Chapter 15

Ivy had spent the better part of the night and the early morning in a restless state, her thoughts wandering to Teague with a frequency that surprised her. With her family’s arrival looming over the horizon, she wished for a moment of levity, a brief escape from the anticipation and anxiety.

Still, she had a feeling of dread creeping up her spine too. How well did Teague know William? Chances were excellent that her half-brother would not show enthusiasm for their match, initially, though she doubted he would forbid it or outright condemn a union. Still. He would likely make things uncomfortable. She needed to speak to Teague.

If she were honest with herself, she wanted Teague’s company as well, eager for the unexpected comfort his presence had come to represent.

Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Ivy ventured out of her room after a quick toilette, her steps taking her through Clairvoir’s vast corridors. The castle, with its suits of armor, tapestries, and elegant artwork, was a pretty maze, but a maze nonetheless.

The carpets muffled most sounds, too, which made the moment she turned the same corner as her quarry from opposite ends a true surprise.

The suddenness of the encounter sent Ivy stumbling, and Teague’s quick hands steadied her as his shoulder hit the wall. He released an “oomph” as she crashed into him, forcing the air from his lungs. Ivy’s hands pressed against Teague’s chest and his arms went around her waist to steady them both.

Ivy looked up at him in shock, jaw dropped open, and he looked down at her with raised eyebrows, trying to draw in a breath.

Laughter bubbled up between them, the absurdity of their collision dispelling her initial desire to stammer out an apology.

“I seem to have found what I was looking for,” Teague quipped, his eyes twinkling as he gazed down at her.

“You were looking for me?” Ivy replied, her laughter softening into a smile. “I doubt you expected finding me would prove hazardous to your wellbeing.”

He grinned and carefully, gently, set her fully on her own two feet. His hands slipped slowly from her waist. “I find I don’t mind the constant threat of danger if it means ending up with a lovely lady in my arms.”

Goodness. Nothing about that could have been polite to say. Or…well. Ivy supposed things were different now. An engaged woman was practically a married woman. New rules applied.

Somewhat reluctantly, she stepped back, though the space between them thrummed with a tension she found oddly pleasant.

“I was looking for you, too,” Ivy confessed, her cheeks warm with what she hoped was a pretty blush. “I thought we could use a moment together before the castle fills with my family and all the formality that will bring. We should probably talk about all of that. What to expect in terms of their reactions to our engagement. How best to respond. Not to give offense. Things of that nature.” She winced as her thoughts clattered together and bit her tongue rather than babble.

Fanny did so dislike babbling.

Teague’s expression softened, his initial amusement giving way to a gentle understanding. “I think that is an excellent idea. In fact, I know a place where we can escape for a bit, a walled section of the gardens. It’s quiet, secluded, and perfect for a private conversation.”

The invitation hung between them, an offer and a promise of a moment together. Ivy’s heart skipped a beat at the thought, both at the prospect of discovering a new part of Clairvoir and of spending more time with Teague. Alone.

Something that would have been a scandal days ago was suddenly perfectly acceptable. Society was quite strange with some of its rules.

“Lead the way, Lord Dunmore,” she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

As they walked side by side, their steps synchronized, they talked of mundane things. He asked after her health, she asked after his mother. They were strictly polite, cordial, as though needing to make up for their less than mannerly encounter in the corridor.

When they arrived at an ivy-covered wall, Teague took her hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “There’s a grotto entrance. Here.” He gently led her along, unaware that she stared at their joined hands.

She had never had a man treat her so gently, not since the death of her father. When her father had taken her hand to show her some new trinket or discovery of his, it hadn’t at all stirred the rather interesting sensations in her stomach that Teague’s touch inspired.

How fortunate for her that she found her future husband attractive. She couldn’t help smiling to herself until they stopped in the midst of the garden.

“Her Grace calls this her Japanese garden,” Teague informed her, looking about them with undisguised admiration. “The trees, the flowers, and most of it has been imported from the East. Even the little statues.” He pointed out a stone shaped like a bird. “No one can see inside, even from the castle towers.”

