THE DEFIANT LADY (16 page)

With one last look in his direction, Ivy left him and met the Countess in the foyer. She would meet her grandmother and sister at the garden party and then return home with them. There was no longer any reason to stay at the Count and Countess of Langley’s townhouse; Cy was healed.

When Ivy and the Countess arrived at the Marchioness’s townhouse, they were shown to the solarium. It was large and spacious with tall plants and ferns gracing every available space. The windows were open, letting in the afternoon breeze and watery sunlight. It had rained the night before and the smell of fresh air mingled with the scent of plant life.

 
Greeting their hostess, they made the rounds. When Ivy saw her sister and grandmother, she immediately went to them. The past week, they had visited the Langley townhouse while Cy was recuperating, but Ivy had spent little time with them. Loath as she was to admit it, Cy had been correct. It had done her good to get out and socialize.

“I had no idea the point of a garden party was to judge other people’s fashion,” Willow said in amazement as she took a drink of lemonade. “I passed three woman that were ripping to shreds another woman’s choice of dress.”

 
The Countess laughed. “That is the point of a lot of social gatherings, my dear.”

“Lady Gertrude should never have worn the pink gown. And Miss Victoria’s hair looks like it was pinned by the stableman,” Willow said in a mocking voice.

Ivy laughed. “You are such a comic, Willow.”

Willow inclined her head. “Why thank you, dear sister.”

“I wary of being able to teach you both any manners,” the Duchess remarked dryly but then spoiled her admonishment with a smile. She excused herself to speak to her friend, Lady Stanhope.

News of the duel between the Earl of Stanton and Lord Caldwell was still a juicy topic of discussion. No one asked Ivy about it directly because it was not considered polite, but curious glances were thrown at her all afternoon. It took every ounce of willpower for people to stem their interest.

“Ignore them,” the Countess whispered. “They will forget about it soon.”

“Let us hope,” Ivy mumbled.

“We should start a rumor so everyone has something else to talk about!” Willow suggested.

“Such as?” the Countess queried.

“How should I know?”

“You really have not thought this plan through, have you?” Ivy said with a smile.

Willow grinned. “Not even a little bit.”
 

***

The Sinclair sisters chatted vivaciously with the Countess of Langley, as Emily’s hazel eyes narrowed on the stunning and elegant redhead. The young woman with entrancing green eyes laughed, and it made Emily dig her nails into her palm.
 

Emily hated her.

The garden party guests were abuzz, conversing about the duel that the Earl of Stanton had fought against Lord Caldwell. No one was completely clear on the facts, and Emily was dying to find out the entire story. Perhaps she would enlist the aid of Mathilda and Alyssa to find out the truth.

Wanting to officially meet the woman who had managed to lure the Earl away from her, Emily approached the group of women and pasted a smile on her face, glad she had dimples that made her appear sweet and nonthreatening. She had worn a lilac gown that showed off her coloring and emphasized her youthful, curvy physique.

“Good afternoon, My Lady,” Emily said pleasantly to the Countess, giving an effortless curtsy. She turned her attention to the redhead, abhorring the woman’s brazen hair that made her glow like a candle in darkness. Though Emily knew herself to be lovely, she could not compete with the outright beauty of Miss Sinclair.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fitzgerald. I thought you were in Paris,” the Countess said.

“I only just returned,” Emily explained and then turned her attention to the two women who she had yet to meet.

 
“Miss Emily Fitzgerald, may I present Miss Ivy Sinclair and her sister, Miss Willow Sinclair.”

Emily flashed what she knew was a dazzling smile and looked at the Earl’s fiancée. “How lovely to meet you both. I have been dying to make your acquaintance since you arrived. Are you enjoying your time in London?”

The redhead opened her mouth to reply, but her sister interjected and answered for her, “London is wonderful. We have recently been to the opera, and it was a most enjoyable experience.”

“I do love the opera. And London.” Emily’s voice cooled considerably when she said, “One can find many
passing
diversions in the city.”

It was a subtle cut, but a cut nonetheless. Emily wanted to draw blood, and eviscerate the woman that society claimed the Earl loved. There were rumors of how he looked upon his fiancée; and it made Emily tremble with fury.

