A Bluestocking Christmas (2 page)

Stricken by both his words and departure, Ivy gripped the back of the sofa as she pulled herself upright. Fingernails biting into the dark mahogany trim of the green velvet couch she stumbled to her feet and staggered a few feet toward the salon door.

“Simon.”

His name was barely a whisper as she called out to him. Seconds later, the sound of the front door crashing shut reverberated through the room. The reality of her situation slowly forced its way into her mind. With a soft sob she swayed and pressed her hands into the hard arm of the sofa as she fought to remain on her feet. Oh, God, what was she going to do?
 

She needed to go after him. No.
That
was impossible. She’d just rejected him. The last thing Simon Carlton, Viscount Wycombe wanted from her was apology or explanation. An explanation she wasn’t willing to give. And why should she apologize? He was the one who’d resurrected her past, brought Caroline to London. She flinched at the thought as she remembered the sound of his voice when he’d said he done it to please her.

One hand pressed to her brow, she closed her eyes against the thought and tried to push it out of her mind. Had she been wrong? Did he care for her? The memory of his parting words sent a throbbing ache through her body. No. Simon had made it quite clear that he was her better. Desperate for air to ease the tightness in her chest, she sucked in a sharp breath.
 

Fresh and clean, the scent of the decorated fir tree in the corner of the room drifted across her senses. She looked at the small tree sitting so prettily on the table in the corner of the salon. It provoked a mixture of happy and painful memories. As a little girl, she remembered her father lifting her up on his shoulders to place the star on the top of their Christmas tree. Her mother laughing at them both. All that had changed when her parents’ ship had been lost at sea.
 

Christmas Eve. For the first time since she was that little girl watching Caroline’s parents shower her cousin with gifts, Ivy had been looking forward to the holiday. It was supposed to be a happy time because this year was going to be different. Simon would be a part of the holiday. But that hope was shattered.
 

Her stomach fluttered, and she pressed her hand against her belly as despair cascaded over her. It chilled her far worse than the snowy weather outside. As painful as Simon’s contempt for her had been, it was far easier to accept than to watch him walk away if she told him the truth. Blinking back tears, she failed to prevent the escape of one teardrop. Hands clutched in front of her, she moved toward the Christmas tree.

Sweets and several glass ornaments gaily decorated the green branches. Dazed, she lightly touched one of the gingerbread cookies dangling from a red silk ribbon. Simon liked Mrs. Morris’ sweets, and the cook had made the ornaments especially for him.

Beneath the tree, she saw the carefully wrapped present she’d picked out for Simon. He was fond of quoting Marcus Aurelius, and she’d searched the city to find a book of the Roman emperor’s sayings. Next to his gift lay a velvet-covered box with a bright red ribbon tied around it. A note card was tucked under the ribbon with the words
do not to open until Christmas
imprinted on it.
 

It must have arrived yesterday while she was with her solicitor. Her fingers caressed the square box. Without thinking, she untied the ribbon and opened the lid. A sob rose up from deep inside her as she stared down at the necklace. Diamonds and sapphires sparkled brightly in the lamplight of the room. The gems were embedded in small stars attached to finely-spun gold filigree that formed an oval in the jewelry box.
 

Simon had once roguishly said he intended to see her wearing nothing but diamonds and sapphires. He’d obviously remembered. Ivy brushed her fingers over the hard, but beautiful stones as tears welled up in her throat. If only she’d remembered the lessons of the past when she’d first met Simon. She’d known they came from two different worlds, and yet she’d not listened to her head. Her gaze focused on the necklace again, and she choked back the tears. The necklace represented the miracle of a Christmas she’d hoped for, but would never have.
 

