A Garden for Ivy (The Wednesday Club Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  The Wednesday Club – Book Three

  A Garden for Ivy

  Sahara Kelly

  Content © 2020 Sahara Kelly

  Cover art © 2020 Sahara Kelly

  (Cover Portrait “Welcome Footsteps” by Marcus Stone;

  Currently in the Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museum;

  Image Released to the Public Domain)

  Acknowledgements

  For my readers – a big thankyou, as always. You are pearls beyond price and I hope this story meets your high standards. For my family and friends and pretty much everyone everywhere, who are – at the time I write this – weathering a disaster of unimagined proportions, I send my love. For when all is said and done, it’s love that gets us through the hardest times.

  This will be the last book I write in this particular location, since a move is in the offing. Will it change things? Probably not my stories, since they are independent of my surroundings. But I’m sure the pace may slow once I rediscover the joys of my own garden. I plan on following in Ivy’s footsteps and re-creating an English country garden, replete with as many scented blooms as I can manage. I hope to sit in a place not unlike where many of my heroines have enjoyed moments in the sun, indulging in their own thoughts, and surrounded by the fragrance of flowers. I’m not sure about eating nasturtiums in my salads, but I am positive there will be lavender. Lots of lavender.

  In this story you will find mention of the unsettling events that led to Peterloo. I’m no historian, so please forgive the brevity of the comments. It was a complex and tragic time; if you are intrigued enough to learn more, I recommend any of the excellent research sources out there which go into great detail about the social uproar that led, eventually, to much needed political reform in England.

  Prologue

  “Shouldn’t you be with your husband?” Lydia Davenport looked at her friend. “I thought all newlywed couples couldn’t stand to be separated…”

  Rose Linfield smiled. “Miles is at Linfield Lisle. Doing business stuff. I would have gone with him, but when it came to a choice between spending a week with his Mama, or with you all? There was no contest.”

  “And how lovely a sentiment that is,” Ivy Siddington grinned. “We’re most appreciative, aren’t we, Lydia?”

  “We are indeed.”

  “Good. Because I want to ask you to help me get used to being Lady Linfield here in town.” Rose bit her lip. “I need all the assistance I can get, I assure you. I have to counteract Mama’s excessive jubilation. She would order an elephant and parade me around on it if she could, I swear. Just to show London.”

  “Judith should be here for this. She got married and became Lady Withersby” observed Ivy. “Quite nicely and without an elephant anywhere.”

  “She’s on her way.” Lydia nodded and sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile.

  The three women were settled comfortably in the parlour at Davenport Place, and once Lady Judith Withersby arrived, they would enjoy tea and—as young ladies do—a healthy measure of gossip.

  “I’m sure we’ll all be thrilled to help, Rose, as best we can. Not that you’ll need it, of course,” said Ivy. “But I will also ask that we spend a bit of time on the question of Prudence.”

  “Hmm.” Lydia nodded. “Yes, we must do something about her, mustn’t we?”

  “I wouldn’t want her to end up with young Mr Dartsbridge. That just isn’t acceptable.” Ivy frowned. “He’s a nice lad, but…just no.”

  “He’s left town I hear.” Judith walked into the room, grinning at her friends. “I think you scared him off.”

  “Oh dear,” Rose looked worried. “I hope I wasn’t responsible for that.”

  “I doubt one dance at Almack’s would send anyone into the countryside.” Judith sat on the couch with a chuckle.

  “I don’t know,” mused Rose. “It was an utter disaster. As were the rest of his dances, I believe.”

  “More likely he’s been called home,” Judith shook her head. “I think I heard Ragnor mention something about the Dartsbridge estates being on the market?”

  “Oh, poor chap.”

  Tea arrived and while the maid was setting up the table, all four ladies spared a sympathetic thought for the unfortunate Romley Dartsbridge.

  “Right then.” Lydia took a raspberry tart. “Who can we find for Prudence? Which eligibles do we know and which are nice enough to introduce to her?”