The Countess smiled sweetly and said, “Miss Fitzgerald, have you read about Miss Sinclair’s engagement to the Earl of Stanton?”

“I think I skimmed it…Engagements can be broken, you know. Congratulations. I do hope you both find some measure of happiness.” She turned and swept away.

The rest of the afternoon, Emily fumed. She was unable to keep her attention off of Miss Ivy Sinclair. The woman was only welcomed into polite society because her grandmother was the Duchess of Cavehill. Ivy Sinclair was nothing more than the illegitimate daughter of a duke! How had she managed to snatch the Earl away from Emily, the daughter of a wealthy baron? Anger twisted in Emily’s stomach. She loathed the woman for taking the Earl from her, but she hated the Earl for his rejection and choosing a woman so clearly beneath him.

Emily was an only child, and her parents doted on her. With the exception of the Earl, she had gotten everything she had ever wanted. With Miss Sinclair’s appearance, Emily had lost a fiancé and the potential title of a countess. It was an insult she would not forget.

“Miss Fitzgerald! How lovely to see you!” Lady Baker said in greeting.

“It is lovely to see you as well,” Emily replied politely.

“We missed you at the Greek Ball, but I do know how much you love Paris. Is that a new gown?” Lady Baker spouted a series of mixed statements and questions as she linked her arm through Emily’s and began walking with her.

“It is,” Emily said, feeling temporarily soothed and somewhat distracted. “Brand new from my recent trip.”

“You must show the Countess of Hartford and Lady Essex. They will want one just like it.”

Emily smiled, and feelings of happiness were restored as the compliments continued, but then she caught a glimpse of Miss Sinclair engaged in conversation with the Duchess of Cavehill and Lady Stanhope.
 

Stewing in resentment, Emily glared at the woman, wishing for revenge.

***

Late that night, back in the Duchess’s townhouse, Willow sat on Ivy’s bed talking about their afternoon. They were eating apple tarts snuck from the kitchen and drinking hot chocolate. The moon glowed through the window, and Ivy lit candles so they could move around without bumping into things.

“Can you believe Miss Fitzgerald?” Willow asked as she took a sip of her chocolate.

Ivy shook her head. “Only women of quality can give an insult without it sounding like an insult. They prefer to deliver snide comments, each like a small lash against you. One or two does not hurt, but after many, you feel the pain.” They were silent for a moment and then Ivy said, “She is pretty.”

“She is, yes,” Willow agreed tentatively.

“It is hard to believe Cy was ever engaged to such a woman.”

“The engagement was barely an engagement,” Willow reminded her. “Besides, I think the Earl is quite fond of you.”

“Hmmm,” Ivy said. “I am quite fond of him.”

“Only fond?” Willow pressed.

“More than fond,” Ivy allowed. “He is wonderful. Protective, charming, sincere, witty, urbane. He is everything a woman could hope for in a future husband.”

“You are looking forward to the wedding,” Willow stated with a smile.

“Yes, I am.”

“Has he kissed you?”

Ivy’s face heated as she nodded.

“You love him, do you not?”

“I do,” Ivy admitted.

“Mother would like him.”

“Very much.” She paused in thought. “Do you ever think Mother resented the fact that the Duke could not marry her?”

“She never said anything about it if she did,” Willow responded, reaching for Ivy’s uneaten tart. “She seemed content with life. She enjoyed ballet and she loved us.” Willow stared hard at her sister, whose face was a canvas of conflicting emotions. “She knew you did not mean it, Ivy.”

Ivy’s green eyes were troubled. “At the time, I meant every word I said. I thought she was nothing more than a beggar awaiting scraps. I suppose one cannot look back and wish for things to be different. Look where we are now.”

“It is hard to believe, is it not? I do not know what we would do if we were still in Paris.”

Ivy sighed. “I never would have met Cy and fallen in love.”

Willow looked at her sister. “Have you told him?”

Ivy chuckled. “I thought I would let him fully recover from the duel before I clobber him with my declaration of feelings.”

Willow laughed. “Timing really is everything, is it not?”

