Chapter 18

Waiting outside a woman’s quarters like a rogue of the worst sort had Teague on edge. It did not help that Sterling, positioned at the end of the corridor, wore a somewhat disapproving frown instead of his usual mask of indifference. Teague kept glancing at the guard, nearly speaking several times, but wound up saying nothing.

What would he say? Stop looking at me like I should not be here? Ridiculous. He had every right to stand in an empty corridor, waiting to speak with his betrothed before dinner and the subsequent musical evening.

Still uncomfortable, he leaned against the wall opposite to the quarters shared by the three sisters. His shoulders had barely brushed the wallpaper when her door opened, and he practically leapt forward to intercept her.

“Lady Ivy.” Her loveliness immediately set his heart pounding. This evening she wore a gown of soft pink, which complemented her dark eyes and the soft flush in her cheeks. “You are stunning.”

The pink cheeks turned red. “Thank you, Teague.” She smoothed the skirts of the gown along her hips, a self-conscious movement he found as endearing as it was enticing. “Are you waiting for me?”

“I am. I thought we could have a chat, if you are amiable to that.” He held out his hand, bending at the waist in a near courtly bow. “Please?”

After watching her, speaking with her, slowly coming to know her, Teague fancied himself able to read some of the emotions in her expression. The subtle lightening of her eyes, the tiny forward tilt of her head, told him he had done something that merited her approval. He intended to do more.

She placed her hand in his and he guided it to the crook of his arm, walking down the corridor toward the ballroom staircase. She spoke first. “Did the men reach an agreement about a possible boat race?”

He chuckled. “Indeed, we did. We should have enough to man four boats, if everyone Farleigh invites accepts his invitation. There’s talk of going to the river rather than doing the thing in the lake, as they’ve done in the past. Have you an interest in boat racing?”

“None at all,” she admitted with a slight upturn to her lips. “But the men in this castle seem quite obsessed with it.”

“Including our newest addition, Lord Martin.” Better to bring up the subject they needed to address than continue to dance around it, he supposed. “He’s quite the sportsman.”

“I am not the least surprised,” she said, giving him a rueful glance. “He is charming, well-spoken, athletic, and was a delight to partner in cards last evening. Truly, nothing like the kind of man I expected my brother to offer for my consideration.”

Teague agreed with her assessment and wanted nothing more than to lock Lord Martin in a closet for all his good qualities. “He’s logical when it comes to his politics, too. Thinking ahead.”

“Should you not speak more disparagingly of him?” she asked, amusement in the tilt of her head. “Or are you trying to push me toward him? I confess, I know not what to think from one moment to the next.”

He gave her his best innocent expression, all wide-eyed and narrow-lipped. “I wouldn’t wish to insult your intelligence or judgement by suggesting he is anything other than a good match for a lady. Though perhaps I am a bit too self-assured in thinking you will still find me the better choice.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “What advantages do you have that I ought to know about?”

Teague couldn’t resist the opportune moment, and there was a wonderfully situated little alcove for him to tuck her into—so he did. He backed into it, bringing her with him with one hand on her wrist and the other going gently around her waist, drawing her against his chest.

“I have plenty of advantages, darling.” He released her waist to tilt her chin up, barely grazing her skin. He did not need to direct her much, as she seemed quite eager to lean forward.

She wanted a kiss, did she?

He smiled to himself, then touched his lips chastely to her forehead. “There now. Wasn’t that grand?” he teased, looking down into her eyes as they glowed first with surprise, then indignation.

For a moment, she opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, looking as though she wished to lecture him, but with enough confusion on the matter that she couldn’t settle upon what to say.

“You can either be upset I did not give you the kiss you wanted, or you can be upset you wanted it in the first place,” he informed her with a smug little smile as his hand went back around her waist. “I don’t think you can say a word against me in this case.”

“You are rather infuriating.” When she spoke at last, it was in a hushed voice. “I can say that much against you.”

“I think you like it,” he protested with a grin. “I’ll not kiss you again until you ask me to, Ivy.”

“You are a beast.” Then the slightest pause before she said, “What makes you think I will ask?”

“Nothing but a great deal of hope.” He tilted his head to study the flush of her cheeks, the way she pursed her lips, and that little wrinkle at the top of her nose. “You wished to speak with me, did you not?”