“Oh? Have you tested that theory?” she asked, taking in the garden around them.

“Lady Josephine informed me, and I doubt she would have reason to mislead anyone.” He gave her a wide smile. “What do you think? I admit, I am enchanted by the place.”

The walled garden, with its blooming flowers and the soft murmur of a fountain, offered a pocket of privacy in the vastness of the estate. There, amidst the beauty and tranquility, Ivy found herself relaxing.

“It is beautiful,” she agreed, looking about with true appreciation. “I understand the Dowager Duchess is responsible for most of the gardens. Everything here is perfect, though. Clairvoir is a marvel.”

“It’s obvious why the family rarely spends time at any of their other houses.” He hadn’t released her hand yet, and now he walked her to a bench beneath one of the trees, a tree with red leaves, despite the time of year. “Though I met Simon first while he was visiting their Irish estate.”

“I didn’t know they had any land in Ireland.” She sat down next to him, and only then did he release her hand. Not as though he wished to, though, but merely to put his arm along the back of the bench, his hand behind her shoulder. She felt it there, though he didn’t touch her. An odd sensation.

“That’s the ‘Farleigh’ part of the title.” He gave her a wide grin. “Isleen has convinced him to spend part of the year there, to be nearer us when we are at home.”

The need to discuss her own family’s arrival became less urgent as Ivy found herself asking, “What is your home like?”

“Ah, Dunmore’s barony. I suppose you would have reason to wonder about it now, wouldn’t you?” The lilt to his words became teasing, and she felt herself blush. “I hope you will like it there, Ivy darling. It’s not a castle like this. More a house, built two hundred years ago by a Catholic family who ran afoul of the English during King James’s reign. The English crown took possession and eventually gave it to one of my ancestors. Created a barony on the condition that no one in the family could be Catholic.” He heaved a sigh, his dramatics discouraging her from saying anything pitying about that situation. “It is very English. My ancestors did their best to please their kingly benefactors.”

“Goodness.” She gave him her full attention, watching him as he spoke. She rather liked his mannerisms. His eyes were quite expressive, his lips quirked upward on nearly every word. “That is a bit disappointing. I have been in English homes all my life. I’d wondered how an Irish baron’s home would be different.”

He chuckled at that, and she felt his thumb brush lightly against her shoulder. It nearly made her shiver, but she kept her response in check. “We have put our little touches here and there, mostly in the art. Irish art is a wild thing to behold.”

“I imagine so.” She angled her shoulders toward him, putting the one he had touched in closer proximity to the hand on the back of the bench. “Do you have any flower gardens?”

“Half a dozen of them, at last count.” He grinned at her, then nodded to the display around them. “None so grand or expensive as this. Though my mother takes special pride in the roses.”

“I will be certain to praise them liberally when I see them,” she promised with a grin. “What is your favorite part of your home?”

“I have two. Within the house, it is the library. That should not surprise you, given our conversation about books. But I think, along with all the books, it is the landscape painting hanging above the fireplace that makes that place feel the most comfortable. It’s a piece by Thomas Roberts, a true Irishman.”

Sensing his warmth for his home, Ivy could not help but feel her own excitement build. “And the other place you favor?”

“A hill about a mile from the house. On a clear day, I can see the land for miles, and even on a foggy one, I can stand on that hill and breathe in the free air in a way I have never been able to anywhere else.”

As he went on to describe his home, not just in terms of its architecture but through the art that adorned its walls and the landscapes that surrounded it, Ivy found herself imagining a life there beside him. It was a life painted in the broad, bold strokes of his affection and excitement to share it, so different from the careful, constrained existence she had always known.

The realization came to her, when his thumb began to draw a circle on her shoulder, that she wasn’t merely learning about a place; she was discovering the man who called it home. She found herself anticipating exploring both—the place and the man beside her.

She blushed. Did people explore each other? An odd thought, but it immediately sank into her mind.

The thought of visiting Dunmore’s Barony, of walking through its gardens and standing beside Teague on that hill, filled her with a sense of adventure she hadn’t known she was seeking, as well as the hope that she would belong there, somehow.

