THE DEFIANT LADY

by Samantha Garman

  ***

  Ivy woke to late morning sun filtering through the blue drapes. Her head felt heavy, but she managed to sit up. She inhaled sharply when she saw Cy asleep in the chair next to the bed. She examined him for a moment; his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his chin was dark with stubble. He was relaxed in sleep; in a way he never looked when he was awake. He was always so assured and in control then, and she liked that about him, but this was different. It was as if she had a glimpse of him at his most vulnerable.

  She wanted a glass of water, but when she attempted to get up she became dizzy, and had to grip the bed to keep from falling.

  “What are you doing?” a sleepy male voice admonished.

  Ivy’s vision cleared as Cy came to her, helping settle her back into bed. His dark hair was mussed and she wished she had the energy to stroke it away from his face.

  “Water, please,” she said, and then closed her eyes. Cy handed her a glass, and sat down on the bed next to her. When she had her fill, she leaned back and said, “Thank you. Have you been here all night?”

  He nodded. “You had a rough sleep and a high fever.”

  “That would explain the odd dreams,” she said.

  “Dreams?” Cy asked with raised eyebrows.

  Ivy nodded. “Shadows of demons, and a lot of red…”

  “Fever dreams,” Cy concluded. “The doctor came to see you. He does not seem at all concerned. You should be well in a few days. Are you feeling any better?”

  “A bit. I felt fine yesterday afternoon, and then right after we played cards I began to feel ill.”

  Cy stood up. “I will have some hot broth sent up to you. You should drink as much as you can. Doctor’s orders…and mine, too.”

  “Cy…” she said when his hand was on the doorknob. “Thank you for your kindness and generosity.”

  He came back to her and kissed her forehead. “It is my duty to see to your welfare. Rest. I will visit you later.”

  While she recovered, her sister came to visit, and Cy spent a good amount of his time with Ivy. Three days later, Ivy was well enough to travel home. A part of her wanted to stay with him, but she realized she would get her wish soon enough.

  “Do not get caught in any more rainstorms,” the Duchess admonished when Ivy came home.

  Cy was standing by her side and replied, “On the contrary, she should get caught in them much more often. It was a true pleasure to be able to take care of her.”

  Ivy threw him a look. “You refused to let me move about! One would think I was a bedridden invalid.”

  “It was my right as your fiancé,” Cy said high-handedly. “Besides, it got you out of your lessons for three days!”

  Ivy laughed. “In that case, I should be kissing the ground you walk on!”

  ***

  The announcement of the engagement between the Earl of Stanton and Miss Ivy Sinclair hit The Times, one of England’s most prestigious newspapers, and swept through the ranks of nobility like wildfire.

  Ivy’s status soared. Invitations began to flood the Cavehill country home, arriving in overwhelming amounts from almost every member of high society.

  “Very few people know me! How can they want me to come to their soirées?” Ivy asked, completely perplexed.

  The Duchess smiled with amusement. “They want to see the woman who snatched up one of the most sought after bachelors who has avoided marriage for years.”

  Ivy looked at Willow who laughed gleefully and said, “They want to judge you, Ivy.”

  “She is right,” the Duchess agreed. “Though our neighbors adored you and Willow both, there will be those in London that think you are nothing more than impostors.”

  “Lovely,” Ivy said sarcastically. She touched a thick cream envelope. “This one is from Lady Dashwell.”

  The Duchess smiled joyfully. “You have been officially invited to the Greek Ball. Marvelous!”

  “What is the Greek Ball?” Willow asked.

  “Every year in late June, Lord and Lady Dashwell throw a Greek Ball. Everyone dresses in Greek fashion, dines on Greek dishes, and the ballroom looks like an ancient Greek Temple. It is simply splendid. The night of the ball will be your official entrance into society just as I had planned.”

  Ivy stifled a groan. “Does this mean a new gown?”

  “It does, indeed,” the Duchess said. “Is the Earl of Stanton coming for dinner this evening?”

