Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  A butler greeted the guests instead of the hostess and her daughter. Darien found the change in the usual custom a favorable sign. Before he could make his introduction, the man said, “Madam has instructed me to show you in and welcome you, Lord Blackmore. She is quite pleased you have honored her invitation this evening.” The man bowed and directed them into the marble-tiled foyer dominated by a crystal chandelier ablaze with light enough to rival the sun.

  Ivy’s grip tensed and he glanced over to see her scanning the crowd with a look of cold trepidation.

  “Apparently, they have been expecting us. I don’t see my father, if that’s who you are so intently looking for,” he whispered near her ear.

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “Oh, that’s just a dream of mine, but thank you for feeding my wistful hope.”

  She rolled her eyes to the heavens for strength but a grin cracked her stiff demeanor. Darien prayed that one day she would forgive him for all he was putting her through tonight, though he would never be able to return the favor.

  A swath cleared for them as people stood back and whispered to their neighbors. Luckily, the band played on. The tune sounded of Mozart, and Darien strained to decipher the notes from the violin. Despite himself, he paused in awe of the well-trained professional musicians creating a melodic wave that might almost make this evening bearable.

  “I scolded my wife when I discovered she sent you an invitation. If I thought for a moment you would actually show your face, I would have done far more than that.”

  Henry Maddox, the father of his father’s future child bride, blocked their path. His hair grayed at the temples, but that only magnified his striking blue eyes and athletic physique, which had not softened even in middle age. Darien spared another glimpse for the gilded walls and intricate woodwork framing the doors. Maddox had done well for himself over the years, not that his realized ambitions were a surprise to anyone.

  Darien returned his gaze to Maddox, a man he had not seen since his brother’s death, and had to fight the urge to throttle him. Then maybe the man would finally reveal the truth about what had happened to Philip.

  “We would not have missed it for the world,” Ivy crooned, slicing through the tension with her feminine lilt. “Both Darien and I wish to bestow upon the earl the same enthusiastic regard for his engagement that he showed upon the announcement of ours.”

  Henry Maddox glared at the infamous beauty without the faintest recognition or interest.

  “I don’t believe we have officially been introduced,” Ivy said, unruffled in the face of Maddox’s rude dismissal and Darien’s stupefied silence. “Miss Ivy Templeton. Darien’s father and I share an illustrious history.”

  Maddox refused Ivy’s offered hand.

  “I’ve heard of you. And you are certainly not welcome. Go back to the East End or from wherever you came. This ball is for respectable guests. I’ll make an exception for you, Darien, but your whore must leave.”

  Darien stiffened, not sure what he expected, but not such open disregard to Ivy. Her firm grip on his arm kept him from acting on his natural impulse.

  “Surely you must know that I was the earl’s whore. Of course, that was after I was Darien’s fiancée.” Ivy did not flinch or falter in her sing-song tone. “My next paramour was a duke, of whom I believe you occasionally court favor. Perhaps if you are not too much of an ass I shall persuade him to grace one of your dreary functions.”

  Maddox stared hard at Ivy, obviously wanting to physically throw her out. Darien longed for him to try.

  “I don’t know what you two have in mind, but you will not ruin this evening for Arianna.” Maddox gave them a final disgusted once-over before he turned and stalked away.

  “You told him,” said Darien, glad she had but still reeling from seeing Henry Maddox again. Darien’s brother, Philip, had been several years younger than Maddox. For a time, the two had been fast friends. Darien could not see Maddox without thinking about his brother’s absence. Philip would have been at the prime of his life if he had lived. The empty space that Philip should have filled loomed like a ghost, haunting the lavish gathering.

  “Yes, thank you for your support.” She sighed but held her head high, her shoulders stiff. “Are you all right?”

  “I hate that man.” Darien guided her through the crowd, and into one of the rooms that opened off of the foyer.

  “What are we here to do, anyway?” Ivy said.

  “I suppose I just want everyone to know that I’m not actually dead, and a young girl might be sacrificing herself for naught.”

