by Regina Scott
“I’ll save you,” Belle cried, darting between them. She shook her finger at Kendall and Petunia. “Bad bears! You go home.”
Kendall and Petunia exchanged glances, then hung their heads and slumped back to Ivy’s side. Sophia reached out and grabbed Petunia’s hair, earning a wince from Ivy’s little sister.
“There, there, poor bear,” Ivy said, emboldening herself to stroke the sable of Kendall’s hair. How soft, how thick.
He lay his head against her leg with a sigh.
“See what you’ve done?” Callie cried, hopping to her feet. “You made them sad.”
“I’m sorry,” Belle said, face puckering.
“It’s just a game,” Larissa reminded her. “They aren’t really bears, and I doubt they’re truly sad. Are you, Petunia and Lord Kendall?”
“No, of course not,” Petunia said with a smile as she worked on removing Sophia’s hold on her hair.
Kendall put a hand on Ivy’s knee and gazed up at her. “How could any bear be sad at such kind treatment?”
How could she not hope when he looked at her that way?
Not long afterward, the dowager proclaimed it time to leave, and Travis sent for the carriages to be brought around. Kendall joined Ivy, Sophia, and Petunia on the drive to wave them off. The four of them had just turned for the house when one of the grooms raised the cry.
Another carriage was trundling up the drive.
“Are we expecting guests?” Ivy asked Kendall, lifting Sophia higher in her arms.
He shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”
Petunia squinted as if trying to catch sight of a face in the window as the carriage turned up the rise. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy didn’t decide to show up, neat as you please.”
Surely Matthew would have written ahead. Ivy craned her neck, but she caught no glimpse of the passenger as the coachman drew the team up onto the flat and reined in, dust billowing. Sophia blinked and sneezed.
Travis ran out to lower the steps and open the door, then reached in a hand to help the occupant alight.
An older woman with greying hair poorly dyed a hideous red stepped down onto the gravel and gazed up at Villa Romanesque.
“Well, you’ve landed yourself in the money,” she said as Ivy’s stomach sank to her toes. “Come give your dear old mum a kiss.”
~~~
Dear old mum? Ivy’s mother had died birthing Petunia, just as Adelaide had died giving birth to Sophia. This could only be his bride’s infamous stepmother, Mrs. Bateman.
Ivy had told Kendall about the woman, but he hadn’t laid eyes on her the last time she’d visited the Batemans in London. He was a little surprised by her appearance—multicolored hair frizzed out around her face in a style more in keeping with his mother’s generation, dress with a low cut and shiny fabric generally reserved for evening.
Shrugging her shawl closer, she clutched her beaded reticule and sashayed toward him.
“Don’t stand there staring, boy,” she told Kendall. “I’ve a trunk that needs to be carried.”
Travis gulped back a gasp.
Ivy stepped forward. “Mrs. Bateman, we did not expect you. Allow me to introduce my husband, the Marquess of Kendall.”
Kendall inclined his head. “Mrs. Bateman.”
“I thought you went to Ireland,” Petunia put in.
She yanked up on the shoulder of her satin gown, a garish green that clashed with her hair. “I was invited back to England. I had a duty to my girls.” She beamed at Ivy and her sister. “And here they are, the darlings. And who’s this little sweetheart?” She reached up two fingers as if to pinch Sophia’s cheek.
Ivy reacted before Kendall could, thrusting the baby at him and away from her stepmother. “Kendall, would you see to Sophia? Petunia and I will deal with our visitor.”
He pulled Sophia close but bent his head to Ivy’s. “You’re sure you don’t need help?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Just keep Sophia away from her.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. If the woman could not be trusted near his daughter, he didn’t much want her near Ivy either. But Mrs. Bateman was Ivy’s relative, not his. He must abide by Ivy’s wishes.
He took Sophia into the house, where Mrs. Sheppard was peering through one of the windows. She hastily stepped back. “A guest, my lord?”
