Chapter 22

“The thing about Catholic emancipation at this juncture is simply that other things take precedence,” Lord Haverton spouted from his place standing near the hearth in the library. “I do not disagree that the practice of keeping men of faith from taking part in the government is archaic. However, there are still many concerned with the fact that orders could come from the Pope himself, giving Rome a say in matters where it ought not have any say.”

The men of the house party were scattered about in the library, a few of them with pipes in hand, some sitting in chairs, others lounging on couches, and a few standing like Haverton. The windows were open to keep the scents from settling and letting in cooler air from the courtyard below.

Teague was near the doorway, arms folded, trying to keep his tongue in check. Haverton had not expressed his own view, only one that was generally held by his party. The Irishman cut a glance to Simon and then the duke. Simon was staring out the window, back to the room, listening more than speaking. His father, though, sat in a chair near the hearth with the look of a king sitting upon a throne.

He spoke with a measured tone. “The majority of our Parliament is made up of Anglicans, whose official head is the king himself. Yet we have a fair share of Protestants, Methodists, Agnostics, and the like. I believe the only time a man’s religion ought to be considered is when he proclaims to loudly follow its tenets and then proves himself dishonorable by going against what he has sworn to uphold. Which is, I am afraid, most of our government’s representatives.”

Teague lowered his gaze to the carpet and allowed himself a smile. The duke’s library hosted nearly two dozen men that day. Most were guests at the castle or at the Lambsthorpe inn, as they had a hunt planned for the next day, and everyone was enjoying His Grace’s hospitality for the evening.

“I believe we will see a change in the way we regard Catholics before the end of the decade,” another gentleman remarked, a representative from Commons. “It is something the people want. Something they deserve. Lord Atella could tell us, I am certain, that there are politicians throughout Europe who attend Catholic mass and are not told how to vote or rule by the Pope.”

The Ambassador for the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. “It is true enough. Only those angling for service to Rome would consider such a thing necessary. We are in a more modern era. While religion may play a part in a man’s life, we see it less and less when it comes to governance. Science and philosophy hold higher esteem. Things that are provable, regardless of what one believes.”

Sir Andrew, standing near Teague, leaned closer. “Not chiming in today?”

“I haven’t the desire to argue at present,” Teague answered with a shrug. “I am in too good a mood.”

“Yes, I suppose love will do that to a man,” the baronet said with a smirk. “One cannot be bitter while also being besotted.”

The word love stirred Teague’s mind and heart. Though he had yet to say it directly to Ivy, he had not been able to stop expressing it. Not when he had stolen a thousand glances at her over the past several days, not when he had held her in his arms after her musical performance, and possibly not since the beginning.

It was an odd thought to turn over in a library, surrounded by men and pipe smoke. Yet one could hardly help when or where an epiphany came into being. Teague stood still, letting the acceptance of his feelings sweep through him like flood waters, spreading widely, seeping into every inch of his heart and mind until the tenderness he felt for Ivy saturated his being.

He loved her. Fully. Completely.

A soft hissing sound snapped him from his startling revelation, making his eyes dart down, then behind him. Standing between Teague and the wall, crouched as though to keep himself hidden, was Lord James.

The boy’s eyes darted from Teague across the room to where his father, the duke, was speaking again about the state of prejudice that existed in Parliament. The lad obviously had no wish to be seen.

“Lord Dunmore,” he whispered, his eyes comically wide. “Fiona needs you.” He jerked his head toward the doorway, then hurriedly slinked along the wall to slip out of it.

Teague glanced at Sir Andrew, who raised his eyebrows. “Do not look at me. I have been involved in more misadventures with the children of this castle than can possibly be fair. Off you go. See what the little miscreants want.”

As the conversation in the room had been informal, Teague did not take his leave of the crowd. He left the room without haste, however. In a true emergency, a servant would have come for him. Lord James and Fiona were obviously plotting something.

He came out into the corridor and raised his eyebrows at the two of them. Fiona stood in the middle of the long carpet, hands on her hips, and James had joined her with a wide grin on his face.

“We have been looking everywhere for you,” his little sister proclaimed. “Now Ivy will think it is our fault that you are taking so long.”

That brought him up short. “Ivy sent you?”

Both children nodded rapidly.

“We are supposed to give you a message,” James said, puffing out his chest a bit. “Then you must find her.”

“But it is not hide and seek,” Fiona said with a little scowl. “She only gave us a clue. I think she doesn’t want us coming after you both, which means it’s something to do with the two of you getting married.” She rolled her eyes with disgust. “Are we really going to have the ceremony here at the castle?”

“We are,” Teague informed her, opting to be amused rather than impatient with the messengers. “Before we go home to Ireland in September.” He looked at James. “What is the message?”