With a sharp flick of her hand, she snapped the box closed. It would go back to the jewelers the day after tomorrow, and she would leave England for a warmer climate. In Italy, she’d forget these past few magical months. She’d forget Simon. She’d forget everything they’d shared together. It was a lie, and she knew it. With a shudder, she wrapped her arms about her waist and bent her head. She’d had her head in the clouds for even daring to think Simon might be coming to care for her. If only she’d never met him—never fallen in love—she would have been far better off.
 

Do you really believe that, Ivy? Is there not some part of him that you can hold close to you heart, even now?

The gravelly male voice behind her was as clear as the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, and she whirled around with a gasp of fear. All that greeted her was a quiet, empty room. A shiver raced down her back, and she rubbed her arms in an effort to warm herself. Her mind was playing tricks on her.
 

Whatever she’d heard was her imagination. She was distraught about Simon, and her mind was challenging her—telling her she’d made two mistakes today. She dismissed the thought. Once more, she looked at the Christmas tree, tears tightening her throat. She couldn’t stay here. Not tonight of all nights. Another tear trailed down her cheek, and she angrily brushed it away.
 

Crying served no purpose. What she needed was to find someplace else to lick her wounds. Staying here, in the town house, would only make things more difficult for her. There were too many memories here. The library. She would go to the library. It was almost six o’clock and everyone would be gone—gone home to be with their families for Christmas.
 

Blowing out a sharp breath, she grimaced. Enough self-pity. She would go to the library and work. It would be a source of comfort to her. The warm, musty smell of old books would dim the memory of Simon’s rugged scent. In the peace and quiet of the bookracks she might be able to forget, if only for a short time.
 

Her decision made, she pulled a handkerchief from the side pocket of her day gown to dry her wet cheeks then quickly left the salon. In the main hallway, she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall’s mirror and stared at her appearance in dismay. Behind her, Morris cleared his throat.

“Your pardon, Miss Ivy, but is there anything I can do for you?”
 

The deep baritone note held a distinct note of concern, and a small measure of comfort brushed across her senses. For all his austere mannerisms, Morris had the quiet habit of looking after her as a father might. She’d be a fool to think he’d not been privy to Simon’s furious departure.

The entire household must have heard as well given the crash of the front door when Simon had stormed out of the house. She flinched. All the more reason to flee to the library. Her staff had been with her for years, and they’d developed an affinity for protecting her.
 

But it was Christmas, and she’d given them time off to spend with their families. If they thought she needed them, they would sacrifice their holiday to stay with her. She wasn’t about to let that happen. She forced a smile to her lips and turned to face him.
 

“Actually you can, Morris. Would you summon a hansom cab for me and fetch my cloak, I’ve decided to work at the library this evening.”
 

Tall and portly, the butler gave a slight start. He hesitated for a second, his gaze watching her closely. When she frowned at him, he quickly went to the front door to step outside and hail a cab. Ivy turned back to the mirror and quickly tried to repair her appearance. Fingers trembling, she pulled out the pins holding her hair in place and hastily rearranged her hair.
 

Staring at herself in the mirror when she finished, she blinked back another onset of tears. No, she refused to cry. There was no point. A moment later, Morris reappeared at her side with her hat and cloak. He waited patiently as she set the hat on her head, before settling the cape on her shoulders. The gentle brush of his hands on her shoulders as he dusted off imaginary flecks of dust was a comforting feeling. With a jerky movement, she picked up her gloves off the small table under the mirror. With precision, she tugged them on before carefully smoothing each finger making the soft leather cling to them.

“And will Lord Wycombe fetch you from the library, Miss Ivy?” At the question, she lifted her gaze to look Morris in the mirror. She shook her head.

“Actually, I won’t be seeing Lord Wycombe anymore, Morris. I’ll find a hansom cab when I’m ready to return home.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve, Miss Ivy,” Morris exclaimed in an appalled voice. “It will be most difficult to find a hackney in St. James Square later this evening.”
 

“Thank you for your concern, Morris. But I’ll be quite all right. I won’t have another opportunity to visit the library before I leave for Italy.”
 

