“You’re most welcome.” She offered a slight smile. “Your mother is genteel, and her behavior will be above reproach, I am certain. And Sophia—I do believe that girl can withstand the most blistering of storms.”
“You anticipate a storm, then?” He realized belatedly he still held her arm. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Ivy frowned. “Unfortunately, yes. But your reactions will help determine whether or not the storm lasts.”
Jack looked back out over the garden, his heart sinking even as he thought himself a fool. He had known it would be difficult, but to hear Ivy verbalize it made everything seem somehow more real.
“You are not alone, Jack,” Ivy said softly. “You will see—not all of Society is reprehensible, and you have friends.”
He laughed without mirth. “I have no friends.”
“You have me. It is as good a beginning as any.”
Jack turned his attention to her again and noted the gentle smile on her lips.
“And you have your family,” she continued. “And my Nana. All we really need in life are a few good friends, yes?”
He nodded against his will and extended his hand, which she took with a smile. “We will make this thing work.”
Jack had his misgivings, but he kept them to himself and instead allowed himself the luxury of rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. She had such soft skin. He noted the look of awareness that crossed her features, and she flushed, pulling her hand back. She wrapped her arms around the papers as though they were her security.
He smiled at her. “What do you have written down on all that? Surely your entire stack of papers isn’t filled with lists of things for me to learn how to do.”
Ivy took a step back. “No. I have some other things as well.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, just some things I wrote.” She was now backing her way to the door.
Following her, his curiosity piqued, he raised a brow. “What kind of things?”
“For my Nana.” She opened the door leading into the library. “I will see you tomorrow, of course, at the funeral. Then, as soon thereafter as is reasonable, I thought perhaps we might arrange a shopping trip for Sophia and your mother.”
The change of topic was entirely too quick, and as a sailor who had grilled more than one man in an effort to ferret out the truth of a matter, he recognized hedging when he saw it. “Why, Lady Ivy, I do believe you are hiding something.”
“Nonsense.” She lifted her chin a notch. “I have absolutely nothing to hide.”
“Then let me see your papers,” he said, feeling the smirk on his face.
“I have things to do.” Ivy began walking again. “Until tomorrow.”
Jack watched her retreating figure and smiled. A new challenge was just the thing his frustrated mind required. One way or another, he would discover what the little lady had hidden on her papers. And anything that would take his mind off of his present circumstances was a welcome distraction.
Chapter 11
When attending a funeral, great care should be taken
to consider the bereaved, and the greatest respect should
be honored them as they lay a loved one to rest.
Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette
The church in the village near the Stansworth country estate was packed to the rafters with London’s best, who came to offer their condolences at the loss one of their own. Jack took in the surroundings with a fair amount of disgust—he would wager his entire inheritance that there wasn’t a genuine mourner among them.
Sophia sat next to him, stiff and defensive, and their mother sat on Jack’s other side. He reached over and clasped Mary’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Mary looked up at him through the black lace that trimmed the edge of a beautiful black hat that had cost more than the amount Mary had earned in a year in her work as a seamstress. She was uncomfortable—it was evident in the droop of her thin shoulders and the wariness in her eyes.
Cousin Percival and his wife, Clista, were in attendance, along with their ten-year-old son, Little Percy, who set Jack’s teeth on edge at first sight. Ivy Carlisle, her grandmother, and her parents occupied the bench behind his, and Jack was oddly grateful for the support. He knew so few people, and trusted even fewer, so for them to have made the effort to attend was a bolster to alleviate Jack’s little family’s sense of uncertainty.
The vicar began the services, and Jack fought the urge to pull out his pocket watch. If he could make it through the day without being rude to anyone, he would call it a success. The holy man droned on interminably; Jack knew the vicar was long-winded when even Mary began to fidget in her seat.
The service drew to a close, and Jack guided his mother and Sophia down the long aisle behind the coffin as the guests stood to watch them pass. The ridiculousness of the charade struck him for the hundredth time, and he knew full well that he would never have attended had it not been for his mother and sister.
They followed the coffin out to the churchyard, a slow process that seemed not only to drag but to reverse time. Sophia seemed unusually tense, and he turned his attention to her. “How are you faring?” he asked the beautiful young woman who had grown out of childhood so rapidly he must have missed it when he blinked.
Sophia shook her head, her lips pursed. “I saw a few people I know and would rather not know.”
His heart sank for her. “Former employers?”
She nodded.
“I can call them out, if you’d like.”
Sophia turned to him, her mouth twitching in what was probably a very reluctant smile. “Pistols at dawn are scarcely the thing in our day. But I do appreciate the sentiment.”
He was leery of broaching a sensitive subject, but he pushed forward anyway. “Were you . . . that is . . . were you ever forced against your will?”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Very nearly, but I managed an escape. The mistress of the house turned me out the same day with no references.”
“I am sorry that I was unable to protect you further.”
Sophia laid a hand on his arm. “You did everything we needed you to do. You sent money, you stayed with us while in port. You were like a father to me when I had none.”
