A Bluestocking Christmas

by Monica Burns

  Marston’s observations had given Simon insight into Ivy’s contempt for the nobility. Hadn’t his experience taught him to make similar assumptions about commoners until he’d met Ivy? It would explain Ivy’s resistance to associate herself with members of the peerage. If her aunt and uncle had treated Ivy with the virulent contempt Marston had described, it would be understandable if she shielded herself from further rejection.

  He frowned. Perhaps he’d made a mistake orchestrating the reunion between Ivy and her cousin. For a long moment, he contemplated the thought then discarded it. He’d made the right decision. Until Ivy put her past behind her, he knew there was little hope of convincing her to marry him. Whatever had happened between the two women, he firmly believed the breach between them was mendable.

  When all was said and done, family was the rock on which one could cling to. And he wanted to have a family with Ivy. The thought of her growing round with his child stirred his heart in a way he’d never thought possible. Glancing toward the circulation desk, he watched her conversing with a patron over an open book between them. Her head bent over the open book, she pointed to one of the pages in the tome on the counter. She murmured something and smiled as she looked up at the man opposite her.

  With a nod, the patron closed the book and retreated back to one of the worktables. The light accentuated the auburn tint of her hair, making it shine. His mouth went dry as he remembered how lovely her nipples were beneath the starched white shirt she wore, the way she always arched upward into his mouth whenever he suckled her. Of all the women he’d ever been with, she was the only one who had ever responded to him with such wanton abandon and heated passion.

  He was certain her passion was rooted in deeper feelings for him, whether she realized it or not. It was that belief that made him determined to do whatever it took to bring those emotions to the surface. From his seat in the reading area, he studied her closely until she turned her head to meet his gaze. A surprised look swept across her face. Barely nodding his head in the direction of the book stacks, he rose to his feet. With a slight shake of her head, she silently argued with him. Not about to let her thwart him, he headed toward the circulation desk with a purposeful stride.

  As if aware he wasn’t past creating a small altercation, she gathered up a small stack of books and headed for the book stacks at a quick pace. Grinning, he remembered the first time he’d chased her through the aisle of dusty volumes. She disappeared around a corner, and he followed her into the depths of the library. The last time she’d been quick to avoid him, but this time he wasn’t about to let her flee so easily.

  Lengthening his stride, he walked through the book stacks and peered through the thin space that existed between a row of books and the shelf above them. On the other side of the shelving, he saw her almost running down the aisle.

  They both reached the end of the row at the same time, and as she tried to dart away from him, he caught her wrist and pulled her to a halt. She didn’t protest as he pulled the books from her grasp. They landed with a soft thud on an empty shelf behind him. His hand gently grasped her elbow, and he pulled her deeper into the book stacks.

  “This way, Miss Beecham. I have a small matter I wish to discuss with you,” he said quietly.

  “So help me, Simon,” her words were a fierce whisper as they moved to one of the more secluded sections of the building. “If you do anything to make the Board ban me from the library, I’ll…I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” he chuckled as he tugged her into his arms and captured her mouth in a hard kiss.

  She whispered protests against his lips as he pressed her close. Desire surged through him as his fingers brushed over her throat and down to her breasts pushing up softly against her white shirt. With a groan, he lifted his head and pressed his forehead against hers.

  “You, Miss Beecham, are the most enticing creature I’ve ever met. You have no idea how tempted I am to lock us in the reading room and pleasure you until you scream out my name.”

  Blue eyes darkened with need as her fingers brushed against his mouth. With a seductive smile, she shook her head. “There’s always tonight. Is it really that long of a wait?”

  “Unfortunately, sweetheart, I can’t come to you this evening. I’m leaving town on business for a few days.” Dismay and perhaps a glimmer of fear passed over her lovely features. The stark expression warmed his heart. She would miss him. Perhaps there was a chance for him yet. “I promise I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  “Will you be gone over Christmas?” It was obvious to him she was trying to hide her disappointment, and there was a forlorn note in her voice.

  “I promise you, Ivy. I’ll be back in time for the holiday. Do you believe me?” When she hesitated, he cupped her face with his hands. Slowly, she nodded. Satisfied, he kissed her again and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip.

