by Darcy Burke
Hell. Thinking of the workhouse brought West to mind once more. She’d be glad when he left Bath, and she could no longer worry about running into him.
A short time later, Ivy sat in the drawing room with a tray of tea and cakes when the butler announced the arrival of Aquilla and Lucy.
Aquilla barely waited for the butler to leave before rushing to sit beside Ivy on the settee. “Are you all right?”
Ivy smiled at her friend’s concern. “Yes, thank you.”
Lucy loosened her bonnet before tugging it from her head and setting it on a table. She sat in a chair next to the settee. “You gave us quite a scare last night. I’ve never known you to swoon.”
“You’ve also never known me to waltz. What a dreadfully nauseating dance.”
Lucy laughed, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Only you could find a dance with the Duke of Desire nauseating.”
Aquilla joined her, and even Ivy had to admit it was amusing when she put it like that. She smiled but didn’t laugh along with them.
When they sobered, Aquilla smoothed her hand along the edge of the settee. “Whatever happened?”
Ivy waved her hand. “I became dizzy. Rather embarrassing, isn’t it?”
Her friends exchanged looks. They seemed…skeptical. “Is there something with Clare?” Lucy’s gaze penetrated her as her brow creased. “He seemed rather…intimate when he carried you into the retiring room.”
“Should he have let me wilt to the floor?” Ivy recalled coming back to consciousness in his arms. For a brief moment, she’d forgotten where she was. She’d wanted to curl her hands around his neck and press her mouth to his.
She wanted more than that—she wanted to relive that night.
“Of course not,” Lucy said. “I didn’t mean that. I meant after he laid you down. He seemed quite concerned.”
“Yes, and he even called on me today to inquire after my welfare. It happens that the Duke of Desire is well-mannered and considerate. Who knew?”
“Indeed?” Aquilla grinned. “Perhaps we should call him the Amiable Duke.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Please, let’s not go that far. He’s still a reprobate.” Was he, though? An image of the elegant Lady Lamberton hanging on him both last night and today burned through Ivy like acid.
Lucy was regarding her with a narrowed eye. “I still contend it was something more than that. I saw the way he looked at you. You forget that we’re married now. We know what a man looks like when he cares for a woman.”
Ivy bristled. She didn’t want to talk about this. “He’s a scoundrel and a rake. He looks at every woman like that. I saw him in full scandalous behavior at Greensward.” Ahem, firsthand, but she didn’t say so. She’d also seen him rescue Miss Kirkland, arrange for the new schoolmistress to go to the workhouse in Wendover, and ensure Emmaline wasn’t ruined. He might be a rake, but he was no scoundrel. Even so, none of that would change Ivy’s mind about marriage. “Please do not try to pair me off with the likes of him. Don’t pair me off with anyone. Just because the two of you are happily married doesn’t mean I should be too. My circumstances haven’t changed. Nor do I want them to.”
Both Aquilla and Lucy stared at her a moment. Aquilla spoke first. “We didn’t mean to do that.”
Lucy shook her head. “No, we didn’t. My apologies. Of course you’re content—you’ve made no claims to want anything more than you have. Before I met Dartford, I envied you.”
“As did I,” Aquilla said. “Remember, I asked you to help me become a companion.”
Yes, she had. But then she’d married Sutton. “You wouldn’t have been happy,” Ivy said. She turned to look at Lucy. “Neither would you. You were both meant to fall in love and marry. I am not.”
“How can you know that?” Aquilla asked.
Ivy lifted a shoulder. “I just do.” She’d accepted her fate, and all this discussion about a future that would never happen—nor did she even want—was making her fatigued. “Now, do you think we could speak of something else?”
“Of course,” Aquilla said. “Oh! Lady Fairfax is hosting an al fresco luncheon at Sydney Gardens next week. Unfortunately, Ned and I must return to Sutton Park before then. Hopefully, you and Lady Dunn will go.”
