Tod bit hard on his lower lip. “Perhaps she would not be so shocked, my lady.”
But it was clear that Ivy no longer heard him. She started for the house, her steps hesitant now that she was so near her goal. Sir Reginald crept behind her, his ears flat and his tail tucked against his hindquarters.
Tod made himself invisible and followed. The front door opened as if by magic, and Ivy stepped inside. Reggie slowed as he approached the door, stopped and whined anxiously.
“Don’t fear, little one,” Tod said, dropping down to pat the beast’s trembling shoulder. “Your mistress but regains what she has lost. She’ll come to no harm.”
But the spaniel backed away, hair bristling, and would go no farther. Tod left the dog and entered the house.
Béfind had already greeted Ivy by the time Tod approached the room where she had taken up temporary residence. They sat side by side while Béfind’s sprites, who wore the forms of human ladies, clustered about Ivy with much cooing and exclaiming over her beauty and charm.
“I am so delighted that you could come,” Béfind was saying. “I do hope that you did not suffer undue difficulties in your journey here.”
Ivy flushed. “No, Countess. They think I have gone to bed early. No one knows I left Edgecott.”
Béfind smiled approval. “You have done very well, my dear. There is so much we must discuss tonight. Much of great import.”
Ivy leaned forward eagerly. “I have so many questions to ask you, Countess. You said you knew a man in Russia who looked just like me. My father, who left my mother before I was born—”
“—Was Russian,” Béfind finished.
Ivy’s eyes widened. “You knew?”
“Certainement. And that is only the beginning.” Béfind drew closer to Ivy, her pale eyes working their magic. “Essential information has been kept from you, information that may very well change your life forever.” She snapped her fingers, and one of her ladies stepped forward, cradling a bejeweled case as if it contained Queen Titania’s most precious treasures.
Béfind opened the lid to reveal a pendant that lay cushioned in black velvet, its exotic blue stone winking in candlelight. Ivy gasped.
“My pendant! But Donal asked to borrow it—”
“Because I confided to him something of my hopes for you. Something of them, but not all, for what I am about to say must remain a secret between us.” Her voice fell to a hush. “Do you agree, Ivy?”
There was no question of her doing otherwise. Tod could see that she was prepared to believe anything Béfind told her.
“Please,” Ivy whispered, “do you know my father? Is he still alive?”
“Very much alive.” Béfind closed the lid of the case and returned it to her servant. “I asked to see the pendant because he told me he had sent such a jewel to his daughter many years ago, and I wanted to be sure that you were indeed the right person.”
Ivy frowned. “A man gave me the pendant when I was very young. He was not my father?”
“One of your father’s servants,” Béfind said gently. “Do not be downcast, dear one. I did not wish to raise your hopes only to dash them again if I was wrong. But I was so certain when I saw you…and now my faith is justified.”
“My father didn’t forget me,” Ivy said.
“Never. But he cannot come to you, Ivy. You will have to go to him.”
“Where? Oh, Countess, where can I find him?”
Béfind took Ivy’s hand. “Are you certain, my dear? Are you sure this is what you wish, even if it means separation from those who have given you a home here?”
Ivy hesitated for the span of a heartbeat. “Surely I can tell them, can’t I? Cordelia didn’t want me to visit you, but she didn’t know about my father—”
“She did, ma chérie.” Béfind touched Ivy’s cheek in sympathy. “Mrs. Hardcastle made inquiries into your past, and her search led her to the Russian embassy in London. She discovered that your father was alive, and she chose not to tell you.”
“She—” Ivy’s bright gaze blurred with tears. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“Who can say? You know the woman far better than I.”
Ivy stood and wandered about the room, her movements almost clumsy with the turmoil of her emotions. “She wanted to keep me for herself, even though she cares so much more about…about…” She scrubbed the tears from her face and jerked up her chin. “I won’t go back to Edgecott, no matter what happens.”
Béfind beckoned Ivy back to the chair. “Be at ease, my dear. Your time of trial is almost ended.” She waited until Ivy sat down and then clasped the girl’s hands in her own. “Your father was once a man of high standing in our country, but he made mistakes. One of them was leaving you and your mother. Though it took many years for him to learn the truth, he sent me to look for you as soon as he knew that your mother was dead. Now he is paying for his earlier lapses of judgment. He is here in England, hiding from enemies he dares not provoke.”
Ivy shivered, her face pale with excitement and worry. “Is he in very great danger?”
“Only if he shows himself. That is why you must go to him…if you can forgive him for his long absence.”
“Forgive? Yes, of course I forgive him.”
Béfind drew Ivy into her arms. “My dear cousin, you shall be restored to your rightful heritage, as a true lady of superior birth and fortune.”
“But if my father is in hiding…”
“Never fear. The situation is far from hopeless. We have allies who shall assist us, and in time all this will be forgotten.” She rose, pulling Ivy up with her. “We must prepare to leave as soon as possible…tonight, if you can manage it.”
Ivy pulled away. “What if Donal comes looking for me?”
“Dr. Fleming? Has he any reason to suspect that you are here?”
