Chapter 17

Teague understood why the family’s favorite room in the castle was the Long Gallery not long after entering it for the first time. The room was enormous, over one hundred and thirty feet in length, with windows stretching from floor to ceiling and comfortable groupings of furniture throughout. The setting made it possible for everyone to be in the same room, within sight of each other, and still able to pursue separate activities.

He sat in a chair near one of the windows, elbow on the arm of the chair, chin in hand, glaring at the sunny sky. Teague was seriously wondering what had come over him, to insist Ivy give the newly arrived Lord Martin even a moment’s thought.

“I must be daft,” he muttered aloud.

“I’ve never disagreed with that assessment,” Isleen said from beside him, where she worked with an embroidery hoop and needle on a white expanse of cloth.

Why were women always embroidering things? Not every handkerchief needed roses along its edge, surely.

“Your brother seems to have a specific reason for believing his statement, Isleen.” Simon turned another page in his book, not entirely focused on the conversation, but sitting near enough his wife that his arm stretched along the back of the couch, allowing him to brush her shoulder with his thumb.

They were remarkably happy together. Teague admired how they made something so simple as sitting side by side look like the best thing a person could do. Relaxed as they were, content as they were, it made his own feelings of discontent sharper.

Isleen sighed and looked up at Teague long enough to ask, “Why do you think yourself daft, brother?”

He considered them, his sister and brother-in-law, both focused on their own activities, neither aware of the colossal fool he’d made of himself. He would have to tell them if he wanted any help or advice. He badly needed both.

“I told Ivy she ought to consider Lord Martin’s suit for her hand.”

Simon snapped his book closed and Isleen hissed and shook out her finger, apparently having pricked herself with the needle. She immediately held her finger to her husband, who studied it, gave it a kiss, then held her hand.

“You are daft, Teague.” Isleen shook her head at him. “Unless…you do not want to go through with the engagement?”

“I want to marry her,” he stated firmly. He had made his mind up about that already, or he never would have asked.

“Then why would you tell her to even so much as glance at another prospect?” Simon asked, brow furrowed. “That seems counter to your wants.”

At this moment, Isleen made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Teague is ever and always his own worst enemy. He is more worried about Lady Ivy’s perception of the matter than what he wants.”

“How do you mean?” Simon asked.

Isleen gestured to Teague. “Look at him. He wants her to like him. He wants her to choose him. What he does not realize is how Lady Ivy will feel unwanted?—”

“Oh, she made her feelings known on that matter,” Teague interrupted, a little of his confidence returning. “I think I cleared things up on that front.”

“I do not like the look in your eye when you say that.” Isleen looked him over with disapproval. “Fine. If you made your intentions and reasons clear, why are you sitting here fretting about things now? What’s done is done. Set about courting the lady and kindly stop sulking.”

“Courting the lady. There is where we enter the troublesome spot.” Teague leaned closer to his sister. “As an engaged couple—because that is what we are—we haven’t a need for chaperones. As I’ve provided her a way out, should she want it, do you think she will insist on them?”

“Given that we are at a house party, surrounded by both your family and hers, I doubt there will be any great need for one. Chaperones are for stilling the tongues of gossips and those that would delight in scandal. You are among people who trust you and want what is best.” Isleen gave a little shrug. “I would not worry over it, but I know you are a gentleman. You won’t do anything scandalous.”

Simon gave his wife a look of surprise. “Of course you’d think that. You’re his sister.”

Isleen sent her husband a narrow look. “Have you reason to believe otherwise about my brother?”

“None,” he admitted. “I think you make a fair point. I only meant to say there are things sisters wouldn’t imagine about their brothers.”

She shook her head at him. “Keep to the matter at hand, Simon. What do you think? Does Ivy require a chaperone to be going about with my brother around your home and lands?”

“I agree with what you said. Most of us are related in one way or another. This is a family event. No one will say a word—especially if Ivy weds someone at the end of summer. Preferably Teague, I suppose.” He gave his brother-in-law a wide grin. “Should I tell Sir Andrew it’s to be a competition? He will want to place bets.”