“Please say you will,” Lucy put in, wincing. “Otherwise, I’ll be alone.”
Ivy touched Lucy’s hand, sorry that she’d grown cross with them. They only meant well, and it wasn’t their fault that she was unbearably sensitive when it came to West. Or, apparently, discussion of marriage. When on earth had that happened? “I would never leave you alone,” she said.
Lucy smiled and squeezed her hand. “Nor would we.”
The following day, West stepped into the dim interior of the alehouse and looked about for Dartford and Sutton. They’d invited him to meet them there this afternoon, and since they were a link to Ivy, he’d taken them up on the offer.
Not seeing them, West found an empty table and sat. A serving maid approached and gave him a cup of ale. She arched a brow at him as she let her gaze wander over him. Her invitation was clear, but West ignored it, and she departed.
He never accepted the advances of serving maids and their ilk, but he typically flirted with them at least. However, he couldn’t even do that. Not when his mind was still consumed with Ivy.
He’d gone to the workhouse that morning to see about the repairs, and she’d been there. They hadn’t interacted, but he’d seen her sitting with two of the inmates, helping them with reading and writing. He’d been moved by her dedication to these people’s plight, and he knew that whatever happened, he would find ways to support workhouses. In fact, he was going to look into the ones in his district as soon as he returned home.
Dartford and Sutton came in, both offering hearty greetings.
“Glad you could make it,” Dartford said jovially.
The serving maid brought them ale, and Sutton offered a toast. “To friends.”
“To friends,” Dartford agreed, tapping his mug against Sutton’s. “I, uh, didn’t really have many of those before Lucy.” He took a drink. “Hell, I didn’t have any. Didn’t want any either.”
West knew Dartford from around town but hadn’t paid close attention. “What changed?”
“It’s a melancholy story I won’t bore you with, but suffice it to say that Lucy made it possible for me to allow people to get close—to become friends.”
Sutton nodded, setting his mug down. “She changed you. Or love changed you.”
“Both, I guess,” Dartford said. He looked at West and laughed. “You must think us a sorry lot.”
“Not at all. You’re happily wed.” West knew it was possible, had seen plenty of examples of it, but his personal experience with his parents was, of course, quite different.
“Don’t suppose that will be you any time soon?” Sutton asked.
“No, it won’t.” His answer came automatically. The specter of his parents’ marriage was ever present in the back of his mind.
Sutton turned his chair and rested his forearm on the table. “What about the dukedom? You’ve a duty there, certainly.”
“I’ve a cousin, and he has a son.” His mother hated that this was West’s plan for succession. Which was probably why it was his plan.
“Well then, I suppose you’re free, then,” Dartford said. “Beware Cupid, however. Your views on marriage might change.”
“If you meet the right woman.” Sutton chuckled. “Lord knows it took me long enough.”
Dartford snorted. “You made an absolute art of it. Just as Clare here does with women. Who are you shagging now?”
“No one.” West knew they were just making idle conversation, but his reputation had begun to annoy him. Which wasn’t their fault, so he wouldn’t take it out on them. No, if he wanted to take it out on someone, he would have to blame himself, of course. Still, he had no regrets.
Sutton and Dartford exchanged a furtive glance, and West’s neck tingled. “Is there something you wa
nt to know?”
Dartford sat forward in his chair and leaned his arms on the table. “I’ll just come out and say it. Our wives wanted us to talk to you. About Miss Breckenridge.”
“We were supposed to be discreet, mind you,” Sutton added. “But we’re not very adept at gossip. Or whatever this is.”
“Information gathering,” West said. “You’d be terrible spies.”
“Probably,” Dartford agreed. “It’s a good thing the kingdom isn’t relying on us.”
West couldn’t help but laugh at their self-deprecation. “I hate to send you home empty-handed, but there really isn’t anything to tell.”
“I told them there wouldn’t be,” Sutton said. “But I’m afraid my wife was adamant. She said she knew Miss Breckenridge, and she’d behaved strangely at the assembly.”