“No.” Ivy folded her arms across her chest. “He should have told me he was coming here. He’s just like Cordelia, thinking I’m a child who can’t be trusted with the truth.”
“And a child you are not, my dear.” Béfind glanced at her ladies, and a pair of them rushed from the room. “What will you require before we depart?”
“My things are at Edgecott, but I don’t need them. I would like to bring my dog. I left him outside….”
“My servants will fetch him for you.”
“Then I’m ready.”
Béfind expressed extravagant approval for Ivy’s courage and cleverness, and the two ladies put their heads together as they plotted their escape. Never once did Béfind glance up at Tod, or in any way acknowledge his presence. At last she finished with Ivy and put the girl in the care of her servants.
“Ah, Tod,” she said, affecting surprise. “All has gone as I planned. Now we must be sure that no mortal or halfling interferes.” She tilted her head in thought. “The nearest Gate to Tir-na-Nog lies no more than fifteen miles south of this place, in a circle of standing stones long abandoned by men. We shall easily reach it by dawn. You shall go to Edgecott tonight and find some suitable means of distracting its occupants so that none will have time to think of Ivy until she is through the Gate.”
Tod shivered. “What does my lady have in mind?”
“Burn the village down if it pleases you. Only make sure the son of Hern and his mortal lover are well occupied until dawn.” She smiled. “As an added precaution, I shall send my servants to create a false image of Ivy that will linger until the sun rises.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Go, then. And remember, little hob, that the answer to your dreams is almost within your grasp.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CORDELIA PROPELLED her weary body from Sir Geoffrey’s rooms, her skirts dragging about her feet like the chains of Dickens’s Christmas ghost. Her hair hung limp to her shoulders, and her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. Yet there had been a victory of sorts today; her father had been alert for the first time since his illness was discovered, alert enough to argue and complain…albeit
in a far more subdued manner than was his wont.
He was well on the way to recovery, Dr. Brown assured her, so long as he was denied access to the fiendish substances that had brought about his sickness in the first place. And so Cordelia had forced herself to sit at the dinner table with Theodora and an out-of-sorts Ivy, taking an hour’s hiatus before she returned to Sir Geoffrey’s bedside.
Now it was near midnight, and she had reached the limits of her endurance. The only thing she could think of, with the crisis finally passed, was Donal.
Donal, whom she had rejected. Donal, whom she hadn’t seen for two endless days, who might very well believe he had no further reason to stay on at Edgecott. Who might be gone forever.
The grief of that final thought choked the breath in her throat, and she had to pause on the way down the stairs to catch her balance. Everything, her entire carefully-constructed life, seemed to be falling apart. Her father’s collapse, Inglesham’s betrayal, Ivy’s resentment—her own realization that she could no longer continue in an illicit relationship with the man she had grown to care for so very deeply…to…
Her heart thumped and fluttered wildly, compelling her to sit there on the stairs. She covered her face with her hands.
Oh, God. It is true. Theodora was right. She was right.
With great effort Cordelia pulled herself up by the banister, though her legs continued to feel like rubber even when she reached level ground. She walked unseeing into the drawing room, stared about in confusion and slowly turned for the kitchen. She had tasted very little at dinner; she knew she needed to eat and drink and rest, or neither her physical condition or state of mind would be likely to improve. But she wasn’t hungry, and the thought of lying still in her dark, quiet room made her ill.
Donal, she thought helplessly. Donal, I need you.
But of course she did not. She didn’t need anyone. Donal certainly didn’t need her, however much he might desire her body.
She pushed open the kitchen door and stepped into the warm, familiar room. Mrs. Jelbert was out, having completed her evening’s work, and the kitchen maid had finished the cleaning. Cordelia searched listlessly for a crust of leftover bread or a bit of cheese in the larder. She took a plate from the china cupboard and immediately dropped it, staring in shock as the plate shattered into a hundred pieces.
“Cordelia! Are you all right?”
Theodora rushed in, cast a quick but searching glance at Cordelia, and hurried to fetch the broom. She made quick work of the mess, took Cordelia’s hand, and sat her down on one of the plain oak chairs at the kitchen table.
“You look wretched, my dear,” she said, peering into Cordelia’s eyes. “You have not slept again, that’s plain.” She tucked a loose strand of Cordelia’s hair behind her ear. “How is your father?”
Cordelia blinked and focused on her cousin’s gentle face. “Much better. Dr. Brown says he is on the mend.”
“But that is wonderful news.” Theodora jumped up, busied herself about the kitchen and returned with a platter of bread, cheese and fruit. “Eat this at once.”
Cordelia attempted a smile. “You are too good, Theodora.”
“Not very,” Theodora said dryly. “But we are as the world sees us, are we not?”
“My head aches too much for philosophy,” Cordelia said, cutting a slice of bread with care.
“It is not merely philosophy when your life and happiness are at stake.”
Cordelia swallowed a too-large chunk of bread. “Are you about to lecture me about my feelings again, Cousin?”
