My Fair Gentleman

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  No. Tonight she would throw herself into the task of finding Jack a suitable match. She would observe and consider several eligible options over the next few weeks of Society rounds. She would find the perfect girl for him. The thought of him kissing another woman the way he’d kissed her made her face flush and her stomach feel funny, but she decided to dismiss it.

  She didn’t so much as glance at Jack throughout the carriage ride, so she couldn’t say if he was ignoring her as well. The ride to the Barringtons’ was mercifully short, and if Mary noticed anything amiss, she covered it well with light conversation in which only Sophia bothered to engage.

  “I have found a good prospect for our girls’ home, Ivy,” Sophia said as the carriage pulled to a stop alongside the house. Ivy looked at Sophia, who was eyeing her with suspicion. Sophia was too perceptive by half—of course she would sense the tension inside the conveyance.

  “I’m so glad to hear it.” Ivy attempted to shake her discontent as she took the footman’s hand and stepped out of the carriage. When Sophia joined her, Ivy linked arms. “When shall we examine it?”

  “The owner told me to expect to see it next week. I do think it sounds promising, although I’ve only ever seen it from the outside.”

  As they approached the Barringtons’ front door, Sophia tipped her head toward Ivy’s and lowered her voice. “What was the meaning of that awkwardness?”

  Ivy shrugged and tried for a light tone. “It was nothing, really. Just an exchange of words with your brother earlier today.” Words and more, Ivy thought, but it wasn’t the time or place to take Sophia into her confidence.

  A quick glance over her shoulder showed Jack and Mary approaching, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment at the sight of Jack the Rowdy Sailor in his evening best. If he didn’t turn the eyes of Society misses, he would certainly catch the attention of the married women who were often on the prowl for new lovers.

  The latter thought made Ivy even more irritated than the first, and she looked forward again, pasting a smile on her face and handing their invitation to the butler. She could not care less where Jack’s future lay; her only worry was to see that he become socially acceptable.

  Once proper introductions were made, Lady Barrington paired those present and they entered the ballroom by rank. As luck would have it, the good lady paired Ivy with Jack. Ivy forced another smile, placed her hand on Jack’s arm, and stared straight ahead.

  “Lovely weather this evening, wouldn’t you say, Lady Ivy?”

  Ivy glanced up at Jack’s face, barely keeping her mouth from dropping open. His accent was flawless, and he sounded as though he’d lived amongst upper-crust Society his entire life.

  “Yes, indeed it is, my lord,” Ivy answered, shoving down a sense of irritation. All of the times she had told him to soften a bit of his piratical demeanor! He spoke like an earl, carried himself with a great degree of majesty, and, if it weren’t for the slightest of smirks that fleetingly crossed his features, she might have believed the sailor talk had been an act.

  “I do hope we see the sun again tomorrow,” he continued as they made their way into the dining room. He held her seat out and gently scooted her in, then sat next to her with a smile. “I should very much like a nice ride through the park.”

  “You must find yourself more comfortable on your stallion these days, then,” Ivy said.

  “I should say so,” Jack said and leaned back slightly in his chair as a servant placed the first course before him. “Why, I cannot think of anything I’d rather do than ride around town on a horse. It is the pleasantest of pastimes.”

  Ivy did her best to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. Lord Sticklemore smiled at Jack from across the table. “I do agree, Stansworth. Nice to make the acquaintance of a fellow horse enthusiast.”

  “His Lordship is full of surprises.” Ivy stabbed her fork into her salad. She could feel Jack’s gaze on her, and she looked up to see his lips twitch. The brows he raised gave the impression of complete innocence, however, and Ivy found herself in the unusual position of forcing herself to behave.

  “Lord Hovley,” Ivy said to the young, blonde gentleman seated next to her, “how is your sister faring? This is her first Season, if I’m not much mistaken.”

  Lord Arthur Hovley, the Duke of Sommershire, smiled and nodded. He was a friendly sort, and Ivy had danced with him on more than one occasion. As much as her parents would have approved of a match with him, however, she could never bring herself to see him as more than a brother.