“I will remind you that a wager is what brought our courtship about,” Isleen said softly. “I would not tease on that end too much.”

Simon chuckled and nodded to Teague. “There, now there must be a wager. It’s practically good luck for your relationship to be involved in one.”

“Irish don’t need luck. We make our own,” Teague responded, folding his arms over his chest. At ease over the chaperone question, he let his eyes travel to the end of the room where Lady Ivy and her sisters were sitting beneath the critical eye of their sister-in-law and the kindly eye of the duchess. “They all look as though they are ready to be eaten by a dragon.”

“I thought only my grandmother had that effect on people,” Simon muttered.

“Damsels love being saved from dragons,” Isleen pointed out, returning to the ridiculously large white square of embroidery. “Perhaps she needs a knight in shining armor, brother.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He rose and moved in the direction of the ladies. He had crossed half the space required to join them when Ivy met his gaze and, ever so subtly, he saw her head shift. It was the tiniest of motions, a little back and forth, a silent plea in the negative.

No. Don’t come any closer.

He paused, raised his eyebrows. Whyever not, darling?

If only it were possible to speak to a person without saying a word. The way her eyes darted from him to her youngest sister made him follow her gaze.

Lady Betony had struck him as the cheeriest of the three sisters, smiling and carrying about her beadwork, never holding back from sharing a charming observation. He had found himself hoping little Fiona would get to know Lady Betony, as the two seemed rather similar in temperament, but Betony had a decade of experience learning how to fit into a world that had not been made easy for ladies with spunk.

At the moment, however, he saw none of her usual lightness of spirit. Lady Betony appeared pale, and there was a tightness in her brow that made him wonder if she had a headache.

Ah. Ivy didn’t wish for rescue if it came at the expense of leaving her sister behind. He understood that.

Very well.

He affixed his charming smile in place and kept coming. For a moment, Ivy’s eyes widened in alarm, but she turned her full attention to her sister-in-law as though she hadn’t even marked Teague’s approaching form.

He interrupted without a moment’s pause. “I beg your pardon, your grace. Ladies. I’ve a need to kidnap one of these fair maids a moment.” He turned his smile from the duchess and the countess to the sisters, only briefly meeting Ivy’s frown before settling his gaze on the one most in need of rescue.

“Lady Betony, if you would join me a moment? My sister is thinking of adding beadwork to the bit of cloth she’s at work upon, and we would like to know your thoughts on the subject. We’ve agreed you are the one with the best eye for such details.”

The young woman’s mouth popped open for an instant in surprise, but she quickly looked to her sister-in-law.

It was the duchess who waved them away. “Of course, Lord Dunmore. We wouldn’t dream of keeping her from you. Your work is really quite fine, Betony.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Betony rose, made her curtsy, then accepted Teague’s hand as he led her away. He looked over his shoulder once before he reached the safety of Simon and Isleen’s couch, intercepting a look from Ivy that sent his heart into a lively dance.

It was a short glimpse, yet he read several things in it at once. Approval. Appreciation. And, quite possibly, attraction.

He winked and turned before seeing if he had made her blush.

Betony settled happily in the chair he had occupied before, and Isleen—bless her—played along in asking about adding beadwork to the embroidery of the gown.

“Gown?” Teague looked down at the white swath of fabric again. “There’s not enough cloth there for half a gown. Who do you plan to wear such a small scrap of a thing?”

Simon’s ears went pink, but his sister gave him a measured look. “You really ought not to worry so about my sewing.”

Betony coughed softly into her fist, though it sounded more like she was trying to hide a laugh at his expense.

“I thought it was an overly large handkerchief.” His eyebrows went high, but Isleen put a finger to her lips. He scowled at her. “You’ve a secret you’re not telling me?”

Her lips turned upward. “A little one. I shall tell later.”

He huffed and looked at Simon, but the man had grown tight-lipped and appeared to be trying to melt into the pages of the book in his hand. Fine. He had enough to worry himself about without diving into whatever secrets his sister and her husband wanted to keep.

In conversation with Isleen, Lady Betony relaxed and was soon herself again, though perhaps speaking at a lower volume than he thought necessary. Perhaps she didn’t like being her full self in front of her sister-in-law. Pity she had to temper herself at all.

