His For Christmas (17 page)

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Authors: Fiona Shin

BOOK: His For Christmas
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Elliot stood up as well. “Please.”
Her eyes flickered back from him to Mrs. Chang. “I've learned a great deal about life. Most of them are things I wished I never knew, some of them are wonderful...wonderful that I had the opportunity to learn people indeed can be good.”
Mrs. Chang shifted in front of the stove. “That can't be what you really wanted to say.”
Ivy shook her head slowly. “No. But while I was alone...I have been propositioned.”
Elliot felt his face heat. “Good god, what the hell do you take me for?”
She flinched at his sharp tone and he felt the immediate rush of shame.
“I do beg for your pardon,” she continued, face down. “But it is something I must ask. For my safety.”
Mrs. Chang, far from looking shocked, looked as though she wanted nothing more than to laugh her head off. Lips twitching at the corners, she put a hand on Ivy's slim shoulder and squeezed. “My dear girl. I can certainly understand why you would feel such a way. Certainly, a girl alone on the streets...it is a terrible situation and I'm sure you have been in danger countless times.”
Elliot leaned against the sink and let out a sigh, feeling like a complete and utter idiot. Of course she would be worried about that. He was surprised the girl hadn't been roped into a brothel sooner. Even if she'd been completely plain-faced, with eyes like that...he didn't know how she managed to be safe.
“How long have you been outside like this?” he asked in a low voice. He was expecting Timothy home for lunch and had no intention of the boy hearing their conversation, all the while knowing he’d seen far more horrors in his young age than Elliot ever would. “And the truth, if you would. Or if you do not feel comfortable, then you may simple say so. But please don't lie. We’d like to help you.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Certainly. To the best of our abilities.”
“I don't...” the woman started and then swallowed. “You must understand...I haven't really had the chance to talk about my...situation.”
Elliot could see the conflict in her eyes and sighed. “Never mind. If you do not want to talk about it, then we can hardly force you. But you have my word that neither I nor Mrs. Chang will hurt you. If you feel uncomfortable at any time, I will be more than happy to take you back to the station, with a ticket to wherever you wish to go.”
He thought he saw the hint of a smile on her chapped lips. “Of course. Thank you so much. I'm sorry to have intruded at such a time.”
Mrs. Chang slapped Ivy on the back with a resounding thwack. “Don't be ridiculous! Why, this is the perfect time to intrude. Of course, I’m not saying other times would be inopportune.”
The girl continued to keep her head low, but he saw her lips move.
Thought he heard her whisper, “Not ready, do forgive me,” and that was enough.
He had enough experience with Timothy to know when extracting information would prove more harmful than anything else.
And in any case, it hardly seemed to matter. After all, she was a guest. When this was all over, she would go back and there would be a return to their old activities; Timothy attending school, Mrs. Chang managing the small household and Elliot trying to forget about the one woman he had ever loved.
“With that said...” Mrs. Chang began to lead Ivy out of the kitchen. “I do believe it is time I introduce you to our rather lovely wash basin. I'm sure when we come out, you will look a vision. I can tell, you know.”
Elliot moved aside for them and managed to hold his breath as Ivy passed by.
It was a sobering thought to think she had no choice and was, at the moment, probably mortified beyond all belief.
She was, after all, a woman.
And he would do well not to forget it.
***
Ivy didn't know what to think.
Scrubbed so thoroughly that her skin tingled and dirt scummed on the surface of the warm water, she watched the housekeeper, shift through some plain gowns. “No, no, certainly, we can't have you wear something of mine. I don't think I'm a very large woman, but frankly, I've seen birds with thicker bones than you.”
Water streamed down Ivy’s face and she relished in the warmth that seemed to seep through her entire body. “My mother was very small.”
“Well, I suppose that makes sense, then.” The housekeeper tapped her dimpled chin in a thoughtful manner. “I don't suppose...hmm.”
She handed Ivy a bar of soap that was speckled with petals and smelled just as heavenly as the special milled soaps her mother used to order from Paris. “Don't forget to wash behind your ears,” she said, her eyes having taken a far-off quality that made Ivy think Mrs. Chang was not really there at all. “I'll be right back. I might be able to find something to fit you. Doreen's youngest is about the same size as you.”
With that said, the housekeeper sailed out of the small washing room and Ivy leaned back in the tub, staring at her hands clenching the sides of the metal.
Elliot Whitley.
What an utterly devastating handsome man.
Lying down and exhausted, she hadn't noticed his lean height, the trim hips. Indeed, he was such a change from Yardley Hanson.
She couldn't believe Bertrand wanted her to marry the inbred idiot. When he waved the engagement papers in front of her face, she hadn't a thought in the world.
Except for run.
Run as far and as fast as she could.
Her mother and father married for love, something rare for New York society, and stupidly, she wanted no less.
There were handsome men, certainly, there was no lack of them in her social circle, but none of them made her breath quicken, made her heart pound, made her think about them for days on end. Most of them were polite enough, but there was something lacking...
In retrospect, running away was incredibly rash, running away without even the faintest idea of what she would do once the deed had been done.
But what else was there to do?
Just stand there and let Bertrand put her hand in Yardley's and make her live her life as a prisoner in her own home?
For that surely was what he'd do, no mistake about it. She saw it happen to Aunt Melissande and her cousin, Rachel, too cowed to do much less but live their life with a tired, subdued air that put Ivy's teeth on edge.
“I won't,” she whispered. “I will not let him dictate my life. I'll live it as I see fit.”
And perhaps it was a good thing she was a far distance away from Seneca before Adeline stole every last penny she had and her stack of carpetbags, leaving her mistress with only the clothes she wore.
Ivy stared at the wooden ceiling, still unable to come into grasp that her lady's maid could do such a thing. They had grown up together when Adeline was hired at the age of eight to be Ivy's companion.
She waited at that platform for three days. Three very long days, to which she could see no solution.
Indeed, the only reason Ivy did not cave in and go back to Seneca was quite simply, she had no way of getting back.
Would it have been better?
To go back to New York?
Surely, by this time, she would already be wedded to that dolt, and frightening thought, growing fat with his child.
Just the very idea was enough to cause a wave of nausea rise in the back of her throat and Ivy wiped at her wet face, unable to distinguish where the bath water started and her tears ended.
Ah, but how wonderful it was to be clean again.
She brought the small bar of soap to her nose and breathed in deeply of the scented rose petals that made her dizzy in its potency.
Who knew when she would get clean again?
Just then, the housekeeper, the woman with the kind eyes and no-nonsense attitude, bustled back in, a gown of white and blue over one arm. “Are you finished then?”
 
