A Garden for Ivy (The Wednesday Club Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “That’s what I’ve wondered too. Hence my hour with Debrett’s.”

  “Well we should certainly make a point of asking Sir Laurence and Lady Maud if they’ve any ideas at all…”

  “Do you think I should attend the Wednesday Club tomorrow?” Ivy bit her lip. “Without Colly?”

  Prudence blinked. “Goodness, I’m not certain you should be asking me that question,” she answered. “I’m sure there are others better qualified to respond.” She paused. “But logically, it would appear that you are visiting friends, since you’ve been close with the Sydenhams, and of course Judith, Rose, and Lydia. It’s not as if you’re there to snabble a husband or anything.”

  “Good point.” Ivy sighed. “I shall ask Woodleigh. I believe he knows everything.”

  Chuckling, Prudence nodded. “Always the safest course of action. Ask the butler.”

  As if summoned by some mystical force, the aforementioned butler tapped on the door at that moment and peered around the jamb. “Beg pardon, your Grace. Sir Ronan O’Malley begs a moment of your time.”

  “Oh…er…” Ivy stumbled, tripping over the thought that Prudence mustn’t know why he was there, and then grasping for excuses to explain his presence.

  Prudence stood, a smile lingering on her face. “I expect you’d like to talk with him about the secret project I’m completely unaware of.”

  Ivy’s jaw dropped and her mind blanked.

  “It’s quite all right, dear Ivy. I know nothing about it.” She turned to leave, but glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, by the way. Good afternoon, Sir Ronan…” She dropped a polite curtsey to the man who entered. “I believe her Grace will regain the power of speech shortly.”

  Sir Ronan and Woodleigh stared at each other, then turned to watch Prudence sail nonchalantly from the room.

  “What the devil was that all about?” Sir Ronan turned to Ivy, who had managed to struggle to her feet.

  “That young woman is a force to be reckoned with,” she sighed. “I forget sometimes that there is a brilliant mind inside that beautiful young head.”

  “Is that so,” he answered thoughtfully. “Well young lasses are often full of surprises, aren’t they now.”

  Ivy recalled herself. “I apologise, Sir Ronan. And I suppose you should know that Prudence is no longer in the dark about the fountain and garden project.”

  His handsome mouth twisted into a wry grin. “I never made the mistake of thinking she was.”

  She couldn’t help smiling back. “It seems most of the world is smarter than I am today.”

  “Nay, never say so.” He sobered. “I’ve a mite of information for you, your Grace.” He walked to her and took a seat at the table, ignoring the remains of lunch. “Sit if you would?”

  Somewhat amused at being invited to sit at her own table, Ivy obeyed.

  “Now, ‘tis said that Miss Ringwood, of whom we spoke earlier, is to attend the Wednesday Club tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” said Ivy, intrigued. “Prudence and I were just discussing whether to go ourselves. Now it seems as if we must.”

  He nodded. “I would recommend it.” His face was unusually serious. “She has a link, a connection to someone who wishes your husband ill.”

  “You are sure?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “But who?”

  Sir Ronan shook his head. “That I do not know. However, another piece of gossip has surfaced, and this is an ugly one.”

  Ivy straightened. “Tell me. Best I hear it as plain words from a friend rather than a hushed whisper from an enemy.”

  “Well put,” he said with approval. “The current rumour has your husband as a silent partner in a string of brothels that use the starving women in the north to make their coin.” He lowered his head. “And believe me, some of the things said about those places…well, it’s not good. Not good at all.”

  Ivy closed her eyes for a moment or two, then opened them again. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Colly? Brothels? He’s so…so straitlaced…” She almost laughed.

  “Listen, girl. The rumour isn’t that he’s visiting them. It’s that he’s taking their profits.” Sir Ronan fixed her with a sober gaze. “And to some, that’s even worse.”

  *~~*~~*

  Sir Ronan’s words rang in Ivy’s ears as she prepared for their visit to the Wednesday Club. There had been one quickly scrawled note from Colly; he had reached the outskirts of Manchester and had found a pleasant room to stay in. That was all. She could infer nothing more than the simple facts, but consoled herself with the knowledge he was safe. For now.

