Chapter 14

As the guests of Clairvoir gathered in the room adjacent the dining room, Teague kept his eye on the doorway, waiting for Lady Ivy. They had been engaged for a matter of hours, and he hadn’t seen her since she agreed to marry him. Though he knew he hadn’t imagined asking, and that she had really said yes, it still felt somewhat unreal.

“You look as jumpy as a fieldmouse,” Simon said, appearing at Teague’s elbow. “I thought you would have gone through with your scheme by now, but it seems you are still anticipating a conversation with Ivy.”

Teague cast his friend an amused glance. “As a matter of fact, I have had that conversation. It went well, too.”

Simon’s eyes widened. “She accepted?”

Teague gave a succinct nod. “She did indeed.”

“Congratulations are in order, then.” Simon’s warm grin appeared briefly, then vanished as he said, “Her brother is coming in day after tomorrow. I found out only hours ago. Will you speak to him then?”

“I will. It’s a sight more convenient than having to go back to London for an audience with him.”

“I suppose that is one way to look at it.” Simon adjusted his waistcoat, then looked at the clock again. “Why do you appear nervous? It seems like the difficult part is over.”

Teague raised his eyebrows and turned his full attention to his brother-in-law. “Was the most difficult part of your courtship with my sister asking her to wed you? Or was it perhaps the before and after that made things more complicated?”

The other man grimaced. “I see your point.”

Isleen appeared on Simon’s other side. “What point would that be, husband? Best not encourage my brother too much by agreeing with his side of anything. It’s bound to set a dangerous precedent.”

Simon immediately took his wife’s hand and threaded it through his arm, as though the only acceptable way to stand beside her was to hold her as near as politely possible. “He does make the occasional good argument though, Isleen.”

“Does he?” Isleen grinned up at her brother. “What are we arguing about this evening?”

“Which point is the most difficult in a courtship,” Simon answered.

Teague shot him a warning look. “That was not precisely it.”

“Oh, but I have the answer to that very question.” Isleen affected a superior look. “Teague won’t like it, though he’ll have to concede it is true. The most difficult point is that right before marriage, when both parties are quite tired of all the well-wishes and parties, but especially all the nights of having to bid one another farewell until the next day. Nothing is so sweet as the moment you realize you need never part of a night again.”

Indeed, Teague didn’t fancy that explanation, as it came from his own sister. “I truly did not need to know that particular thought on the matter.”

She grinned cheekily at him. “I am allowed to say things like that, now I’m a married woman.”

“Not to your brother, you’re not.”

Simon chuckled at the both of them. “You will know the truth of things soon enough, brother-in-law.”

Isleen’s smile disappeared at that. “He will?” She looked from her husband to her brother, a look of shrewdness making her eyes gleam. “Teague. What does my husband mean? The implication sounds as though you will be entering a courtship.”

He gave Simon a sharp glare. “It does sound like that, doesn’t it.”

“You may as well tell her,” Simon said, completely at ease with revealing what Teague had intended to keep to himself until he spoke to Lord Haverford. “It is impossible to keep a secret in this castle.”

Isleen leaned forward and raised herself up on her toes to better meet Teague’s gaze. “What is he talking about, Teague? I’m nigh on bubbling over with the curiosity.”

He rubbed at his eyes. Best to get on with it. “I asked Lady Ivy to marry me. She said yes.”

She gasped so loud that others in the room quieted and looked in their direction. Teague winced. At least she kept her voice to a whisper for her next outpouring of sisterly questions.

“You’re marrying her? Oh, Teague. That’s wonderful! I knew there was something about the way she watched you during the cricket match. Did you fall in love so quickly?”

Slowly, he shook his head, keeping his gaze on his sister. “We’re not in love, Issie. It’s a practical match. Good for both of us. That is all.” He had to smirk a little though as he said, “What’s this about the cricket match?”

Her reaction surprised him as he watched her expression change from excitement to shock, the color draining from her face. “Oh. Teague, no. You cannot do that to yourself.”

“Isleen, it is not as dire as you imagine,” Teague attempted to reassure her, his voice holding a blend of humor and patience. “There are many forms of companionship, and respect and understanding can serve as a solid foundation for a marriage.”

Isleen’s features softened, but her concern remained evident. “Marriage is more than a partnership, Teague. It is sharing your life with someone, in every sense. Can you really be content knowing there is no love between you?”