Mary huddled under her umbrella in the drizzling rain, and Jack wondered what she was thinking. She put her handkerchief to her mouth and coughed into it; Jack had witnessed her illness over the last few days. He hoped that with better living conditions, she would improve. But in the meantime, it was undoubtedly time to call in a doctor, and his resolve was confirmed when he glanced at Sophia, who knew their mother better than anyone and was watching Mary with concern clearly stamped on her features.
“What do you think of the country estate?” Jack asked Mary. “I am considering the notion of coming to stay here in the next few weeks—I wonder if you would enjoy some time away from the city?”
His mother looked at him with a smile. “I think I would enjoy that very much.”
Jack led his mother and his sister to the burial plot, where a crowd had already begun to gather. He fully realized what a spectacle the whole thing was when he spied a few men who had pens poised and ready to record the moment for their newspapers.
Glancing over his shoulder, he spied Ivy and her grandmother picking their way across the lawn, Ivy holding an umbrella to shelter them. They settled in next to his family and, at a nod from the vicar, Nana stepped forward to express a few sentiments.
She had chosen her words carefully; Jack admitted a certain sense of awe that the woman paid tribute and yet didn’t really say anything about the supposed goodness of his late grandfather. He glanced at Ivy, who winked at him with the slightest twitch of a smile upon her lips. How odd that his heart felt a fraction lighter. Finding an ally in the midst of his current chaos proved to be a strength he hadn’t known he needed.
At the completion of the graveside ceremony, Jack stared down at the box that held his grandfather, his fles
h and blood, and felt the sting of tears that had nothing to do with sorrow over the man’s death, but everything to do with the misery the old man had wrought.
“Are you well?” Ivy asked him and he glanced to his side, wondering how long she’d been standing there.
He nodded and blinked, refusing to allow the tears to fall. “He was an awful person,” he murmured to Ivy. “Hateful, spiteful, and selfish.”
“You can change the tide.” She looked up at him through a black veil that didn’t disguise the brilliant green of her eyes. “Someday you will have grandchildren whose grief at your burial will be genuine and heartfelt.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t care to ever marry.”
Ivy’s eyes widened fractionally. “If you don’t produce an heir, the title will eventually fall to Percival and Clista’s son.”
Drat. She was right. The reminder of Little Percy at the helm of anything was more than Jack could stomach.
“Not to worry,” she murmured and patted his arm. “There are many eligible young ladies this Season—we shall find you the perfect match.”
He thought that Lady Ivy had better find him a wife who wouldn’t care that her husband lived on the high seas, then, but he didn’t say as much to her. Let her have her delusions if they made her happy. He opened his mouth to reply, but cut himself off at the look on Ivy’s face. Her gaze was fixed at a point beyond his shoulder, and he turned to see Sophia and another woman in a conversation that looked innocent enough on the surface, but the set to Sophia’s features was one he recognized. Apparently, Lady Ivy understood it as well.
He took a step toward them when he registered Ivy’s hand on his arm. “My lord,” she said, “please allow me.”
They walked together to Sophia and the woman, Jack seething already without even knowing the substance of the conversation. Ivy must have sensed it, because she glanced up at him and tightened her grip. “Not a word,” she murmured.
When they reached the women, Ivy dropped her hand from Jack’s sleeve and instead threaded her other arm through Sophia’s. “We must be going along to the house, Miss Elliot. I hate to cut short your little chat.” Ivy looked at the other woman, who by now had craned her neck to see Jack staring down at her.
“Oh, Lady Finster! I didn’t recognize you without your daughters in tow,” Ivy said to the woman, her words and tone pleasant enough. “But how delightful you’ve had a chance to meet Miss Elliot, even though it is during this most somber time.”
Lady Finster tore her gaze from Jack and looked at Ivy. She straightened her shoulders a bit and returned a tight smile that nobody would ever mistake as genuine. “I have already met Miss Elliot,” the lady said, “when she worked in my home as a maid to my daughters.”
Ivy laughed then and leaned forward slightly, as though suggesting something conspiratorial between them. “How amusing, is it not? Life with its twists and turns. Miss Elliot is the sister of an earl!”
Lady Finster narrowed her eyes and leaned forward a bit herself. “Once a maid, always a maid.”
Jack shifted his weight, and Ivy must have sensed it because she held her hand up, her fingers lightly brushing his sleeve.
“Lady Finster, rather gauche of me to mention it, of course, but I understand your husband’s gambling debts have placed a strain on the household budget. Miss Elliot is most generous and might entertain the notion of offering a job to either Sally or Sarah, should the need arise. How humiliating it would be to see your house and holdings sold off at auction, and for Lord Finster to be clapped in irons. Why, when that happened last season to the Staffords, it was all the ton could talk about for simply ages.”
Lady Finster’s complexion turned an alarming shade of red. “My daughters will not work—and especially not for that trollop,” she hissed and pointed at Sophia.
Ivy’s eyes narrowed, and for all that Jack’s rage was close to boiling over, he sensed hers was far worse. That she controlled it was a sight to behold, and he watched as much in fascination as in anger as Lady Ivy Carlisle put the woman in her place.
