Chapter 7

The morning passed pleasantly enough for Teague, though he found himself checking his pocket watch with increasing frequency as the afternoon and his appointment with Lady Ivy approached. He’d breakfasted in private with his family, so they could have his sister Isleen all to themselves for the first time since her marriage to Simon. Then he’d closeted himself with the duke and Lord Farleigh to discuss the last meeting in the House of Lords and what they’d not managed to achieve.

“We have the summer and autumn to sway others,” the duke said to the younger men. “Never underestimate the power of house parties and hunting trips to discuss political matters.”

Teague nodded, the weight of the duke’s words not lost on him. “Indeed, Your Grace.” The informality of such events gave members of Parliament a chance to be heard or express themselves without concern that their party would get wind of their private thoughts. Politicking was something of an art, both inside and outside of the Houses of Parliament.

Lord Farleigh chimed in, his usual earnestness in his tone. “There is something about being away from the noise and urgency of Town. Here, amidst the rolling hills and quiet solitude, I think men must face their own thoughts in a different way.”

The duke leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “We must also remember the ladies. They hold sway in their own right. Many a vote has been influenced over tea in the drawing-room, not just brandy in the study. Her Grace is preparing a list of guests for the coming picnics, games, and balls. I hope you will both take note of who attends our entertainments.”

Teague’s gaze drifted towards the window, the lush green of the estate grounds beckoning. “Speaking of which, I am due to accompany Lady Ivy for a stroll in the gardens.” He had no wish to make a secret of it.

“Lady Ivy?” The duke’s eyebrows raised at Teague’s respectful nod. “My wife is quite fond of her young cousin. She strikes me as an intelligent lady, though I think she holds back a great many of the things she wishes to say.” He chuckled. “Perhaps the influence of Josephine and Isleen will encourage her to speak her mind more often. I am often intrigued by what our esteemed ladies have to say about the state of our kingdom.”

Simon, Lord Farleigh, chuckled. “Isleen rarely leaves anyone wondering about her thoughts on most topics.” The warmth in his tone as he spoke of his wife, Teague’s sister, was unmistakably affectionate. It was good she had found someone, an entire family, that did not mind her differences. “Do you miss her debating at the breakfast table, as she now does with me?”

“Every day,” Teague admitted with an honest grin. “Though I don’t miss her smugness when she bested me in our discussions.”

Simon’s gaze turned somewhat unfocused. “I cannot say I mind too much. My wife quite enjoys being right. The improvement to her mood is beneficial in other ways, too.”

Teague resisted the urge to groan. Happy as he was for his sister’s marriage, he didn’t have to sit and listen to his brother-in-law turn soft and silly about their relationship. He exchanged a glance with the duke, whose amusement subtly glimmered in his eyes.

With a polite smile, Teague rose from his seat. “I had better be on my way to my appointment, then. One ought to never keep a lady waiting. Your Grace, Farleigh, your conversation has been most enlightening.”

“Enjoy your time in the gardens, Dunmore,” the duke said. “Oh. One more thing.”

Teague paused halfway through his bow. “Your Grace?”

The duke raised his eyebrows. “Good luck drawing out Lady Ivy’s conversation. I have a feeling she will have a great deal of worth to say to a man who is willing to listen.”

With the duke’s parting comment, Teague excused himself to prepare for his walk in the gardens with Lady Ivy. He stood before the ornate mirror in his room, fingers deftly working on the buttons of his waistcoat. The deep chocolate brown of his attire was an echo of his eyes, a shade so dark and rich that it brought warmth to any ensemble. Isleen used to tell him that he wore the color well—another thing she’d been right about.

He brushed non-existent dust from his trousers, trying to distract himself from the nerves building in the pit of his stomach. The afternoon walk with Lady Ivy wasn’t merely a stroll in the gardens. It was an opportunity, a chance for him to get to know her, to understand the puzzle she presented.

He allowed his mind to drift back to the theater, to the dimness interrupted by the soft glow of the gaslight, where he had first been charmed by her open enjoyment of the play.

In the library the day before, her voice, despite the hesitancy with which she spoke, had carried tales of far-off places and hinted at a depth of thought he hadn’t encountered in some time. Yet, behind her words, he had sensed a barrier. A hint of caution had crept into her eyes, making him wonder about the stories she wasn’t telling. About the parts of herself she hid.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he contemplated the upcoming encounter. The mere thought of Ivy evoked a multitude of feelings—curiosity, attraction, and a smidge of uncertainty. He didn’t want their next meeting to feel like an interrogation. Nor did he wish to plunge headlong into the waters of intimacy, making her uncomfortable.