“Only because she was ill.” And probably frightened after seeing Bothwick. West still longed to find a way to exact some sort of vengeance on her behalf.
“Very good.” Dartford drank from his ale. “Sorry to have troubled you with that nonsense. Now we can move on to more amusing topics.”
West didn’t like that people had noticed something between him and Ivy, even if it was just her friends. Should he really be surprised? He hadn’t exactly been covert with his attention. He’d asked her to dance at an assembly and then carted her from the ballroom in his arms. Then he’d called on her and followed her to a public garden, where he’d taken her for a promenade. Hell, he looked like a bloody suitor and couldn’t fault anyone for suspecting that.
Did he want to be a suitor?
Yes.
She was a lady’s companion with a questionable past. She wasn’t the sort of lady he should court. Why the hell not? What good was it being a duke if he couldn’t do whatever he damn well pleased?
A moot question, since she didn’t want him. He ought to return to Stour’s Edge. Staying here was only torture, and he’d taken care of the repairs at Walcot. He planned to send more funds for further repairs and would put his secretary in contact with Alves to work out the details.
The conversation turned, thankfully, to horses and then ballooning, which had caught Dartford’s fancy. West was happy to think of something other than Ivy for a while, but by the time he left the alehouse, he was back to feeling unsettled. Uncertain about his future.
The butler opened the door to the town house and greeted his arrival. “Her Grace is in the drawing room.”
West froze. “My mother?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
Bloody goddamn hell. West hadn’t seen her in, what, a dozen years? No, more than that. He’d lost count. What on earth was she doing in Bath? How had she even known he was here?
He tossed his hat and gloves toward the butler, who managed to catch them without blinking.
“Shall I have tea sent up?”
“No,” West barked as he strode up the stairs two at a time. He couldn’t wait to toss her out.
He crossed over the threshold and stopped. She stood near the windows and turned, her now-gray hair covered with a simple bonnet. Her clothing was dark gray like her hair. In fact, she presented a rather monochromatic picture, which fit her personality to perfection.
“What are you doing here?” he said without preamble as he stalked into the room.
She clasped her reticule more tightly, drawing her hands up to her waist. “I heard you were in town, and I wanted to see you.”
“You live a hundred and fifty miles away.”
“Yes.” She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, giving him the haughty stare he recalled so well.
He suddenly felt as though he were twelve again, and she’d found the nude pictures he’d drawn of the scullery maid. His mother had thrashed him with a ruler, leaving angry red welts and even drawing blood. She’d forbidden him from telling his father, threatening to beat him again. Which she had the very next time she caught him doing something “naughty,” which in that case had been pleasuring himself a few months later.
“I understand there is a woman here and that you may be considering marriage. I came to ensure she is worthy. I am delighted you have finally decided to come to heel.”
Hot, fresh anger mingled with his old animosity forming a potent fury in his gut. He prowled toward her. “Who told you that?” he asked softly, but with a menace he didn’t bother to disguise.
She swallowed and brought her hands even higher—to chest height. “I have people at Stour’s Edge who are loyal.”
West thought back to who could’ve told her such a thing. It had to have been Hemphill, but he trusted the man. Furthermore, he’d hired Hemphill after his mother had left. West found it unlikely they would have formed a relationship of any kind. “I’ll fire everyone there unless you tell me who it is.”
She frowned severely, which only made her look even older and more…withered. “Don’t threaten me.”
“I’m not threatening you,” he growled. “I’m threatening my staff. My staff.”
“You always were a self-serving jackanapes.” She tossed her head. “Fine. Mrs. Best wrote to me.”
She was the housekeeper. How had she learned of this from Hemphill? West would get to the bottom of it when he returned home. “Your information is inaccurate. There is no woman. You came all this way for nothing.”
She exhaled, her frown deepening momentarily. “It wasn’t for nothing. I got to see you. You look well.”