“Perhaps, Lady Finster, you ought to keep a tighter rein on your husband. You might not only find your coffers much improved but also your ability to keep a lady’s maid for longer than a fortnight before his baser instincts get the better of him.”
Lady Finster made a sound of outrage. “That girl seduced my husband!”
Ivy’s face lost all sense of pretended charm. “That must be the most absurd thing I have ever heard. Your husband is hideous, madam, and, if nothing else, Miss Elliot does not want ugly children. Good day to you.”
Ivy stood straight, her arm still looped with Sophia’s. Jack caught a sheen over Sophia’s eyes as Ivy turned her away and left the gaping Lady Finster.
“Do not ever speak to my sister again,” he said to Lady Finster in a low undertone and then turned and followed Ivy and Sophia out of the churchyard to a waiting carriage.
Chapter 12
One’s table manners are indicative of one’s
breeding and training—or lack thereof.
Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette
With the burden of the funeral behind them, Ivy Carlisle had wasted no time resuming Jack’s lessons on becoming a gentleman. Today she motioned for Jack to sit at the head of the dining table and then stood at his shoulder. “You did spend some time in the navy, yes? Perhaps you already understand the fundamentals behind the place setting?”
He looked at her with an eye roll but said nothing.
“Right, then. It really is very simple,” she said, hoping it would indeed prove to be. “All you must remember is to start with the outer silverware first and work your way in as the courses progress. And the dessert implements are here, at the top of the plate.”
Jack shook his head. “I find it ridiculous that people should care which fork I use to eat meat.”
Ivy waved a hand at him as she made her way to the opposite end of the table. “We have little time for what you might or might not find ridiculous. Now that a decent amount of time has elapsed since the funeral, I made an appointment with Madame Fitzgibbons later in the day for Sophia and Mary to purchase bonnets, ribbons, and handkerchiefs.”
“Excellent,” he said, his expression brightening fractionally. “You will enjoy that, I’m sure.”
Ivy signaled the footman to place the first course of the light luncheon before them. “I’m sure I will. And you shall, as well.”
“I am not going to a bonnet fitting,” he said as the footman placed a bowl of soup at Ivy’s place setting and then one at Jack’s.
“But you are.” Ivy shot him a smile and hoped he wouldn’t dig in his heels. “A gentleman will frequently attend such things with a wife or mother, but the true reason for our outing is that the ton might begin seeing you out and about with your mother and sister. They are in mourning still, it’s true, but as they hardly knew the earl, we do have a certain degree of latitude. You will continue to wear all black, but then, I don’t suppose you would ever choose to wear otherwise, would you? Somehow I don’t see you dressing as a dandy.”
He shuddered and picked up his spoon. “I must wait to eat until you’ve taken your first bite, isn’t that so?”
She smiled widely. “Why, yes! Excellent, my lord.” She carefully took a spoonful of soup, pleased that he knew something of etiquette without her having to drill it into him first. Her optimism took a quick downturn as the slurping sounds from his end of the table invaded her senses.
“You mustn’t slurp,” she told him, her spoon poised in midair.
“I did not slurp.” He looked at Ivy over his own raised spoon.
“You did, my lord. You slurped.”
“Allow me to demonstrate the method with which we ate aboard ship on occasion.” Jack placed his spoon down and raised the bowl to his lips. Ivy watched in fascinated horror as he drained the whole bowl in a few moments.
Ivy closed her eyes and then opened them, leveling him with
a stare. “Why must you be so stubborn?”
“I am not stubborn at all, good lady.” Jack smiled and wiped at his mouth with a snowy white linen napkin. “Merely efficient.”
“You cannot do that at a dinner, Jack, you will be ousted.”
Jack sat back in his seat, and Ivy finally set her spoon down. He stared at her for a long moment, holding her gaze. It had become a battle of wills, Ivy realized, and she finally sighed, allowing him the victory.
“Very well. Perhaps your mother will be able to make more of an impression on you than I have.”
His eyelids dropped to half-mast. “You’re going to tell my mother that I drank my soup directly from the bowl?”
Ivy sniffed. “I am indeed. She will be most dissatisfied, I would imagine.”
Jack’s lips twitched. “You know nothing about my mother.”
“I know she is genteel and kind. I highly doubt she would tolerate soup slurping or soup drinking in any circumstance.” Ivy tried to maintain a sense of outrage—of irritation, at the very least—but found herself quite distracted by the new lord, whose shoulders filled his suit coat to perfection and whose dark curls just brushed the tip of his collar. That he watched her with a lazy smirk ought to have set her on edge. Instead, she found herself ogling the man.
“My mother is genteel and kind. You are correct.”
“Then you are seeking to goad me.” Ivy suddenly felt her face flush.
“It seems only fair. You have certainly made a good showing of goading me over the past weeks.”
“Do you know how to eat properly, then? We needn’t waste our time.” The irritation surfaced, and Ivy was glad for it.
Jack nodded and sat up in his seat. “I do know how to eat.”
“Properly.”
“Properly.” Jack signaled the footman, who cleared their bowls and brought the second course. “We need not practice table manners, but as lunch is ready and waiting, we ought to indulge. We do have some time before your wretched hat-fitting appointment, I would assume?”
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