Forbidden to Love the Duke (6 page)

Ivy laughed in embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”

“The duke. If he ever calls again, I hope it's on a clear evening.”

Ivy sighed in exasperation. “You don't understand. He wants this house. He didn't chase me through the garden the other day out of romantic fantasy. Couldn't you tell how eager he was to look inside and assess our poverty?”

“I agree with Lilac,” Rue said, frowning as Ivy's shoulder was immediately withdrawn as a cushion for her head. “He might wish to acquire Fenwick, but his eyes gave his other desires away. Think about it. If he wanted a proper look at the house, he could have come in the morning. But it was Ivy he wanted to see, and he couldn't wait. You should tell him to find another governess, Ivy.”

“Well, I signed a contract,” Ivy said bluntly. “And I'll do whatever is necessary to keep the manor.”

Rosemary glanced around in amusement. “Will you do
anything
?”

“We'll have to see,” Ivy said. “I might.”

“You wouldn't,” Lilac said, laughing in delight.

“That's how the family started. Let's hope that isn't where it ends.”

I
vy woke up, stiff and cold. The journey to London had drained her. She took a moment to adjust to the dim atmosphere of the unfamiliar chamber. It was supposed to be a respectable hotel, but during the night there had been a party in another room that had gone on into the wee hours. Ivy wasn't certain whether she had dreamt Rue sneaking into the hall to investigate.

She sat up in bed and shook Rue gently awake. “It's not raining. With any luck we'll make it to the pawnbroker's shop and be home before supper. I'll have to buy a new dress in the village and shoes and stores for the pantry. We all need cotton stockings and shifts. If we have enough money left over, we'll buy rose water and gloves.”

Rue sat up and combed her fingers through her hair. She was avoiding Ivy's eyes. “What a horrible place this is.”

“Why did you leave the room last night?” Ivy asked.

“There was a party down the hall, and I was hoping to catch a servant in passing and have him ask the guests for a little consideration. You were sleeping peacefully. I
couldn't sleep at all.” She slid from the bed. “Come. We'll do what we have to do.”

Ivy glimpsed her sister's face in the mirror. “Do you feel well? Look at those circles under your eyes. I wonder if you took ill in the rain.” But then the four sisters had all been on edge lately. “Everything will be better soon.”

Rue smiled wanly. “Yes. I believe it will.”

Ivy told herself that whatever was wrong with Rue would have to wait until they returned home. She had to keep her wits about her when she dealt with Mr. Newton, the pawnbroker. She'd never had the sense that he cheated her, but business was business, as he said, and he paid her the best price she could expect due to the fact that he'd once gotten into trouble with the authorities for receiving stolen goods.

An hour later she watched him open her mother's old jewel casket on his counter to examine the diamond-
and-pearl necklace. Rue stood at the door, her face turned to the street. “Oh, Lady Ivy, this is a magnificent necklace, crafted indeed to be worn by a noblewoman. I cannot pay you what it's worth.”

“I'll take whatever you can pay me, then.”

“It's come to that?” he said in a worried voice.

“Take the pearls, and the casket. Fenwick is at stake.”

He removed his spectacles, laid the pearls on a velvet swath, and turned his attention to the intricately carved casket. “Keep the box,” he said after a while. “Only a few were made during Royalist times and carried secret messages for the exiled king.”

“It will only make me miss the necklace.”

“This is a unique item. There are panels hidden within that held secret messages, but, alas, all appear to be empty.”

“Yes. We opened them countless times as children.”

“I will pay you, my lady, but I do hope that this is our last encounter. You deserve better.”

“I've nothing left to sell, sir.”

When the time came, she almost could not bear to part with the necklace—ten pounds was generous for a pawnbroker but little compensation for what her family had lost. Rue stifled a sob, which so upset Ivy that she accepted her payment with a hurried thanks and steered her sister out of the shop. “It's all right, Rue. Everything will be fine once we're back at Fenwick.”

Rue pushed through the throng of pedestrians, presumably to reach their parked carriage. “Nothing will ever be right again. We should never have come to London. It's only a place of endings, and dreams that can't ever come true.”

Ivy hurried after her in concern. “You're not making any sense. Stop a minute. You're going the wrong way. I wouldn't have sold the pearls if I'd known you felt like this. Rue,
stop
.”

But Rue didn't stop.