He stared at her. She wanted to offer a compliment? Or have a pleasant exchange? She must be mad.
“You can’t think I’d want to see you. Or haven’t you noticed that I haven’t responded to your letters in nearly a decade?”
“Of course I noticed. It is a matter of continual disappointment for me. I failed you horribly. I never should have let your father have so much influence on you.”
This he wouldn’t stand. His lip curled, and his body went rigid with fury. “You will not malign him.”
She merely shrugged. “As you wish.”
“I wish for you to leave, and don’t return. In fact, stop writing those damn letters too.” He resolved right then never to read another one of them.
“Clare, you have a duty to marry and provide an heir. I would be remiss in my duty if I didn’t ensure you held up your obligations. It is past time you marry. Stop this philandering absurdity and take a wife.” She wrinkled her mouth into a distasteful moue. “I suppose you could marry and continue your disgusting behavior. It wouldn’t surprise me if you turned out to be as faithless as your father.”
“And what would you expect him to be, dear mother, when his wife was a frigid shrew?”
She inhaled sharply. “You dare insult me.”
“I speak the truth, and you know it.”
“I should have punished you more. I should have beaten that insolence and arrogance right out of you. Along with your appetites. It’s my fault you’re a whore.”
He’d heard more than enough. “Get. Out.”
She came forward and cut him a wide berth, but paused just past him. “I will continue to pray for you. It’s not too late for you to seek absolution for your sins.”
West walked away from her and went straight to his private study to pour a glass of whiskey. His hands shook as he tipped the decanter against the glass. The pale amber liquid sloshed onto his hand. He tossed it back and let the alcohol burn through him, easing the tension strangling his insides.
The shame and self-loathing he’d felt as a boy washed over him. He poured more whiskey and drank it back. The more she’d taunted him and punished him for his transgressions, the more he’d rebelled against her. At thirteen, he’d convinced that scullery maid that he’d sketched to take his virginity. Then he’d shagged the upstairs maid. Then another. At fifteen, he’d seduced his mother’s lady’s maid. His mother had walked in on them and been horrified. Except…West had been fairly certain she’d watched for just a moment before shrieking her fury.
He’d felt b
ad about costing the maid her job, and had made sure that his father had written her a recommendation.
That rebellion was what had driven him to seek sexual affairs with married women. He knew it would drive his mother mad. And it did. He thought of Lady Lamberton, who’d been one of his first liaisons. He suddenly wanted to go to her house and fuck her until he couldn’t remember his name, let alone the painful memories his mother wrought.
Yes, he should do that. He set the whiskey glass down and went back into the drawing room. He was nearly to the door before he stopped cold.
What was he doing?
He didn’t want Lady Lamberton. He only wanted to defy and infuriate his mother. To what end? She couldn’t hurt him anymore. Not if he didn’t let her.
He had nothing to prove—not to her, not to anyone. Except maybe to himself. Perhaps it was time to let his past go and embrace his future.
Only the future he suspected he wanted was completely out of his reach.
Chapter Seventeen
Ivy left the workhouse the following afternoon after delivering several pairs of stockings for the older girls. They’d been so grateful, and helping them had lifted Ivy’s spirits after her dreary mood the past few days.
It had also helped that West hadn’t been at the workhouse as he had the day before. She’d steadfastly avoided him, and yet had been deeply aware of his presence. She feared they were forever linked.
But they couldn’t be. She had no reason, and indeed no plans, to see him again. Maybe he was even on his way out of Bath this very day. Maybe she’d see him as she walked by his town house in The Paragon. Her heart twisted.
Perhaps she ought to take a different route.
She was so mired in thought that she failed to see the other pedestrian until she ran into him. The man caught her by the arms, steadying her. “Careful, there.” He chuckled, and something about the sound chilled her to the very bone.
She looked up into the eyes of Peter Bothwick, now Viscount Bothwick, the man who’d stolen her virtue and turned his back.
Ivy nearly fell as she pulled violently away from him.