“Yes.”
“Good.” Mrs. Chang snapped the gown in the air. “This should fit you. Well, better than anything of mine will. Let's see if we can't get you all dry and ready for lunch. I can't imagine the state of Elliot and Timothy's stomach. I'm half afraid they've gone to the inn for lunch, even though I've told them a thousand times it's better to eat at home. At least, they know what they're eating. Who knows what Addie puts in her food, that's what I say.”
Ivy stood up and let Mrs. Chang dry her body, the towel moving briskly over the bruises that made her wince every time she touched them.
“Tch,” said the housekeeper. “It's a shame, it is. But better to bump into Mr. Whitley than anyone else. Did you know he's got half the town's eligible girls lining up to be his wife?”
“That's certainly no surprise,” said Ivy as she stepped out of the tub, trying not to look at the scum floating on top. “He is not married?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Chang as she handed her a pair of white stockings and undergarments. “And it's a keen shame. He has only been here in Branford for a little more than a year, and a man of his age, well, you would think would be looking to find a wife.” She laughed then. “Although, perhaps I should be glad if he doesn't. I may no longer have a job here. Now, let’s do something about your hair, hm?”
The house seemed quite empty, although there was a fire burning cheerfully in the brick fireplace and Mrs. Chang placed a wooden stool in front of it.
Ivy took a seat on the stool, both hands on the bottom of the seat and the housekeeper pulled a small wooden comb from one of her many apron pockets.
With only the sounds of the fire and the smell of the beef stew, Ivy nearly fell asleep.
Mrs. Chang cleared her throat as her fingers gently worked through the tangled hair that had only gotten worse after the bath. “Ivy, did you say your name was?”
“Yes, Mrs. Chang.”
“Why are you here?”
Ivy stiffened. “I do not have anywhere else go.”
The housekeeper made a small sound in the back of her throat. “No home?”
Ivy shook her head. “No, Mrs. Chang. No home.”
She felt the spokes of the comb touch her scalp as Mrs. Chang succeeded in pulling the tangles from one side of the hair. “It is a difficult situation, isn't it? Although, perhaps, difficult is the wrong word. Do you have any family?”
“No,” said Ivy. “No family.”
That, at least, was the truth. She would never admit to having Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Melissande as family. She was better off alone than with the pair of them.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” replied Mrs. Chang. “So even if Mr. Whitley offers to buy you a ticket to your home...”
Ivy sighed. “Even if that were the case, I'd have nowhere to go.”
Mrs. Chang ran the comb through her hair. “My, it's long, isn't it? Tangled into bunches, I never noticed.”
“It's silly, I think,” said Ivy after a moment of silence. “I was proud of my hair. My mother always said how much she envied it.”
“There are places that would buy hair such as yours,” said Mrs. Chang, her mouth muffled by the comb held in her mouth, as she gathered Ivy's hair off the nape of her neck. “But I suppose that had already occurred to you, hadn't it?”

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