The corner of Theodora’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Perhaps you will wish to send me packing…but, yes.” Her smile faded. “I have watched you these past days, Cordelia. You have driven body and mind to exhaustion looking after Sir Geoffrey, you continue to blame yourself for Ivy’s unhappiness, and all the while you have endured an unnecessary separation from Donal. I do not know why you broke with him, and you might say that it is none of my business. Nevertheless—”
“What makes you think that I ‘broke’ with him?” Cordelia asked stiffly.
“Simple observation, Delia, and a few vague words from Donal when I asked him why he had not come to dinner—”
“Then he has not left Edgecott?”
The moment the words were out of Cordelia’s mouth she would have given anything to take them back, but it was too late. Theodora’s mild gaze sharpened.
“I have seen him on the grounds,” she said, “and at the menagerie during my walks.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Only that he thought it best to remain away from the house…that you had enough to occupy your thoughts and had no desire for his company…”
“And from that you concluded that I have…that we…”
“I saw his face when he spoke. I have seldom seen a man more despondent.”
Cordelia released her breath through clenched teeth. “I am sorry that circumstances prevented me from explaining the situation earlier, but you are right. I have decided that my friendship with Donal is not beneficial to either of us, and especially not to Ivy, who requires a spotless example if she is ever to become—”
“A spotless example.” Theodora rose and strode from one end of the kitchen to the other, her long and angry strides entirely out of character. “What rubbish.” She gave a short laugh. “You must forgive my temper. It is just…” She whirled to face Cordelia. “It is just that I cannot bear to see someone throw away a chance at love and happiness when it is within her grasp.”
Cordelia stared at her lap, unable to meet Theodora’s blazing eyes. “I have…not done anything without careful consideration. When I saw how distraught Ivy was over my…my connection with Donal—”
“You mean when she heard the rumors that you had spent the night at Donal’s cottage.”
Fire scorched Cordelia’s cheeks. “Theodora!”
“It isn’t true, then? Was it all no more than servant’s gossip?”
Theodora’s mockery shocked Cordelia into sudden anger. “Yes, it is true,” she retorted. “Are you angry because I failed to confide in you, Theo?”
“I can understand why you kept it to yourself. What I cannot understand is why you let a girl’s selfish complaints determine the course of your personal life.”
“But it is not my personal life!” Cordelia shot up, her blood surging in her veins. “Ivy looks to me to serve as an example of what she may become. Whatever I do will be judged…by society, by the people who will be important in Ivy’s life, who will determine her future, whom she must learn to—”
“—to ape and flatter and wait upon in ‘proper’ humility, as you have done all your life?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am sorry. That was meant as sarcasm.” She passed her hand across her face. “You are a woman of vast contradictions, Delia, not least of all that you try so hard to conform when everything in your innermost nature rebels against it.” She laid her hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Listen to me. In nearly every way you have succeeded in becoming a part of the thoroughly English sphere of good breeding and afternoon tea and noblesse oblige, so well that in a few more years you might forget that you ever had another life. You believe this is what you want. But it is not you, Delia.”
“Theo—”
“You are not and can never be a conventional Englishwoman, my dear, no matter what face you show the world.” She tightened her grip on Cordelia’s shoulder. “You cannot continue to base your entire existence around caring for Sir Geoffrey, or Ivy, or the animals and people in this county. You have a right to live for yourself.”
Cordelia stepped from under Theodora’s hand and leaned heavily on the table. “It is not merely because of Ivy or Sir Geoffrey that I ended my relationship with Donal,” she said, “nor out of concern for my reputation. He betrayed me.”
“What?”
Cordelia explained how Donal had discovered the cause of Sir Geoffrey’s illness and withheld
the information from her.
“I can scarcely credit it,” Theodora said. She went very still, her forehead creased in thought. “Inglesham. Is this to do with Inglesham?”
Cordelia surrendered all hope of keeping the details from her cousin. “Bennet was supplying Sir Geoffrey with absinthe and narcotics, and using my father’s dependence upon the substances as a means of blackmail.”
“Of course. And why do you suppose Donal concealed this information from you?”
Cordelia pushed away from the table, balling her fists so tightly that her nails broke the skin of her palms. “He assumed that I would be unable to accept the implications.”
“And that is what truly disturbs you, is it not? Not that Ivy is jealous of your friendship with Donal, but the fact that Donal tried to protect you—Cordelia Hardcastle, who needs no one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please—”
Theodora slammed her hand on the table. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, Delia.” Her voice shook with barely controlled emotion. “Since Lydia’s death you have believed that you must be willing to make any sacrifice for others—even to make them completely dependent upon you—simply to be worthy of love.”
Cordelia pressed her arms against her stomach, doubling over with phantom pain. “No.”
“The life you’ve led has divided you into two people—one who needs to be needed, no matter what the cost to herself, and one who yearns to be free. The very qualities you love in Donal are the things you fear most. He is your match in every way, and yet he can survive without you. And if he can love you without depending upon you for his very existence, then all your self-denial is for naught….”
With a gasp of mortification, Cordelia ran blindly from the room. She fled down the servants’ corridors, through the green baize doors and out into the cool night, sucking air as if she had been drowning. She slowed her pace and found her way by moonlight to a sanctuary beneath the swaying leaves of a weeping willow, letting the slender branches close about her like a curtain.
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