  Silence fell, interrupted only by the gentle munching of excellent pastries.

  “It might help,” said Rose between mouthfuls, “if we knew Prudence’s status.”

  Ivy blinked. “She’s the niece of the Duke of Maidenbrooke. Isn’t that status enough?”

  “Of course,” Lydia nodded. “But I think the status Rose referred to meant her financial status. Her dowry. That sort of thing.”

  Ivy frowned. “No fortune hunters, Lydia.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lydia shot her a matching frown. “Not in a million years.”

  “I apologise,” sighed Ivy. “It’s a difficult challenge, she’s a sweet girl and I’d like to see her happy. So I’m a bit touchy, I suppose. Forgive me.”

  “You need not ask.” Lydia leaned over and patted her hand. “Let’s assume she is comfortably dowered and will bring a nice settlement to the table.”

  “I think that’s a fair assumption,” echoed Judith. “There are one or two candidates that spring to mind…Sir William Fitzwilliam?”

  “Hmm.” Lydia pursed her lips. “Bit of a wet blanket. I met him at some tea somewhere. Fancies himself an expert on basset hounds.”

  “Ah.”

  Three other faces expressed puzzlement, disillusion, and a certain amount of amusement.

  “Now you mention it, his ears…” Judith snickered.

  “Oh dear,” Ivy snorted.

  Lydia rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. “Yes. God, yes. He looks just like one.”

  It took a few minutes for them to settle. Then Judith made a woofing noise and set them all off again.

  It was a good afternoon, spent with the best of friends. But as Ivy bid farewell to them, she realised she was no closer to finding some kind of solution for Prudence than she had when she walked into Davenport House.

  It wasn’t, strictly speaking, her problem. And Prudence herself wasn’t a problem at all, since she was sweet, intelligent and attractive. Her shyness kept her aloof, but Ivy understood that and knew that in the right circumstances she would relax and shine like the fresh new flower she was.

  The Duke had asked Ivy to watch over her and once she’d accepted, she and Prudence had become friends. Maidenbrooke himself seemed most content with the arrangement, often accompanying the two of them to some social event.

  He was, Ivy told herself, doing his duty by his orphaned niece.

  She tried not to pay any attention at all to his strikingly blue eyes…

  Chapter One

  “Your destiny awaits. You have only to be brave enough to grasp it…”

  Ivy Siddington awoke, hearing the echo of that soft voice, those odd words, in her head.

  Her feet were cold, and she shivered, as if she were still in the dream, but the wind had turned sharp instead of soft. Damn those dreams.

  She shook her head angrily as she cursed in her mind.

  This had been the most intense one she’d had in quite some time, and she’d hoped that she had at last outgrown them. It had been many years since the first, and—coming directly after the loss of her parents—she’d been told it was a way to accept the devastating shock of their deaths.

  It was logical, which appealed to the growing part of her brai
n that dealt with such things. She found she preferred straightforward explanations, rather than suppositions or intangible concepts.

  She shoved aside the urge to sit for hours, staring at the clouds or watching the fog roll in over the ocean.

  She ignored the rumours that her childhood home, Siddington Castle, was haunted. Wasn’t every old building the possessor of some lost spirit? The Lord knew enough slaughter had taken place on those lands during the five centuries or so since the first stones had been laid.

  If there were some spots that felt oddly chilled, even in summer, or rooms that she preferred not to enter—what of it? There were dozens of others where she could play, and read, and learn. It was a castle, after all. Rooms were not in short supply.

  And now, in London, settled at Vine Place with her chaperone and longtime companion, Mrs Elvina Ashrayn, she truly believed she’d left all that silly mystical nonsense behind her.

  Clenching her teeth, she turned her mind away from the dream. It was ridiculous, absurd, and probably the result of that rather excellent Stilton cheese she’d nibbled on after dinner last night. She refused to give up the cheese, but as she slid out of bed she promised herself to stay away from it in the evenings.