  A silver tray of fizzing champagne glasses glided by, attached to a servant, and Darien grabbed a crystal stem. Ivy glared at him and he handed it over.

  “I intended it for you. Champagne might calm your nerves.”

  “My nerves are fine,” she said, but took a noticeable slurp, draining nearly half the glass. “I’ve been through worse.”

  “If you are referring to the Cornwall fiasco, I apologized to all the parties involved, except for you. Though I am truly sorry I made a spectacle of both of us. Not to mention ruining your friend’s country dance.”

  “My dear friend is happily married with a child on the way, so I would say that all turned out for the best.”

  “Perhaps this will too. I promise not to challenge anyone to a duel tonight. Is that your sister?” Darien found himself mildly shocked that he recognized the full-grown girl. Even more so that he was genuinely pleased to see someone from his past. “Faith has turned into a serious young woman.”

  Dressed in a rich but respectable gown, Ivy’s younger sister covered her once honey hair with a white cotton bonnet that matched the shawl pinned around her shoulders. Only a hint of skin peeked at the hollow of her neck. She paled when she noticed them. A sober-looking man in an unadorned suit must have sensed her distress and glanced in their direction. He obviously recognized his sister-in-law, though he did not bother to notice Darien. He put his arm around his wife and guided her away.

  “She doesn’t look well.” Darien felt suddenly flushed, extremely uncomfortable with what he’d just witnessed. He’d brought Ivy to the ball for just such reactions, hadn’t he? But not from Ivy’s own sister.

  He glanced at Ivy and suddenly noticed how she trembled from holding herself so stiff, so proud.

  “She recently had a child. A boy, I believe. Thank God. Her God-fearing husband would have killed her, whelping children upon her until he bred his successor.”

  “He’s an aristocrat? Bully for Faith.”

  “No, he’s in the military. They admire boys, as well.”

  “How many children does she have?”

  “I believe the last one was the fourth. I’ve never seen any of them but from a distance. She does not acknowledge me in public.”

  Darien needed a drink. A real drink, not the champagne the servants were passing around. He scanned the tops of couples gathered in companionable exchanges, some of whom actually pretended not to be raptly watching them, in search of a brown-labeled bottle advertising something highly distilled.

  “Are you hungry? Shall I find you a bite to eat?” Hopefully he could settle Ivy with a plate of food and escape to find the bar his father would have insisted upon.

  Ivy remained silent and Darien turned to find her pale, her lips closed tightly, but not enough to stop their trembling. He followed her gaze to find his father surging forward to confront them. Speak of the devil.

  “God, he looks old.” Darien said the words out loud, a little taken aback by the realization.

  “You must excuse me. I need to refresh myself.” She slung off his grip and darted in the other direction.

  Darien stood alone, empty-handed and sober. His father continued toward him, seemingly ignoring Ivy’s departure, a dark cloud hanging over his weathered features. He appeared angry enough to dispose of his second son without the fuss of making it appear an accident.

  ***

  Ivy clutched the p
olished mahogany rail for balance while she climbed the carpeted stairs in search of the cloak room. At the edge of the landing, a couple of young maids peeked down the curved banister at the cacophony of aristocracy below. They snapped to attention when Ivy came into view and immediately curtsied.

  “Excuse us, ma’am. Might we be of assistance,” the older one said.

  “I just need to loosen my corset and catch my breath.” Ivy hoped the excuse would account for her flush and watery eyes. “I should not have insisted my maid pull it so tightly.”

  A dark-haired girl who could be no more than sixteen rushed to open a paneled door that led into a room papered in green and striped with crimson roses. Two screens in each of the corners provided privacy, while a fainting couch and mix-matched overstuffed chairs had been randomly placed to allow a secluded respite for the ladies. Ivy hastily dismissed the maid and collapsed onto the couch to swipe the tears that ran down her face before they left permanent tracks in her powder. Lord, but this was not like her.

  She longed to blame her emotional state on lack of sleep. Despite her fragile size, Melody howled like a banshee for a majority of the night. Her shrill screams had already scared away two wet nurses. But Ivy knew by the fist that squeezed her heart at the very sight of him, that only Darien’s father could be the cause.