He fell silent after a time, his gaze unfocused, his dark eyes thoughtful. Then he blinked and the moment shifted. His easy, teasing smile returned. “Listen to me, blathering on about a place you will see for yourself soon enough. Assuming your brother doesn’t run me out of England for daring to ask for your hand.”

The peace that had settled in her heart abruptly vanished, though she managed a smile for Teague. “I liked hearing about it. That topic of conversation is far more pleasant than thinking about William and Fanny.” She winced. “That isn’t fair of me to say. They have done their duty by me and my sisters. They have kept us safe, housed, fed, and seen to our education.”

For a moment, Teague appeared troubled. The teasing light in his eyes dimmed. “A thing one would expect from a brother. Or any decent folk.”

Something about the way he said it bothered her, like feeling a draft without knowing from whence it came. She ignored the feeling and continued. “Regardless, I think it’s important we talk about their coming.”

He hesitated, then nodded his agreement. “We should. I don’t plan to wait long between their arrival and asking for an audience with your brother. Is there anything you think I ought to know going in to such an interview with him? Announcing my intention to wed you might be a bit of a surprise.” He raised his eyebrows as his words took on their teasing quality again.

“I imagine it will be,” she mused, trying to picture William’s face when Teague spoke in his lovely accent to make such an announcement. It was difficult to say which of his many expressions of dismay he might wear.

“Added to the fact that he’s bringing his own candidate for your husband with him, I cannot think he’s even considered the possibility of you finding your own groom.”

Her breath caught and she gave Teague a startled look. “What did you say? Who is William bringing with him?”

“You didn’t know?” Teague’s smile faltered, replaced by an expression she had not seen him wear before, though it was so briefly on his face she may have imagined it. Was it worry? “Lord Martin Brunsby. A bachelor trying to get a seat in Commons because he’s a younger son.”

“Ah.” She heaved an impatient sigh. “He did threaten to choose someone for me. Knowing William, his ‘candidate,’ as you say, will be the farthest thing from what I would choose for myself that I can imagine.”

“Perhaps.” Teague studied her quietly a moment. “Though I would not consider myself a gentleman without saying this: If you like him better than you like me, I’ll release you from our agreement.”

Had he plunked a bonnet on his head and announced himself the Queen of England, she could not have been as shocked. Her lips parted and she felt a surge of feelings that were as confusing as they were quick to come to the surface. He would set her aside, easy as that? He would be willing to release her? Did he even want her as his wife to begin with?

Suddenly, both his hands were on her shoulders and his eyes were wide. “Ivy. I can see what I said upset you. Take a moment, darling. I’d no wish to give offense. That is the furthest thing from my mind.”

She stared at him, aghast. Colorful words she had heard the men in her life mutter from time to time all came to the tip of her tongue. Again, the strength of her reaction surprised her, but she squared her shoulders beneath his hold and tilted her chin up. “Then you had better explain what you meant in clear terms, Lord Dunmore.”

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and the humor returned to his eyes. Horrid man. “I’d no notion you liked the idea of being an Irish baroness so much.”

How dare he imply that was the crux of the matter? She nearly said something about it, too, but he preempted her.

“Think, darling. I had this whole mad scheme to marry you when I found out you needed a husband, and I was under the impression that our company was mutually agreeable.” He sounded like quite the politician in that moment. “You agreed for the same reasons, added to it you want to look after your sisters. Gain some independence. What sort of man would I be to hold you to something you had agreed to before you knew there were other options? It is not the mark of a gentleman, I’d say.”

She pursed her lips. That was hard to argue. It would not mean much if a man who offered her freedom did not give her a choice in how she obtained it.

He nodded slowly, as though he felt her indignation cooling. “There you are. Better.” Then his grin reappeared, quick as a wink. “I intend to make myself the more attractive of the two choices, you understand. It’s in my nature. The Irish never give up when presented with a challenge. In fact, I think it is only fair you know precisely what I offer.”