  Ivy nodded. “Yes, he wants to ensure that I have fully recovered from my cold.”

  “Perfect. Undoubtedly he has received an invitation to the Greek Ball as well, and will be amenable to joining us.”

  Ivy felt a curl of pleasure envelope her. The idea of arriving on Cy’s arm to her first extravagant ball filled her with a sense of longing. It would be her chance to show Cy and the rest of society that he had not made a mistake by asking for her hand in marriage.

  Dinner that evening was a quiet and intimate affair, and noticeably more relaxed than usual. The Duchess was in unusually good spirits, and seemed to have unbent a great deal since the girls first arrived.

  “Of course I will be escorting Ivy to the Greek Ball,” Cy said, and then smiled at Ivy tenderly. “I have also asked the Count and Countess of Langley to join us that evening.”

  The Duchess nodded. “Excellent idea. It will be better for us to make a splash.”

  Willow laughed. “And, Ivy will have support in numbers if we show up as a brood.”

  After dinner was over and Cy had finished a glass of brandy, Ivy escorted him to the door. Willow and the Duchess were still in the drawing room finishing their evening tea, affording Cy and Ivy some privacy.

  “I will be leaving for London in a few days. I have some business matters that need my attention,” Cy said. “When will you be coming to London with your grandmother and sister?”

  “In two weeks. She would like Willow and I to settle in before the rigors of the Season start, and we have to prepare for the Greek Ball, of course.”

  He smiled. “She is wise. May I invite you and your family to dinner the night after your arrival?” Cy reached out and touched her red curls. She leaned into his touch.

  “That will be lovely,” she said. “Will you be ridiculed for entertaining us at your home instead of spending time at your gentlemen’s club?”

  Cy’s eyes were warm as his lips descended towards hers. “Every gossiping biddy in town will know I prefer your company to that of the drunken, wagering fools at White’s.”

  She smothered her laughter as his lips covered hers. Ivy’s hand slid up his broad chest and wrapped around the base of his neck.

  He broke the kiss, his face dark with desire. “It is going to be a long two weeks,” he rasped.

  Chapter IX

  Hampshire, England

  “I want the chapel on Stanton land filled with lilies and candles. We will require an open carriage to escort the bride and groom to Fenton Hill where the wedding reception will commence,” the Duchess commanded imperiously.

  The wedding assistant was busily taking notes, scrawling furiously. His cold tea sat untouched on the cart; he would not be able to enjoy it any time soon.

  “Ivy, are you disappointed to be getting married here in the country instead of London?” the Duchess asked.

  Ivy was staring out the window of the drawing room, unaware of the Duchess’s one-sided conversation. She was lost in thought and had a dreamy look on her face.

  “Ivy,” the Duchess barked.

  Startled, Ivy finally gave her grandmother her attention, “Yes?”

  “Are you satisfied with the arrangements thus far?” The Duchess was determined to enlist her granddaughter’s aid in her own wedding.

  “Fine,” Ivy murmured, looking out the window again.

  “Ivy! Will you please pay attention? This is important.”

  “I am sorry,” Ivy answered, but did not sound overly contrite.

  The Duchess looked at Charles, the wedding assistant and dismissed him
. “Will you excuse us a moment? I must speak with my granddaughter. Please feel free to take refreshment in the kitchen.”

  Once Charles left, the Duchess looked at Ivy and said, “You seem a bit distracted. Is everything all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “This is your wedding, yet you do not seem not to care one way or the other,” her grandmother remarked.

  “It is all just a bit overwhelming.”

  “It is also happening quickly. Usually, an engagement would last at least a year, and that would give us sufficient time to plan. Unfortunately, time is of the essence. Madame LaRue is working day and night to make sure your wedding dress is ready. We can finalize the rest of the preparations from London, but I want to ensure most of the decisions are settled before we leave.”

