Shaking his head, he scowled a bit. He figured the poison must have addled his brain. When he’d decided to enjoy the time spent in the company of the pretty young woman, he hadn’t thought to become genuinely enamored of her.
Ivy waved a hand in playful dismissal and cast a grin at him as she turned and made her way toward the center of the room, where she beckoned to Pug. “You must learn the fundamentals,” she said to Jack as Pug joined her warily. “You’ll soon be courting London’s finest, and you’ll not want to make a fool of yourself.”
“I’ll not be courting London’s finest,” he muttered. “This is an utter waste of time, and Fuddleston and I have a mountain of work today.”
“Your Lordship,” she said as she curtseyed deeply and motioned for Pug to bow, “this is every bit as important as your work with the accounting ledgers. And you,” she said to Pug, “should be grateful to me. I’ve rescued you from your lessons with Mr. Graveston for at least an hour. I’d hoped to recruit Millie as well, but Mrs. Harster has her busy in the conservatory.”
Jack watched, reluctantly transfixed, as Ivy instructed Pug through the basic turns of a quadrille, explaining as she moved and laughingly pulling the confused boy into place when he turned the wrong way. Her smile lit up the room, he realized, and it was a fortunate man who would finally win her hand.
Suddenly feeling an inexplicable urge to learn the basic steps of the quadrille, he mentally shook himself with a sense of relief as Mary and Sophia entered the room, followed by Mr. Fuddleston, who looked none too happy to be there. Ivy paused in her instructions to Pug and smiled in genuine delight as she approached Sophia and Mary, both of whom she embraced with a laugh.
“Jack is behaving rather childishly about these lessons,” she said to Sophia, who quirked a brow at her with a grin that spread as Ivy’s face flushed. “Or rather, his Lordship,” Ivy amended as Mary gracefully covered Ivy’s discomfort with a gentle laugh of her own.
“He always was uncomfortable about such things,” Mary said, laying a hand on his arm, and Jack wondered when his family’s allegiance had turned from him to Ivy. He’d never even had the option for dancing lessons, and his mother well knew it. That she was evidently becoming more comfortable soothed his wounded pride, however, and he was more grateful than ever to Ivy for helping bring it about. She had explained her theory to him, that if Mary pretended in her new role it would eventually become natural, and it appeared she had the right of it.
Ivy seemed to have recovered her embarrassment at calling him “Jack” as she moved back out onto the floor and began telling the small group about her instructions with Pug. When she suggested they pair up, Sophia cast a glance in her brother’s direction with a gleam in her eye he did not appreciate in the least.
“Oh, no,” Sophia said to Ivy and moved toward Pug, whose expression suggested he was torn between mortification and delight, “I’ll partner with Mr. Pug. You work with Jack, Ivy. He needs your expertise more than anyone. Mother and I know the basics, as does Mr. Fuddleston, I’m certain.”
Mr. Fuddleston reddened considerably, and Jack noted with irritation that his solicitor seemed suddenly bashful. Such ridiculousness would ruin the best of men. Ivy looked at Sophia for a moment in apparent confusion before finally tipping her head in acquiescence and making her way to Jack’s side. She smiled as she approached, and his breath hitched when she held out both hands to grasp his and pull him toward the center of the floor.
“Now,” she said, “we are short one couple, so we will just have to do the best we can. I did ask Mrs. Harster and Watkins to join us, but they refused most adamantly.”
Jack wished he could say that the next thirty minutes were painful and eternal, but in truth, the time passed altogether too quickly. Each turn had him anticipating the moment when he would again find himself at Ivy’s side, and when he bumbled he was rewarded with her laughter, which sometimes had her doubled over. Mary and Sophia were equally delighted, and he found himself content for the first time in . . . well, perhaps ever.
“Now then,” Ivy said, clasping her hands, her cheeks becomingly flushed, “we are also at liberty to dance the waltz, as Prinny has made it popular, but bear in mind, Sophia, that you and I are not to accept a waltz with the same gentleman more than three times at any one event.”