Simon, observing the exchange, interjected as though seeking to mediate. “Affection can grow in many ways. It doesn’t always start with romance. Your brother and Ivy are both sensible people. They are likely to find happiness in their arrangement.”

“Indeed,” Teague added, eager to shift the focus from his personal feelings—or lack thereof. “There’s much to be said for a marriage that begins without the complications of a tumultuous courtship. We respect each other, and that counts for something.”

Isleen looked from Teague to Simon and back again, the wheels of thought turning behind her eyes. Finally, she sighed, a gesture of reluctant acceptance. “I suppose you are both right. Who am I to judge the path you’ve chosen? If Ivy makes you happy, in whatever form that happiness takes, I’ll support you and welcome her to the family.”

The warmth in her voice was reassuring, and Teague felt a wave of gratitude for his sister’s understanding. “Thank you, Issie. That means the world to me.” He paused a moment, then said, “What was that about the cricket match?”

His sister raised her eyebrows at him. “Stuck on that, are you?”

“You said there was something about the way she watched me.” He really wanted to know what his sister meant.

“Something about the way you watched her, too,” Simon muttered, shaking his head. “The two of you will make an interesting pair.”

Ignoring Teague, quite purposefully, Isleen nodded thoughtfully and addressed her husband. “He missed that catch because of her, did he not? You should have seen the look on her face. I thought she would run out on the field to ask after his wellbeing.”

“That would have been amusing.” Simon grinned and Teague folded his arms.

“The pair of you think you are quite amusing, don’t you?”

“Ah, here comes your future bride and sisters-in-law now,” Simon interjected, cutting through the remaining tension the conversation had stirred up.

Teague turned to face the doorway and found Ivy entering the room, her younger sisters on either side of her, all three of them looking directly at him.

“It seems Ivy told her sisters, given how they are studying you,” Isleen whispered, her smile teasing.

Indeed. Lady Juniper and Lady Betony both had a knowing look about them, and they exchanged a glance behind their elder sister’s back he thought communicated trouble of some kind. He swallowed.

With two younger sisters himself, he knew what sort of mischief they could make if they didn’t like the idea of him courting and wedding their sister. Ivy seemed unaware of what was passing behind her as she focused on Teague, approaching him with a hesitant smile as though she was uncertain of her welcome.

He certainly could not have that.

“My lady,” he greeted her, bowing with a flourish. “Good evening. I hope you find yourself as eager for the night’s festivities as I am. Perhaps, after dinner, you may even grant my wish to partner me in whist?”

Ivy’s tentative smile blossomed into something brighter, more assured, at Teague’s greeting. The undercurrent of formality in his words did little to mask the genuine warmth in his voice, and her response carried a light, teasing tone. “Lord Dunmore, I would be honored to partner you in cards.”

The tension momentarily clouding the air lifted as Ivy took a step closer. Isleen watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, and Teague gave her a warning glance.

Lady Juniper and Lady Betony took on expressions which displayed more decorum, yet the spark of sisterly conspiracy lingered in their eyes. Teague recognized their shared glance for what it was—a protective scrutiny reserved for any challenge to their eldest sister’s happiness.

Isleen immediately engaged Ivy in conversation about the gown she wore.

Simon, ever the observer, leaned in towards Teague, his voice low enough for only him to hear. “Remember, the approval of sisters is a prize worth winning. They can be your staunchest allies or your most creative challengers.”

Teague nodded, well recognizing the truth in Simon’s words. He had an opportunity to lay the foundation for familial bonds that would support or challenge their union. To make his home life, if the sisters came with Ivy to join his household, a misery or a joy.

The duchess tookcare to change the seating arrangement each night at dinner, the better to entertain her long-term guests. Ivy straightaway had reason to suspect her dinner partner was chosen deliberately that evening, given that Teague sat immediately to her right. She had only to glance up the table at the duchess to see Her Grace offer a knowing smile.

“Seems news of our engagement is spreading,” Teague murmured as he filled her cup of wine.

Ivy gave a nod of understanding. “Whom have you told? I have only spoken to my sisters.”

“The duke. Simon. Isleen.” He gave her a crooked smile, and she couldn’t help returning it. “Everyone will know by the end of the evening, I fear. My dearest hope at the moment is that I am able to tell my mother before another reveals it to her. She would never forgive learning of it from any source but my own two lips.”