  Her gaze softened. Her headstrong granddaughter was falling in love with Stanton, and the Duchess wondered if Ivy realized it. Love was rare in her circle, but it could be found. The Duchess had been in love with her husband; she knew how it could be between a man and a woman, and she wished the same for her granddaughters. She wanted the best for them, despite how their origins had become known to her, and she hoped Ivy and Stanton would find love.

  It had been the right decision to introduce them. The debt had been erased, and Ivy would become a countess. Ivy’s position would do wonders for Willow’s popularity in society.

  “Are we finished for the day?” Ivy asked. Her tone was desperate. “I would really like to go see Willow.”

  The Duchess sighed, realizing if she wanted to accomplish anything at all, she would have to do it without her granddaughter. “You are free to go.”

  ***

  Taking a deep breath of reprieve, Ivy left the drawing room and went to the second floor, entering a corner room in the west wing of the manor. Willow stood sketching at an easel as streams of sunlight poured through an open window.

  “Have you found your artistic talent yet?” Ivy asked.

  Willow turned to her sister and grimaced. “I realize ladies are supposed to be refined and should know how to paint and sketch, but I have yet to master anything of the sort.”

  Ivy smiled in understanding.

  “Sometimes I wish Maman had allowed us more time for other endeavors…not just ballet,” Willow said.

  “You always wanted to master something other than ballet, did you not?”

  Willow shrugged. “Unlike you. You always wanted to take the stage.”

  Ivy smiled sadly. “Now, days are filled with learning how to run a large house and planning menus for balls. Society is going to be exhausting in all the wrong ways.”

  “You are not excited for London, are you?” Willow asked. During the previous week and a half Ivy had grown solemn and forlorn. “Are you missing Stanton?”

  Ivy shrugged, and then sat down in a chair and sighed. “We have only been in England three months. I am already engaged, and about to leave for London to enter society. Do you not feel that our life in Paris is nothing more than a distant memory?”

  Willow bit her lip and nodded in agreement.

  “I know we had no other options. We had to write Grandmother, but I cannot help feeling that I am caught somewhere in between our old life and this new one.”

  Willow gripped her sister’s hand. “You are not alone, Ivy. I am here. And so is Stanton. Take comfort that you are marrying a kind man.”

  “You are right.”

  “Enough wallowing,” Willow admonished. “Tell me about your wedding gown.”

  ***

  Emily stood in front of a mirror wearing an empire duchess satin wedding gown, encrusted with tiny seed pearls that her Aunt Mildred’s modiste had created. Her blonde ringlets were brushed into golden waves, her long neck graceful and fair. Emily’s hazel eyes glowed with hatred instead of joy as she stared at herself.

  The dress was mocking her, a beautiful reminder that she would not become a countess after all. Enraged, she gripped a delicately embroidered sleeve, and then pulled at it, tearing it into a bundle of thread and fabric. A mass of seed pearls littered the floor. She continued ripping at the dress until it lay in a pile of tattered shreds at her feet.

  She breathed in deeply, finally feeling her anger begin to soften, leaving her exhausted. Emily sat down on the edge of her bed in her chemise. She rang the bell for her personal maid, who entered a few moments later and gaped at the mess scattered about the floor. The maid wisely closed her mouth and lowered her eyes as she began to clean up the pile of ruined material.

  “What shall I do with this, Miss Emily?” the maid asked when she had gathered every last scrap of fabric, thread and pearls.

  “Burn it,” Emily said coldly. “And never speak of this incident so long as you live.”

  ***

  London, England, June of 1815

  Early the next morning, the Duchess and her granddaughters piled into an elegant and sizable carriage. Three coaches followed them, two of which contained all of their clothing and personal items packed into trunks. Their servants shared the third carriage.

  Fifteen long hours later, they arrived in front of the Duchess’s spacious and luxurious London townhouse, one that had been in the Cavehill family for generations. They had a light dinner and then retired promptly for a much needed night’s rest. By the following afternoon, the foyer of the townhouse was flooded with piles of invitations and felicitations.

  “What is all this? Is Ivy a smash already!” Willow asked, coming into the drawing room.

