Forbidden to Love the Duke (24 page)

J
ames always made an effort to travel in comfort, in luxury, but traveling in love was a novel experience, one that neither rain nor rutted highways could ruin. However, the weather ruled out any chance of a twilight picnic. That heavy carriage lumbered through the black deluge until even the coal braziers burning inside the vehicle could not counteract the damp.

As night approached, they stopped at a crossroads inn and took a meal in a private room with Wendover, Sally, and the children. After they'd washed and warmed themselves in front of the fire, a waiter served them roast beef, potatoes, and French beans on Wedgwood ware.

Ivy considered pinching one of the table napkins for James to use as a neckcloth. She folded it and tucked it into her throat, evaluating it as a fashion accessory. It might pass if one stood a mile away, but it definitely wouldn't deceive the experienced eye. James glanced up at her, grinned, and shook his head.

“Are we playing pantomimes?” Wendover inquired as he took a sip of wine.

“I love pantomimes,” Mary said from the small corner table where she sat with Sally and Walker.

“Eat your dinner, mistress,” Sally said. “We won't stop again until London.”

Wendover finished his wine and glanced from Ivy to the duke. “What happened to your neckcloth?” he asked James, his tone implying he knew it was none of his business.

But now the mystery of the missing cravat was on the table, so to speak, and Ivy couldn't have come up with a plausible answer as quickly as James did.

He shrugged. “It was too tight. I took it off.”

“It looked fine when you left the house,” Wendover said, smiling at Ivy. “Would you like to borrow one of mine?”

“No, I would not. What's the point in dragging open all your trunks to impress the staff at Berkeley Square? Considering the reason for my return, I don't think the state of my attire will be their primary concern.”

“I agree,” Wendover said. “But you can't walk into the town house with a table napkin around your neck.”

Ivy looked away, realizing she'd found an ally in Wendover. At least while James was engaged in a friendly disagreement about table napkins, she could repin her hair so that when she arrived at the town house, the staff would not assume her to be a slattern.

By the time they'd reached the duke's Berkeley Square town house, the rain was falling so heavily that everyone was soaked before they dashed up the front steps. No one could look presentable in this downpour.

Ivy found herself standing in an immaculate candlelit hall, dismayed at the puddles the arrival party had made on the marble floor. The staff expressed only sympathy
for their bedraggled appearance, and of course for the unhappy event that had brought His Grace back to London.

“I told you,” he whispered to Ivy as a maid divested her of her soggy cloak. “I could be wearing a tablecloth on my head and be forgiven for it.”

It was true. By the mere act of tipping back his hat or shrugging out of his coat, he had transformed himself from a decadent scoundrel to an impeccable gentleman. Ivy decided she might as well come to terms with his abilities. She had been raised with sisters and their secret pacts could never be broken. That didn't mean she couldn't learn to penetrate the less mystifying world of the English male. She couldn't call James completely uncomplicated, however. He'd kept certain facts of his life private, and she had only begun to understand him. She looked forward to the task of taming him, even if he thought the balance of power between them should remain the way it was.

*   *   *

The first task James tackled early the next morning was to send for a special license to marry Ivy. She'd decided it would be in bad taste to hold a wedding in St. George's, considering his brother's condition. James agreed. He didn't want to wait a month for banns to be called and social invitations extended to people whose names he could hardly remember.

His second task was to contact his solicitors to prepare for the process of filing divorce proceedings for Curtis. His brother, of course, might argue instead for a separation. He might hope Cassandra would come home. But divorce was a drawn-out affair that required an Act of Parliament, and Carstairs had informed James
that several of Curtis's servants had already sent letters offering to give signed depositions against her ladyship should they be needed in the lawsuit.

Last on his list was to visit Curtis's town house to make certain it was in suitable condition for his brother's return. Curtis would likely resent any implication that he couldn't manage on his own; James knew that from experience. But at minimum a few accommodations would have to be made, and Carstairs needed to interview a new staff.