He went to one of the tall windows, folded his hands behind his back, and looked out over the stretch of land sloping downward from Clairvoir’s hill. He had saved a damsel from a dragon. Hopefully, that would win him another fair maiden’s hand.

Ivy and Juniperboth relaxed the moment the Irishman swept away their little sister. Fanny had not been cruel, and likely as not thought herself helpful, but she had done nothing except correct every gesture Betony made from the moment they sat down in the Long Gallery. She had admonished Betony to temper her smile, to sit straighter, to put her knees closer together, to keep her ankles apart, tilt her chin up, keep her shoulders back, and on the list went.

Perhaps Fanny meant to make up for lost time, given the fortnight the sisters had been away from her care. Betony had drowned beneath the shower of criticism like a flower in a pot overflowing with rainwater. That Teague had understood in the few seconds he’d had to assess the situation, then done something about it, struck her as deeply sweet.

She had every intention of telling him so, too, the moment she freed herself from Fanny’s conversation. Unfortunately, Teague left the room with Lord Farleigh some time before Fanny had finished regaling all of them, even the patient duchess, with stories of her last two weeks in London.

Juniper looked as though she were ready to wilt from the overabundance of information by the time Fanny allowed the duchess to steer the conversation, and Fanny herself, elsewhere.

“Do come look at the nursery with me, Lady Haverton. Now that James is ready to move on, I would appreciate another mother’s perspective on how to keep the rooms for younger children pleasant when we have guests.”

Fanny preened, obviously overjoyed at the idea of a duchess wanting her opinion on anything.

The moment the doors closed behind the pair, Juniper slumped over against the arm of the furniture and released a soft moan. “The duchess is a saint, and Lord Dunmore ought to be knighted for his rescue of Betony.”

“I think a knighthood is a step down from being a baron,” Ivy said with a soft smile. “It was not so bad. She has obviously stored up a great deal of things. Stories to tell. Gossip to share. Critiques to distribute.”

Betony appeared standing before them. “Ivy, if you do not marry Lord Dunmore, I might have to.” She spoke as though earnest, her hand over one heart. “I truly expected he had come to steal you away, but I was the chosen one.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “A most valiant man. Kind. Thoughtful. Witty.”

Ivy’s cheeks warmed and she folded her hands tight in her lap. “It was kind of him to whisk you away.”

“You will marry him, won’t you?” Betony asked, her usual cheerful grin returning. “No more of this Lord Martin—oh.” Her face turned red and she leaned closer to whisper, “He just came in with Sir Andrew.”

Indeed, the handsome gentleman accompanied the baronet into the room, both immediately coming to where Ivy and her sisters were.

“Lady Ivy, Lady Juniper, Lady Betony,” Sir Andrew said, bobbing a brief bow to all three. “We are in search of more gentlemen. Or nobles, I suppose, since everyone here seems to have a title, and they’re all higher than mine.” His broad grin made it seem more a joke than an actual observation. He sighed heavily and looked to Lord Martin. “We are swimming in lords and ladies.”

“Lord Farleigh and Lord Dunmore left perhaps ten minutes ago,” Ivy answered, gesturing to Isleen, who was still working at her embroidery. “Perhaps they told Lady Farleigh where they meant to go next. Otherwise, I am afraid I cannot help.”

“I shall ask Isleen,” Sir Andrew said, turning at once to speak to the countess.

Lord Martin shook his head as the baronet strode away. “I have never met a man so happy to poke fun at people with higher ranks. It is remarkably refreshing to be in his company.”

“I think one must lose their awe of such things as rank when one’s best friend is a future duke.” Ivy had stood to speak to him while her sisters both sat on the couch, watching Lord Martin with a critical eye. “I understand you won your seat in the House of Commons recently, Lord Martin. Does that mean you have not socialized much with the men here who are in Lords?”

“Very little politically, though quite often when it comes to parties and gentlemen’s clubs. I went to the same schools as Farleigh and Sir Andrew, though I was behind them in age.” His carriage was correct. His tone polite. His smile quite friendly. Nothing negative could be said or even thought of his presence.