  A tap on the door was followed by the appearance of a delicate face surrounded by a mass of soft white hair and topped with a tiny lace cap. “Good morning, sleepyhead. ‘Tis past eight and breakfast awaits.”

  Ivy sighed. “I had a strange dream, Elvina. Clearly it has befuddled my wits, since I’m still sitting here like a ninny with no slippers on.”

  Mrs Ashrayn laughed. “In that case, I’ll tell Henrietta to wait to dress you. Just put on your slippers and wrapper. We’ll breakfast informally in the small parlour. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are as well.” She turned, glancing back over her shoulder. “You can tell me about your dream over Cook’s fresh scones.”

  “Mmm.” Ivy’s stomach rumbled in agreement. “Five minutes, no longer, I promise.”

  True to her word, Ivy bundled her hair up into a knot, slid into her wrapper and knotted the belt, knowing it covered more of her than most of her evening gowns. Besides, it was just her and Elvina, with the possible exception of Malvern, the butler who had known her since she was in short skirts, so he counted as family too.

  The scent of baking filled her nose as she hurried down the back stairs and she followed it to the brightly lit parlour where Elvina was pouring tea.

  “Perfect timing,” she smiled. “Here. Tea is the best thing in the world for chasing away bad dreams.”

  Ivy nodded, finding herself hungry for the warm scones sitting near her plate. “It wasn’t a bad dream, exactly,” she said. A restorative sip of tea was followed by a sigh of pleasure. “More strange, I suppose.”

  Elvina buttered a scone. “Can you tell me about it? Anything special you recall?” She gave Ivy an encouraging glance.

  “Well,” Ivy thought for a moment. “I was by a stream...I heard a woman’s voice.” She related what she remembered.

  “Were you concerned? Frightened?”

  “No, not at all,” Ivy shook her head. “I suppose I was more frustrated than anything else, since I didn’t get to ask any questions.”

  “I can understand that. Like being given clues without knowing what mystery one is supposed to be solving.”

  “Exactly,” Ivy smiled. “I read one or two books like that. I threw them away.”

  Elvina chuckled. “Can’t say that I blame you, dear.” She raised her teacup and regarded Ivy over the rim. “Have you heard the voice before?”

  “No,” answered Ivy. “But I do remember often having dreams of being near water. Which never bothered me, since I’m quite happy at the shore, or on a lake. And I like to swim.”

  She ate her scone, recalling the times her parents had spent with her, teaching her to swim in the lake near Siddington.

  “An unusual comment for a young lady, but one that is certainly sensible.”

  Elvina’s practical words swept away Ivy’s wistful thoughts. “I suppose so.”

  “Well, consider enjoying a ride on the Thames in a punt with an attractive young gentleman. And he accidentally tips you out…”

  Ivy nearly choked on her scone as a surprised laugh bubbled out. “Oh, good grief.”

  “Exactly.” Elvina looked smug. “You might end up saving his life.”

  “Not me.” Ivy grinned back. “If he’s idiot enough to capsize a punt, he’s not worth saving.”

  At that, both women burst out laughing, and the sound was joyous enough to bring a smile to the face of Malvern as he entered with a letter on a tray.

  “Ah, good humour,” he commented with a bow to Elvina. “An excellent harbinger of an excellent day to follow.” He turned to Ivy. “A note, Miss Ivy. I observe a ducal seal… Maidenbrooke I believe.” He lifted one eyebrow.

  “It’s probably from Prudence,” said Ivy calmly. “She uses her uncle’s seal now and again.” Taking the paper from the tray, she missed the quick look exchanged between Elvina and Malvern.

  “Miss Prudence is well, I hope,” commented Elvina as the butler left the room.

  Ivy broke the seal, read, and cleared her throat. “Well, actually it is from the Duke himself.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” she scanned the words, the hand firm and legible, the writing crisp. Much like the man himself. “He would like to present Prudence with a garden party for her birthday, it would seem. And being a man of his word, he’d like to begin planning it.”