  A wave of anger forced her to stand. Facing Gregory Blackmore, the Earl of Westhaven, transported her to the time when she’d bowed in his study, young, naive and terrified, while he calmly trampled her dreams. Destroyed her future. But she had made the choice, hadn’t she? And even that day, she had accepted the terms of his callous bargain as calmly as he’d delivered them. Why had she not cried on that long ago day? She took a shaky breath, not understanding why she chose this bloody time to finally do so.

  A click of the door announced that she would have visitors. Ivy slipped behind a screen, not trusting her ability to maintain her fragile composure. The last thing she needed was rumor to be spread that one of the most sought after courtesans in London had a heart.

  “Please, Arianna. This is no time for girlish hysterics. Your father has spent a tremendous amount of time and money to create a celebration any young woman would envy on one of the most important nights of her life.”

  “It’s not what I want. It’s what he wants.” A young woman raised her voice.

  “Please,” said the other woman in a scolding tone, “you shall be engaged to an earl. Do you want to appear ungrateful?”

  “He’s old enough to be my grandfather.” The girl’s words broke, and she cried in earnest.

  There was silence punctuated by the girl’s anguished sob. A muffled rustle of skirts led Ivy to believe the girl was embraced by the other woman, perhaps her mother. The casing on Ivy’s heart, rattled by the events of the last few days, fractured a bit more. She breathed in deeply through her nose to calm her own rampant emotions. How often had she wished her mother still alive to catch her tears?

  “You are not the first woman to be forced to marry a man not of her choosing. Now dry your tears. I don’t think the earl will be so difficult to abide.”

  The girl blew her nose loudly. Ivy suspected she would be a drippy mess, a disaster when a ball is held in one’s honor, and everyone here no doubt waited with held breath to see her stumble.

  “I don’t love him and I never will.”

  “You must forget about young Mr. Fitzgerald. He depends on the earl for his livelihood, and your ridiculous fascination with the reverend is harmful for you both.”

  “It’s not a ridiculous fascination, Mother. We—Ow!” squealed the girl. Ivy suspected her mother squeezed the girl’s arm or gave her a good pinch which she dearly needed.

  “Hear me, Arianna. Your father has not abandoned his desire for a union with the Earl of Westhaven since your sister’s broken engagement. Nothing will stand in his way, so be careful of how you speak of your relationship with the young reverend. I’ve convinced your father that the infatuation was nothing more than a young girl’s momentary fancy and that’s all it shall ever be.”

  “How can you let him marry me to a decrepit old man?”

  “You will be a countess, and that will be everything.”

  “Not everything.” Ivy strolled from behind the screen. “There are some things once lost that can never be regained.”

  Ivy intended to walk out of the room, letting her words hang in the air like a specter, undermining the girl’s already unstable mood. But one glimpse at Arianna’s desperate red-rimmed eyes changed her mind. Ivy could not be so callous.

  “Excuse me, madam, but I was having a private conversation with my daughter.” The girl’s mother glanced toward the door, apparently recognizing the pariah in her midst.

  “It’s Miss. Miss Ivy Templeton.” Ivy reached into a deep pocket in the folds of her gown and offered Arianna a round case inlaid with pearls and amethysts. “It’s from France and hides red better than most.”

  “My daughter is not allowed to wear powder.” Mrs. Maddox moved behind her daughter and gripped her shoulders. “She is far too young, but thank you, Miss Templeton.”

  Ivy was a bit taken aback by the woman’s politeness. She must be the reason she and Darien were not escorted down the marble steps the moment they arrived.

  “Thank you for letting us past the butler. I shall watch the door and break off conversation if anyone approaches.” She reached out and put the box in Arianna’s hand. “She will need this. No one likes a puffy-eyed bride-to-be.”

  “I don’t think anything will help.” Even so, Arianna took the gift and clutched it to her chest.

  “Perhaps it might not hurt to powder your nose,” the mother said with a quick nod of gratitude.