That did not stop Juniper from trying to poke him. “Strange that we haven’t met you before, Lord Martin, and yet you’re well acquainted enough with our elder brother for William to invite you here.”

Betony’s smile curled up eagerly, too. “Truly. I had not heard him mention you before, either.”

Ivy could blithely throttle them both. As it was, she cast them a warning look, the look of an older sister reminding the younger to play nicely with others. They ignored her, keeping their innocent smiles on Lord Martin.

If that was not enough, she caught the guard, Sterling, out the corner of her eye, smirking, as though he was enjoying the show her sisters were putting on to disconcert Lord Martin.

The man appeared unflappable, perhaps even amused. “Alas, your brother and I have known each other these six months and I have barely won his approval, it seems. I am afraid some of our political views are at odds. I am more closely aligned with His Grace’s party than Lord Haverford’s. We recently came to an agreement about better practices for tenancies. I think knowing that I have it in me to compromise is what finally gained his attention.”

Betony immediately raised her eyebrows and Juniper wrinkled her nose. Neither were fond of discussing politics, as they did not take much of an interest. Not like Ivy did. He had provided them an answer to their somewhat rude queries and bored them.

Ivy had to resist laughing at her sisters as she turned to Lord Martin. “I am glad he finally brought you to meet us. Most of my brother’s friends have little interest in discussing politics with the earl’s younger sisters.”

“Perhaps I am brighter than they are,” he responded with a charming smile. “I have a question I must ask, though it is likely all three of you are tired of hearing it. Your names are quite unique—plants. Ivy, Juniper, Betony. It is somewhat unusual in the nobility to find nary a Mary or Elizabeth in a family. Did your mother have a special love for horticulture?”

Betony’s wicked grin came an instant before her answer. “Oh, no. It was our father. All of us have plant names.” She batted her eyelashes. “Even our brother.”

Lord Martin’s eyebrows drew together. “Your brother’s Christian name is William, is it not?”

“It is,” Juniper said with a tamer version of their youngest sister’s expression.

“Father named him after one of his favorite flowers. Sweet William,” Ivy said at last, wincing somewhat. It was not her half-brother’s favorite piece of family history, that he had been named for a flower, even though the name itself was quite respectable and common for a man of his station. The fact that his name came from a plant rather than a conquering king wasn’t one he liked.

Lord Martin, to his credit, immediately covered his laugh with his fist, then cleared his throat. “That seems like dangerous information for me to possess if I want to stay on his good side.”

Easy as that, he had pleased her sisters enough for the two of them to laugh and stop glowering at him. Indeed, Ivy relaxed somewhat, too. He was not a bad sort at all.

When Sir Andrew came back to fetch him, he said, “They have gone to the boat house. There’s talk of a rowing race if we can gather more interested parties. Do you row?”

“I did well enough at university,” Lord Martin answered, some eagerness in his tone. He bowed to the ladies. “It sounds as though I am needed in the boathouse. Good afternoon, ladies.”

After the two men left, Juniper tilted her head to the side and gave Ivy a speculative look. “There isn’t anything wrong with him. At least, not that I can spot easily.”

Betony sniffed. “I still like Teague better.”

Ivy absently corrected, “Lord Dunmore. You should not use his Christian name.”

“He gave me leave to after rescuing me.” Betony grinned happily. “As I hope to call him brother before long, I intend to accept that invitation, at least in private conversation. Besides, you have already said yes to him.”

“I know.” Ivy gave an impatient roll of her eyes. “Betony. I am quite aware of that. He is the one who has said I ought to consider Lord Martin as an option.”

“Does Lord Martin know about the engagement yet?” Juniper asked, hands folded properly in her lap. With an expectant tilt of her head, she added, “It’s unsporting if he does not know he’s in a competition. Can you imagine being in a race without knowing about it? Just leisurely walking while the other person darts ahead?”

“It is not a competition. And I do not know what he knows.” Ivy slumped into the chair where Fanny had perched not a half hour before. “He strikes me as the sort of man who would not give attention to a woman already engaged. I will assume he does not know.”