  “She is doing well, thank you. Enjoying her coming out most ardently,” Lord Hovley told her. “And she is most looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Jack said over Ivy’s shoulder.

  “Oh, yes. Your grace, may I present John Elliot, the Earl of Stansworth. My lord, his grace Arthur Hovley, the Duke of Sommershire.”

  Lord Hovley inclined his head with a smile, and Ivy glanced at Jack, who had suddenly sat up much straighter in his chair and seemed . . . bigger. She frowned a bit and turned her attention back to Lord Hovley. “Please extend my greetings to Lady Jacqueline,” she said to him. “And when I next host tea, I shall extend an invitation well in advance so she might plan accordingly. I suspect her days are quite full.”

  “Indeed, indeed. And my mother is most anxious that she make a good match without much delay, as my second sister will have her Season next year.”

  Ivy understood completely. The oldest sister was to be married first before the others would be allowed, which had become part of the problem with Ivy’s own circumstances. She was the second daughter, and sister to a woman who had cast reason aside and ruined everything.

  Ivy smiled. “I am certain Lady Jacqueline will do splendidly. She is a beautiful girl, and much accomplished.”

  Ivy glanced past Lord Hovley and down the table to where Sophia sat, a pleasant expression on her face despite her placement between one very loud, aging dowager duchess and one short, portly viscount who had already outlived two wives.

  Ivy didn’t worry so much for Sophia. She had worked with the upper classes most of her life and knew how to behave, even if it was all an act. She did worry about Mary—she didn’t want the woman bullied by some of Society’s meaner matrons and was glad to see her seated between two gentlemen whose prowess or egos were dampened by their dullish personalities. They spoke to Mary most kindly, it seemed to Ivy as she observed their demeanor, and Mary smiled and responded in her gentle tones.

  Jack, on the other hand. Jack. She glanced at him, irritated that he had played so incredibly dim-witted on occasion and allowed her to fear that he would never learn to pass himself off as a gentleman. She ought to be grateful, she supposed, that he had the wherewithal to accomplish it.

  The rest of the meal was consumed with idle, pleasant chit-chat, with some politics thrown in for good measure among the gentlemen. The ladies then retired to the drawing room while the gentlemen enjoyed a glass of port.

  Mary was swallowed in a group of women, most of whom Ivy felt were kind, and they sat with her at the hearth. Sophia pounced on Ivy as soon as she entered and drew her to a corner for privacy while the other women in the group talked about their children and amazing prospects for their futures.

  “I’ll not wait another minute. Tell me what is happening with you!” Sophia whispered.

  Ivy sighed. There were a million possible ways to explain to Sophia exactly what had happened earlier, but after mulling it over for a moment, she opted for bluntness.

  “Your brother kissed me in the library.”

  Sophia’s mouth dropped open, and she lifted her hand to cover it. “He did what? He wouldn’t even waltz with you this morning!”

  Ivy winced. “Well, there it is. I am not about to let it happen again, and I think he rather regrets it himself.”

  Sophia watched her for a moment with her gaze that seemed to see into the soul. She was bright and practical, and I
vy fought the need to fidget under her friend’s regard. “Can you forget it, then? Because you still have a fair amount of time to spend time with him.”

  Ivy straightened her shoulders. How had she let them droop? Perhaps her spent emotional energy had sapped her strength. “Of course I can forget it. It was an unconscionable mistake that could very well have ruined me!”

  Sophia nodded once. “Good. I certainly have no objection to your having affection for my brother, but the timing is awfully bad.”

  “I know this.” Ivy glared at Sophia.

  Sophia shrugged, eyes wide. “I’m protecting you from yourself.”

  “I do not need protecting,” Ivy ground out and glanced around to be sure nobody had overheard their conversation. She needn’t have worried; the other ladies in attendance were still discussing their precious offspring, bragging largely to Mary, as she was a fresh audience who had yet to hear all of the stories.

