A Garden for Ivy (The Wednesday Club Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Glad to hear it.” Lady Siddington smiled. “Now. Come and sit. I understand there are matters you wish to discuss.”

  Obediently, Ivy sat next to her grandmother on the large sofa, while Maidenbrooke took a side chair.

  “Indeed we do, Ma’am.” The Duke cleared his throat. “As it seems you’ve heard already, there was an incident at Sydenham House during which your granddaughter and I ended up in a compromising position…in public. Therefore, I immediately announced that we were engaged.” He swallowed. “It seemed the most expedient and effective solution to the situation.”

  Ivy fidgeted. “He didn’t have to do that, Grandmama. It was a stupid matter precipitated by a rude and obnoxious gentleman of no class whatsoever. I think, with a certain amount of dexterity and some help from the Sydenhams, we could have come through it relatively unscathed, without his Grace’s noble gesture. And he certainly didn’t need to puff it off in the Times.”

  “I felt it was necessary, Ivy.” Maidenbrooke’s tone was firm. “I don’t see how scandal could have been avoided otherwise.”

  “Well, if you’d given me a few moments to think, I probably could have found a solution,” she said with a frown.

  “There wasn’t time to think, not with twenty pairs of eyes looking at my hand on your leg, halfway up your skirts,” snapped back the Duke.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake—” she began.

  Lady Siddington rested her hand on top of her granddaughter’s and shot a firm glance at Maidenbrooke. “Ivy. Your Grace. Be quiet, both of you. Picking at each other is no solution to anything.”

  Thus reprimanded, Ivy bit back her anger and observed her fiancé manfully contain his own temper.

  “Sorry, Grandmama,” she offered. “But you must admit, it’s a little frustrating to find oneself engaged because of a stupid idiot’s social ineptitude.”

  “You’re not the only one who was caught by surprise, you know,” said the Duke, shooting her a speaking look.

  She opened her mouth to point out that he had, in fact, created the surprise, but he shook his head at her. “Never mind. What’s done is done. We are engaged, Ivy. So for now, we can’t continue to bicker over how it happened.”

  She blinked. He was taking all this rather better than she was.

  “A valid point, your Grace.” Lady Siddington nodded and folded her hands in her lap. “It would seem we would all benefit from some calm contemplation. I suggest you both take a quiet stroll around the grounds, perhaps. Or you might want to show your fiancé more of the castle, Ivy. We’ll have a light lunch, I think, so the afternoon will be yours. I’ve already had rooms prepared and your bags should be unpacked.”

  “You are very kind,” acknowledged Colly. “I trust this is not too much of an intrusion.”

  “Not at all,” Lady Siddington shook her head. “It is a pleasure to have you both here, and completely acceptable. I think you’ll both agree that conforming to social expectations is the best course of action, given the circumstances?”

  Ivy realised it wasn’t a question.

  “Of course, Grandmama. We’re delighted to be here.”

  The Duke squared his shoulders. “Indeed, we are. Thank you again.”

  Lady Siddington’s smile was a thing of innocent beauty and fooled her granddaughter not one whit.

  Chapter Eight

  The gardens at Siddington Castle were indeed spectacular.

  The Duke was quite happy to wander beside Ivy as she led him down paths carpeted with moss, across miniature stone bridges, over a small hill and around massive bushes of shiny green shrubs.

  “A fairytale garden, it would seem…” he smiled on the words, brushing aside an overhanging bough of weeping willow. The stream next to it burbled satisfactorily.

  “We hope so,” answered Ivy, her eyes reflecting her pleasure in his comment. “The fairies have to be kept happy, you know. They are our protectors.”

  “Standing here, I can well imagine it.” His gaze absorbed the greens, an endless combination of every shade there could be; trees reaching high over ferns, spindly stalks topped with whispering gathers of tiny leaves rustling beneath. The landscape was irregular, any number of small hills interrupting the view with their soft green bumps.

  He pointed in their direction. “Odd arrangement of grass…”

  “An ancient mine, we believe.” She nodded and headed that way as he followed. “Tin, possibly. My grandfather swore the Vikings had done it.”

  “You mean like the burial mounds they left dotted all over the place?”

  “Yes. And it’s not out of the realm of possibility. There have been more than a few Viking artefacts uncovered by surprised farmers in the area.”

  “But you don’t think so?” He caught the dismissal in her tone.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Every few years one of the mounds collapses. There’s even something that might have been an entrance down into a pit or mine of sorts. My sense is that the Vikings built more sturdily with an eye to posterity. Whoever left these mounds had no such intentions.”

  “How long have they been here?” He watched his footing as the path grew rough.

  “For as long as I can remember, of course. And when I asked Grandmama about them, she said they’d been here for several generations at least.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Come,” she beckoned. “There is a bench over here where we may sit for a moment.”

  Rounding a stand of willows, he observed that indeed there was a bench. It was settled into the ground, ringed by bushes, and facing the delightful sight of a stream winding a few feet below. Across the bank were trees and shrubs, flowering profusely. He couldn’t even guess at their names, so he simply gazed at their splendour.

  “A pleasant prospect,” he observed, taking a seat beside her. “A good place to think, one might suppose.”

