by Sahara Kelly
“Good morning, Miss.”
A friendly voice spoke, and Ivy stepped through to find a snug office, also spotlessly clean. There were books, shelves, a small fireplace with a charming screen, and several chairs, along with the large desk from behind which a short, portly gentleman arose. He wore a deep green jacket and matching waistcoat, and the red beard he sported fluffed around his chin, dusted with grey to match the hairs on his head. He was, Ivy realised, not unlike the pictures she’d seen of leprechauns.
“And how may I be helping you on this lovely morning?”
She smiled at the distinctive touch of an Irish brogue, perfectly in keeping with his appearance. “I’m looking for some assistance with a garden project, sir. Your organisation was recommended to me by Sir Laurence Sydenham?”
“Ah, foine man,” nodded the gentleman. “Please come in. I’m Darby McCarthy, and I manage most of the O’Malley projects.” He glanced around. “Would your maid care to take a seat while we chat?” He pointed at a chair tucked into one corner.
“I believe she would appreciate that,” nodded Ivy. “Thank you.” She glanced at Betty, seeing the relief flooding the girl’s face. She really needed to learn to tramp for miles. It would have to be Siddington Castle then, whether Betty liked it or not.
Turning back to Mr McCarthy, Ivy took a breath. “I’m here to ask about having a fountain built and a small garden created, sir.”
“I see,” he nodded. “Well, we can certainly do that.”
“Yes, we can, Darby. How about I speak with the young lady about her project personally?” A door, tucked away on one side of the room, had opened and a man stepped through.
Ivy caught her breath.
He radiated elegance from his slightly dishevelled gleaming black hair all the way to his matching shiny boots.
Apparel aside, it was his eyes that snagged Ivy’s attention. As green as the isle he obviously hailed from, they were so merry, inviting one to smile back. Amazingly long and thick black lashes framed them, and it was hard to pay much attention to the soft grey jacket that topped a rich green brocade waistcoat and spotless white shirt.
Everything impacted on Ivy’s consciousness at once, and it took her a moment to react.
“Goodness, I apologise if I was staring,” she said, blinking. “Your appearance was quite sudden.”
“No apologies necessary.” He smiled, doing serious damage to what was left of her mind. “I’m O’Malley. Ronan O’Malley.” He bowed. “At your service.” His eyes, filled with that wondrous wicked gleam, met hers. “And you are…?”
“Surprised, Sir Ronan.” She took the hand he extended and dropped a polite curtsey. “Do you always involve yourself with such minor jobs?”
“Only when they’re presented for consideration by a beautiful lass who has to have been blessed with magic by the Sidhe at some point in her life.”
Ivy frowned. “I do beg your pardon, but I’m not sure I catch your meaning?”
Mr McCarthy chuckled. “He’s telling you that the wee folk, the fae, have touched you somehow, Miss. It’s the colouring. The Irish like to think your particular combination comes directly from the fairies. The Sidhe we call ‘em.” He pronounced it clearly and the word, which sounded like ‘sheeay’, rang some bells in her mind from her childhood.
“Ah,” she nodded, as she recalled the conversation with the Sydenhams. “Well I’m sorry to say that if that were true, I’d probably know about it and I don’t, so I must disabuse your mind of the notion.” She glanced at Mr McCarthy. “I’m Ivy Siddington. Two ‘d’s’ if you need it for your files, since it appears you’ve accepted the work.”
Sir Ronan was watching her with unconcealed delight. “I’d never forgive myself if we let you walk out of here unsatisfied, Miss Siddington.” He paused, and tilted his head to one side. “It is Miss Siddington then?”
She lifted her chin. His pointed comment and question trod the boundary between polite and insinuating and irritated her. He was a little too sure of himself for her liking.
“I am here to explore the creation of a fountain and a small garden for the Duke of Maidenbrooke, Sir Ronan, at his town residence, Hartsmere House. I cannot see where my status has anything to do with it.”