  She was so precious to him. He wanted to declare himself now, but he needed time to formulate a plan. If he’d been less of a fool, he would have realized how much she meant to him sooner. Then he would have been able to woo her until she had no other choice but to accept him. Marry him. With one more kiss, he released her and walked away.

  ~~~~

  “You doubted him.” The ghost’s observation whispered through the mist like an accusation. When she didn’t respond, his cane hit the ground making a loud crack in the air around them. “You doubted him, didn’t you, Ivy.”

  “No,” she exclaimed as she jerked her head toward him. A flicker of something familiar brushed against her senses before guilt swept over her. Ivy didn’t know why, but the disappointment she saw on his face pained her greatly. She swallowed hard. “Yes. I doubted him.”

  “Even though he gave you his word.” This time there was a distinct hard edge to the specter’s voice. Ivy stiffened. Where had she heard that sound before? She shook her head as the thought, like an elusive memory, slipped away. Her gaze met the ghost’s accusatory look.

  “I…I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t dare hope that he cared for me. It was too hard.”

  “Why?”

  The simplicity of the question struck her as preposterous. For a long moment, she stared at the ghost. There were so many reasons why it had been so hard to believe Simon, reasons wrapped up in her past as well as the present. She’d willingly chosen to be his lover, expecting nothing more than a pleasurable interlude. Her head had dictated her actions, but it was her heart that demanded more than she was certain he was willing to give. Fear had driven her to resist trusting him.

  “I can’t give you a simple reason,” she said with a shrug as she looked away from the ghost’s penetrating gaze. “It’s far too complicated.”

  “Is it possible you misjudged him?”

  This time there was no mistaking the disappointment in the ghost’s masculine voice. A voice that seemed to have gained strength since their initial meeting. It seemed less scratchy. Almost the voice of a younger man. She dismissed the idea as she turned her head to glare at him.

  “Honor among the nobility has always been in short supply,” she bit out fiercely. “My cousin was proof of that.”

  “Ah, yes. Caroline.” A weary sigh escaped the ghost, and Ivy frowned as he met her gaze steadily. “Did you ever give your cousin a chance to explain?”

  “There was nothing to explain.” Ivy said coldly as she looked away from the specter.

  She’d easily dodged his query and shame nagged at her. In sidestepping his question, she realized she’d not wanted to listen to her cousin’s explanations. Ivy’s chest tightened at the sudden, vivid memory of Caroline sobbing softly outside her bedroom door, pleading with Ivy to let her in. Had she been wrong not to let her cousin explain what had happened?

  Ivy bit down on her lip for a long moment before brushing her doubt away. Caroline’s explanations would not have changed anything. Her cousin had still betrayed her. Raw pain edged its way deep into Ivy’s heart as a tremor rocked through her. What if she had been
wrong? A stark horror gripped her, and bile rose in her throat at her sudden doubt. Afraid to consider the possibility she’d made a mistake, Ivy quickly smothered her uncertainty. No. She couldn’t have been wrong. She had seen Caroline in Whitby’s arms.

  Hands clasped in front of her to hide the way they shook, she flinched at the bitterness twisting her stomach into knots. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to discuss Caroline or Simon with anyone. All she wanted to do was forget. Forget that she’d ever cared. That she’d ever dared to hope for something more. It was too painful.

  “Forgetting can be arranged, but before that happens, there’s more I wish to show you,” the ghost said in a gentle, even tender, voice. Instinctively, Ivy turned toward him with the expectation of something she couldn’t name. Her eyes widened with surprise as she realized the ghost’s eyes had taken on a familiar shade of gray. Ivy didn’t have time to comprehend what her mind was telling her before a warm hand took hers and pulled her across another deep void as the white fog thickened around them like a cocoon.

  Chapter 15

  Laughter parting her lips, Ivy stepped out of the milliner’s shop as she wished the shopkeeper happy Christmas. People scurried to and fro along the street, their cheerful mood thrumming through the air with an almost tangible force as she crossed Bond Street and walked toward the apothecary.

  Even though she missed Simon terribly, she found it impossible to resist the cheerfulness that surrounded her. It had been almost a week since Simon had said goodbye to her in the library. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and she had to believe he would keep his promise to return in time for the holiday. A sliver of doubt tried to push its way into her consciousness, but she quickly crushed it. He would come back. He’d promised. Ivy picked her way across the slippery cobblestones to the sidewalk where the scent of lemongrass soap wafted its way through the door of the apothecary.

  About to enter the shop, a frisson skated along her spine, and she turned her head. The sight of Simon stepping out of a carriage in front of the jewelers sent her pulse racing. He was back. Why hadn’t he come to see her or at least send word of his return? Puzzled, she took a step in his direction then stopped as she saw him offer his hand to someone inside the carriage.

  The air left her lungs as she realized he was with another woman. She immediately chastised herself. He’d simply taken his sister shopping. Ivy took another step toward him then froze where she stood. The cold December air bit through her clothing as if she were standing naked in the street. It wasn’t Abigail.

  This woman was much more petite than Simon’s sister, and Abigail’s hair was as dark as her brothers, not the pale gold of wheat. Something about the woman was vaguely familiar, and Ivy’s heart banged a frantic rhythm. It wasn’t possible. Caroline. How had he found her cousin? Worse, why had he brought Caroline to London? Trembling, Ivy quickly stepped toward the apothecary doorway and used the wood frame to support her as she watched Simon from the shadows. Pain sliced through her as she saw him brush Caroline’s hand with a kiss then tuck her arm through his as they entered the jewelers together.