“I'd like to accompany you,” Ivy informed him as he stood in the hall waiting for his carriage. The children stood beside her. Their upturned faces reflected hope and not their usual mischief. “I explained to Mary and Walker that they had to ask your permission to come. They'd like to gather up a few of their old toys and books. Oh, and Elora is waiting outside. She wants to be of help, if you don't mind.”

James shook his head in resignation. He wondered whether Ivy and Elora would eventually compare their experiences with him out of curiosity. He had no actual reason to worry. Ivy had taken possession of his heart and soul, and if she shared anything of an explicit nature, it would be with her sisters.

“A man must stand his ground in times like this.” And hope that he had sons to even out the ratio of male to female in the family.

“Please, Uncle James,” Walker said. “It was our home. What if our mother has come back and is waiting for us?”

“She'd have written to tell us,” Mary said, playing with Ivy's parasol until James gently wrestled it from her hands.

“Mary is right.” James put his arm on the boy's shoulder. His heart was breaking for his brother and the children. “She would have let us know she was back in London.”

Walker shrugged off his hand. “Not if she wanted to give us a surprise.”

*   *   *

Shock was the only word to describe Ivy's reaction to the condition of the duke's brother's town house when they visited the Mayfair residence.

She read the horror on the duke's face as she accompanied him into the entrance hall. She took a hesitant step forward and heard the crunch of broken glass under her feet. She looked back at Elora and Wendover, standing in the doorway, and whispered, “Keep the children outside.”

But it was too late.

Walker had broken through the barrier of his two guardians and run into the hall, only to freeze amidst the wreckage of broken plaster, glass, and the odd piece of silverware. Family portraits appeared to have been wrenched from their mountings and shredded with a sharp instrument. Obscenities had been written on the wall in what appeared to be soot.

“What happened?” Ivy whispered, letting Mary hide her face in her skirts.

Elora put a hand to the emerald choker at her throat. “What kind of wife would do this to a man as gentle as Curtis? He gave her everything she asked for. I am sick to my stomach.”

James seemed not to have heard them. “Ivy, take the children back to the carriage. We don't know who did
this. The place could have been ransacked by street gangs after it was abandoned.”

“Let me help,” Elora said, her eyes filling with tears.

“You should stay outside with Ivy. You may help later, after Wendover and I make certain the house is unoccupied and safe to enter. And do not cry in front of the children. Hold yourself together for their sake. They've seen enough without having to remember their home as a desecrated grave.”

*   *   *

The duke sent a crew of glaziers, carpenters, and joiners to Curtis's town house the next morning. By supper the house had been near restored to its previous condition and James agreed Ivy and Elora could unite to add whatever touches they felt would make Curtis feel more comfortable when he returned. It wouldn't be the home he remembered, but close enough.

“The children will be safe enough here with the staff,” he said before he went upstairs to change.

“And where are you off to tonight?” Elora asked, arching her brow at him across the table.

“I might go gambling with Wendover. I see no reason to punish the rest of the household for my unpleasant temper. I assume you don't require my help arranging cushions or taking stock of the linens? I won't be late. In fact, I don't particularly like the idea of either of you staying there alone.”

“The servants will be with us, James. Have your gentlemen's night out in London. We'll be fine,” Ivy reassured him.

After informing them of his plans, he went upstairs to change into his black evening coat. No sooner had he
put it on and combed his hair than Mary crept into his room. He suppressed the urge to call for Ivy, then reminded himself what the child had gone through. Or what she still might have to face when her father came home.

“Don't go out, Uncle James. I've remembered something very important.”

“Mary, dear, I'm sure it can wait until morning.”

She gave a violent shake of her head. “It can't.”

He sighed. Poor girl. Poor, poor little wretch. “What is it?”

“Remember the man who came to the park? The gentleman who saved Lady Lilac's life?”