“So it appears,” Kendall said, handing Sophia to her. “Take Sophia to Becky, Mrs. Sheppard. Tell her to see that no one enters the nursery except our staff, Lady Kendall, or myself. If she has any trouble, have her call for Travis.”
Mrs. Sheppard’s eyes widened. “Is there a problem, my lord?”
“We are under siege,” Kendall replied. “And I do not intend to give up without a fight.”
Mrs. Sheppard curtsied and carried Sophia up the stairs just as Travis came through the door dragging an oversized trunk. It seemed Mrs. Bateman intended to stay awhile.
And she wanted to speak to him about the matter.
“Lord Kendall is a busy man,” Ivy was telling her as they came through the door, Petunia just behind. “I will not have you disturb him.”
“Oh, you-will-not-have-it,” Mrs. Bateman sneered. “Marries above herself and puts on airs. Typical. Well, I have a promise to keep, and I’m going nowhere until I keep it.”
Kendall strode up to them. “What do you need of me, madam?”
“Nothing,” Ivy answered for her stepmother, moving between him and the woman. Petunia sidled around behind them and made for his side.
To Kendall’s astonishment, Mrs. Bateman thrust out an arm and swept Ivy out of the way. “I’ll speak my piece.”
Kendall didn’t wait to hear it. He caught Ivy as she swayed, held her gently.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He had never seen such misery on her face. It wrapped around his heart, urged him to act. He righted her. “No need to apologize, my dear.”
“If you’re finished billing and cooing,” Mrs. Bateman said, foot tapping against the marble, “I’m waiting.”
Kendall turned to her slowly, fire licking up him. Petunia shook her head at him, as if warning him.
“You may speak your piece, madam,” he told her. “But if you think you can march into my home, lay hands on my wife, you had better reconsider.”
She cocked a smile. “Oh, you’re feistier than I was told. Makes no never mind. Just you remember one thing. I’m primary evidence.”
Kendall frowned. “Evidence of what?”
“Of what you married into,” she said. “I raised these girls, taught them all they needed to know about wringing the most from life and men like you.”
Now Ivy gasped. “I never followed your advice.”
“No?” she challenged. “What’s this I hear about being trapped alone together?”
Ivy blanched.
“It was Daisy’s fault,” Petunia blurted out. “Ivy didn’t know anything about it.” She looked to her sister, face pinched. “Sorry, Ivy. I wheedled the truth out of Daisy after you left.”
So, that was how the candelabra had come to be wedged into the latches. He could hardly blame Ivy for that. Her sister had ever been the more impetuous one.
“It’s all right, Tuny,” Ivy murmured. “Forgive me for not telling you, Kendall. I didn’t think anything good could come of it.”
“Why are you apologizing?” her stepmother demanded. “You caught yourself a nice rich lord, didn’t you?” She turned to Kendall. “Just see that you remember one thing, my lord. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
And she threw back her head and cackled.
Chapter Twenty
Ivy wanted the marble floor to crack open and swallow her whole. Either that, or the Romans who had once lived here to return, capture her horrid stepmother, and carry her off. Of course, the damage was already done. How could Kendall help but think the worst of Ivy and Petunia after seeing the woman who claimed to have raised them?
Ke
ndall turned to Ivy, face once more the solemn mask she had not seen since London. “Ivy, do you wish this person in our home?”
Mrs. Bateman’s face turned sorrowful. “Of course she does. She’s the kind, merciful sort. Never could beat it out of her. You might keep that in mind. She requires a firm hand.”
He stiffened, but he kept his gaze on Ivy. Waiting. Willing to put up with the slurs and cruelty if having this woman near somehow pleased Ivy. Willing to sacrifice, for Ivy.
No one but Matthew had ever sacrificed for her. Her father, her sisters, Mrs. Bateman—all of them expected Ivy to do what they expected of her. Good old Ivy, never an opinion of her own, never a place of her own.
Until him.
Ivy met his gaze. “No, I don’t want her anywhere near me. She’s done everything she could to hurt me and my sisters. I won’t subject you and Sophia to her bile.”
Mrs. Bateman gaped.