Her gaze dropped briefly to those very lips, then she blushed and picked up her cup, a response likely due to her sisters’ teasing. “Do you think she will be happy with the news?” Ivy hadn’t stopped to consider reactions beyond her own family. Juniper and Betony were her primary concern, of course, but what if William didn’t approve?

“That’s a thinking frown,” Teague murmured at her side, bringing her attention back to him. “You get a little line between your eyebrows, just above the bridge of your nose.” He tapped the matching location on his own face. “I’ve never seen someone think quite that hard before.”

Ivy raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s worrying, given that you spend so much time in Parliament. One would hope there is a lot of thinking going on in those chambers.”

Apparently, he hadn’t expected that response. His eyes widened slightly and he laughed, though he quickly covered the sound with a fist to his mouth and a light cough. “One would hope, but one would often be disappointed.”

The amusement dancing in his dark eyes brought a smile to her face, too. She didn’t often make people laugh, yet Teague seemed delighted by her every time they spoke. He had already secured her hand in their engagement, so he needn’t try overmuch to woo her. His genuine reaction to her gave her the smallest, fleeting feeling of pleasure.

His next comment returned her thoughts to her concerns, however. “I have heard your brother and family are arriving overmorrow.”

“Overmorrow?” she repeated.

“An odd word, isn’t it? Means ‘the day after tomorrow’ but is much more efficient. So long as you don’t have to explain it every time.”

“It is efficient. And rather unique.” She smiled despite the change in subject. “Yes. William and Fanny, their four children, and apparently a guest. I suppose I should be grateful, as having William here will make things easier to work out when it comes to legal matters.”

“The true romance of a marriage,” he said, tipping his head to the side. “Contracts. Legal terms. Negotiations. I wonder why those are never discussed in novels?”

She bit her lip to keep in her laugh. “Can you imagine? A beautiful proposal scene followed immediately by men in an office somewhere, writing out terms?”

“I suppose the point of novels is not always to relate the world as it is, but rather as we would have it be.” He considered his own words a moment, then nodded. “That sounds particularly wise. Perhaps I should write it down.”

“Why? To remind yourself of your own cleverness?” she asked, then immediately pressed her lips together. The comment wasn’t one her brother would ever appreciate.

Teague seemed utterly pleased, though. “Indeed, and to quote myself, liberally, at every opportunity.”

She ducked her head and pressed a napkin to her lips, trying to stifle the urge to giggle. Giggles were not appropriate at a dinner table, especially a duke’s dinner table.

He lowered his voice and leaned a bit toward her, so no one else would hear as he said, “You’ve a lovely look when you’re trying to strangle a laugh, my darling.”

His teasing bordered on flirtation, and she found she didn’t mind it much, even if she felt the tell-tale heat of a blush in her cheeks. Being called “darling” added to the charm, the unexpected enjoyment, of their conversation.

“You are going to cause me to be impolite if you keep trying to make me laugh,” she countered. “Where are your manners, Lord Dunmore?”

“Oh, they are about somewhere, I would think.” He gave attention to his plate for a short time, letting Ivy compose herself.

“I have wondered something,” she ventured after several bites of the meal. “Your accent. I was given to believe that Irish nobility tended to be without such a strong indication of their origins, at least in speech. You could never be mistaken for an Englishman.”

“Does it bother you?” he asked, eyebrows raised as his eyes flashed to hers, reacting in sharp surprise as though she’d pricked him with a needle.

She shook her head, startled by his reaction. It was easy enough to tell the truth. “Not in the least.”

His crooked grin reappeared, and she detected the slightest touch of relief in his eyes. “Good. I don’t try to hide it, the way some of my Irish peers do. I want people to know who I am, where I’m from. I’m not ashamed of it. When I open my mouth in Lords, they know at once where I stand from the sound of my words, if not the words themselves.”

The confidence with which he spoke gave her more reason to admire him. How often had she been told the secret to success in society was to blend in? Fanny and William had driven that point into her again and again. Yet Teague made a conscious decision to stand apart.

“Could you speak like an Englishman?” she asked, still somewhat curious. “If you wanted?”

He smiled down at his plate. “I could if I’d a mind to. I finished my education at Cambridge, and mimicry became a talent of mine. Would you like to hear it?”