And in her distress Ivy stepped straight out into the street in front of a speeding phaeton. The driver swerved to avoid hitting her. The lady in a plumed hat beside him covered her face with her hands.

Ivy would have done the same had she not reared back and fallen hard to the cobbles. A crowd drew around her, preventing her from getting to her feet. The driver jumped down to the curb and instructed his companion to move the phaeton from the flow of traffic. As his long brown hair swung against his face, Ivy braced herself for a public scolding.

Instead, he looked her over for obvious injuries and
shook his head in consternation. Ivy wished he would speak his piece and allow her to disappear. She was famished, weak, and worried sick because Rue was acting oddly, and Ivy suspected that her behavior was not due only to the sold pearls.

The gentleman standing before her spoke in a museful voice. “I almost hit you.” He grasped her by the wrist and helped her to rise.

“It was my fault, sir,” she said, shaking out her skirt.

He glanced past her to the pawnbroker's shop. “I shall write a sonnet to you. What is your name?”

Ivy studied him. She could hardly hear what he was saying for all the chatter that had arisen. “What in the world is he wearing?” she whispered to the kind matron who was brushing off Ivy's cloak. “That long coat and ruffled shirt look like the castoffs of a pirate captain.”

“Oh, no. He pays a fortune for his wardrobe on Bond Street,” the matron assured her. “It's essential for an artist of his standing to represent the romantic without appearing to try. He gives me palpitations.”

“Is he an actor?” Ivy asked.

“I am a poet, my dear,” the gentleman answered, apparently amused by this conversation. “You must be from the country not to recognize me.”

At last, a constable arrived, and the poet's admirers broke apart. Ivy looked about for an avenue of escape and spotted Rue, waving to her from their carriage. She was laughing helplessly at Ivy's predicament, a welcome state compared to her earlier despondency.

Still, Ivy couldn't help noticing that Rue seemed to be stealing glimpses of people in the street as if she were searching for someone she knew.

But Rue didn't have any friends in London. At least
none that Ivy was aware of. She couldn't be looking for an acquaintance, unless, against all odds, she had met someone during the night. Her sister in a rendezvous with a stranger? Never. Rue chased away callers from Fenwick.

*   *   *

Sir Oliver Linton found it disconcerting that a lady would ignore him in public. The unfortunate woman appeared unaware of his fame. In this case, however, perhaps it was for the best. Upon reflection, he decided that being seen entering a pawnbroker's shop did not enhance his reputation, and so he drove about for a good half hour before he parked, leaving his adoring passenger to manage for herself. Alone, he walked back, his head bowed, to the shop he frequented more and more these days.

The pawnbroker did not glance up at his entrance. “Good afternoon,” Oliver said with false cheer. “Any steals today?”

“For me or for you, sir?”

Oliver approached the counter, his gaze lighting on the strand of pearls laid out by the man's gnarled hands. “Are those genuine?”

“Yes,” was the curt reply. The pawnbroker rubbed a soft cloth over the necklace and slipped it into a bag. “A sad transaction, though.”

“I'm no judge of jewelry, but that necklace appears to be very old. Did it belong, by any chance, to the lady in the gray cloak I noticed outside?”

The pawnbroker looked up steadily. “It was her last valuable possession, or so she believes.”

Oliver laid his elbow on the counter. The pawnbroker nudged it off. “Is hers a tragic tale?”

“As you shall never meet, I suppose there's no harm in telling you. She lives far from here in an old manor. As legend goes, in days past, a royal visitor to the house hid a treasure inside. As a thank-you for the family's hospitality.”

Oliver mulled this over. “Wouldn't the visitor have gifted the owner in gratitude before leaving?”

“I have told you enough. History has it that the royal visitor escaped the house an hour before his enemies descended upon it.”

“Then there wasn't time to explain.”

“One assumes.”

“Does the young lady know of this?”

The pawnbroker evaded an answer. “I underpaid her.”

“How ruthless of you. She seemed to be an innocent lady in dire straits.”

“And that is why she is grateful to accept whatever I offer her.” He gave a droll laugh. “I show you the same courtesy.”

Oliver glanced up at the weapons mounted on the wall above the counter. “Except that I'm not a gullible young lady in dire straits.”

“You're always in trouble, sir. That's why I enjoy your visits. By the way, Lady Moffatt's husband was in the other day. He noticed the cuff links you had pawned and remarked that his wife had bought him a similar pair.”