“Travis,” Kendall barked, and the head footman dropped the trunk and surged forward far faster than dignity required. “Have the barouche brought around and escort Mrs. Bateman to the coaching inn at Walton-on-Thames. She can catch the mail coach to London from there.”
“At once, my lord,” Travis said, hurrying out the door.
Ivy’s stepmother drew herself up. “You can’t throw me out. What would your neighbors say, casting an old woman into the cold?”
That was one of her favorite gambits when all else failed. Play on the guilt, on the duty Society would say Ivy’s family owed her. Ivy believed in turning the other cheek, but she had to consider Kendall and Sophia. Besides, Mrs. Bateman had already attempted to kidnap Petunia once. What if she tried again, and Ivy was too busy to prevent it?
“How I manage my estate is no affair of my neighbors,” Kendall informed her stepmother. He turned to Petunia. “Miss Bateman, would you be so good as to check on Sophia for me?”
Tuny glanced between them, even more torn than Ivy in her loyalties. She still remembered moments when their stepmother had treated her kindly. Mrs. Bateman reached out a hand as if to stop her from leaving. No. Not this time. Not again.
Ivy placed herself between them. “Go, Tuny.”
Tuny ran up the stairs.
Mrs. Bateman shoved Ivy away from her. “Wretch. You know I love that girl. You’ve no right to keep her from me.”
Kendall stepped between Ivy and her stepmother, face flushed and hard. “Ivy has every right to determine what happens in our home. Moreover, madam, I am the local magistrate, giving me jurisdiction in this county. I will remind you that striking a member of the aristocracy is a crime punishable by death. Do not try me, for I will gladly see you up on charges.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mrs. Bateman blustered, but she moved away from Ivy.
Kendall slid an arm about Ivy’s waist, offering support. “Oh, madam, you might be surprised what I would do to protect my family. Ivy and I are in complete agreement there.”
Ivy leaned against him, drawing strength from his. “Yes, we are.”
“But I’m your mother,” the woman all but whined. “I was there when your father passed. I gave you a home.”
“You made me a servant in my own home,” Ivy countered. For so long, she had said nothing, done her duty. It was time her stepmother heard the truth. “You belittled us, threatened us. I hoped that one day, you might realize that we were the best daughters you might have asked for.”
“Best daughters,” she sneered. “You were a disappointment then and now. Look what you’ve been given, and you can’t even share.”
She took the last ounce of guilt and threw it away. “I regret, Mrs. Bateman, that you cannot find it in you to be pleasant, but after the past we have shared, I will bear no responsibility for your future.”
She thought her stepmother would argue. She had never listened to anything Ivy had said before. But Mrs. Bateman stuck her nose in the air.
“Fine. I knew this would be a waste of time. I told that solicitor he was barking at the wrong tree. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of that Miss Thorn and her ladies. I knew your pretty face and winsome ways would win over the marquess.”
Miss Thorn? This had to be why she had warned Ivy!
Kendall must have heard something of equal interest, for he stilled beside her. “Solicitor? What solicitor?”
Mrs. Bateman’s smile turned crafty. “Oh, now I have something you want. Well, it will cost you.”
Ivy drew herself up, but Kendall nodded thoughtfully. “Very likely. Perhaps we can come to terms after you’ve had a chance to rest.”
He meant to allow her to stay after all? Ivy could only stare at him.
Mrs. Bateman grinned. “Don’t mind if I do. Nice big room with a nice soft bed. And none of those winged babies on the ceiling. They’re enough to give a woman nightmares.”
“Villa Romanesque has any number of fine bedchambers,” Kendall said. “And an equally fine cellar, equipped with iron doors that lock. I’ve never had call to hold anyone in the dark and damp, but I’d be willing to make an exception for you.” His look hardened. “The name, madam!”
She flinched. “Prentice. Sir Alexander Prentice. The least you could do is pay for my room at the inn.”
The jingle of tack and the thud of hooves outside told of the barouche arriving. Travis opened the door and stepped inside, holding it ready for Mrs. Bateman.