  She and Prudence had spent time poring over tomes filled with lineage records—the Hartsmere House library had more than its fair share. But nowhere could they find or make a connection between the Ringwoods and the Maidenbrooke line.

  It was Ivy’s hope that by actually meeting Miss Ringwood she might be able to find out more, but she was not convinced it would help. Besides, if this girl was actively spreading rumours and lies about Maidenbrooke, then it was unlikely she’d quietly tell her secrets, reveal her sources, or empty her soul to his Duchess.

  Mindful of the fact that this was her first appearance at the Sydenham’s as Colly’s wife, and that in all likelihood her elevation to Duchess would make her the cynosure of every eye there, she spent considerable time on her toilette. Finally, she summoned Prudence.

  “Will I do?”

  “Hmm.” Prudence eyed the rich green silk and velvet gown, nodding at the tiny bows topping the shoulders and edging the hem. Her eyes rose upward to where the ruched velvet hugged Ivy’s curves, and further up to the elegant red curls held in place by a matching band of green.

  “Yes. You’re perfect. Don’t change a thing.” Prudence beamed.

  “Gloves. Where are my gloves…oh and my reticule…and I should wear fancier jewellery or something…Oh God…”

  “Ivy.”

  “What?”

  “Stop panicking. Take a breath. Your ear bobs are perfect, as is your gold chain with the lovely pearl pendant. There are your gloves, on the bed next to your shawl. Pick them up and let’s go.”

  Ivy shook her head. “You’re right.” She drew on her long gloves. “I am panicking. When I’ll ever get used to being the Duchess of Maidenbrooke, I don’t know. Inside I’m still mousy little Ivy Siddington.” She sighed.

  “There three things wrong with that statement,” scolded Prudence as she turned to lead them from the room. “Firstly, you will very soon become used to being the Duchess, and I’m absolutely sure it will be much easier when you have your actual physical Duke escorting you.” She reached out for the bannister as she proceeded down the stairs, still talking. “Secondly, you were never mousy.”

  Ivy snorted, but kept pace with Prudence.

  “Thirdly, Ivy and the Duchess of Maidenbrooke are one and the same person. And I adore you, because you’re kind, gentle and sensible, you have a lovely sense of humour and my uncle has shown astounding wisdom in choosing you for his bride.” She finished as she reached the bottom step. “Am I right on all counts?”

  “I’m…I’m…” stuttered Ivy. “At a loss for words, I suppose.” She leaned over and dropped a kiss on Prudence’s cheek. “I adore you too.”

  Woodleigh, who awaited them both with cloaks at the ready, allowed himself a deep sigh. “Your Grace, Miss Prudence. The carriage awaits. It can, of course, continue to wait, should you have more complimentary expressions of affection to discuss. However, it behoves me to mention that time is passing, and should you wish to engage in more than one dance this evening, you might want to consider departing within the hour?”

  Prudence giggled as Ivy hid her smile behind her fan.

  “You are quite right, Woodleigh and, as always, ready to ground our silly flights of fancy,” said Prudence, allowing him to slip her cloak around her shoulders. “Whatever would we do without you?”

  “I dread the thought,” added
Ivy, accepting her cloak as well. “Keep on doing everything you’re doing, Woodleigh. The name of Maidenbrooke is greatly enhanced by your presence here at Hartsmere House.”

  “You are too kind, Your Grace.” He bowed deeply. “I wish you both well this evening. And since I have a sneaking suspicion you are about to pursue what might be termed a ‘clue’, for lack of a better word, as to his Grace’s problems, may fortune smile upon your efforts.” He bowed again.

  “Er…thank you,” said Ivy. “Come along, Prudence.” She hurried the young girl from the hall.

  “Goodness.” Prudence gasped as Ivy all but pushed her into the carriage.

  “Quick. I’m not sure I can trade long and elegantly phrased sentences with Woodleigh any longer. It’s taxing my mental capabilities.”

  Their giggles were smothered by the closing of the carriage door.

  “Are we in search of a clue, Ivy?”

  “We are certainly going to have a nice chat with Miss Beatrice Ringwood,” returned Ivy firmly. “I’ve a few things I’d like to discuss with that young lady.”