“And I’m sure Sir Ronan agrees,” interpolated Mr McCarthy with a wide smile aimed at her. “His Grace is known for his particular attention to all that is appropriate. The O’Malleys can create exactly what is required and will doubtless meet or exceed his expectations.” A sharp glance at Sir Ronan followed.
Ivy pursed her lips at the poor little man’s attempt to defuse his employer’s inappropriate question. “Well, you certainly both possess confidence in abundance. How am I to judge your expertise?”
“We can provide references, of course,” McCarthy squared his shoulders. “We wouldn’t expect you to proceed without them.”
“That would be acceptable,” she nodded.
“I’d invite you into my office, but that would not be proper,” said Sir Ronan. His dratted eyes twinkled. “And I would not have you thinking that O’Malley’s is anything but correct. So…” He pulled up another chair. “Tell us about this fountain and garden, Miss Ivy Siddington. How can we bring your dreams to life?”
She sighed and sat. “You can start by eliminating the fanciful from your conversation, sir. I am here to hire your company for a construction job. That is all.” She shot him a firm look. “Flirting is not on my agenda today.”
“You wound me,” he said, his hand flying to his heart as he looked distraught.
Ivy remained unmoved.
“You are a cruel woman. But perhaps it’s that touch of Sidhe magic. They’re known for their cruelty as well as their charm.”
“My garden?” She tapped her fingers on the desk.
He sighed. “Paper, Darby. And a pen. We must pay attention to Miss Siddington now. If she wants a garden for the Duke, then a garden she shall have. And, I might add, it will be the finest garden in all of London.”
“I would expect nothing less.” She settled her skirts and forced herself to focus on the work at hand. “Now I’m particularly interested in getting the sound of the water falling just right in the fountain…”
The fact that she was sitting less than a foot away from one of the most attractive men she’d ever met in her entire life…well, that meant absolutely nothing at all.
She swallowed, pulled her focus to the Duke’s project, and did her best to ignore the outrageously appealing Sir Ronan O’Malley for the rest of the morning.
*~~*~~*
“Forgive me, uncle, but that was the most boring few days I’ve spent in quite some time.” Prudence leaned back in the carriage with a sigh of relief. “The Streatfords may be of great consequence, as her Ladyship managed to insinuate on many occasions, but Mr Albert Streatford is still, to be blunt, an ill-mannered lackwit. I apologise if I am insulting a family connection.”
The Duke shook his head. “I am ashamed to admit that I am in the fullest agreement with that sentiment. And it reflects poorly on me that I cannot find a single virtue with which to endow not only young Mr Streatford, but the entire damn family.”
Prudence peeked around her bonnet and grinned. “Let’s not do that again.”
“We had no choice, really.” The Duke spread his hands out helplessly. “The Streatfords are distantly related to the Maidenbrookes and unfortunately that matters in the overall scheme of things. So any association with them is a courtesy, and we are honour-bound to view it as such.”
“I do understand. But this is perhaps the third or fourth visit. And of course, since there’s an eligible young Streatford and you have an unwed niece…” She let her voice trail off.
“Yes, yes. I know. It was quite obvious.” He pursed his lips. “Lady Streatford has always behaved as if she ruled not only the Streatford line, but the Maidenbrooke line as well. I believe my parents suffered from her interference, if I remember correctly. She is quite convinced of her own superiority. I a
m so sorry about it.”
“Horridly so,” sighed Prudence. “But it’s certainly not your fault. If you will forgive my forthright speech—she’s a pushy termagant, a bully and certainly not one to view her sonas anything other than the next arrogant Streatford.” She took a breath. “I would probably feel sorry for him were he not possessed of such an unpleasant character.”
“Well, we’re done with them, for now at least.” The Duke gazed out of the window. “I will try to avoid such situations, I promise you. Not just because they’re difficult for you, but also because they’re extremely annoying for me.”
“I am much relieved to hear it,” answered Prudence. “And also much relieved to be heading back to town, even though we are a day early.”
He grinned. “Anticipating your visit to the Wednesday club?”
“Well, I had expected to miss it this week, but now you come to mention it, yes, I would love to go.”
