THE DEFIANT LADY (12 page)

“What shall I do with this, Miss Emily?” the maid asked when she had gathered every last scrap of fabric, thread and pearls.

“Burn it,” Emily said coldly. “And never speak of this incident so long as you live.”

***

London, England, June of 1815

Early the next morning, the Duchess and her granddaughters piled into an elegant and sizable carriage. Three coaches followed them, two of which contained all of their clothing and personal items packed into trunks. Their servants shared the third carriage.

Fifteen long hours later, they arrived in front of the Duchess’s spacious and luxurious London townhouse, one that had been in the Cavehill family for generations. They had a light dinner and then retired promptly for a much needed night’s rest. By the following afternoon, the foyer of the townhouse was flooded with piles of invitations and felicitations.

“What is all this? Is Ivy a smash already!” Willow asked, coming into the drawing room.

The Duchess’s brown eyes twinkled with delight. “Absolutely. News travels quickly and everyone is eager to meet the woman who landed the Stanton heir.”

Ivy groaned.

“If you think the invitations are overwhelming, wait until you see the wedding gifts that will begin to arrive,” the Duchess remarked.

“I do believe my wrist will hurt from all the thank-you notes I will have to write,” Ivy drawled.

As the servants unpacked their trunks and set up the household, the ladies called for refreshments. They had not even had their first cup of tea when the butler announced the Earl of Stanton. His tall form graced the doorway.

 
“Ladies,” he said, and then bowed slightly. “Good afternoon. I trust you had a pleasant journey? How are you settling in?”

“Very well, My Lord,” Willow said much too reverently, and then began to giggle.

Cy looked at Ivy. “I wonder if I might take my fiancée on an outing to the park?”

The Duchess smiled warmly. Ivy was beginning to see her grandmother smile more frequently, and realized that it changed the entire countenance of the woman’s face. She looked twenty years younger. The disharmony and malcontent of Ivy and Willow’s arrival had vanished.

“I think that is a marvelous idea. Ivy, do not forget your bonnet and wrap.”

Once in the curricle, Cy took the reins, allowing the snowy pair of grays to prance towards the park. Ivy tried to relax, but her thoughts were churning so fast she could barely make sense of them.

The two weeks they had spent apart had given her time to think, and panic had set in days ago. Cy was making a mistake marrying her. She would be an embarrassment to him. Socially beneath him on many levels, she worried that he would be ridiculed because of her background.

 
“I missed you,” he said honestly.

“You did?” she asked, turning a startled gaze to his face.

He looked at her. “Of course. Did you miss me?”

“I…”

“What is going through your mind, Ivy?” he demanded.

She blurted out, “Do you think we are ill-suited?”

Growling like an awakened bear, he grabbed her arms and hauled her towards him, his mouth descending. “How many times do I have to tell you? I chose
you
, Ivy.”

“We are in public!” she whispered furiously.

“I do not care. Apparently, I need to prove to you that I want to marry you.”

His arms wrapped around her and there was no escape. She sighed, realizing she did not want to. As if he had all the time in the world, Cy placed his lips on hers and explored her mouth with his tongue. She trembled and then kissed him back and enfolded her arms around his neck. He finally broke the kiss, much to her consternation.

“Though I would love nothing more than to continue this, I refuse to ruin your reputation.”

Ivy looked around the park. It was still teatime and mostly deserted. She was glad, not yet ready to face a throng of people. She would soon be on display when Cy publicly escorted her to the Greek Ball.

He peered at her, and smiled slowly. “I will kiss you much longer, and much more thoroughly when we are in private. I love that your cheeks are the warm color of a peach and your lips are swollen and rosy.”

She sighed in feminine wistfulness as he settled close to her. Taking the reins of his beautiful gray horses, they continued on their drive.

Ivy’s fears were laid to rest.
 

***

Cy was an immaculate host, urbane and sophisticated. He had all the style that had rightfully come with his social position and title. It was a cloak he wore effortlessly across wide, muscular shoulders.