Raising his brow, Oliver turned briefly to watch a potential customer peer into the window. For an instant he thought the owner of the necklace might have changed her mind. “So,” he said, returning his attention to the pawnbroker. “Did he buy the cuff links back?”

“No. He was looking for a bracelet as a surprise for his mistress. He was also looking for the man whom he suspects cuckolded him.”

Oliver shook his head. “London is such a sinful city, isn't it? Where did you say the lady who pawned the necklace lives?”

“I didn't. Leave her be. At least when she comes to me, she returns home with something to show for her trouble.”

“Do you believe that the tale of the hidden treasure is true?”

“I'd stake my life on it.”

At that moment the doorbell gave a discordant ring. The pawnbroker made a face, indicating Oliver had overstayed his welcome. Then he turned to greet his new customer. Oliver tipped his hat and inched to the end of the counter where an account book lay open. A smudge of fresh ink drew his eye to the last entry.

Receiv'd a double strand of pearls from Lady Ivy. Fenwick Manor. Kent.

Oliver murmured his farewell and hurried out into the street. He should be sitting in his garret working on the ode he had promised to write for Lord Moffatt on the occasion of his fortieth birthday. But Oliver had spent the advance a month ago, and his lordship was neither pretty nor in need of rescue.

Oliver, however, was in need of funds to buy those pearls and return them to their owner. This was the second time today he'd been warned that his affair with Lady Moffatt had been discovered by her husband. It wouldn't hurt to have a place to escape to in the country. Oliver had fought and won two duels in the past year. There was no point in pushing his luck.

He ought to wait until January before fighting the next.

A treasure hunt appealed to his imagination. It was a gamble, of course. But it was preferable to being arrested for killing a nobleman in a duel.

J
ames was playing cards with his neighbor, Captain Alan Wendover, when Carstairs brought a letter into the library on a silver salver. “This arrived early today for you, Your Grace. I believe you might have overlooked it.”

James had forgotten the letter, in fact, in favor of spending the afternoon researching the history of Fenwick and Tudor days in general. He knew right away from the handwriting on the letter that Elora had written him. And so, with his intuition for females, did Wendover.

“Let me guess,” Wendover said, putting down his hand of cards on the table. “She's changed her mind and has a sudden hankering for me. Shall I go to London for our rendezvous?”

James broke the seal, snorting in derision. “If you can make it there with two broken ankles.” He started to read, then lowered the letter, releasing a sigh.

“Bad news?” Wendover said, instantly contrite.

“My arm, that's all.” He loathed admitting how the pain could suck the breath from his body. “Listen to this.”

Darling,

I trust you don't mind that I shall arrive several days later than I promised. I forgot that the Earl of Axbridge invited me to his birthday ball. I haven't forgotten your warning that you are not ready for a wife, but as we have not signed our formal commitment, I assume you understand that I still need a husband.

I know what you need, James.

Yours wickedly,

Elora

“Several days?” Wendover said, laughing. “How will you manage? Does the governess arrive before then?”

James felt the tightness in his arm descend to his ribs. “That's none of your affair, you rude bastard.”

“Ah.” Wendover brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, turning his head to the window.

“‘Ah,' yourself,” James said testily. “Is it foolish to hope that in several days my brother's wife will experience a change of heart, realize she is a faithless doxy, and return to her children?”

“Do you
trust
a faithless doxy to raise Mary and Walker?”

“Definitely not. They've only come to trust me in the last day or so. However, I have the feeling they're aware of every step I take in this house. It's unsettling to think that my sister-in-law's adulterous lover has influenced their upbringing.”

Wendover raised his brandy glass. “Cassandra isn't exactly what one would call demure.”

“She used to be,” James said, frowning. “She was always sweet and quiet at our family gatherings. I wonder what happened to her. And now I'm in a devil of a bind.
I invited Elora here for fun and games. Not the sort that children play. This is a bachelor's nightmare.”

“You should have stayed in London.”

“Even then I couldn't have let the children run wild on the estate.”

“But you'll have the governess soon.”

James took a deep breath to control his temper. “Would you kindly not refer to her as a possession I have acquired?”

“Be on guard, James.”

“Against a lady who has been forced into a humiliating situation?”

“Against yourself. You haven't been the same since the day of that interview.”

“I haven't been myself since the children arrived.”

“As you say.”