  “I should’ve brought a cricket bat,” mused Prudence. “Just in case she refuses to talk.”

  Ivy snickered. “Darling, we’re going to question her, not beat the answers out of her.”

  “Are you sure? And we don’t have to use it, just have it handy as an implied threat sort of thing…”

  Ivy thought for a moment or two, then settled back against the squabs. “I’ll wager Sir Laurence has one tucked away somewhere. We’ll ask Lady Maud.”

  “Oh goody.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Woodleigh’s prediction that they would miss most of the dances did not, happily, come to pass. They were, of course, a little late, but that was only to be expected given the crush of carriages outside Sydenham House.

  “My goodness, the whole world’s here tonight, it would seem,” murmured Prudence as she gathered her cloak around her. “Almack’s must be deserted.”

  Ivy straightened her shoulders. “I really hope it has nothing to do with my ascension through the ranks of the aristocracy or the gossip about Colly, but I’d not wager on it, knowing the predilection some people have for such things.”

  “Sadly, I have to agree.” Prudence nodded as the carriage jerked forward and stopped again. “But look on the bright side, Ivy.”

  “There is one?”

  “Oh yes. My consequence has soared to even higher levels.”

  Ivy nearly choked on the laugh that bubbled from her throat. “Damn you, Prudence…”

  They joined the throng walking up the stairs to the Sydenham’s front door, and Ivy couldn’t help but notice the glances flying her way. She sighed and did her best to ignore them, although she rather felt like a deer targeted by a barrage of hunters.

  “Good evening Your Grace,” Hobson bowed. “Miss Hartsmere-Drake.”

  His warm smile did much to restore Ivy’s composure, and both she and Prudence managed to catch their breaths as the maids relieved them of their cloaks.

  As they tied their dance cards into place, the butler approached. “I believe Lady Maud is at the door of the ballroom, ladies,” murmured Hobson. “She will be happy to see that you’re here.”

  Ivy shared a conspiratorial smile and led Prudence through the crowd to where she could see Lady Maud greeting her guests.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Firstly because it’s lovely to welcome you as your Grace the Duchess of Maidenbrooke, but secondly because Laurence and I want nothing more than to get to the root of these horrid rumours. And what better place to start?” She gestured to the crowds filling the ballroom.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Prudence, dropping a curtsey. “You’ll have to forgive my new aunt. She’s a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”

  Maud grinned at the girl. “She is lucky in her new niece. Now then, let’s make a bit of an entrance, shall we?”

  Taking Ivy’s arm, she led them toward the noise of music and conversation, making sure to stand dead centre between the two columns at either side of the ballroom door.

  There was a hush as they paused for a moment or two, and Ivy felt her cheeks burning under the weight of all the gazes directed her way.

  Then the music struck up once more and the dancers moved into position for the next dance.

  “There, that should do it.” Maud nodded in satisfaction as Sir Laurence made his way toward them.

  “Nicely done, my dear.” He grinned at his wife. “Hallo Ivy, Prudence. You certainly caused a stir.”

  “Not by choice, Sir Sidney,” sighed Ivy.

  “Oh I don’t know,” chuckled Prudence. “I rather liked it, myself. I haven’t ever caused a stir. It was quite fun.”

  “Ladies. Here you are. Right in the centre of attention. I should’ve known.”

  A cheerful voice hailed them, and Ivy turned to see Sir Ronan standing next to her. “Oh, goodness. The entire world is here tonight. I was correct.”

  He laughed. “I’m a presence, certainly, but not quite the entire world.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of fluttering hearts who might think so,” teased Ivy.

  “You’re too generous, your Grace.” He bowed, his lips curling into a warm smile as he turned from her to her companion. “Miss Prudence. We’re to dance I believe.”

  She blinked. “We are? But…”

  He raised her arm and took the tiny pencil from her wrist, writing his name all over her dance programme. “See? My name right there, and for this dance too…”

  Prudence glanced at Ivy. “May I?”

  “Of course,” answered Ivy. “Bring her back to me in one piece, Sir Ronan.” Her gaze was as stern as she could manage.