  Her quick smile was confirmation of his statement. “Yes indeed. I do come here quite often for just that purpose.”

  “I forgot. You grew up here…” The Duke sat, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, a pose of casual relaxation that Ivy found quite disarming.

  “Well, yes, I suppose so. Although Vine Hall was home for my earliest years.” She gazed across the stream and sat next to Colly, arranging her skirts around her knees as the wind toyed with the frills. “I love it here.”

  “You missed your parents, though…” His voice was calm, but with a touch of sympathy.

  “Of course.” She glanced at him. “But Grandmama was wonderful. She and Elvina helped me past the grief and sadness of the accident. I’m not sure what I would have done without them, to be honest.”

  “A tragic occurrence,” the Duke said quietly. “One that leaves a scar on the heart.”

  “Indeed.”

  Touched by his comment, Ivy remained still at his side, letting the soft sounds of water babbling, leaves rustling and birds chirping wash over her. It was peaceful at that moment, and as if Colly sensed it as well, he casually reached out and took her hand in his, and allowing them both to rest, clasped, on his thigh.

  She swallowed, then told herself to relax. It was a friendly gesture of comfort. That was all. She must not read anything into it.

  “We’re awfully lucky, you know.”

  His words surprised her. “How so?”

  “Well here we are, sitting in this glorious place, warmed by the sun, with no worries as to food or shelter. We want for very little, Ivy.”

  “An odd observation, Colly, although yes, you’re right.”

  He sighed. “I’ve had communications of late from several friends with estates in the north.” He released her hand and leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. “Food is scarce. Crops and harvests have been insufficient. People are starving and wages falling.”

  She took a breath. “I have read about some of this. Although not much.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It seems the newspapers would rather publish gossip than things tha
t really matter.”

  “Sad but true.” He shrugged.

  “Do you have holdings in the north?” She touched his arm.

  He turned to her. “No, I don’t. But there’s one thing I find utterly hateful, and that is poverty. To know that British citizens, many of them soldiers who stood with Wellington, are on the verge of starvation…their children dying for lack of food…” He broke off and took a deep breath. “I have difficulty sometimes accepting that such situations exist in a country that prides itself on its sophistication.”

  “The Corn Laws?” She ventured a guess.

  “Certainly aren’t helping,” he answered wryly. “They’ve just pushed the price of a loaf of bread to a point where too many people can’t afford it.” He gazed across the stream. “I read a short piece in the Times over breakfast this morning, before we left. Sitting here now, it came back to me and made me realise how very lucky we are, and how I wish I could do something more to help those who will never have chance to experience moments such as this. Like the one we’re having right now.”

  “Such sentiments do you credit, Colly,” Ivy answered quietly. “Will you take a seat in the House of Lords? Make your opinions known?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve thought of it, of course. But there are too many voices with too little sympathy. It would waste my time and exhaust my patience.”

  “I could wish there were more like you in Parliament.” She looked at him.

  He leaned back and turned to her, his face amused. “Do you? Boring dukes with little conversation and stiff spines?”

  “No, no. You’re completely mistaken.” She took a breath and inhaled his masculine scent, sandalwood and leather and man.

  “But I thought it was common knowledge that I am as dull as dishwater…”

  She couldn’t help the tiny giggle even as she fought back a tingle of feminine desire. “You are too cruel to yourself, and in error. To strangers you are appropriately reticent. But to those who know you, you’re…”

  Her words dried up as he lifted a hand to her face and ran his knuckles over her cheek. “I’m what, Ivy?” He let his fingers slid behind her neck and pull her closer to him. “What am I? What do you think I am?”

  “I think you’re…you’re…” She stuttered, her eyes drifting to his mouth, seeing the full lips curve as he smiled at her. “God, I don’t know what you are…”

  She hungered, but scarcely realised it. His nearness overwhelmed her and their surroundings seemed to be a dream. As a consequence, her need overrode her common sense for one of the first times in her entire life. “Damn you, Colly—please kiss me…”

  “That I can do…”

  His breath was warm on her face as he closed the distance between them, and she let her eyelids fall as his hand slid up into her hair, cradling her head and moving it where he wanted it.

  A touch, a mere brush of skin to skin…and then a sound of something, perhaps a soft groan…and the heat flared between them.

  She found herself in his arms, almost on his lap, and with his tongue in her mouth. Her lips opened wide, encouraging him, and she tasted the flavours of him, tangy and with a hint of mint. Her body trembled as he pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his waistcoat, sliding his arms around her and holding her as tight as could be.

  She fell. Tumbled into the sensations that shuddered through her, a tidal wave of desire sweeping away her inhibitions. She moved, experimenting, finding a way to devour his mouth, to feel him against her in every single spot she could manage.

  He assisted her in that goal, pulling her completely across his lap and holding her tight, one hand sliding down to grab her buttock, the other pressing her roughly against him.

  “Ivy,” he muttered as he tore his mouth from hers and sucked in air. “More. I want more.”

  She gave him more. His desire exactly matched hers, fuel to the flame he had just ignited deep in her body. This was nothing like the occasional brief kiss she’d allowed in the past. Those had been tentative, affectionate and not unpleasant.