  Lady Barrington beckoned to the two young women, and they made their way across the room to her. She was a handsome woman, aging well, and Ivy had always liked her. When they reached her, she began a lively conversation about new fashions and the most desirable balls for which one hoped to receive an invitation. Sophia complimented her on the wonderful dinner they had just enjoyed.

  Lady Barrington beamed, and, as irritated with Sophia as Ivy was, she found herself proud of her new friend. She was smart, and she would be just fine. Ivy had deliberately chosen this particular event to attend because she’d had a sneaking suspicion that she and Sophia might well be the youngest people present. She wanted to ease Sophia into testing the waters before sending her to the sharks at bigger gatherings: female sharks who were going to hate her for her beauty and resent her for her recent good fortune. Never mind that it should have been hers all along.

  A short time later, they left and met up with the men in the conservatory so that Lady Barrington might impress them all with her abilities at the pianoforte. Ivy wasn’t entirely certain how it had happened, but she found herself separated from Sophia and Mary and sandwiched again between Jack and Lord Hovley. She wanted to ignore Jack completely, but Sophia’s words rang in Ivy’s head, and she determined to be adult and practical.

  Besides which, his thigh was nestled intimately against hers. Any hope for ignoring him flew out the window.

  “I do hope you enjoyed your glass of port, my lord,” she said to Jack and bared her teeth in what she hoped looked like a smile.

  “You are speaking to me, then?” he murmured.

  “Of course. Why would you imagine otherwise?”

  His lips quirked in a smile, and she had the distinct impression she was being mocked. “So that is how we shall play it.”

  Ivy flushed and clenched her teeth together, staring straight ahead. He shifted in the seat and pressed his leg even closer. She wouldn’t have thought it possible. The strains of Lady Barrington’s pianoforte sounded in the room, and Ivy jumped a bit in surprise.

  Jack chuckled and she elbowed him discreetly. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “I didn’t have port. Lord Barrington keeps a stash of whiskey hidden in the library where his wife will never find it.”

  Against her will and better judgment, she felt a laugh bubbling up and bit the insides of her cheeks to keep it from escaping. Perhaps Jack might find himself some kindred spirits among the ton after all.

  One musical number turned into two, which melted into three, after which Lord Barrington stood to recite a few original pieces of poetry, which were largely nonsensical and dramatic. Ivy clapped politely when their hosts finished their entertainment and would have found it utterly impossible to repeat with any clarity the things she’d heard.

  Ivy smiled at something Lord Hovley said to her, although she wasn’t entirely certain what it was. What was wrong with her? A perfectly nice gentleman, a kind friend, and she couldn’t even focus enough to manage one little conversation with the man?

  The problem was that Jack was everywhere—he was brazen beyond words with his leg pressed against hers, and his very scent enveloped her senses. It was so incredibly pleasant, and she would have laughed if someone had told her she would one day come to appreciate the smell of a man. A smell, for heaven’s sake. It was soap, freshly laundered clothing, and an elusive something that was uniquely his. Lord Hovley had no discernible smell.

  She told herself to jump up from the chair but found herself oddly rooted to it. Jack leaned in close once again and said, “I do believe the carriage awaits us outside. Were you planning to remain here all night long?”

  “No, I was not,” she snapped and stood. The sudden absence of his body heat was unmistakable and disconcerting. “And you, sir,” she added in a brusque whisper, “are to rise when a lady does.”

  “You are flustered, Lady Ivy,” Jack told her as he stood, and she almost wished she had left him sitting in the chair. He was tall, and she felt infinitely less powerful with him looming over her.

  She drew a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes. “I am well in control, my lord,” she said evenly.

  His grin suggested he believed otherwise, but he had sense enough to refrain from comment. “You’d best take care, Lady Ivy,” he said in those measured, aristocratic tones, “or you might find yourself behaving contrary to Mistress Manners’ advice. I do believe that woman has written a piece or two about keeping one’s temper, especially in public. Wouldn’t do to cause a scene.”