With that pronouncement, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Teague had not plannedto kiss his betrothed. Not for a while, at least. The upper classes could be stuffy about that sort of thing on occasion, and downright dismissive of it at others. He had hoped, though, to do a lot more flirting before taking Ivy in his arms and sharing a first kiss.

Call him a romantic, but he had wanted to make the occasion memorable.

His impulsive nature, coupled with her adorable, indignant expression when he had suggested he would let her out of the engagement, took command of his actions. Mentally, he had hesitated for only a moment. His heart had already begun racing, though, and it dictated that he act in that moment.

As he cupped her face gently in his hands, the softness of her skin against his palms was a contrast that sent a shiver down his spine. The initial contact was tender, a hesitant query into whether she would permit him this sort of connection. But as Ivy responded—a silent assent woven into the press of her lips against his—the kiss deepened as Teague grew in certainty of her approval.

Teague was acutely aware of every detail: the warmth of Ivy’s lips, the subtle sweetness that lingered upon them like the taste of honey, and the faintest hint of her breath mingling with his. The world around them fell away, leaving nothing but their touch for him to take notice of.

As he pulled away to catch his breath, Teague was met with Ivy’s wide-eyed surprise. They had entered uncharted territory for her.

He tried to find his reassuring grin from before, but it felt a bit shaky. “There now. Not a bad sampling, was it?”

The kiss, though brief, was imprinted upon Teague’s senses, a vivid memory he knew would haunt him with its sweetness and the promise it held. It was a mere taste of what he offered her in a courtship and marriage.

At least, he hoped she took it that way. There hadn’t been a response for several moments, the only sound the rustling of leaves overhead and the distant drip of water into a fountain. Until, finally, Ivy took hold of herself.

Ivy’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “That was—how dare you?” She spoke without any true upset. More likely she said the words she thought she ought to say, which gave him leave to relax.

“There’s nothing wrong with a kiss between a betrothed couple.” When she continued to gape at him, Teague tucked a curl behind her ear. “Ah, I’ve stunned you into silence. Must have been a good kiss, then.”

That jogged her back into thought and voice. “Lord Dunmore?—”

“Teague.”

“—you cannot simply kiss a person without any warning, then assume it was a good kiss.”

That brought his eyebrows up and he leaned back, squinting at her. “You didn’t think it good? Shall I have another go?”

“No!” She swiftly came to her feet and glared down at him. “You will not ‘have another go’ at kissing me.” She seemed to struggle for words. “It isn’t polite.”

“You’ve a fetching look about you when you blush,” he said, unable to help teasing her.

“Not. Polite.” She paced away from him, then back, seemingly to say something scathing, then thinking better of it.

He tucked his hands behind his head and watched her. “Ivy. It was a kiss. You needn’t fuss so, darling.”

“William and Fanny will be here tomorrow,” she stated with the woebegone air of someone announcing a funeral. “You don’t understand. They insist upon everything being appropriate. Polite. Above reproach.”

He had always carried a certain disdain for the rigidity of English society, a disdain that had not ebbed despite his years navigating its peripheries. Lord Haverford was a fitting representation for all things Teague found wrong with the English. It made him wonder, yet again, how Ivy had turned out so differently from her brother.

English ladies had always seemed to him like delicate hothouse flowers—beautiful, perhaps, but far too sheltered from the harsher realities of life. Or they were cold, aloof, and uninterested in speaking with him the moment they heard the Irish in his voice.

Ivy was different. Her curiosity for the world, her resilience, and the intelligence he had seen in her eyes—these were qualities he was grateful she hadn’t hidden. She challenged his notions of the English, her strength and sincerity carving through his usually justified prejudices.

“I have met your brother. I am well aware of what he’s like.” He chuckled. “I’ve debated him, too. And won. His expectations need not govern everything in life.” Yet she seemed genuinely distressed. He took in the look of her again, the way her eyes had turned large and troubled, the stiff way she held her shoulders.

He rose from his seat and approached her, noting the way she wrapped her arms around herself. He lowered his voice, speaking gently. “Ivy, I understand the weight of what we’re stepping into. It’s not just about us—there are expectations, familial duties. Things will be done properly.”