“Not fair, Ivy.” Juniper shakes her head.

“Who exactly does know?” Betony asked. “I have not spoken of it outside the three of us.”

“Nor I,” Juniper added. “I thought it best to wait until you or Tea—Lord Dunmore announced it.” She blushed when Ivy sent her a glare for nearly using Teague’s given name.

“I have spoken only to our family about it. William, the two of you, and Teague himself.” Ivy winced. “I believe Tea—Lord Dunmore told His Grace, Lord Farleigh, and possibly his sister.”

“A tight-knit group, then.” Juniper glanced toward Sterling, whose face was a mask of indifference. “And whatever servants have been about to hear, I suppose. There must be gossip.”

“It is not really a secret,” Ivy protested softly, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Perhaps I should speak to William about it. You’re right. Lord Martin should know the circumstances under which he was brought here have changed, if he truly was only brought to meet me.”

Juniper tapped her chin thoughtfully. “A younger son of a nobleman is a fine catch, so long as he has his own means of support. Perhaps he will turn his attention to one of the other ladies present.”

“Whom do you think he would turn to next?” Betony bounced a little in her seat. “You, Juniper dear?”

Juniper’s cheeks flushed and she shook her head. “No. I am not at all looking for a husband. Yet.”

“You aren’t any fun.” Betony tossed her curls and turned her gaze back on Ivy. “Why would Teague want you to consider another man? Is he trying to get out of marrying you? He did not have to rescue me unless he really liked you.”

“Or he is kind and would have done it no matter what,” Ivy put in, somewhat defensively. “He says he is trying to be a gentleman by considering my feelings first. He says if Lord Martin is the better prospect, I deserve that if I think I would be happier with him.”

“That is ridiculous. I am certain if we made a list of their attributes, of all the good reasons and bad, they would come out quite equal. The worst thing about Lord Dunmore,” Juniper said with an even tone, “is that he lives in Ireland. That is far away. But if we go with you, it is not too terrible. You did say we could go with you if William approves.”

“Precisely.” Betony gave her hands a clap. “If they are similar in terms of positive reasons for marriage, I still choose Teague.”

Ivy gave her sister an exasperated look. “It is not your choice, Betony.”

Betony childishly stuck her tongue out and all three of them giggled. Fanny certainly would not have liked that behavior.

“Really, though,” Juniper said at last, voice softer. “This is not a fair situation for Lord Martin. Nor for you.” She stood and went to sit on the footstool directly in front of Ivy’s chair, solemn.

“What do you mean, for me?”

Juniper leaned closer to Ivy, her voice soft but firm, carrying the weight of her convictions. “Ivy, while I understand Lord Dunmore’s intentions might be noble, suggesting you consider Lord Martin places you in an unfair position. It is not just about choosing someone as if they are books on a shelf. It is about where your heart truly lies. Lord Martin... he deserves to know the full picture, too. It is only fair to him and to you.”

She paused, her gaze thoughtful as she considered her next words carefully. “Marriage isn’t a competition or a list of attributes to compare. It is about finding someone who complements you, who brings out the best in you and stands by you through every challenge. Whether that person is Lord Dunmore or not, it is a decision that should be made with clarity and honesty, not under the shadow of doubt or obligation.”

Ivy stared at Juniper in silent admiration for several long moments. Though the oldest, she had often suspected that her middle sister had more clarity of thought, if not outright wisdom, than Ivy possessed. Juniper’s strengths were lovely and unique to her, and they were part of the reason Ivy wished to wed and get both her sisters away from Fanny’s censuring and William’s indifference.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It feels like so much to consider. It would be easier if…if there was love involved.”

With a sigh, Juniper reached out, taking Ivy’s hand in hers. “Whatever you decide, know that Betony and I are here for you. We want your happiness above all else. So, let’s ensure everyone involved has all the information before any more steps are taken. It is the only way to navigate this with integrity and respect for everyone’s feelings.”

Betony grumbled from her place on the couch. “Does Juniper always have to be right?”

The other two laughed, but Ivy nodded. “This time, I think so.”

She needed to have a rather important conversation with Teague.