The Count and Countess of Langley were in attendance along with Ivy, Willow and the Duchess. They were seated at the dining room table and Cy watched Ivy’s face light with laughter as the Countess whispered something to her. Ivy was at the opposite end of the long table in the hostess’s seat, as she would soon be his hostess at every dinner after they were married.

His fiancée was regal and elegant. Her finish was natural; she had always been a diamond. With a little polishing, she now dazzled and shined.

Their wedding was a few months away, and Cy had never been so impatient in his life. He wanted Ivy with him, and he did not want to wait. The time he spent away from her, though it had only been two weeks, had revealed to him how bland and desolate his life had been before her. She was spirited and lovely, and a perfect match for him. He enjoyed reminding her, for she seemed eager to be in his arms. The way she responded to him heated his blood.

 
“My cousin will be joining us at the Greek Ball,” Langley said.

The Countess looked at Willow and remarked, “Beaufort is excellent company. And a wonderful dance partner.”

 
Willow caught the gleam in Countess’s eyes and said, “Hopefully I will be able to keep pace with him.”

“I think it will be the other way around. Let us hope Beaufort has the constitution to keep up with a Cavehill.” The Duchess cackled with laughter.

“Will he be joining us at White’s?” Cy asked.

Langley grinned. “I think I can convince him to let you take some of his hard-earned money.”

Ivy looked at Cy and asked, “You are a fair gambler, are you not?”

It was a loaded question, and it uncomfortably reminded Cy of his father’s gaming debts, many of which had come from White’s, an exclusive gentleman’s club that existed only for the privileged few.

“Fair,” he agreed.

Cy never wanted her to know about his father’s debt. He desperately wanted to put it behind him, and after Ivy discovered his brief engagement to Miss Fitzgerald, he did not want her knowing about his agreement with the Duchess. He would not have her think his sole purpose in marrying her had anything to do with money. Even though he would use her dowry to turn his finances around and ensure Ivy’s security, he did not want to burden her with his past. Better it stayed there and they looked to the future. He had to admit that he cared for Ivy, and if she learned about his agreement with her grandmother, she might doubt him and his intentions. He wanted them to have a happy, solid marriage.

Most men of his class despised marriage and only went through with it to safeguard the succession of their titles. Very few married for love, or even lasting emotion; that was an elusive quality missing from society relationships almost entirely. Pleasure and companionship were found in the arms of others. Spouses were an unwanted necessity. The Langleys were one of the few happily married couples Cy knew.

 
Cy had never entertained the idea of having a marriage like theirs, and offering for Miss Emily Fitzgerald had not upset him in the least. Thank God it had not been publicly announced, and he was able to call it off. Miss Fitzgerald was certainly beautiful, but she lacked any true spirit. They would have had a polite life together, and nothing more. Even the idea of dining with the Fitzgerald girl bored him. She had spoken of nothing but the weather and fashion in the few short moments they had spent together. How Cy could have ever thought
that
was all he would require out of a marriage, he would never know. When he met Ivy, he had not realized that she was saving him from a dreary existence. He had begun to hope they might find love.

Cy stared at Ivy again. The candlelight made her hair shimmer, and her eyes seemed dark in the dim light. Her skin was alabaster, and he wanted nothing more than to remove his guests, place Ivy on the dining room table, plow his fingers into her ruby hair and drink from her sweet lips.

Other women pale in comparison,
he thought.

Ivy’s gaze met his, and when he saw her breath hitch, he did nothing to shield the longing and desire in his eyes. His bold gaze continued to consume her, and he was pleased to note that her hand shook as she raised her glass of wine.

He licked his lips, showing her his want, and he did not care who else knew.

Chapter X

London, England

Three weeks later, it was the night of the Greek Ball. Ivy and Willow peered at the ornate marble columns that graced the edges of the large ballroom, along with colorful silks draped along the windows and hand-carved French doorways. Footmen dressed in Greek dress costumes complete with head laurels circled the room and carried trays of the finest champagne.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Willow inquired.