Pug scrunched his nose. “Why?”
“Because it is tantamount to announcing a betrothal,” Ivy told him, her eyes twinkling.
“Just because you dance with the same bloke three times in one night?” Pug looked as baffled as Jack often felt. “Seems awful strange.”
Ivy winked at him. “Society is very strange. And not much to be done about it.”
“So what is this ‘waltz’?”
“Show him, Ivy,” Sophia said, “and I will hum a minuet.”
“Very well, Pug—come with me.” Ivy led the poor boy to the middle of the ballroom, and Jack nearly snorted at Pug’s horrified expression when Ivy placed his hand at her waist. Positioning her right hand in his, and laying her left upon his shoulder, she gave him a few basic instructions as Sophia began humming, tripping over herself in laughter as Ivy tried to teach the boy how to lead.
“One-two-three, one-two-three,” Ivy chanted through her smiles as she pulled Pug along until, to Jack’s amazement, the boy seemed to be catching the rhythm of the thing.
“He is actually doing it,” Jack murmured to Fuddleston, who looked on with an expression Jack couldn’t quite read. It was something akin to wistful, and when the little man noticed Jack’s attention, he flushed.
“My mother taught me to waltz,” he said with a shrug. “It was before most were doing it in England—it was considered too French, especially on the heels of the Revolution. Haven’t had much opportunity to dance since then.”
“Mama,” Jack said, not quite believing he was saying it, “would you perhaps like to try your hand at the waltz with Mr. Fuddleston?”
Mary looked as stunned as he felt that he’d suggested it, but Fuddleston looked so forlorn, drat the man.
Fuddleston seemed to recover his wits better than any of the rest; he bowed to Mary and said, “Madam, it would be an honour.”
Jack fought the lump in his throat when Clarence Fuddleston whisked his frail mother into a gentle waltz while Sophia kept up her humming of the minuet. It was idyllic and sweet, and he found his eyes burning with sentimental tears he had no time or use for. Clearing his throat, he tried to focus on the fact that Pug tripped repeatedly over his big feet, but that observation only led to the realization that when Ivy Carlisle laughed, Jack Elliot’s heart thumped hard in his chest.
It was entirely too complicated, all of it, and for the millionth time he mentally cursed his dead grandfather up one side and down the other. Jack had no time to develop feelings for a young Society woman who was so beautifully charming and full of life it took his breath from his lungs. He was going to return to his life at sea, and entanglements on land were not an element he wanted to add to the complex mixture his reality had become. That he felt peace in such a domestic moment was the last thing he wanted. Sophia and Mary were in good hands with Lady Ivy, who would continue the friendship regardless of whom she married. There was no reason for him to remain in the thick of it; he was happier at sea. Of course he was.
The waltz finally came to a close as Sophia dramatically sang the last few notes of her impromptu accompaniment, and she turned to him, laughing. “Jack,” his sister said, “it’s your turn now. You must take a turn at the waltz with Lady Ivy.”
Jack tightened his jaw but tried to smile. “I am feeling quite fatigued, actually. I believe I’ll go lie down for a bit.” He didn’t want to look at Ivy but couldn’t help meeting her gaze as he left the ballroom. She managed a tight smile of her own, but not before he glimpsed the unguarded flash of hurt that crossed her face.
It was for the best—she undoubtedly felt a sense of kinship with him because she had helped him when he’d been poisoned. That was somet
hing he had yet to thank her for, his conscience reminded him as he left the ballroom in long strides. Dismissing it with a shake of his head, he climbed the stairs to his room, not really feeling the need to rest. Ivy Carlisle didn’t need him in her life any more than he needed her in his. Their arrangement was temporary and perfunctory. When his wretched training was finished, he would leave—and do so quickly. Fuddleston was more than capable of running the estate while Jack was away; everything was neat and tidy.