James shrugged. “I have no idea. She told Fiona. Fiona recruited me, but then she didn’t want to go in the library with all the men present.”

“It smells of tobacco pipes in there,” Fiona said with a shake of her curls. “Do you know how awful a smell it is to get out of a lady’s hair?”

“Fi,” Teague said before she could begin an argument with the duke’s youngest. “What is the message?”

“Oh. That. Ivy said she wanted to meet you in the place where you gave her an ‘Irish sample.’ Whatever in the world did she mean by that, Teague?” His sister tilted her head, curiosity in the gesture. “Did you let her try the toffees we brought from Belfast?”

He cleared his throat. “Something like that.” He glanced back the way he had come, but didn’t hesitate a moment more. “Thank you for the message. Now, you had both best get back to the nursery or wherever it is the younger guests are milling about. I’ll be off to see Ivy.”

“The others are not all that fun.” Lord James scrunched up his nose. “Everyone is so stuffy, especially Ivy’s nieces and nephews. I’m surprised they haven’t already tattled on us for slipping off.”

Someone down the corridor cleared his throat. Fiona and James both winced and looked back to see one of the footmen there, his eyebrows raised. The boy huffed. “All right, Brockton. We are coming.”

Fiona laughed and gave James a shove. “Told you they would send someone. We are lucky we escaped this long.”

“Off with you both,” Teague instructed, taking himself to the nearest staircase. “Mind your manners, Fi.”

He didn’t run through the castle. Even an Irish baron had more respect for proper decorum than that. But he did take the stairs to ground level two at a time and stretched his stride as long as he could to eat up the ground between himself and Ivy as quickly as possible.

The only sample he had given her of anything had been the kiss. If she had brought it up, even through an unlikely messenger like Fiona, he had every hope she had finally decided to ask for a bit more.

What sort of man would he prove to be if he denied her such a thing?

He took the walkway through the rose gardens, down another spot of the terraced gardens, then came along the stone wall to the grotto entrance. He did not pass another soul after the rose gardens.

Yet when the entrance to the Japanese Garden came into sight, his steps momentarily slowed. A sudden weight pressed upon his chest. The echoes of the day’s discussions about acceptance and prejudice lingered in his mind, mingling with his worries for his countrymen. His responsibilities as an Irishman, as a peer, a member of Lords, had come first for so long. Yet now he found himself about to take an English bride. While he had found a sympathetic listener in Ivy, he hoped she would never have cause to question his stance on the things that mattered most to his people.

Even as she was now the person who mattered most in all the world to him.

Before stepping through to the Japanese Garden, Teague allowed himself a rare moment of quiet reflection. The garden’s tranquility, a stark contrast to the lively debates inside, reflected the serenity he felt whenever he thought of his future with Ivy. Yet with this tranquility came an acute awareness of the profound changes his life was about to undergo.

Marriage was not merely a union but a transformation. Was he ready to be the husband Ivy deserved? She deserved all the love and admiration, all the support and the praise he could give her.

He took a deep breath, letting the fresh air and scent of green and growing things strengthen his resolve. Love meant more than acknowledging a feeling. It meant making a decision to embrace every challenge and the joy that came with it.

When he stepped through to the Japanese Garden, its tall stone walls sheltering the peace within, Teague caught his breath at the picture Ivy made sitting on a bench beneath the sprawling branches of the magnolia tree. The late afternoon light casting dappled shadows through its leaves. The deep green of her gown complemented the lush surroundings, making her appear as a part of the garden itself—an embodiment of the natural beauty around her.

“Ivy, darling. I hear tell you have a need to see me?”

Her dark hair framed her face in soft curls, catching the sunlight and teasing the shadows. The same dark eyes that had so often met his with intelligence and warmth watched him draw nearer, a subtle mischief playing within their depths.

What was she up to?

As Teague approached, she stood, the deep green of her gown highlighting the rosiness of her cheeks and the pink of her lips, which parted slightly in a welcoming smile that held not just affection, but a promise of something more. Something almost secretive.

“Indeed. I’m relieved my messengers found you, and more so that you came. I wished to speak with you in private.”

This vision of her, poised and graceful, reinforced all the reasons why he had fallen so irrevocably in love. Ivy was not just his betrothed; she was a revelation, continually defying every expectation he had once held about English ladies. Her strength, her compassion, and her keen mind challenged him, comforted him, and inspired him.

She held her hand out to him and Teague closed the distance between them quickly, taking her hand when near enough and stepping still closer, bringing them nearly toe-to-toe.

“You have my full attention, darling.” He loved looking into her eyes. Loved knowing he belonged to her. Knowing that he loved her. She had his whole heart.