  Elvina tilted her head to one side. “That’s nice.” She paused. “And this involves you in what way?”

  Ivy couldn’t help but bite her lip against a laugh. “He doesn’t have a garden.”

  *~~*~~*

  Across town, in a much larger parlour, His Grace the Duke of Maidenbrooke was frowning at his niece.

  Prudence, the target of the frown, was sipping her own tea and completely ignoring the threatening demeanour facing her across the room. “It really is quite lovely, Uncle Colly. Everyone there is friendly, there’s always someone to dance with, and the food is excellent.” She glanced up. “Oh, please don’t look like that. You’ve attended. You know the Sydenhams. And you can agree that the Wednesday club is much more likely to offer a delightful evening than that stuffy old Almack’s.”

  He sighed. “Your points are all well-made, my dear. Yes, there is a multitude of friendly people. And most of them are of an age close to yours, which is another point in their favour. Yes, the Sydenhams are charming, especially Lady Maud, and their food is most palatable.”

  Prudence shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “I sense a but coming along…”

  He grinned and shook his head. “You’re right. It’s a very large but, and you know precisely what it is.” He took a breath. “It is my duty to ensure your future, dear girl. You're aware of this, because we’ve discussed it.”

  “At great length,” she muttered.

  “And nothing has changed. The Wednesday club notwithstanding, you simply have to attend Almack’s regularly, otherwise the likelihood of your making a good match anywhere will diminish considerably.”

  Prudence raised her chin. “I hope you understand that attending Almack’s is not a pleasant experience for one in my position. As soon as we enter, I become the cynosure of everyone’s eyes. Especially those mothers with sons they’d like to see well married.” She squared her shoulders. “They don’t see me, Uncle. They simply see your niece. And they’re busy calculating how much I will be worth as a bride.” She shook her head. “You cannot imagine what a crushing feeling that is, to be judged upon the financial value of one’s hand in marriage, rather than the worthiness of one’s personality.”

  The Duke looked at her, a measure of sympathy in his gaze. “As a matter of fact, I can, Prudence. Being a Duke, and assuming the title at a relatively young age, I was also assessed quite thoroughly at Almack’s. And elsewhere, too. Country house parties, hunting boxes…not t
o sound immodest, but I was pursued. Energetically, I might add.”

  Prudence tipped her head to one side. “Really?”

  His lips twisted. “Can you imagine going to your room at the end of an evening at a country house, only to find one of the guests had already made herself at home? In your bed?”

  Prudence sputtered, trying not to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh yes, I can,” he shuddered at the memory.

  “Who…”

  His frown returned. “Don’t ask.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Probably not. And I won’t pursue it.” She smothered her grin. “But I must admit I would like to have seen your face.”

  “Impertinent chit,” he chuckled. “All this is neither here nor there. But I hope it will at least reassure you that I do sympathise with your sentiments about this whole marriage business. We both have a duty, Prudence. Mine is to entertain and investigate any offers for your hand. And those will most likely come from people you meet at Almack’s, since that’s where the majority of marriages seem to be arranged these days. Your duty will be to let me know if you have a preference, and to accept my final word.” He held up his hand. “Please believe that I shall not ever force you to wed against your will. I’m not that kind of brute.”

  Prudence put down her tea and rose, crossing the room to stand by his chair. “I know, Uncle. I couldn’t be more grateful for you, or love you more were you truly my parent.” She leaned over and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. “So I will strike a bargain with you. I will go to Almack’s…once a month. The other three Wednesdays, I shall spend at the Wednesday club. I’m sure Ivy will be happy to go with me if you’d prefer to visit your club on those evenings…”

  The Duke’s head lifted. “No, no. Although I welcome Miss Siddington’s presence and can say how glad I am you have become friends with her, I shall escort you as is proper.”