“You were the one waiting for me in the corridor. Like a tiger preparing to pounce.”

He chuckled softly. She hadn’t stepped away from him, which told him enough about how much she enjoyed his nearness. “Let us say I sensed you needed a word with me, so I made myself available.” He had caught her glancing at him every time they had been in close proximity that day. It had not been difficult to surmise she had something on her mind.

Given how willingly she stood with him, tucked out of sight, he didn’t think she meant to break off their engagement. Lord Martin had been present for three days. He could not have won her over yet, not when it was Teague who had worked for weeks to coax her into expressing herself more openly.

It simply wouldn’t be fair. Not that he expected much fairness out of life. But he hoped for it from her.

“Astute of you to notice,” she muttered, hardly impressed with him. “It is about Lord Martin. I have decided it is not fair for him to be here, expecting to get to know me and court me, when I am already engaged. Even in your spirit of fair play, or whatever you wish to call it, he ought to know.”

“If he knew, he wouldn’t be any sort of gentleman to continue pursuing you, as you’ve already given your consent to marry another,” Teague pointed out. “I have no objection to telling him, of course. I merely think you will deprive yourself of the choice.”

“I would rather be honest,” she returned, and his heart warmed with approval. He had yet another thing to admire about Ivy: her integrity. Before he could give her a compliment on that hand, she added, “And honorable. I already gave you my word, Teague. We ought to announce our engagement properly and stop playing games.”

“But I do so enjoy games,” he protested, already wishing to gather her close in his arms again. She did not want to consider her other option, despite the attractions he held. It was a boon to his pride, for certain, and an immense relief. “You truly do not want to consider him? Even though your brother agreed?”

“Truly. Unless you wish to end our engagement for your own reasons, I would rather proceed. Openly. No games.”

The way his heart stuttered and skipped ahead to make up for the stumble almost hurt, and he had to step back a little. Had to breathe. Didn’t quite know what to do with the gift she’d handed him.

The way her eyes watched him, raptly, not missing a thing, made him smile. She looked as though she was holding her breath, waiting for his response.

“That is music to my ears, darling. And here I was planning a variety of schemes to win you to my side.”

“A gesture or two to show your enthusiastic approval of my decision would not go amiss,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “A lady likes to feel appreciated. Especially when she is giving her entire future into the hands of the man who asked for it.” The softest note of vulnerability entered her voice, a thing he felt more than heard.

He gentled his hold on her, tilting his head down and speaking with all the sincerity in his heart. “Ah, and that’s a grand gift indeed. I’m honored you trust me with it. I swear on my life to be a worthy keeper of that future.”

She rested her forehead against his, a shaky breath escaping her lips.

Teague squeezed her hand. “Now then, my darling. Let us find His Grace and see about making an announcement.”

William agreedto take Lord Martin aside and tell him of Ivy’s betrothal between dinner and the evening’s entertainment, insisting that he’d been the one to set the man’s expectations, thus he would be the one to inform him of the mistake.

His Grace suggested they make the announcement after the entertainment ended, making it the final, happy note on which to end the evening. All the castle guests, consisting of family and extended family, would be present, and most of their neighbors from the gentry class upward.

“Who does not want to leave a night of enchanting music with a notion as romantic as a betrothal?” the duke had asked with a somewhat wistful smile, and Teague had immediately agreed to the idea.

The one problem with such a thing waiting that long would be that it added to Ivy’s nerves. She had been practicing her piece for the evening since the ladies had originally discussed it. Choosing music that had spoken to her heart, feeling free to do so, not realizing Fanny would then be sitting on the second row of chairs in the music room, listening and watching for any sign of inappropriate playing.

Betony and Juniper had chosen a duet, and Ivy would perform before them. As Lady Farleigh had taken the reins of the hostess from the duchess that evening, she carefully ushered each woman up at their turn and informed the guests of what they would play.

Ivy sat with William and Fanny on one side, her sisters on the other, and gripped the music in her hands tightly. She did not think she would need it, as she loved Nocturne. It had been composed by John Field, an Irishman, who had spent his lifetime composing and selling his music in England and throughout Europe.