  This? This was a whirlwind, a clawing hunger burgeoning inside her, and she twined her arms around every bit of Colly she could reach.

  Long moments passed as they embraced, lost to the world.

  Then he finally pulled away, his cheeks flushed, his eyelids heavy as he stared at her. “Dear Lord, Ivy…”

  *~~*~~*

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Flags of rich colour brought a glow to her face, her lips were reddened and swollen, and she licked them, sending a shiver of arousal through his body. Which he really didn’t need since he was pretty much fully aroused as it was.

  She tasted of…sunshine. Of something light and sweet and womanly that lingered on the back of his tongue and imprinted itself on his brain. She was unique, both in her kisses and her simple desire for his touches. There was no pretence, no false protestations. That sizzling kiss had been honest from the start.

  What a Duchess she would make. To have those kisses reserved solely for him, to know he was the only man who would take her to his bed and…yes, to his heart…well, it was a revelation that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

  “I…I…” she stuttered, lowering her gaze. “I don’t quite know what came over me, Colly. I do beg your pardon.” She slithered back off his lap and onto the bench, shifting her skirts awkwardly. “I have no idea what you must think of me.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re engaged.” He lifted her chin with one finger so that she looked at him. “I liked it. I like kissing you.” He watched the relief flood her eyes.

  “You did?” she breathed. “So did I.”

  “We shall deal well together, I think,” he replied, unable to repress a satisfied smile.

  She blinked. “Er…”

  Aware of the quick ripple of unease that sent a ruffle of lace fluttering around her neck, he eased away and took her hand, holding it firmly. “Our engagement will not be a burden to us, I’m pleased to say. There will be no gossip this time.”

  “Oh. Oh yes, you’re quite right.”

  He had her there, he knew. Grinning inwardly, he applauded himself for squashing the comments he could almost see trembling on her lips. About her intentions to do something absurd like cry off after a respectable time had passed.

  That would not happen. He refused to allow it to happen. His interests had already been captured by this oddly practical but whimsical young woman. He was not going to let her slip from his grasp.

  “Perhaps we should start back,” he said, rising and tugging her to her feet. “I’m rather afraid I’ve lost track of time in these idyllic surroundings.”

  She stood, and he was pleased to note that her legs seemed a bit unsteady. However, he refrained from commenting, merely tucking her hand through his arm and turning them both toward the path to the castle.

  “It will be a quiet time here, Colly,” she began. “I’m afraid there’s little in the way of company here at Siddington.”

  “I should be quite content were it just the two of us,” he soothed. “The company of Lady Siddington and Mrs Ashrayn will be most pleasant.”

  She glanced up at him, the flower on her bonnet slightly crooked. “You are not easy to understand, you know.”

  He grinned as he put the rose back in place. “How so?”

  “You are a gentleman of the highest social standing in our world. Certainly in London. You have a title, wealth and all the trappings that go along with it. And yet you seem very aware of the burdens carried by others and profess yourself content with the company of three ladies in a rather isolated castle.” She shook her head. “Most confusing.”

  “But there’s my acknowledged passion for castles,” he pointed out. “And I haven’t seen the dungeons yet. Please tell me you have dungeons. Every castle must possess them to be worthy of its name. Along with the requisite ghosts, rattling chains and distant screams of agony as the spirits of tortured prisoners shriek for eternity.”
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  Ivy rolled her eyes. “I forgot to add that you have an unusually colourful imagination for a peer of the realm.”

  “Someone has to break the mould,” he replied.

  Apparently she needed to give that comment some consideration, since her only response was a chuckle. They strolled back to Siddington together, arm-in-arm, warmed by the sunshine and at ease with each other. For the Duke, it was another in a series of rare and unexpected moments of enjoyment. As if he had laid aside his ducal obligations and could simply be a man relishing the companionship of a woman he…he what?

  A conundrum that would need an answer.

  But for now, just being, naturally existing in this idyllic afternoon with Ivy, was enough.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun shone until late afternoon, dimming slowly as clouds darkened the western horizon and thickened ominously.

  The Siddington party was finishing tea in the parlour as Elvina strolled to the window and looked out. “Storm coming, I would say.” She sighed. “The rain is always welcome and at least it held off until you both returned.”

  Ivy glanced up from the desk. “We’re tracing our route on this old map. It is so interesting…”

  The Duke bent over beside her, chuckled. “I cannot believe I am actually staring at something that was drawn nearly three hundred years ago.” He reverently touched the paper with a fingertip. “How it has remained in such good condition, I will never understand.”

  Lady Siddington nodded from her comfortable chair. “We try to take the best care possible of our legacy, your Grace. I’m sure you do the same. These things are part of the Siddington estate, of course, but I’ve always believed that we are holding our history in trust for future generations. I hate the thought of having to sell anything, for example.” She sighed. “But it’s likely that in time the need will arise. I just hope I won’t be here to see it.”

  Maidenbrooke smiled in agreement. “Well this map is certainly a treasure for the family.” He turned back. “But this stream here…it appears to be on a different course than the one we saw this afternoon, Ivy?”