“Good.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, looked him directly in the eye and said, “Tá mé i ngrá leat, Teague Frost.” Before he could quite recover from the shock of being told, in the tongue he had learned first, that she was in love with him, Ivy rose up on her toes and kissed him.

What a kiss it was.

Teague stood, momentarily frozen, as the soft, lyrical words in Irish echoed through his heart. The language of his homeland, spoken so tenderly by Ivy, pierced through all worries he had ever held. The earnestness in her voice, the openness in her gaze, undid him.

She loved him, truly and deeply.

As her lips met his, every thought but one vanished: he was utterly and irrevocably hers. Her kiss, fervent and bold, was a seal on a vow he had not even realized he had been waiting to make. The world narrowed to the warmth of her mouth on his, her hands coming up to thread through his hair, pulling him closer, as though she couldn’t abide even a small distance between them.

When they finally parted, a need for air pressing them apart, Teague’s breaths came in heavy. He rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and full of longing.

“Ivy, my love,” he murmured, the words slipping from him as naturally as prayer. “You have captured my heart completely. Mo ghrá thú—I love you. More than words in any language can convey.”

Her smile was radiant, her cheeks flushed with the same overwhelming affection that filled his chest—a mixture of joy and awe.

“I hoped as much,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw tenderly. “I can’t imagine going another day without telling you, without showing you how I feel, Teague. Not a single one.”

All his remaining uncertainties about their different backgrounds, the challenges they would face together, dissolved under the weight of this truth between them. They were more than a lord and his lady; they were partners, equals in the most important endeavor of their lives.

Proclaimingher love in Irish and kissing the man she loved was the most daring thing Ivy had ever done. Yet she had never felt more certain of anything in her life. All the yearning to be heard, the wishing to be told her thoughts and feelings had value, had quieted in her heart. The more time she had spent with Teague, the more she had felt like herself. His love gifted her that wonderful feeling of acceptance.

“I am so glad we were both at the theater that night,” she said, standing in the circle of his arms. He hadn’t stepped away after their kiss. He had continued to hold her close, head tipped forward to rest against hers, as though he needed that contact to remain. Needed her to remain by his side.

“Then here at the castle together,” he added with a little grin. “Serendipity, indeed.”

She laughed and tipped her head up enough to brush a kiss at the corner of his lips. He smiled and turned his head to steal another. She stepped back and looked up at him, her heart full to bursting with happiness. “We are fortunate to have found one another.”

“I think it had to have happened, sooner or later, given the ridiculous way the two of us are connected through family.” He let her escape his arms but retained a hold on her hand. “My lovely Ivy. My heart. My lady with the multi-hued lenses.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “You are an incorrigible flirt.”

“Only for you, Ivy.”

“Is it flirting even after we marry?”

“Of course. We Irishmen, we always flirt with our wives. It’s the best of sports.” He gave her one of the crooked grins that made her stomach flutter and her chest grow warm. “Not a day will go by without me trying to make you blush or smile. I’ll drive you to distraction at every possible chance.”

“I look forward to that,” she confessed, squeezing his hand. Her gaze swept over his face, memorizing each line, each curve that had become dear to her. “I will take each day to remind you of my love, in words, in deeds, in every glance shared across any room we enter.”

Teague’s eyes softened, the dark brown of them reflecting her love back with tenderness. “You’ve changed my world, Ivy. Not just by loving me, but by being you. By being the one who sees past the surface, beyond what things are, to how they make you feel. To what they could be.”

The sincerity in his voice, the earnestness of his words, stirred something profound within her. This was no simple affection; it was a promise of endless support and devotion.

“Teague,” Ivy began, her voice barely above a whisper as she stepped closer again, reclaiming the warmth of his embrace. “I never imagined love could feel like this. Like home. Like the safest harbor after the longest storm.”

He chuckled softly, his breath stirring her hair. “I didn’t know it could be a grand adventure, one worth every risk.” His fingers traced the curve of her waist gently, his touch sending shivers down her spine. “But here we are, about to embark on the greatest journey either of us has ever taken.”

She knew there would be challenges ahead, moments of doubt and trials, but with Teague by her side, she felt equipped to face anything. To help him face anything.

“I promise you this,” she said, leaning back to lock her eyes on his. “No matter what comes, I will support you. With all my heart and unwavering trust.”

“Thank you, my love. I will do the very same for you, for the rest of my days.” Teague sealed their vow with another kiss. As their lips parted, the world around them seemed to pause, acknowledging the beauty, the depth of their commitment.

Hand in hand, they walked the garden path, their steps light, their hearts full. No matter what the future held, they had already conquered the greatest challenge of all—they had found and chosen each other in a world that often seemed too vast and indifferent. That, she knew, was the truest victory of all.