  Pain lashed its way into every inch of her body, and she bent over double in the apothecary doorway. Desperately, Ivy willed herself not to faint, while loud voices of concern echoed behind her. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and a large man half carried her to the back of the shop. Seconds later, a cup of hot tea was placed in her hands. Grateful for the opportunity to regain what little self-control she still possessed, Ivy closed her eyes fighting back tears.

  It was pointless to cry. She had only herself to blame for letting things get this far. She’d always known her time with Simon would end, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. Not even in her darkest nightmares had she ever thought things would end this way between them. She needed to go home, but not by way of Bond Street.

  The possibility of seeing Simon and Caroline was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. She wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. Her only escape was the alley. Hot tea splashed out of the cup onto the saucer, and the china rattled violently as she set the cup aside with trembling hands. A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up into the worried expression of the apothecary’s wife.

  “Well now, Miss Beecham. You’ve got some right better color in those cheeks of yours. I near thought you were going to faint if it hadn’t been for my Lawrence being there at your side.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bailey,” she said with a weak smile at the buxom woman hovering over her. “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

  “Well, you just stay right here.” The woman clucked over her like a worried mother hen. “You need to take better care of yourself seeing as to your condition and all.”

  “I’ll be quite all right, Mrs. Bailey. Thank you for your kindness.” Grateful that her voice betrayed none of her pain, she swallowed hard. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave through your back door.”

  “Oh, Miss Beecham, no.” Appalled, the large woman shook her head. “It’s not fittin’ for you to walk through the mews.”

  “Nonetheless, I prefer that exit. There are…there are people…” Tears welled up against in her, and she turned her head away. A gentle hand patted her shoulder.

  “There now, Miss. If you’ve got your heart set on it, of course you can. Come along, now.”

  With the woman guiding the way, they wove their way through crates and barrels until they reached the shop’s back door. As she stepped into the fetid alley, Ivy touched the woman’s arm. “Thank you, Mrs. Bailey, and if you would be so kind, would you please send my usual order to the house.”

  “But of course, Miss Beecham, of course I will. You take care of yourself. It’s not just yourself you have to worry about now you know.”

  Nodding, Ivy lifted her skirts and hurried along the narrow mews toward Brook Street. Blindly, she stumbled out into the main thoroughfare and into a solid shoulder. Strong hands steadied her as she excused herself and moved away.

  “Miss Beecham?”

  The deep voice calling her name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lord Halstead moving toward her. Dear heaven, if it wasn't bad enough that Simon had brought Caroline to London, now she had to endure conversing with his friends. She forced a smile to her lips as she turned to face him.

  “Lord Halstead, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Are you feeling well, Miss Beecham?” The penetrating look he sent her forced her to stiffen slightly.

  “I’m quite…well, thank you.” She swallowed hard at the stern frown on his face.

  “I don’t believe you. You’re quite pale, and most women don’t venture off the main streets into the mews alone.”

  “I’m sorry, you see…” Ivy looked frantically around her. “I really do…please forgive me, my lord. I must go home.”

  Not waiting for his reply, she whirled around and hurried down the street. She’d only gotten a few feet when a strong hand stopped her. She flinched and recoiled from the man as he turned her to face him.

  “It’s obvious you’re unwell, so I’ll see you home all the same.”

  The man didn’t wait for her agreement as he gently, but firmly, pulled her toward a waiting carriage. Once they were seated inside, the vehicle rocked forward and Ivy kneaded the leather drawstrings of her purse. Staring out the window, she tried to focus on the moment at hand to disguise her true state of anguish.

  “Let me help you.”

  They were simple words, but the strength and kindness behind them nearly pushed her over the edge of rational thought. With a shake of her head, she straightened her shoulders as she turned toward him.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine, really. I’m simply feeling a bit peckish. I should have eaten before I left home.” She forced a smile to her lips, and the muscles in her face ached from doing so.

  “I’m not unfamiliar with the circumstances of a woman’s delicate condition. I’m an uncle three tim
es over.” Again, the kindness in his voice touched her. She shook her head as she met his look of assessment.

  “No, really. I…”

  The image of Mrs. Bailey’s rotund figure warning her that she had to worry about others besides herself bolted its way through her mind. Inhaling a sharp breath, her chest tightened as the reality of Lord Halstead’s words sank into her consciousness. A woman’s delicate condition. Simon’s child. She was carrying Simon’s child.

  Closing her eyes, she shuddered as she frantically counted backward. They’d been lovers for less than three months, and the last time she’d had her monthly cycle was a week or two before Simon had made love to her in the library. The irony of it all lashed through her with the sting of a whip. Warm fingers closed over her icy hand, and she looked at the man seated opposite her in the carriage. There was no judgment in his dark eyes, only concern.

  “I think perhaps I should call a doctor when we reach your house. You’re not looking well at all.”

  “No thank you, my lord. I simply need to rest.” The knot in her throat tightened as she shook her head. “I have actually been contemplating visiting a warmer climate. I have always found London so cold during the winter.”

  “Is there nothing I can do…no one I can—”

  “No.” She jerked her gaze away from his sympathetic eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but I…there is no need to concern yourself with me. I shall be fine.”

  As she stared out the window, she heard his sigh of resignation, but she ignored it. This was her problem and hers alone. A short time later, the carriage came to a halt, and Lord Halstead immediately stepped out of the vehicle and offered his hand to her. When she was on the sidewalk, he escorted her up the steps of her townhouse. At the door, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.