If he could have struck that final image of her hurt expression from his memory, he might have believed it.
Ivy sat in Jack’s library and scribbled notes for her next column while she waited for Sophia to return home and gather the papers they needed to present to the city recorder. She tried not to think about the fact that the big oaf had hurt her feelings—she shouldn’t care in the least that he didn’t want to waltz with her. That she had managed to walk him through the steps of the quadrille was a miracle in itself.
Her quill scratched harder across the paper and she forced herself to relax and slow down so she would be able to make sense of her notes later on. She would have to write the column that evening and send it first thing in the morning to her editor; she had never been late turning in a piece before. She chastised herself for spending so much energy doing other things that she was now pressed for time.
A sound at the door caught her attention, and she spied Millie, the irreverent maid, beckoning to her. She stood as Millie looked over her shoulder down the hallway, and by the time Ivy reached her, Mrs. Harster had as well, and was giving the young woman orders to dust the parlor immediately as she had failed to do it earlier.
Millie opened her mouth with a glance at Ivy and then closed it, bobbing a quick curtsey.
“I’ll walk with you to the parlor, Millie,” Ivy said and accompanied the young woman to the room. Once inside, Millie turned to Ivy quickly, watching warily over her shoulder.
“Lady Ivy,” she began, “I overheard Cook’s assistant talking to someone out the back door last night. I was . . .” Millie blushed. “Well, never mind what I was doing. But he told the person that there would be other opportunities, that they must be patient.”
Ivy frowned. “What do you suppose they were talking about?”
Millie’s eyes grew round and large. “His Lordship, of course,” she squeaked. “What else could it be? The man was all secret-like and looking over his shoulder. And then they argued but it got quiet, so I couldn’t hear them and the man left.”
“Who was the other man?”
Millie shrugged. “It was dark, and I couldn’t see him.”
Ivy paused and studied the young woman. “What were you doing outside, Millie?”
“I . . . I needed some fresh air.”
“Were you with anyone else who also needed some fresh air?”
“There might have been someone I was going to meet and chat with, but he wasn’t able to come. So I left and went home.”
Ivy frowned. “Have a care, Millie. You do not always know whom you can trust and who would do you harm. Do you understand? Even if that someone is very handsome and charming.”
Millie blushed. “How did you know, my lady?”
Ivy smiled, but as she thought of her sister, Caroline, it felt strained. “I know someone well, someone whose life was turned quite upside down by a handsome man, a man whose intentions were less than honourable.”
Millie nodded soberly and chewed on her lip. “But ye’ll remember what I said about Cook’s assistant?”
“Yes, I will. What is his name?”
“Cook calls him ‘Neddy.’”
Ivy left the young woman to her duties in the parlor and thoughtfully made her way back to the library. It would hardly do to start accusing the servants of nefarious deeds without more evidence than the word of a flighty housemaid. Still, it would bear thinking about.
She made her way back into the library, lost in thought, tapping the end of her quill against her lip. She was fully into the room before she realized Jack was at the desk, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand.
He had clearly been awaiting her return, and he quirked a brow at her and said, “This looks to be the first draft of an article, one that might be found in a ladies periodical?”
Chapter 20
Surprises can be delightful, and one should appreciate
those things that bring laughter into life.
Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette
Ivy’s heart thudded in her chest, and she stood frozen for a moment before feeling heat flood her face. She stormed across the room and grabbed at the papers, which Jack held just over her head.
“Give me those,” she snapped and reached for them, but the odious man simply lifted them higher.
He smirked, and it made her blood boil. “That is my personal property,” she bit out, “and you have no right to keep it from me.”
“This is my house,” he said, a maddening smile crossing his rugged features, “and I believe that entitles me to examine whatever I wish. And this is most interesting.” He moved away from her then, neatly dodging her swipe as she jumped again to retrieve her notes.
“Lord Stansworth,” she hissed and followed him as he crossed the room to the other side, taking another look at her papers.
