The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Victorine grinned and followed her into the almshouse.

  Inside a snug parlour off the entryway, they found Mrs. Mennell and a white-haired woman working on a small linen cot quilt. Mrs. Mennell greeted them and introduced her companion, Mrs. Russell.

  Victorine bent to look closer at the quilt and saw it was stitched with a repeating pattern of mermaids, ships, and exotic-looking fish. “How delightful!”

  Mrs. Mennell said softly, “I am glad you think so. It is a gift for Mrs. Russell’s great-granddaughter, whose father is a sailor.”

  Mrs. Russell said, “I haven’t much, but thanks to Mrs. Mennell, I shall have a lovely gift to send for the new baby.”

  “How kind.”

  Peg Hornebolt said, “Speaking of kind, Miss Victorine here has come to ask if you need any help with mending and such.”

  Mrs. Mennell turned to look at her, brows raised. “Oh?”

  “At no charge,” Victorine hurried to clarify.

  The matron considered, then asked, “Have you ever done any quilting?”

  “No.” Victorine shook her head. Then she grinned and added, “But I would be happy to learn.”

  Later, back in the shop, Victorine was wrapping Julia Featherstone’s daydress in tissue when the shop door opened and a dark-haired man stepped inside. She reared her head back in surprise. It was the first time a man had entered her shop.

  The handsome guard swept off his hat. “Good day to you, madame. Remember me? Jack Gander, with His Majesty’s Royal Mail.”

  “What brings you here? I’m afraid I do not make attire for gentlemen. If you need a quick seam repair or button sewn, I can assist you this one time, but otherwise I cannot help you.”

  He reached up and yanked a button from his red coat, drawing a gasp from her. He held it out, shredded thread and all. “As you can see, I am in dire need of your services. Thank you for making an exception for me.” He smiled his charming smile, dash him.

  She swallowed, determined to remain officious. “Take off your coat.”

  His eyebrows rose. “As you wish.”

  He did so, and she pretended not to be affected by the sight of this man in his shirt-sleeves. She had seen many men attired in even less before, when she had made garments for men as well as women. This was no different, she told herself. In vain.

  While she sat at her worktable to sew on the button, he sat on a stool nearby, watching her.

  “Are you sure you were not the ropewalker at Astley’s Ampitheatre?”

  “I already told you, that was not me.”

  He pressed his fingers to his temple. “But I’m convinced I’ve seen your face in print or a painting somewhere, and the image is seared on my brain.”

  “I am in earnest. You probably saw some other brunette. Men so easily confuse females with similar hair and build, I find.”

  He watched her a few moments longer, then asked, “Why do you not serve men in your shop? Do you not like men?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  He smirked at that and tilted his head to one side. “If you did make gentlemen’s clothes, what would you make for me? I rarely see myself in anything other than my uniform.”

  “Thankfully you look good in red.”

  He leaned nearer, playful grin on his handsome face. “I am glad you think so.”

  “However,” she added, “I think you would look better in a darker hue, like maroon, more suited to your coloring. Or a deep blue.”

  One brow rose. “Determined to keep me humble, are you?”

  “I doubt such a feat possible.”

  He grinned.

  She knotted and cut off the thread. “There. Good as new.”

  Before he could rise, she stood, stepped behind him, and settled the coat around his shoulders. She then helped him fit his arms into the sleeves, her hands lingering on his shoulders, under the pretense of smoothing the fabric.

  She murmured, “You have a good tailor.”

  His eyes glinted knowingly. “I shall pass along your compliments.”

  He rose and surveyed his reflection in the long mirror. “Perhaps you will branch out into gentlemen’s attire one day, madame. Ivy Hill has no tailor.”

  “Oh, I doubt I shall be here that long, unless I earn Lady Brockwell’s favor. Besides, ladies’ attire is challenging enough, I assure you.”

  “Well, I hope God blesses your shop here and you remain for a long time to come.”

  “God?” she snorted. “He and I are not on speaking terms.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Which of my secrets? she thought, but said only, “Suffice it to say, I lost someone very dear to me.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. Someone in your family passed away?”

  “I did not say she died; I said we lost her. We have not seen her in over two years. And I think, if God were real, He wouldn’t have let that happen.” She shook her head again, mouth tight. “I used to pray, but it did no good.”

  “Maybe it did, and you just don’t know it yet.”

  “Oh là là!” she exclaimed, her mother’s favorite expression slipping from her lips. “Are you a theologian as well as a guard?”

  He chuckled. “The furthest thing from it. But I don’t doubt God exists. Riding beneath the night sky as I do, with its moon and stars . . .” He shrugged. “The heavens really do declare His glory.”

  She considered. “I suppose it isn’t that I don’t believe He exists, but rather than He isn’t involved. He’s up in the firmament with his stars, too far away to hear the prayers of an ordinary woman like me.”

  He slowly shook his head, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “There is nothing ordinary about you, Madame Victorine.” He reached out and smoothed a lock of hair from her temple.

  For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes, and then she blinked and straightened. She turned and strode to the door, opening it for him before she divulged all her secrets to this beguiling man. Or kissed him.