Ivy shook her head and stared at the splendor around her, unaware that she and Willow were the focus of the room’s attention. They stood at the top of the plush, red-carpeted stairs waiting to be announced.

Willow was draped in a Grecian silver dress, her blonde curls pinned at her crown. She wore white roses in her hair, and a simple silver ribbon around her neck. Ivy wore a gold gown, and had opted for an out-of-fashion hairstyle. Most of her molten waves had been kept loose, except for the two braids that were pulled back, one of each side of her face.

The butler finally announced their names, and they descended the stairs pretending they were not the cause of commotion. Two young sisters, both exceedingly beautiful and new to the social scene, were more than a little intriguing. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were enveloped in a protective group, which consisted of their grandmother, Cy, the Count and Countess of Langley, and Langley’s cousin, Lieutenant Roman Beaufort.

Before anyone could get an introduction to the Sinclair sisters, Cy escorted Ivy to the dance floor. The gesture was not lost on the crowd.

Lieutenant Beaufort was tall and handsome, and had an irrepressible grin on his face as he bowed over Willow’s hand and asked, “Care to follow suit?”

Willow laughed gaily and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

“You are quite possessive, My Lord,” Ivy said breathlessly when Cy twirled her close. “How unusual for a man to be so affectionate in public! Plan on creating a new fashion?”

He grinned lazily back at her. “If you will help.”

Ivy’s laughter reached many ears.

Cy’s black formalwear hugged his wide shoulders. She smiled to herself and thought about all the women in the room who were undoubtedly envious of her.

Once the dance came to an end, Cy led her back to her grandmother. The Duchess was standing with Lord and Lady Dashwell, the hosts of the Greek Ball. Lieutenant Beaufort escorted Willow off the dance floor towards them and bowed, but remained close as he engaged Cy and Lord Dashwell in conversation.

 
Lady Dashwell turned her attention to Willow and said, “It seems you have captured the interest of the dashing lieutenant. He cannot stop staring at you!”

Willow laughed delightedly. “You are a perfect hostess!”

Lady Dashwell smiled, winked conspiratorially and said, “I must admit, I do like a bit of excitement. If I have anything to say about it, it will be discussed for months to come. Did you know that Lieutenant Beaufort is actually the Marquess of Westonshire’s disinherited heir?”

Willow gasped. “Truly?”

Lady Dashwell leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, “Mr. Beaufort’s father married an Irish peasant. The Marquess disinherited his son because of it, and now he completely regrets the decision. Mr. Beaufort’s father died, you see, and now the old Marquess needs an heir…”

Willow was fascinated by the story. She gazed at the charming lieutenant, who promptly caught her eye and smiled widely.

Lady Dashwell continued, “He has refused his grandfather, and defied him by becoming an English soldier where he proved himself and was promoted quickly. He fought at Waterloo, under the command of the Duke of Wellington. With the force of one hundred thousand men, they defeated the Emperor, Napoleon.”

Willow found herself completely captivated by the lieutenant. Though charming and handsome, there was more to him beneath the surface. Looking at him, she caught him staring at her again. He winked at her, causing her cheeks to flush.

Beaufort strolled towards her, took her hand and led her to the dance floor again.

“Quite presumptuous of you, Lieutenant,” she said with a bold smile.

“I took my cue from you, Miss Sinclair,” he answered, drawing her close, his hand pressing against the small of her back. “You looked like you wanted to dance with me again.”

Willow gasped in mock outrage.

His lazy grin was devastating. “Do not worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

***

Ivy was introduced to more people in one night than she could remember meeting in her entire lifetime. Cy was steadily by her side, and took it upon himself to answer pointed questions about their quick engagement and impending marriage with wit that caused most guests to simply cease their implications.

Others noticed Cy’s interaction with Ivy, and throughout the evening it was whispered among the guests that every time the Earl of Stanton looked at his fiancée, his eyes softened and a tender look passed over his face.

When Ivy and Cy finally had a moment to take a breath, Cy excused himself to acquire her a beverage. A moment after he left, a tall, impeccably dressed blond man approached her.