*   *   *

It was Ivy's last morning at Fenwick Manor. Rue brought her a breakfast in bed of tea and a slice of plum cake. Whatever had troubled Rue in London seemed to be wearing off. Perhaps she had merely been upset about losing the necklace.

“Are the others up?” Ivy asked, unbraiding her hair.

“Not yet. I wanted you to know before I tell Lilac and Rosemary that I've applied for a position.”

Ivy set aside her tray. She was too nervous to eat and afraid of being late. “As a governess?”

“As a companion to an older lady. I saw the notice in the newspaper the day yours appeared. It sounds like a peaceful position. She has a town house in London and a home not far from here.”

“It sounds safe,” Ivy said without thinking. “You're too pretty to work for a gentleman, married or not.”

“What about you?” Rue asked, a hint of her old spirit returning. “Lilac pinned the duke for a devil the moment she met him. Even you didn't deny how handsome he is.”

“Denying how handsome he is and denying him privileges beyond our agreement are two different matters.”

“Perhaps not to him.”

“You're not helping my nerves!” Ivy exclaimed, sliding off the bed to dress.

“Ivy, I'm only teasing. What if the duke realizes how well educated and skilled you are?”

Ivy shook her head. “You saw him in person. All it takes is a few minutes in his company to realize the sort of woman he wants need be educated in only one art.”

“Needlepoint?” Rue said, grinning.

“How did you guess? That's why he's waiting for his London mistress.”

“So he can point his needle at her?”

“You have it backwards. Now stop this nonsense, or I shall blurt out some inappropriate remark about needlepoint the next time I see him.”

She went to the washstand, and in the next minute, Lilac and Rosemary crowded into the room to dole out useless advice while she dressed. It seemed that Lilac had only fastened Ivy's last button, giving it a good tug to secure it in case “the duke was tempted,” when the dragon's knock resounded through the house.

“It's time,” Ivy said. “Don't kiss me. I'll cry and look unstable in front of the children. I'll visit on my days off. I love you all. Be good. Keep me in your prayers. I daresay I shall need them.”

As she descended the stairs, she had never felt so sorry for herself in her life. The ancient oaks that
embraced the manor would surely bow their branches in sympathy when she embarked on her crusade to keep her home. And even if the trees stood oblivious to her plight, she had worked up enough self-pity to populate an entire forest.

A footman in black and red-braided livery confiscated her small trunk. Another assisted her into the waiting carriage.

And the duke took her hand to draw her down gently into her seat.

“I did not expect that you would collect me personally,” she said, which was all she could manage to say. She could not do more than stare at the man and hope that she would grow to take his breathtaking maleness for granted.

“I had business in the village.” Humor glinted in his eyes as he appraised her tightly buttoned dress.

“The children are anxious to meet you,” he added. “I warned them not to overwhelm you all at once.”

Overwhelm
was the exact word for how he affected her. What had she gotten into? How could she live with him in his house when sitting with him in his carriage challenged her composure? She had not learned anything on how to deal with scoundrels in the years since they had first met.

He leaned forward, his dark eyes hypnotic. “I should apologize for kissing you on the floor the other day.”

“Yes, you should.”

“But I'm not going to.”

Ivy braced herself against the squabs. “Whyever not?”

“Because I've wondered about you for years. I convinced myself that another man had married you. Now
that you're a governess in my house, I'll have to convince myself you are still unattainable.”

“I certainly hope to be.” She raised her chin and gave him a frank look. “Am I going to be safe in your house?”

“I think so.”

That was not exactly the reassurance she had sought. In fact, it wasn't comforting at all. “What do you mean ‘you think so'? Either I shall be or not.”

“You won't have to worry about losing the manor.”

Her eyes widened at this evasive tactic. “What does that mean?”

“Carstairs has taken care of paying the interest to your moneylender and the wages owed to your servants.”

She couldn't believe this turn of events. Was the duke merely generous or putting her in his debt? She was too stunned to decide. “Thank you. However, if you expect me to give you certain liberties in return, then I shall have to refuse in advance.”

His dark eyes traveled over her in detailed appraisal. “It's too late for that. Consider it a selfish decision on my part. As I explained, the children need order, and our family's reputation will not be enhanced by another scandal. It's bad enough what their mother did. Let me not be accused of employing a governess who lives in fear of her own shadow.”

Ivy looked down at her lap. She
was
unwillingly touched by what he'd done. He might have his faults, but he was generous.