“I do wish you would reconsider, Miss Ivy.” There was an underlying hint of disquiet in Morris’s words, and she was certain he wasn’t referring to her visiting the library.

Avoiding the servant’s gaze in the mirror, Ivy stared at her reflection. Was that stricken expression really hers? It was the same look she’d seen on her face the day Caroline had betrayed her so long ago. It was with relief when Morris informed her the hack was at the front door.

 
She knew the butler was worried about her, and the longer she remained in his presence, the stronger the likelihood that he would stay through the holiday. Not meeting the butler’s gaze, she swept past him and climbed into the small vehicle as Morris paid the driver her fare. With great care, her servant picked up the blanket on the cab’s seat and laid it carefully across Ivy’s knees. As Morris closed the door of the cab, she forced a smile to her lips and touched his hand on the top of the door.
 

“Happy Christmas, Morris. I expect you and Mrs. Morris to enjoy the holiday with your family. Be sure to let the rest of the staff know they’re not to return until late tomorrow evening.”

Ignoring the deep concern on the butler’s face, she looked up at the small window in the vehicle’s roof and ordered the cabbie to drive on. The vehicle jerked forward and she sank back into the cab’s leather seat. Despite her warm clothing and the blanket across her legs, the frosty night air bit into her skin. Darkness had fallen on the city a short time ago, and it only emphasized the bleakness weighting down on her.
 

Her sigh blew out a soft cloud of warmth from her lips as she numbly watched last-minute shoppers hurrying out of few shops still open at this late hour. Two days ago, she’d been one of those customers, happily calling out season’s greetings to strangers as she’d hurried home to wrap Simon’s present.
 

Why on earth did she persist in torturing herself like this? It was over. Finished. There was no going back now. One could never go back. Her cousin might have been quite resourceful when it came to Thornton Whitby, but not even Caroline could turn back the clock.

Whitby. He’d been the first man to pay any attention to her, and she’d fallen quickly for his smooth compliments and false promises. He’d even said he loved her. When he’d demanded she prove her love, she willingly given her body and heart to the man.
 

Ivy knew now that her submission to Whitby’s caresses had been born out of a need for someone to love her. But she’d not realized that at the time of Caroline’s betrayal. All she’d known then was that the one person who’d said they’d loved her had stolen Ivy’s chance for happiness. Perhaps she should forgive her cousin. After all, Caroline had saved her from a miserable life with Whitby. Ivy released a soft, scornful laugh.

At the time, if Whitby had known about Ivy’s inheritance he would no doubt have offered for her. Instead, he married Caroline. Looking back, she now saw the man for the overbearing boor he’d been, but it didn’t make her cousin’s betrayal any less painful. Caroline deserved to find herself a penniless widow with three mouths to feed.
 

Wincing at the bitterness of her thoughts, Ivy burrowed deeper into the cab’s warm wool blanket. When had she become such an embittered woman? Ivy released another breath that clouded white in front of her. Even the frosty air blowing across her face wasn’t as frigid as the ice that had sluiced through her veins the moment Caroline had entered the salon. Bile rose in her throat, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about Caroline or her children.

An image of three small girls forced their way into her thoughts. Their sweet smiles made it impossible to dismiss the memory. Especially little Ivy. When the child had raced forward to hug her—Ivy quickly banished the thought. Why would Caroline name her youngest daughter after her? It had to be a ploy of some sort. A way to atone for her betrayal. Ivy bit down on her lip as bitterness welled up inside her. If Caroline hoped for any redemption from her, then her cousin was sorely mistaken. The woman had made her choice a long time ago. Ivy could never forgive such a brutal betrayal.
 

But the children. She winced. Simon had been right to take her to task about sending them away. They’d looked so thin in their threadbare clothes. Still their smiles had been sweet and cheerful. Euripides had said that the gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children. Were Caroline’s children responsible for their mother’s sins? Could she abandon them to poverty so easily?