  Ivy surveyed Arianna’s delicate features. The red tip of upturned nose only enhanced her youthful appeal and her wet lashes added more drama to her honey-colored eyes. Yes, Ivy could see why Robert claimed to be enchanted by her. He could never resist a damsel in distress.

  Ivy did not think either of these two had the fortitude to stand up to the likes of Henry Maddox.

  “It is not too late,” Ivy said, fulfilling her promise to Darien to the best of her abilities. ”Once the thing is announced, well, then it gets complicated. I have a house in the country if you both would like a place to escape so you may think over your decision in peace.”

  Mrs. Maddox tensed, fright in her brown eyes, while Arianna took a step toward Ivy.

  “It is too late.” Mrs. Maddox firmly squeezed her daughter’s shoulders, holding her in place.

  “Reverend Fitzgerald might have taken up the clergy because he is untitled with no other prospects, but he is a man of his convictions. He won’t come near you after you are married.”

  Arianna closed her eyes, anguish clearly written on her features.

  “What do you want?” The mother’s curt question proved her ingrained good manners had finally been breached.

  “To prevent Westhaven from destroying another young girl’s dreams,” Ivy answered, knowing she spoke not only of herself but Diana and maybe even Melody.

  Shrill laughter preceded a group of matrons entering the female retreat. Ivy spared Arianna one last glance before she squared her shoulders, preparing herself for the pinprick of whispers that would surely follow in her wake.

  The three women who created the noise of a gaggle of geese paused to openly gape the moment they spilled into the female retreat. Thankfully, Ivy was far enough away to not be suspected of conversing with the Maddox girl. Ivy steeled herself and marched directly through the center of the group, forcing them to part in outrage.

  “Miss Templeton. Thank you for your kindness.”

  The damn girl had spoken to her back. Ivy turned before she escaped through the door, unable to ignore Arianna.

  She stood in the middle of the room, Ivy’s petite vanity box held out to her.

  “Keep it. You shall need it if you go against your heart.”

  The girl pressed the case to
her chest and lowered her gaze. “I have no choice.”

  “There is always a choice.” Of course, one could not have told Ivy that at the time she had made the worst one of her life. “But do not be hard on yourself if you feel you must do what convention dictates. You shall not be the first.”

  Ivy left wishing she had something more hopeful to say to the girl. But at least the conversation spurred Ivy’s own courage. She would face Gregory Blackmore, Earl of Westhaven, knowing she could never find satisfaction for herself, and likely do nothing to save Arianna. But Diana would not die in squalor while that pompous bastard toasted his nuptials with the finest champagne. There was the matter of a child at stake.

  …which is exactly why you shall make such a smashing earl.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Follow me.” Darien’s father turned and walked into the press of bold gentlemen and their tentative ladies, sparing only a brief grunt of acknowledgement in response to their overly solicitous greetings.

  Darien followed the choking scent of cigars and brandy wafting off his father’s clothes. Hopefully his sire wasn’t leading him to the other side of the house to have him tossed out the back door. Of course, Gregory Blackmore would not bother with anything so public. Deadly silence and back room manipulations better suited his iron-claw style of dealing with his offspring’s misconduct.

  A door on the left blended with the woodwork of the narrowed hall. His father turned the brass handle, allowing a cloud of smoke and low grumbles to momentarily darken the festivities. Once Darien’s eyes adjusted to the gloom of the exclusively male domain, he noticed the mounted trophy heads ranging from boar to badger crowding the oak-paneled wall. No doubt Maddox would dearly love to make room for Darien’s front and center. A group played cards in one corner. In another, men squeezed around a bar lined with a dozen bottles while a servant poured steadily.

  His father plucked a goblet pregnant with cognac, his father’s favorite emotion-numbing elixir, from the polished mahogany and took a bracing swig. A man, one of his father’s aging cronies, saluted Darien, then moved aside, signaling for the rest of the group to clear the area. Darien noticed they didn’t go far and gathered in the corner, a graying group of wolves, no less dangerous in their declining years.