  “I’ll do my best.” He led her off.

  Ivy swallowed. “I hope I did the right thing.”

  “He’s a bit of a lad, as they say, but you can trust him with Prudence,” reassured Sir Laurence.

  “Now whether you can trust Prudence with him is another matter,” Maud gazed after the retreating couple. “She’s bright, attractive and eager to test her wings, I’m thinking. But Laurence is right. She’ll come to no harm with Sir Ronan.”

  A hushed squeaky sort of sound rang out behind them and Ivy turned to see Rose and Lydia bearing down on her, followed by Lord Miles, Mowbray Linfield and Sir Ragnor Withersby.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” sighed Ivy. “I wasn’t sure I’d have chance to see you or talk to you…”

  “Nonsense,” said Lydia determinedly. “We’re all in this together. Now go and have a dance with…I don’t know…Ragnor, take her onto the floor and show her off. Once that’s done, then we can talk.”

  Sir Ragnor, nothing loth, bowed correctly to Ivy. “Your Grace?” His blue-grey eyes twinkled. “May I have the pleasure?”

  She answered his smile with one of her own. “It would be delightful, Sir Ragnor. Thank you.”

  He swept her into the dance with barely a blink, and she wondered if all gentlemen were blessed with such skilful manoeuvres or if she was simply lucky.

  “Is Judith here?” she asked, as the figures drew them together.

  “No, she wasn’t feeling quite the thing this evening, so she begged off.”

  Ivy frowned. “I hope she’s not coming down with something.”

  His lips twitched. “Well, no. She isn’t. But yes she is in a way, too.”

  “Er…what?” Ivy looked at him, trying to puzzle out his obscure comment.

  He leaned toward her as they crossed hands and turned, whispering in her ear.

  Her face lit up. “Oh, my goodness. Oh, Sir Ragnor…”

  “Hush,” he admonished. “Nobody knows yet, since we haven’t announced it. But Judith gave me permission to share the news with her friends this evening. And you’re the first one I’ve caught on her own.”

  “I am beyond ecstatic,” she laughed. “And my congratulations to you both. When do you expect the happy event?”

 
“Sometime early in the new year,” he beamed.

  She squeezed his hand. “What an exciting thought. And how thrilled you must both be.”

  “We are indeed. I’ll tell Rose and Lydia when I get the chance. My wife is well at the moment, but gets tired quite easily, so that’s why she’s not here.”

  “I understand,” nodded Ivy. “And thank you for sharing such wonderful news.”

  The dance drew to a close, although she could scarce recall performing her part. She hoped she hadn’t disgraced herself too badly, but nobody was staring and pointing at her, so she supposed it had gone well.

  With Ragnor’s news uppermost in her mind, she allowed him to lead her to Lady Maud, knowing the others would join her shortly. For just a few moments, all thoughts of trouble had flown from her mind, and she’d simply been ecstatic to learn one of her best friends would be having a child.

  There was wonder in the world, despite the darkness that lurked in whispers and corners. Ivy counted herself lucky to know both.

  *~~*~~*

  When Ragnor announced the news again sometime later, it was to a small room that seemed filled with people. But it was only the four ladies—Ivy, Rose, Lydia and Prudence—and the usual gentlemen. They beamed, Miles applauding, Mowbray grinning from ear to ear, and Matthew shaking his head.

  “Now you’ve gone and done it,” he moaned dramatically. “All we’ll hear about from now on is babies.” He sighed.

  “Nonsense,” argued Lydia. “It is wonderful news, but there are other matters we must discuss as well. When little Withersby arrives, yes, we’ll probably all be quite stupidly thrilled about it for several months. But…” she glanced at Ivy, “we have things to settle first.”

  Mowbray chuckled, drawing their gazes. “What? I was just enjoying the ‘little Withersby’ sobriquet.” He looked at Ragnor. “You’d better get used to it. I’m afraid your firstborn will be little Withersby in everyone’s mind from now on.”

  Ragnor shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will mind particularly.” His grin faded as he glanced at Ivy. “But Lydia’s right. Is there any news from Maidenbrooke, Ivy?”