“Mmm?” He shuffled the sheets, his expression going slack by the time he reached the last. “You’re ‘Mistress Manners’?” He stared at her then, and if she hadn’t been so angry, his expression would have been priceless.
“No. They’re . . . they’re Nana’s. She is Mistress Manners. And please be decent and keep her secret.”
“But this is your script. I would know your handwriting anywhere from the infernal notes you constantly give me on how to ‘comport’ myself.”
Ivy took a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes. “I make notes for her on occasion,” she said lamely and held his gaze for a moment before finally dropping her eyes and massaging her temples.
“You do not lie well, Ivy.”
“I know that! Just give me my notes, Jack.”
“Why?”
She glared at him. “Because I need them!”
“No. Why would you keep it a secret?”
Ivy sputtered for a moment before pulling her thoughts together. “Because it is unseemly!”
Jack shook his head at her, the papers still firmly in his hands. “Unseemly to write about good manners?”
Ivy turned her attention to the window and slowly walked toward it. “I receive money for it,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry?” She heard him approach and felt him close behind her as he brushed against her sleeve.
“It is a paid position,” she said. “And I need to remain anonymous to prevent any embarrassment to my family.”
“Ivy,” he said, and she finally turned to look up at him. “There is no shame in this.”
“My family is aristocracy,” she murmured, suddenly feeling tears burning in her eyes and not knowing why. “It is not done, my lord.”
He palmed her cheek with his hand, an oddly tender expression crossing his face. “This is a rule that can be broken, my lady. Your family should feel pride, not shame. You are very witty, in fact. It pains me to admit it, but I find this article very entertaining.”
“You do?” She heard the hopeful note in her voice and found it rather pathetic. But he was standing so very close to her, and touching her cheek, and suddenly nothing else seemed very important.
“I do. I believe you are a very talented writer.”
Ivy’s breath hitched as he lowered his head and slowly touched his lips to hers, just the lightest of contact at first, and then more urgent as he moved his hand to the back of her neck. She suddenly understood why Caroline was willing to throw caution to the wind and run away with her handsome soldier. Moving closer to him, she sighed as Jack encircled her in his arms and pulled her up against him. She gripped his lapels and felt she was drowning when he broke the
contact and pushed her gently back, holding her at arm’s length with her papers still in his hand.
Ivy blinked, making an effort to focus on him and the expression on his face that showed as much bafflement as she felt. His breath came rapidly, and he stared at her for a long, silent moment before slowly releasing her arms.
“Best not to include that in your article,” he whispered and handed her the notes, which she took with numb fingers. “I’ll keep your secret.”
Stunned, she watched him leave the room in long strides and heard the front door slam moments later. It was some time before she realized she hadn’t told him what she’d learned from Millie.
Ivy rather wished she hadn’t accepted the invitation for the Barringtons’ soiree later that evening on behalf of the Elliots and herself. If she could only have a bit more time to process what had happened between her and Jack, she might be able to pretend it had never happened, even if he was in her presence. As it was, the soiree was that evening, and she had no choice but to put on a brave face and attend.
Giving her mother a perfunctory good-bye as she left the house and climbed into the carriage, Ivy stewed on the ride to meet Mary and Sophia. The earl’s carriage picked the women up at his mother’s house, and when Ivy was settled in across from Jack, she found herself unable to look him in the eye. She would have been delighted to lay blame for the kiss entirely at his feet, but she knew she had been a willing participant.
It was unfamiliar territory for her; other than the fact that propriety certainly frowned on such actions, she was at a loss to explain why it had even happened, or why she had enjoyed it so very much. No other man of her acquaintance had so much as turned her head in recent years, and she had accepted the fact that she would ultimately find herself in a loveless marriage that she hoped would at least be amicable.
But this? The kiss had been delicious. And to try to forget it was the best course of action, not only for herself but for Jack. He had his share of entanglements with his new life—the last thing he needed was amorous attention from his mentor.
My Fair Gentleman Page 13