  He offered her his arm, and she very nearly turned away from it when she saw Lady Barrington out of the corner of her eye. If Ivy were to cut Jack, her whole purpose in tutoring him would be moot. She linked her hand through the crook of his arm and smiled up at him. “Amazing how well you seem to be speaking today,” she murmured. “Your pronunciation is absolutely impeccable. Perhaps the poison knocked your tongue loose.”

  “I have you to thank for my improvements, Lady Ivy.”

  “That is a barefaced lie, and you and I both know it.” She urged him toward the door, and they exited to find Sophia and Mary donning wraps and awaiting them. “And furthermore,” she said as the butler retrieved her cloak, “your lessons are about to triple.”

  Chapter 21

  To see a friend hurt can be one of life’s most painful experiences; one must remain calm in the face of distress.

  Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette

  Jack made his way to the stables the next morning, running a hand through his hair and realizing belatedly that he’d neglected to grab his hat. What did it matter? He was an earl. Perhaps he would set a new trend.

  His growing attraction for Lady Ivy Carlisle was reaching uncomfortable levels, and he wondered if he was about to be caught in a snare of his own making. While he had begun toying with some gentle flirting and teasing, he was finding that it was becoming less about teasing her, and more about feeling very real.

  He waited while his new stable master saddled his stallion and led the horse out; then he swung his leg up and over the mount, grateful if nothing else for Ivy’s insistence that he become more practiced on horseback; hopefully it would allow him to get away from thoughts of her, if only momentarily.

  He guided the horse through the streets to the park, where he bypassed the congested paths in favor of the more secluded wooded and grassy areas. There he allowed the big stallion to take the lead and run despite the fact that such was not technically allowed in the park. He welcomed the rush of cold wind and rain against his face, feeling freer than he had since that first fateful night Clarence Fuddleston had entered his well-ordered life.

  Leaning forward in the stirrups, he urged the horse faster, wishing he could guide the beast to the ends of the earth and keep riding even from there. He had had no business kissing Lady Ivy Carlisle, none at all. The feel of her in his arms had been utter perfection, though, and he admitted to himself that he had wanted to kiss her from the moment she’d boarded the ship and demanded he return with her to his dying grandfather’s bedside. If
only she hadn’t looked at him with those blasted luminous eyes, hurting because she knew her family wouldn’t welcome news of her “career,” he never would have been so foolish. He had tried to resume his friendly banter with her at the soiree but her nearness had driven him nearly to distraction. Of course, he had pushed the bounds of propriety to their limits and beyond by sitting so close to her. He supposed he had thought to shock her, but found he had instead become caught in his own trap.

  If only he hadn’t felt the stirrings of mad jealousy when she had smiled and laughed at dinner with her “dear friend,” the blond paragon of dukely perfection, he might have been thinking a little more clearly. He had nobody to blame but himself. It certainly wasn’t her fault that she was completely unaware of her own allure. And even if she had been aware, she still wouldn’t have been responsible for his reaction to seeing her conversing on a casual level with another man.

  That was the worst of it, he supposed. He wanted someone else to blame. But lately he had been thinking less of his career on the high seas and more about anticipating his lovely mentor’s next visit.

  Closing his eyes against the stinging rain that now fell hard and fast even through the trees, he pulled slightly on the reins and sat up straight, settling back into the saddle to allow the horse to cool a bit. He caught his breath as the horse jerked wildly to the right, and as Jack shifted his weight again, the animal screamed and reared up. Jack clamped his legs tightly around the horse and tried to utter a command that would calm the animal, but after slashing at the air with its front legs, the stallion slammed to the ground hard and then reared up again, twisting wildly and throwing Jack from his back.

  He hit the ground hard, seeing stars as his head made contact with the earth. The last thing he registered before the world faded to black was the fact that his booted foot was still stuck in the stirrup as the stallion thrashed yet again.