  He picked up his hat and met her at the door. “I shall see you again soon.”

  “I doubt you shall have further need of my services.”

  “Au contraire.” He tugged at his top button. “I fear this button is growing loose too.”

  She frowned. “Don’t rip out another. You might tear the fabric next time.”

  “A small price to pay to see you again.”

  “Not such a small price,” she said tartly. “Next time I shall charge you double.”

  chapter

  Thirty-One

  After that night’s dinner in the coffee room, Alice went upstairs with Iris for her bath, leaving Mercy and Mr. Drake to finish their coffee alone.

  Mr. Drake extracted a letter from his pocket, and said, “My mother writes that she would like to see Alice again, on her birthday, which means another trip to Hampshire.”

  “Might your parents come here instead?” Mercy asked. “Or have they already been?”

  “No. It is . . . difficult for my father to get away.”

  “Has he a business partner?”

  “He has Francis, a cousin. He came to live with us after his parents died and eventually married my sister. Amiable fellow—twice as charming as I am.”

  “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Why, Mercy, you flatter me.”

  Her neck heated. “I only meant . . .”

  “Never mind. I am teasing you. If I have any charm at all, it is despite my father’s attempts to drive it from me. He sees humor, kindness, and amiability as weaknesses for a shrewd man of business. But Francis continues to be his charming self, and apparently, so do I.” He winked at her.

  Eager to correct the notion that she had been flirting, Mercy said, “Everyone speaks of how helpful and likable you are. Jane most of all.”

  “And you?”

  “I have seen your kindness for myself. It is difficult to believe you were raised by
a dour father.”

  “You can judge for yourself when you meet him. I suppose we either embrace our parents’ character or strive for the opposite. At least I had a loving and affectionate mother to temper my nature.”

  “Alice likes her a great deal.”

  “And the feeling is mutual. Mother would like to come here, but I have asked them to wait. Since the place is not finished, my father would not be impressed. Although, with a house this old, I doubt it ever shall be up to his exacting standards.”

  “But the Fairmont is lovely as it is, even if a few repairs remain to be done. Surely your parents could see the good and overlook a few minor imperfections?”

  “You would think that—because you are a caring, gracious person who sees the good in everyone and everything.” He looked at her closely. “I wish you could see yourself as I see you. It is a pleasure just to be in your company.”

  “Thank you.” She dipped her head, discomfited by his praise.

  “You will travel with us, Mercy? I should not dread returning to Drayton Park half so much with you along.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but you needn’t take me with you. I can fend for myself here perfectly well. Perhaps I could even take care of some of your duties while you are gone. I am sure your parents would prefer to see you and Alice alone, without an outsider intruding on family time.”

  “You will not be alone in feeling an outsider there, I assure you.”

  “But Drayton Park is your home. You spent most of your youth there. And did you not tell me that you and Alice had a pleasant time when you visited over Christmas?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Are you worried Alice’s education will suffer while she’s gone?”

  “No. Nor would I expect your lessons to continue while we travel, unless you wish it. But your presence would be a balm, both for Alice and for me. My father can be . . . well . . . difficult.”

  Mercy was touched by the boyish uncertainty she saw in his face.

  “Very well. If you think my company would help.”

  “It would, yes. Thank you. And do bring an evening dress or two. Perhaps the green one? It suits you—brings out the color of your eyes.”

  Mercy blinked, taken aback by the personal suggestion.

  Noticing her expression, he winced. “Was that inappropriate?”

  “Thoroughly.”

  “Then please forgive me. I meant no disrespect. I simply want you to join us for dinner.”

  “Mr. Drake, that is going too far. It is one thing to dine with you here, but in your parents’ home? It would be rude to presume and terribly awkward.”

  “You are more than a governess to Alice and me, and you know it. At least, I hope you do.”

  “Mr. Drake, I am Alice’s governess, and in that capacity alone would it be proper for me to travel with you.”

  He hesitated. “I see. As you wish. I will write to let my mother know to expect you.” Then he gave her an impish grin. “But bring your green gown anyway. Just in case.”

  The next day, Mr. Drake gathered the staff to explain their travel plans. Mercy and Alice stood on one side of him, the housekeeper and clerk on the other. And there, behind the chef, porter, maids, waiters, and horsemen stood Joseph Kingsley, his head rising above the crowd. Not officially on staff, he stood somewhat apart, though near enough to listen to the announcement, since the owner’s actions affected him too.

  “Two days from now, I am returning to my parents’ home near Portsmouth for a brief visit. On this occasion, Miss Alice and Miss Grove will travel with me.”

  She noticed Joseph’s brows lift at that and his mouth tighten.

  “As usual, I leave Mrs. Callard and Curtis in charge during my absence. See them with any questions or problems that arise. . .” Mr. Drake continued to talk, but the builder’s gaze remained fixed on her.

  After Mr. Drake dismissed everyone, Johnny approached Alice and told her about a nest of chaffinch hatchlings he’d discovered. He asked if she wanted to see the blind baby birds.

  Alice turned to Mercy, eyes alight. “May I, Miss Grove?”

  “Yes. In fact, I would like to see them too. But then we really must begin packing.”