In that moment she concluded that he wasn't a bad man, after all.

In the next, she decided that he was an utterly depraved one whose sensual appetite canceled out
whatever virtues he professed. Scoundrel. Rake. Rogue. Man with only one primal goal in mind.

He had continued speaking. “I expect my mistress to arrive at Ellsworth Park next week. She is not my mistress in physical fact yet, if you understand what I'm saying. We have not consummated our arrangement, although we've come—”

“I understand,” she said hastily. “And I must admit that I'm disappointed. How is this a moral example for your niece and nephew?” And why had he kissed her and hinted at a romance that might have been when all the time he had been planning an association with another woman?

“You
don't
understand. She isn't my mistress. We are close friends.”

“Who desire to become closer?”

He smiled reluctantly. “Well . . .”

“In the presence of children?”

“The children's arrival was a complete shock to me,” he said, speaking in such an aggrieved voice that Ivy was tempted to smile.

Poor decadent duke. Imagine having life ruin his naughty scheme. But perhaps she wouldn't be smiling when the mistress arrived. Protecting her charges from the duke's behavior was above and beyond the duties Ivy had anticipated.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked suspiciously.

“I wasn't,” she lied without conviction, looking up at his face.

“Yes, you were. Your lips curled up at the corners. I even detected a little gleam in your eye. That was a smile, albeit a sly one, if ever I've seen one.” He lifted his brow, assessing her until she would have confessed
to anything to escape his scrutiny. “Please explain what you found so amusing.”

“I'm afraid I can't remember now.”

He leaned forward and took her chin between his fingers. Had those attractive lines creased his face beneath the mask he wore long ago in London? “Come, come. We share a past. There's no need for secrecy between us.”

“Your Grace, if you wish to unburden your soul of its secrets, perhaps you should speak privately to the vicar. A carriage is hardly the place for a confessional.”

“But the vicar isn't as pretty as you.”

“For heaven's sake.”

“Exactly. He'll make me repent of my past sins so that I'm worthy of heaven.”

“What is wrong with that?”

“I just told you. I don't regret the past.”

It wasn't what they'd done in the past that worried Ivy, either. It was the present she had to contend with.

She wondered if she was about to feel those firm lips against hers again. Against her better judgment, she let her mind wander. Was his clean-shaven cheek cool or warm to the touch? Had he learned to subdue his amorous desires?

“May I ask you something, Lady Ivy?”

She focused her gaze on his cravat. It was infinitely less befuddling than his face. Safer. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“What advice would
you
give me if you were the vicar?”

Her eyes flew to his. “The first thing I would tell you is to let go of my chin. I assume you have not made a habit of kissing the vicar?”

He smiled. “Did I give you the impression I was about to kiss you?”

Ivy was not about to show the scoundrel that he'd unsettled her. “You asked for advice. If I were a duke of your means, I would find a separate,
discreet
lodging for my mistress.”

“I might as well admit this, too—I was considering your manor house for such purposes.”

She gasped. So much for remaining composed. The very suggestion. How dare he? “How thoughtful of you. I suppose I should consider it an honor that you wish to gift your paramour with the house that represents more history than either of you could ever appreciate?”

He released her chin and slipped his hand inside his coat. Ivy wondered if this last admission had given him a case of indigestion. “My family's ancestry also traces back to the mists of time.”

“And it is your mutual love of history that sparked your affair?” she asked innocently.

“If that were true,” he said, smiling as he slid his arm back to his side, “then there is a possibility that you and I could continue where our history began.”

“We couldn't.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I wouldn't.”

“You don't even know what I was about to ask. I might have been about to propose we collaborate on a literary work regarding the local architecture.”

“Then consult an architect. Or my sister Rosemary. She's better versed on the history of Fenwick Manor than I am.”

The carriage slowed. The duke's eyes gleamed. He looked unchastened and full of himself, an attitude that reminded her of her place in their contractual agreement. As if he'd read her thoughts, he said, “We are at
Ellsworth Park. Once you begin your duties and I resume mine, we shall not be tempted by each other.”

“The thought never entered my mind.”

He grinned.

She bit her lip. The irreverent man lived in a grand house. She would learn the layout down to the last corridor to avoid him as if she were a courier sneaking across enemy lines. He would soon enough have his mistress to tease and kiss and seduce out of her stockings.