“Then you shall. As your reward for not dumping the bowl of trifle over Albert Streatford’s head.”
She blushed. “Thank you for noticing my restraint. But when he started talking about this play he’d just read, and declaring he would instruct me on how to interpret it because it would probably be too complex for me to understand…it was Hamlet, for heaven’s sake, Uncle. I could quote half of it…”
“And you were sitting right next to the trifle…”
“I was indeed rather close to disaster…”
“You know something,” the Duke observed thoughtfully, “it would have suited him.”
Their driver smiled to hear the merriment from within. It wasn’t a long journey back to town, and the weather was fine, so with a cheerful whistle he clicked up the horses to a spanking pace, urged on by the sound of two happy people sharing a jest.
Being a sensible girl, Prudence had not shied away from the idea of marriage. She knew eventually she would wed, and that her future husband would be from a well-born family. It was no secret that the upper classes preferred to marry within their ranks. There were logical estate considerations that were easily concluded by a carefully arranged marriage. There were fortunes that could be expanded, properties exchanged or traded…the business of marrying was just that. A business. And the arrangements would not be simple or quick.
In her case there was money, of course. Her parents’ estate was hers, managed on her behalf by her Uncle. He was not afraid to speak with her about it, and as soon as he’d understood she was interested, he hadn’t hesitated to give her occasional updates. She appreciated that, since it was rare for a man to even discuss such things with a woman, let alone a young woman who was under his jurisdiction.
But Uncle Colly was a different sort of Duke. And a different sort of man. She was grateful for both, since she hadn’t had to worry about being foisted off onto a lackwit like Albert Streatford, even though his lineage was impeccable and his fortune acceptable. It would have been an approvingly sanctioned union by many viewing the situation.
The landscape passed by the carriage window, unseen by the young woman staring out, deep in thought.
Who, wondered Prudence, would be the man she would wed? Would she love him immediately? Or would it be a slow tumble into that desired state? Judith Withersby had fallen, and Rose had slid into it with Miles Linfield.
Both were love matches, it was plain to see. What would be her fate and who would be the one to share her life?
She took a deep breath, suddenly realising the implications.
Marriage, children, taking her place as one of the upper ten thousand. Grimacing slightly, she clenched her teeth at the thought of having to attend interminable teas, functions of a charitable nature and nights at the theatre where the only topics discussed were who had taken a new mistress.
No, no and no, she vowed silently. That will not be me.
The pace of the carriage slowed and she blinked as the familiar streets of London appeared. They were home already.
“You’ve been quiet,” remarked her Uncle as he straightened himself. “Is all well?”
“Just thinking,” she smiled. “I’m happy, Uncle Colly. Thank you.” She leaned over and dropped a kiss on his cheek, surprising him.
“What’s that for?”
“Just for being you.”
“Oh. Well.” He looked a bit disconcerted and as the carriage drew to a standstill, he busied himself with the door.
“Goodness. Isn’t that Ivy?” Prudence stared at the figure emerging from the front door of Hartsmere House.
“What?” The Duke glanced up. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.” He stepped out, muttering to himself.
Prudence swore she heard him curse.
“Miss Siddington. What luck.” His hearty tones were slightly out of character, and Prudence couldn’t help but wonder at it, especially when Ivy’s eyes widened and a quick look of shock crossed her face.
“Oh, good afternoon, your Grace.” She laughed a little. “I’d quite forgotten that you were not due to return today.”
The Duke shrugged. “We cut our visit short.” He cleared his throat. “I am guessing you were leaving that book you spoke of when last we met?”
“Oh, er, yes. Yes indeed. The…er…book.” She darted a look at Prudence. “Will you both be attending the Wednesday Club this evening?”
Prudence allowed herself to be handed out of the carriage by the footman who had rushed out as soon as they arrived. “I’ll be there, Ivy. I am glad we’re back in time. Not sure about you, though, Uncle? Will you be able to join us?”