  The two younger people hurried outside, while Mercy followed more slowly. Joseph Kingsley reached the door before she did and held it open.

  “Thank you.”

  In the stable yard, he asked, “May I talk with you a moment?”

  Baby birds forgotten, Mercy stopped and turned to him. “Of course.”

  With a glance at Johnny and Alice to make sure they were out of earshot, he said, “I was surprised to hear you’d be traveling with Mr. Drake. If you don’t want to go, I’m sure he would reconsider. Alice’s education would not suffer so greatly in a week, would it?”

  “I don’t mind going. He is my employer and if he . . .” Mercy paused. She was tempted to lay it all at Mr. Drake’s door, but that wasn’t fully honest or fair, and she wanted to be both.

  She started again. “He does not demand I go, but he does wish it. Apparently, his father is difficult, and Mr. Drake thinks he will be more civil in my company. Which will, of course, make the visit more congenial for Alice as well.”

  He watched her face carefully. “For Alice.”

  Mercy nodded. “Yes. Thank you for your concern, but I am sure it shall be a pleasant trip.”

  “Very well. I felt I needed to ask. If you’re certain, I wish you a safe journey.” He briefly clasped her hand. “I will pray for you and ask God to protect you from every danger.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kingsley. That means a great deal.”

  He looked into her eyes. “You shall be missed.”

  The three of them packed up, left final instructions for the staff, and departed two days later in Mr. Drake’s chaise. Mounted postilions drove the four horses, and a guard rode on the back.

  As they journeyed to the southeast, Mercy watched the passing countryside with interest. She had never been so far south.

  Alice soon nodded off, her head lolling against Mr. Drake. He put his arm around the girl, then said to Mercy, “You will meet my sister while we’re there. She and Francis have three children—two boys and a girl only a year or so younger than Alice. I should tell you that my mother has already begun to publicly acknowledge Alice as family. In her mind, the more grandchildren, the merrier. My father is less happy about the prospect, but Mother hopes to bring him around.”

  “How I longed for cousins as a girl,” Mercy murmured, feeling wistful at the thought.

  He nodded. “Francis is a few years younger than I, but yes, I valued his companionship over the years, at least until I went off to university.”

  With his free hand, James patted his case beside him. “By the way, I received the papers from the lawyers. This darling girl is now officially Alice Drake. I don’t deny her origins may cause some challenges, but I shall harness my great energies into making sure she is showered with affection, education, and opportunities enough to offset what she lacks in society’s notion of pedigree.

  “And if some dandy chooses not to marry her one day because of her less-than-ideal beginnings, then that will be his loss. I shall retain the pleasure of Alice’s company a little longer until a wiser young man recognizes her true worth. Then I shall be left a lonely ol’ papa, on my own. I know I cannot keep her to myself forever, as much as I would like to.”

  Mercy’s heart expanded with warmth and fondness when James spoke of Alice so lovingly. How could it not, when Mercy loved Alice too?

  They traveled on for several hours, stopping to change horses at regular intervals along the way. Reaching Southampton that evening, Mercy took in the many ships in the harbor, the tree-lined streets, and elegant buildings.

  As twilight fell, they turned down a broad street filled with fashionable shops and inns. There, they stopped at the Drake Arms to spend the night. Pride shone on James’s face as he showed Mercy around his first hotel and introduced her to his
manager. Then the three of them sat down to a late supper in one of the private parlours. Alice could hardly keep her eyes open, so after the delicious meal, James carried the girl up to the room she and Mercy would share.

  “Good night, Miss Grove. Thank you again for coming with us.”

  She nodded. “My pleasure.” But while helping James and Alice was indeed a pleasure, the actual visit to come with his parents weighed heavily on her mind.

  chapter

  Thirty-Two

  After breakfast the next morning, James showed them a few sights around Southampton—the port, circulating libraries, and theatres. Then they climbed back into the chaise to travel the remaining twenty miles or so to his parents’ home outside of Portsmouth. James explained that his family had long been involved in shipping—imports and other enterprises facilitated by proximity to the naval port and dockyards. But years ago, his father had built a fine, genteel home for his wife north of the city, in a quieter, more commodious setting.

  As the chaise turned up a graceful drive and approached the tall stone-and-brickwork house, Alice patted Mercy’s arm and sent her a reassuring smile.

  “It’s nice. You’ll see.”

  When the horses halted, liveried footmen approached, their shoes crunching over the pea-gravel drive. They helped her and Alice down, bowed to Mr. Drake, and then turned their attention to the baggage.

  James gestured Mercy toward the house, and together they walked to the front door beneath a columned portico. Alice took her hand, and Mercy was grateful for the girl’s support.

  Inside a paneled hall, they were met by a black-suited older man. The butler, she assumed.

  James began, “Robertson, this is Miss Grove, our governess and friend. Please ask Mrs. Jenkins to put her in one of the guest rooms—not in the servants’ quarters. I want her to be near Miss Alice. Understood?”

  “I . . . Yes, sir. Very good, sir.” The butler nodded, though Mercy thought she saw a wrinkle of confusion between his eyebrows.