After a moment of consideration, Ivy shook her head. “I think it would shock me if you sounded like anything other than yourself.”

That answer seemed to please him, given the way his eyes widened. “You like the Irish brogue, do you?”

Her cheeks warmed and she reached for her glass of wine again, sipping at it delicately. His fixed stare meant he wouldn’t let the question drop, however.

“Perhaps,” she said at last, lowering her glass to the table. Then she cleared her throat and gave her attention to the person on her other side, the local vicar invited for dinner, determined not to say another flirtatious word to her betrothed.

Not at the table, anyway.

Teague had askedto speak to his mother before she turned in, but her response to his news of betrothal made him almost wish he had waited for morning.

“What do you mean, you are engaged? And to an English girl! Teague, when did this happen?” Lady Dunmore had her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, sitting before the fire in the room adjacent to her bedchamber.

He hadn’t expected his mother to look as shocked as she did. “I thought you would be pleasantly surprised.”

“Surprised, to be sure, but ‘pleasant’ remains to be seen.” She frowned at him and he had to resist the urge to pace while she stared. “Lady Ivy Amberton. She’s a stranger, Teague. You don’t even know her.”

“People wed strangers all the time,” he said, somewhat flippantly.

“Do not give me that, Teague Frost. You are not ‘people.’ This is a monumental decision. A life-altering choice. Are you sure you are not rushing into things?”

He tapped his fingers along his thigh, then went to kneel in front of his mother’s chair to bring them to the same eye level. “Máthair.” He switched to the Irish tongue as he explained. “She is not a stranger. Every time we speak, I am delighted. Every time I see her, I am intrigued. We haven’t known one another long, but I know enough to predict we will be content. It is a good match.”

Looking into her eyes, he saw the woman who had loved him and raised him. Her gentleness, her understanding, were what he needed right then.

Lady Dunmore’s expression softened, the initial shock giving way to a more contemplative look as she listened to her son. She placed a hand over Teague’s where it rested on the arm of her chair, her touch warm and comforting as ever.

“I see,” she said slowly, her tone more resigned than understanding. “Contentment, you say. Perhaps, in time, more than that?”

Teague could hear the unspoken hope in her voice, the maternal desire for her son’s happiness not merely in practical terms, but in the depth of companionship and love.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Ivy is…different. In a world of pretense, she is refreshingly genuine. She values family, Máthair, much like we do.”

Lady Dunmore’s eyes glistened with a mixture of emotions as she absorbed his words. “If she has caught your eye and your interest in such a manner, then she must be quite special.” She paused, then added with a playful huff, “Here I was, thinking you’d never settle down. An English girl, no less. You are full of surprises, Teague Frost.”

He laughed softly, the tension easing between them. “Life is full of surprises, isn’t it? And Ivy—Lady Ivy—she’s one I had not anticipated, but am quite grateful for.”

“If she has agreed to be your bride, I can at least appreciate her good taste,” Lady Dunmore declared, the words somewhat teasing. “Teague, promise me this: do not let contentment be the ceiling of your aspirations for this marriage. Aim for happiness, for joy, for love. You deserve no less.” She gave a firm nod. “Lady Ivy does, too.”

Teague felt a lump form in his throat at her words. Rising to his feet, he leaned down and kissed his mother on the forehead. “I promise, Máthair. I will aim for the very heavens.”

As he straightened, Lady Dunmore gave him a nod, her face alight with a mixture of pride and cautious optimism. “Now, go on. I need to rest, and you do too. You’ve a future baroness to woo. Remember, she is not only becoming a part of your life, but our family’s life as well. Treat her with kindness, respect, and perhaps a touch of the Frost charm.”

Teague chuckled and grinned at his mother with affection. He had no doubt she would do all she could to welcome Ivy—and her sisters—into the family. “I will. Thank you, Máthair. Good night.”

“Good night, my son. Congratulations,” she called softly after him as he exited the room, her words carrying the weight of her blessings and the hopes of a mother for her child’s happiness.

Stepping into the corridor, Teague heaved a sigh of relief. His mother’s concerns were valid, but her willingness to trust his judgment reinforced his confidence in his decision. As he made his way to his own quarters, his thoughts were filled with Ivy. Not for the first time, he allowed himself to consider that their marriage of convenience could blossom into something far richer and more fulfilling than he dared to hope.