After the duchess named her and her somewhat unconventional piece, she didn’t dare look at Fanny. Her sister-in-law had always insisted the sisters never play or perform a piece not well established as socially acceptable. Polite. Well-known.

Ivy sat at the piano, hesitating before placing her fingers on the keys. This song reminded her of evenings long ago, her father humming while she drifted off to sleep. Everything about it was gentle. Soft. Loving.

And that would be how she played the piece.

Under the tender glow of candlelight, Ivy’s fingers glided across the ivory keys, each note of John Field’s Nocturne unfurling into the hushed room with all the warmth in her heart. She closed her eyes, allowing the music to flow gently. Peacefully. It was as though the piano itself sighed under her touch, its melodies not just played but felt—each phrase a memory, each arpeggio a whisper of happier days.

She thought of her father, showing her illustrations of faraway lands. His hand taking hers to walk through the garden with a magnifying glass to look at insects. His proud smile when she grew heated in her conversation about a book.

Her approach to the composition was less a matter of technique than of heart. Ivy did not merely interpret Field’s work; she infused it with her soul, her body swaying with the swell of the music, eyes closed to better inhabit the world it conjured. The world where she’d been safe to be herself with her father. It was a performance that blurred the boundaries between musician and melody, where each note was a testament to the joy and gentleness of her past.

The last notes trembled in the air as her fingers trembled on the keys and a tear slipped through her lashes, along her cheek. She missed her father. What would he have thought of her current situation? Her betrothal?

She dearly hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed, that he would understand her choice. She opened her eyes with a serene smile.

When she turned her head to acknowledge the genteel applause, her gaze went first to Teague. She had not meant to look to where he sat, across the room from her family, but her eyes were drawn to him in a brief, hesitant glance.

His expression made her breath catch.

There, in the depths of his eyes, she found not the veiled concern or polite detachment she had braced herself to encounter, but a glowing approval, a warmth reaching across the room like the gentle touch of moonlight through a window. His gaze held a mixture of pride and tenderness. As though he had found the music, and perhaps its player, beautiful.

He was not ashamed. Was not worried. She dared put on a smile as she curtsied, her turn over, her nerves settled. Relief touched her heart...yet quickly faded the moment she turned her gaze toward her family and met Fanny’s disapproving frown and reddened cheeks.

She had upset Fanny.

William did not seem concerned, politely clapping, gaze not truly focused. Betony and Juniper were beaming. But Fanny would have words for her the moment she sat down.

Somehow, she made it to her chair without stumbling. The contessa took her turn at the keys, playing an Italian ballad to compliment her ambassador husband. Ivy sat, gripping her music, as the first notes began. Everyone’s attention now on the new piece, the new player.

Everyone except Fanny.

“Ivy,” her sister-in-law said, her voice saturated with reproach, “Your playing and crying at the keys is an inappropriate display. Such depth of feeling! It is improper. Music, my dear, should mirror grace and restraint as much as skill. What you did was shameful. What was that song? I did not give approval for it.”

Still emotional from her heart’s journey to the days she had been safe beneath her father’s watchful eye, his smile, where laughter filled the air and Ivy and her sisters could simply be—she did not have words to respond to the harshness of the critique. To Fanny, there were two ways to play that had little to do with the music itself. There was appropriate and inappropriate.

“What will people say about a young lady who weeps at the piano?” Fanny hissed softly. “In the duke’s home. What will they think of you?”

Another tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away with her ungloved hand.

“Excuse yourself at once and take hold of your emotions, child.”

Ivy nodded and silently rose, slipping away, out of the room and into the quiet of the corridor, where she covered her mouth and leaned against the wall opposite the now closed door. She choked on a sob.

Would she forever be a disappointment to the people around her, merely by being true to herself?

A man cleared his throat, and she glanced up to find Sterling suddenly standing at her side, but facing the doors. He had one hand extended, holding a handkerchief. “My lady.”

She accepted the unadorned linen square. “Thank you, Sterling,” she said, almost gulping for air. Her lungs burned.

He tilted his head to the side. “No one is in that room, my lady, should you wish for quiet.”

She looked at the closed door he indicated and nodded, then went straight in. Heart hurting. Tears escaping, unchecked.