your research? And I don’t mean in general terms.”
The carriage listed as the driver turned the vehicle about and headed the team northwest, away from town. Ivy pressed both hands to the seat to prevent herself from toppling. Simon gripped the hand strap above the door. Still, his body leaned sharply until his shoulder gave hers a solid nudge. His spicy shaving soap aroused a fluttering of awareness inside her.
“Up until a couple of weeks before she went away, I’d have said no,” he replied to her question. “But after my first electroportation, it was Gwendolyn who found me. Like yesterday, I was on the floor, unconscious and far more incapacitated than I was when you found me. It took hours before my strength returned, days to fully recover.”
He paused, staring out at the passing scenery. Ivy caught a fleeting glimpse of St. John’s entrance gates, but what Simon had just admitted held the better part of her attention.
“You very nearly killed yourself that time . . . yet you repeated the experiment. Why?”
He didn’t look at her. “Science progresses in such ways.”
“No.” She grasped his chin and forced him to turn toward her. “Science need not kill or maim to progress. There are safer methods—”
“At the time, I’d have defied your safer methods.” His sudden vehemence made her snatch her hand away. For an instant his eyes blazed in the carriage’s dusky light. Then their fervor dimmed. “Even yesterday morning, I’d have laughed at the suggestion of proceeding with caution.”
“And now?”
“Now I agree with you. Now I see my folly.”
His sense of finality, of capitulation, spread sudden misgivings through Ivy’s heart. She did not wish Simon to risk his life by testing dangerous procedures on himself, yet neither did she wish to see him lose the daring courage that led him to astonishing innovations . . . and which made him so dear to her. She felt sad to think that in some way she had undermined his confidence.
“Not folly,” she whispered, and then surprised herself by adding, “You can’t mean to abandon your discovery.”
His eyebrows rose. “Isn’t that what you advised me to do?”
“No. Yes.” She shook her head. “Perhaps yesterday I believed that to be the prudent course, but I’d received a fright. Besides, you said you wished to protect me, not give up entirely.”
“Again, that was yesterday. This morning I reached a vastly different conclusion. Electroportation disassembles and reassembles the body’s molecules. Galileo’s teeth, Ivy, who knows what mutations can, and perhaps did, occur? How can such a process ever be safe, for anyone?”
“You’re frightening me again. I still wish you would see a doctor.”
“No need, for I emerged well enough.” He slapped a hand to his chest, over his heart. “But yes, you should be frightened. So should I. I was playing with a godlike force, something no man, not even a scientist, has the right to do.”
Part of her, the logical and practical side, agreed wholeheartedly. But the part of her that had defied convention, donned trousers, and experienced the electrical energy of his generator flowing through her own body cried out a protest.
“If your view has changed because of me, Simon, you must reconsider. I have no wish to change you, not anything about you. Impulsiveness is obviously a de Burgh family trait, one of many that set you head and shoulders above any other man I’ve ever known.”
Those words sprang directly from Ivy’s heart, but when Simon continued to face stiffly forward, lost in thought, she realized he hadn’t heard her; she realized, too, that she didn’t dare confess her feelings again.
She had given her virginity to this man and did not regret a single moment of their wondrous lovemaking. Oh, he was wondrous; he had been solicitous of her needs and sweeter than she ever dreamed the Mad Marquess could be. She had no regrets.
But she could not ignore what had brought them into each other’s arms: the alternating shock, fear, relief, and exultation that had resulted from his electroportation process. For several dreadful moments yesterday she had beli
eved him dead, or nearly so. He, too, upon first awakening, had doubted his hold on life.
Was it any surprise that such a tumult of emotion would lead to a physical outpouring as well? Today, however, those emotions were well under control. Even during his proposal of marriage, he had maintained an emotional distance as well as a physical one.
Then she must keep hers, too, rather than expect from him more than he was prepared to give. In truth, in the interest of preserving her newfound independence, she had no wish to attach herself to any man. If only she knew of a scientific process to prevent her heart and her aspirations from getting in each other’s way.
She cleared her throat. “We were speaking of Gwendolyn, and how much she understands about your work.”
Some of the rigid tension drained from his posture. “She knew my injuries were the result of erratic fluctuations in my generator’s electrical current. And that my greatest challenge lay in creating a current free of those fluctuations.” He met her gaze and voiced her own thoughts. “Gwendolyn might think the stone is a source of steady power, a natural battery of sorts.”
“Her theft is not your fault,” Ivy said, voicing what she believed to be Simon’s thoughts. He frowned, looking as though he was about to form a denial, but his sense of guilt spoke from every taut line of his face.
His heavy sigh broke the silence. “Gwendolyn’s actions are my fault, Ivy, in more ways than one. And I suppose my failures as a brother may well cost the queen her happiness.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
Ivy’s wide-eyed incredulity might have made Simon smile, had the situation not been one that gnawed at his honor. And if it weren’t time to acknowledge what he had ignored for so long.
“The theft and her disappearance, and everything that happened last winter, are a direct result of how self-absorbed I’d become after my wife’s death.”
Outrageously Yours Page 22