She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes searching his, weighing his words.

“Know this.” He put his hands on her upper arms, holding her steady, his grip gentle. “I respect those duties and your feelings above all. If you need more time to think things through, or you wish to talk more about what this betrothal means for us, I am here. Fully and truly here for you.”

A tentative smile curled her lips upward, and Ivy’s expression softened. “Thank you. That is…you seem most sincere. I am afraid I am overwhelmed at present. The thought of stepping so fully into the unknown is daunting.”

“I know,” he agreed, his thumbs rubbing circles on her arms, soothing her as gently as he could. “I will not pretend otherwise. However, I believe that together, you and I have the intelligence and fortitude to face anything that comes our way. You have a strength to you, Ivy, that perhaps you’ve not been given enough credit for—not even by yourself.”

She drew in a sharp breath, and the look she gave him was skeptical rather than accepting. “Even if that is true, there will be days when I falter. I am not used to being as bold, as forthright, as you seem to be.”

“Ah, it takes practice to be as brash a fellow as I am.” He allowed himself a wink at her, a playful lilt to his words. “On those days, darling, you have me to depend upon, whether you need me for my boldness or my expertise with debate. Whatever need arises, I will be there the moment you have need of me.”

Something of her confidence returned, along with the slightest of smiles. “I shall hold you to that, Lord Dunmore.”

“Teague,” he corrected again, softly.

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Teague. I will hold you to your promises.”

“As you should, Ivy.” He grinned with pleasure, already feeling the tension leaving her shoulders beneath his hands. “I promise to guard you from any scandal, too.”

“You are more likely to cause them than I am, I should think.” She spoke with the slightest hint of teasing, which immediately heartened him. “Please. Do not antagonize William when you speak to him. He is less likely to take issue with our arrangement if you are the picture of propriety.”

“Antagonize my future brother-in-law?” He affected a scandalized tone. “I am capable of avoiding that disaster, my dear.”

She gave him a doubtful look that made him laugh and want to kiss her again. Instead, he slid his hands from her arms to her wrists, then to lace his fingers with hers. Touching her was, he realized with a grin, a pleasure he wanted to enjoy more often. And he could, at least in private.

The quiet apprehension in her gaze finally made him heave a sigh. She carried too many things on her shoulders, and she had done so alone for so long. She needed his reassurance more than his teasing. “Ivy, I know this will bring a new set of challenges. I need you to understand, despite my giving you leave to choose the course best for you, that I am here. I am committed to making things go as smoothly as possible. I’ve no wish to upset anyone, or to have you worry after me.”

Ivy dropped her gaze to the ground, away from him. “I worry about the reception of my family. About what they will say. I am sorry if I seem silly.”

“Not in the least, darling. I would never think you silly when you are trying so hard to make everything go well.” He squeezed her hands gently. “I understand completely. When I speak with Lord Haverford, I will do so with the utmost respect for you and your family’s position. It is important to me that he see the honor in my intentions.”

Finally, a tentative smile reappeared on her lovely face. “That means a great deal to me. My family’s relationships are rather complex. Sensitive, at times.”

Encouraged by her response, Teague continued, “While I cannot change that we come from different backgrounds, I can promise that my regard for you will keep me trying my best to understand your position and your family. More than that, I hope to prove myself a man who will support you through whatever challenges and triumphs will come our way.”

That reassurance brought a more confident smile to Ivy’s lips, her trepidation disappearing from her eyes, for the time being. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for listening to me, most of all.”

“Always,” he promised easily, then offered her his arm. “Now. Shall we return inside and see if any breakfast remains?”

She accepted his escort. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Ivy had made him reconsider a great deal of what he thought he knew about the English. For so long, he’d seen a pattern in their behavior. A stiffness, an arrogance, that had made him feel as though he worked to bring down a wall of English opposition. Maybe they weren’t all as alike as he had thought. Perhaps there was more potential for his work in Parliament than he’d given himself leave to anticipate before.