***

An ornate, antique vase hit the wall with a resounding crash, shattering in a thousand pieces like a dream lost when one is startled out of a sound sleep. The young woman who threw it breathed heavily, her face flushed and her hazel eyes alight with anger.

“Bitch!” she spat furiously.

Footmen and maids who heard the commotion did not even raise an eyebrow at the foul language or tantrum being thrown by their young mistress. They were accustomed to her fits of rage and were compensated enormously by the girl’s parents as a means to ensure that word did not spread about her behavior. Society was under the distinct impression that she was a polite, well-bred girl, almost to the point of being bland and uninteresting. Underneath the façade, however, was a spoiled rich child with a high level of self-entitlement and lack of self-control.

The door to the salon opened and a stout, matronly woman entered the room.

“What is it, my love?” Emily’s mother, Lady Fitzgerald stood in the doorway, immune to another daily episode.

“
This!
” Her daughter held up an invitation. “The Countess of Langley is throwing a ball in honor of the engagement between the Earl of Stanton and Miss Ivy Sinclair.”

“The Countess of Langley throws lovely balls,” Lady Fitzgerald said innocently.

Emily’s color deepened as her fury raged. “I know. It should have been
me
!”

Her mother blinked owlishly. “What should have been you, dear?”

Emily gritted out, “The ball should have been in
my
honor! The Earl of Stanton should have a fought a duel on my behalf!” Emily had finally learned the story in its entirety through Mathilda, who had heard it from an impeccable source.

Lady Fitzgerald did not reply to the statement, choosing instead to ask, “Am I to assume you will not be attending?”

Emily glared at her mother. “Of course I am going.” She smiled malevolently. “And I intend to make it the most interesting event of the Season.”

***

Ivy was reading in the corner of the Cavehill library, enjoying her solitude while Willow and their grandmother were out shopping. It seemed like such a long time since Ivy had any spare time to read for pleasure and relax in the confines of a comfortable room. At the moment, there were no demands on her time, and she was enjoying every minute of her freedom.

The Count and Countess of Langley’s Ball to celebrate Ivy’s engagement to Cy was that evening, and Ivy was looking forward to dancing the night away with her fiancé. His wound was healed, and she wanted him to hold her tight, whirl her around the room, and kiss her until she was senseless. Her blood heated at her dangerous thoughts.

“Miss Ivy,” Benson said. He unintentionally startled her from thoughts of Cy, but then announced, “The Earl of Stanton is here.”

Stomach fluttering, Ivy closed her book, not at all surprised Cy was paying her a visit. It had become customary for him to call in the early afternoon, and then come again at night to escort her and her family out for the evening’s festivities.

“Hello,” she said with a smile as Cy walked into the library.

“Good afternoon. Your yellow gown is as sunny as your disposition.”

“Thank you,” she replied breathlessly due to Cy’s appreciative gaze. “I am happy to see you.”

He looked pleased by her pronouncement. “You are?”

Her cheeks flushed and she nodded. “I also think you look quite handsome in your brown jacket.”

“Stop,” he said with a teasing smile. “Your compliments are going to my head.”

“What if I admit that I want you to take me into your arms and greet me with a kiss?”

He shook his head even as he stalked towards her. “You are sinful.” He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. When he pulled back, she was frowning.

“Much too short, My Lord.”

Laughing, he said, “You are distracting me from my real purpose in coming here. I have a present for you.”

Ivy protested lamely, “You have given me so many gifts already.”

“This should have been given to you the moment we became engaged.”

He pulled out a small, black leather jewelry box and handed it to her. She opened it, revealing a beautiful solitaire diamond with small diamonds encircling a gold band.

“I had it commissioned in France. That is why it took so long to get here,” Cy explained when Ivy failed to react.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. They were shining with tears. “It is so beautiful,” she whispered.

He took the ring and gently slid it on her finger. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

When they parted, he grinned and said, “If you cry at receiving your betrothal ring, I shudder to think how you will react when I give you the jewels that belonged to my great-grandmother.”

She smiled with tears still in her eyes and asked playfully, “Are they worth crying over?”

“Bawl worthy,” he corrected.

She laughed, wiped a tear from her face with her hand and then stared at the ring again. “It really is quite stunning.”