The Duke seemed to have difficulty dragging his gaze from Ivy, but finally turned to his niece. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Hiding her amusement, Prudence simply smiled. “Lovely.”
“I’ll see you both there, then. Good day to you.” Ivy dipped a curtsey to the Duke, waved at Prudence, and hurried off as if all the bats from Hell were after her.
Prudence managed not to giggle. She walked sedately to her Uncle and took his arm as they mounted the steps of Hartsmere House. “Well, won’t this evening be delightful?”
She glanced up at his face, noticing his even features schooled to expressionless perfection. “Indeed.” His answer was also noncommittal.
Prudence kept her chuckles to herself until she had reached her room. Then she gave up and let loose the laughter.
Something was going on between Ivy and her Uncle.
All she had to do was find out what and perhaps help it along.
Chapter Four
“He was, without question, one of the most charming and handsome men I’ve ever come across.” Ivy kept her voice low as she told her friends about her morning’s excursion to the O’Malley’s. They were tucked into a small alcove, watching the dancing at the Wednesday Club’s evening event.
“Really?” Judith’s eyes widened.
“Oh yes,” Ivy fanned herself. “And such an elegant flirt. It took me several minutes to realise he was actually flirting, not just being delightful.”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting him,” mused Lydia with a little grin.
“I was thinking that too,” added Rose. “But I didn’t want to say it out loud, because that might be construed as being disloyal to Miles.”
“It’s only us,” shrugged Lydia, “but I do understand your dilemma.”
“Anyway,” continued Ivy, “he was quite a help with the whole garden and fountain plan. I think it will look lovely, and they can have it done in a week. Which works perfectly, since I understand from his Grace that they’re off again at the weekend, back to Maidenbrooke Castle. Some sort of annual family gathering. Prudence didn’t look too thrilled, but she’s got a good heart and she understands familial obligations.”
“So it will be done by the time they return?”
“I hope so.” Ivy answered Judith’s question. “I now have the run of Hartsmere House, so the staff will know what’s going on. As long as it’s a surprise for Prudence—that’s really all that matters to the Du
ke. I just have to keep it all as confidential as possible.”
“He is quite kind beneath that icy exterior, isn’t he?” said Rose.
“He’s not in the least bit icy, you know. That’s all a facade.” Ivy rushed to his defence. “He has to be careful around people. He’s a Duke and the things he might say could very easily be taken amiss, or used for someone else’s gain.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to watch every word one says, or every gesture, lest it be misunderstood. He really bears up under it all exceedingly well.” She missed the quick glance that flashed between her three friends.
“He is lucky to have your support, dear,” said Lydia maternally, patting Ivy’s arm. “As does Prudence. Any thoughts on her possible marriage?”
Before Ivy could answer, Maud Sydenham crossed the room. “Girls. Help.”
“What?” Lydia and the others rose rapidly.
“The Streatfords.”
“Oh Lord.” Ivy groaned. “I’ve heard of them. Her, at least. And her son—according to Prudence—is, and I quote, an utter nincompoop. There may be designs on Prudence as a possible bride.”
“Young Prudence got it right on the nose,” sighed Maud. “I might need some assistance in dealing with her Ladyship.”
Lydia gathered her skirts. “Shall we drown her in the punch? Drive a violin bow into her left ear? Command us, O General. We shalt do thy bidding.”
“I have pins in my reticule…” Ivy looked thoughtful.
Lady Maud chuckled. “Nothing so drastic, darlings, but I do appreciate the creativity.” She paused. “Especially the violin bow. I rather like that. Messy, but effective.”
She led the little group to the foyer, where a loud voice could be heard over the music.
“Tell your mistress that Lady Streatford and the Honourable Albert Streatford have arrived. Make it quick, man. She’ll not like being kept waiting for news of our presence.” A large woman glared down a hawk-like nose at Hobson.
Who was completely unimpressed. “Madam will, of course, have an invitation? One that includes the—er—Honourable Albert?” Hobson raised one eyebrow at the rotund young gentleman eyeing several pretty ladies through his glass with what could only be described as a leer.