“Pay the innkeeper for room and board for one night,” Kendall instructed him. “And leave enough for the coach to London.”
“My lord,” he said with a steely-eyed glance at Mrs. Bateman. A groom hurried in to collect her trunk.
Ivy’s stepmother draped her shawl more closely around her. “I’ll go. But don’t think you’ve seen the last of me.”
“That is up to Ivy,” Kendall said. “But if you ever arrive at my door again without her pre-approval, I will set the hounds on you.”
She swallowed visibly, but she strutted out to the waiting carriage.
Kendall shut the door behind her.
“I thought you told Tuny you didn’t have hounds,” Ivy said as he turned to her.
“We don’t,” he said, returning to her side with a smile. “But she doesn’t need to know that.”
Relief cast her into his arms. “Oh, Kendall, thank you! I’ve never had the courage to stand up to her before.”
He held her a moment, then let her back with a smile. “I can see why you might find her daunting. She is rather good about wielding the knife.”
“And twisting it.” Ivy shuddered. “I hope you don’t believe her.”
Once more his face hardened. “About Sir Alex putting her up to this? I’m sad to say I do believe her. I doubt she would have returned to England on her own and confronted us this way. Who else has cause to wish us ill?”
Ivy swallowed. “And the message he wanted her to bring? That the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”
He took her hand. “You are not an apple, Ivy. And you didn’t fall from her tree. You are a woman of character who chooses every day to help those around her. Comparing you to her is like comparing fine china to a battered tin plate.”
Her lips were trembling. “Then you don’t think I tricked you into marriage, that I’m out for your money.”
Something crossed his face, but he answered her readily enough. “Certainly not. You are Sophia’s mother, the mistress of Villa Romanesque. I have complete faith in you.”
Mother. Mistress of the house.
Not wife. Not love.
Some men would have believed their odious stepmother and thrown Ivy and Petunia out along with her. Kendall believed her. Yet her heart ached.
Never had she talked back to her stepmother before today. Never had she spoken a word against anyone. Never had she demanded more than what she had earned.
But she wanted more now. So much more. If she could be forthright with her stepmother, she owed Kendall no less.
“What if I want to be your wife?” she asked.
&nbs
p; He released her and stepped back, and her heart cried out. She shouldn’t have taken the chance. She shouldn’t have pushed him. She should have given him more time.
But she wanted his love now. She needed his love now. Everything else felt so dull, so lifeless.
So empty.
He glanced around, and Ivy realized Mrs. Sheppard, Martha the elder, or one of any number of servants could appear at any moment. Though she knew they were well trained to ignore the conversations of their employers and guests, she truly didn’t want them overhearing this particular discussion. Especially if Kendall meant to kindly refuse her. She wanted to bear that pain alone.
“Perhaps,” he said, “we can continue this conversation at a more suitable time. I must go to London.”
Ivy gathered her frayed dignity with difficulty. “London? Why?”
He glanced at the door as if wishing himself gone even now. “Sir Alexander made a fatal mistake. I will not allow anyone to harm those I love. It’s time he was brought to realize that.” He looked back at her. “Will you have dinner with me when I return tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Ivy agreed, thoughts in a turmoil. She could not deny the wily solicitor had made a powerful enemy in Kendall, or that Sir Alex deserved censure for his behavior. And her stepmother’s mention of Miss Thorn could only mean the solicitor’s vengeance was broader than Ivy alone.
But her mind kept coming back to one word. Kendall had said he would now allow harm to those he loved.
Did he include Ivy in that number?
~~~
His valet was packing, his travel landau being readied. Kendall had kissed Sophia farewell on the forehead and Ivy farewell on her hand. Now all that remained was to discuss matters with his housekeeper in his study.
And settle his thoughts for the coming battle.
So he stood gazing out the window at the fields stretching toward the River Blackmole, but the waving grain, the wall of trees, held no more appeal than this betrayal. From the first, his former solicitor had been against Ivy. Kendall knew the prejudice toward those who entered the aristocracy through marriage rather than birth. But Ivy had more than earned her place at his side.