James stared at her. “Are you referring to Sir Oliver?”

“Yes. That's his name.”

“Has he done something?”

“I think he might have.”

“Tell me, then, Mary,” he said, swallowing hard.

“I was eavesdropping.”

“Never mind that. What did he do?”

“He hid in Lady Ivy's room and tricked her by dressing like a maid on the night the doctor came to see you. She kept begging him to leave, and I thought he was a maid, but I didn't recognize the voice until he came back to the park the day that Lady Ivy's sisters were attacked.”

He managed to sound calm and unconcerned. “Why wouldn't she have told me?”

“Perhaps she was afraid of him, Uncle James.”

He bent and kissed her on the forehead. “And she doesn't know that you recognized his voice?”

She shook her head. “I never said.”

“She didn't make you promise to keep it a secret?”

“No. But I think she's afraid. I am, too.”

“Don't be, Mary. Everything will be better soon.”

*   *   *

“He
was
in a dark mood,” Elora observed after James saw her and Ivy into his brother's house. “I don't believe he spoke a word to either of us the entire ride here.”

“I noticed,” Ivy said, unfastening her pelisse. “Well, I suppose he has a lot on his mind. Oh, look at this place. The workmen have performed miracles. There isn't a mark on the wall.”

“Perhaps they've gone for the night,” Elora murmured. “The hall is spotless. If they've worked as hard on the rest of the house, we'll have little to do. Shall I see if anyone is in the kitchen to make tea?”

“If you like.”

“The drawing room is three doors down to the right. I won't be long.”

*   *   *

Wendover shifted against the carriage squabs. “I hope your silence doesn't mean the wedding is to be canceled. I don't give a damn if you speak to me or not. But the ladies are another matter. In fact, you were rude in the extreme to Ivy and Elora when we left the house.”

James watched a pedestrian dart across the street. “I'm going to kill him.”

“I assume you're talking about Sir Oliver.”

“Do you have any idea where he lives?”

“No. But I saw him at the club earlier. I thought you were content to let him go now that he has given up his pursuit.”

A smile ghosted his face. “At our club?”

Wendover shook his head. “Can I do anything to stop this?”

“The night the physician visited me when I was bloody delirious, Oliver broke into the house, dressed as a maid, and hid in Ivy's bedroom. She persuaded him to leave. Mary apparently walked in on the end of this exchange and recognized Oliver's voice from the last day he came to the park.”

“Jesus,” Wendover said, covering his face. “And Ivy just told you this?”

“Ivy never told me at all. And do you know why? Not because she is a duplicitous female, but because she's afraid. Not for herself. Not for Oliver. But for me. She didn't think I could stand up to him in a duel.”

Wendover lowered his hand. “Maybe you can't. Maybe it's time you accepted that. I'll kill the bastard for you.”

“Spoken like a true friend who also has no faith in me,” James said dryly. “Why don't we wait and see what the evening brings instead?”

*   *   *

Elora entered the drawing room of Lord Curtis's town house a few minutes later. Ivy admired the diamond-sapphire necklace and matching earbobs that sparkled against her sable-red hair in the light shed by a small chandelier. As lovely as she looked, Elora did not appear to have much practice carrying a tea tray. It practically crashed to the table Ivy hastily cleared for its descent.

“Good heavens, Elora,” she said, laughing. “You're more dangerous than Lilac with a serving tray.”

Elora grinned. “I was born to be pampered. The tea is hot, so be careful. I'll let you pour. I'm nervous tonight, if the truth be known. I have so many things on my mind.”

Ivy stared at her for a moment. “I must have been retired from society for too long. I never realized that a lady was supposed to change jewels as often as she changed her clothes. Weren't you wearing emeralds when we walked into the house?” She poured from the teapot, frowning in displeasure. “This tea hasn't been steeped long enough. I need something stronger if we're going to hunt inside cupboards. I'll have to ask the maid to make another pot.”