  The Duchess’s brown eyes twinkled with delight. “Absolutely. News travels quickly and everyone is eager to meet the woman who landed the Stanton heir.”

  Ivy groaned.

  “If you think the invitations are overwhelming, wait until you see the wedding gifts that will begin to arrive,” the Duchess remarked.

  “I do believe my wrist will hurt from all the thank-you notes I will have to write,” Ivy drawled.

  As the servants unpacked their trunks and set up the household, the ladies called for refreshments. They had not even had their first cup of tea when the butler announced the Earl of Stanton. His tall form graced the doorway.

  “Ladies,” he said, and then bowed slightly. “Good afternoon. I trust you had a pleasant journey? How are you settling in?”

  “Very well, My Lord,” Willow said much too reverently, and then began to giggle.

  Cy looked at Ivy. “I wonder if I might take my fiancée on an outing to the park?”

  The Duchess smiled warmly. Ivy was beginning to see her grandmother smile more frequently, and realized that it changed the entire countenance of the woman’s face. She looked twenty years younger. The disharmony and malcontent of Ivy and Willow’s arrival had vanished.

  “I think that is a marvelous idea. Ivy, do not forget your bonnet and wrap.”

  Once in the curricle, Cy took the reins, allowing the snowy pair of grays to prance towards the park. Ivy tried to relax, but her thoughts were churning so fast she could barely make sense of them.

  The two weeks they had spent apart had given her time to think, and panic had set in days ago. Cy was making a mistake marrying her. She would be an embarrassment to him. Socially beneath him on many levels, she worried that he would be ridiculed because of her background.

  “I missed you,” he said honestly.

  “You did?” she asked, turning a startled gaze to his face.

  He looked at her. “Of course. Did you miss me?”

  “I…”

  “What is going through your mind, Ivy?” he demanded.

  She blurted out, “Do you think we are ill-suited?”

  Growling like an awakened bear, he grabbed her arms and hauled her towards him, his mouth descending. “How many times do I have to tell you? I chose you, Ivy.”

  “We are in public!” she whispered furiously.

  “I do not care. Apparently, I need to prove to you that I want to marry you.”

  His arms wrapped around her and there was no escape.
She sighed, realizing she did not want to. As if he had all the time in the world, Cy placed his lips on hers and explored her mouth with his tongue. She trembled and then kissed him back and enfolded her arms around his neck. He finally broke the kiss, much to her consternation.

  “Though I would love nothing more than to continue this, I refuse to ruin your reputation.”

  Ivy looked around the park. It was still teatime and mostly deserted. She was glad, not yet ready to face a throng of people. She would soon be on display when Cy publicly escorted her to the Greek Ball.

  He peered at her, and smiled slowly. “I will kiss you much longer, and much more thoroughly when we are in private. I love that your cheeks are the warm color of a peach and your lips are swollen and rosy.”

  She sighed in feminine wistfulness as he settled close to her. Taking the reins of his beautiful gray horses, they continued on their drive.

  Ivy’s fears were laid to rest.

  ***

  Cy was an immaculate host, urbane and sophisticated. He had all the style that had rightfully come with his social position and title. It was a cloak he wore effortlessly across wide, muscular shoulders.

  The Count and Countess of Langley were in attendance along with Ivy, Willow and the Duchess. They were seated at the dining room table and Cy watched Ivy’s face light with laughter as the Countess whispered something to her. Ivy was at the opposite end of the long table in the hostess’s seat, as she would soon be his hostess at every dinner after they were married.

  His fiancée was regal and elegant. Her finish was natural; she had always been a diamond. With a little polishing, she now dazzled and shined.

  Their wedding was a few months away, and Cy had never been so impatient in his life. He wanted Ivy with him, and he did not want to wait. The time he spent away from her, though it had only been two weeks, had revealed to him how bland and desolate his life had been before her. She was spirited and lovely, and a perfect match for him. He enjoyed reminding her, for she seemed eager to be in his arms. The way she responded to him heated his blood.