The English and Irish nobility had many similarities, of course. The Irish were less reserved, as a rule, when it came to expressing their thoughts and feelings on a matter. He’d no wish to scandalize her ladylike sensibilities. And she was English, even if he’d yet to see the aloof indifference he’d come up against time and again in others of her class.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings. “Come in.”

The door flew open to reveal Fiona, her face bright with mischief. Over her shoulder, James peered into the room, the mischievous twinkle in his eye mirroring the girl’s.

“We’ve escaped the nursery,” Fiona declared, putting one fist on her hip. “And we’re off to explore. Your room is the first we’re claiming for Ireland.”

“And England,” James said from behind her, holding up a telescope to peer through it at Teague’s furnishings. “You agreed we could both have any new territory we found.”

“Fine.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Though I think England’s taken more than her share of land already.”

The solution to Teague’s dilemma had appeared, right there in front of him. He’d not hesitate to accept such luck.

“Fiona, James. The exact two daring adventurers I needed to see.” Teague adopted a conspiratorial tone. “How would you both like to join Lady Ivy and me on our garden exploration? There will be ample land to lay claim to out of doors.”

The children exchanged excited glances. In their world of make-believe, the prospect of fresh air and gardens was always welcome.

Teague leaned in closer, whispering, “There could be hidden treasures in the garden. And I might need your expertise to make my way through hostile lands.”

The children nodded solemnly, fully engrossed in the narrative Teague wove.

“Excellent. Best get your hats, then take yourselves off to the guardroom. I’ll wait for you, along with Lady Ivy. Be as quick as a wink.”

As they scampered off to prepare for their expedition, a weight lifted off his chest. Having them along would add a touch of innocence and levity to the walk, a buffer that would ease any lingering tension. The footman trailing behind the children at a discreet distance passed Teague, barely pausing to give a slight bow.

“Ah, Sterling. You have nursery duty today?” Teague asked.

“Indeed, my lord.”

The guard’s stern expression gave nothing away, and Teague hadn’t ever asked if the duke’s personal guards liked certain duties or patrols over others. All of them struck him as serious individuals, and he couldn’t quite imagine them outside of their roles of the duke’s private militia.

“Then I suppose I will see you in the garden, too.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sterling bowed and went on his way, trailing after the children he had been assigned to watch over. Though one would hope children remained out of the realm of political disagreements, some unsavory characters who disliked the duke wouldn’t hesitate to use his sons or daughters to exact revenge or as political leverage.

The year before, there’d been an attempt on Simon’s—Lord Farleigh’s—life. Teague still shuddered when he thought of his sister, Isleen, being the one to stumble upon the plot and thus save the duke’s heir from the violence intended for him.

Looking back at his reflection in the mirror, the Irishman grinned. Deepening an acquaintance with the lovely Englishwoman while playing a part in the children’s expedition promised an entertaining afternoon at the very least.

At most?

Serendipity, he thought to himself with a shrug. He would enjoy whatever good luck fortune sent his way. He left his room with a light step, making his way through the corridors and down the staircase to the guardroom.

The guardroom was a sprawling space, meant to mimic castle halls from ages past, with alternating black and white marble tiles leading the eye to various antiquities collected by the duke and duchess. Old shields lined the walls, along with lances, sabers, and suits of armor.

The tall, diamond-paned windows from the floor above allowed in rays of light that danced on the floor, creating transient patterns, brightening up what might otherwise feel like a heavy entryway for a castle of such size.

Amidst this grandeur, Teague’s gaze was irresistibly drawn to a single figure. Lady Ivy stood near a fireplace at the far end, studying a suit of armor. She bent slightly, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the metal breastplate, her expression a blend of curiosity and awe.

As he approached, he noted that her movements were graceful, even though she appeared lost in her thoughts. There was something ethereal about the way she drifted across the marble with every step she took, reminding him of tales of the faerie folk.

Perhaps that’s why he found himself liking her more and more. She reminded him of something out of reach, not like the indifferent ladies of English Society, but far more fanciful.

“Good afternoon, Lady Ivy.” Teague bowed as she turned, putting every ounce of charm he could into his grin.

A reserved smile graced her face. “Good afternoon to you, Lord Dunmore,” she replied, inclining her head in acknowledgment.

Before he could engage in any further pleasantries, two youthful voices echoed through the room from the stairs above.

“Hurry, or they’ll not think a thing of leaving us behind.” Fiona’s voice came from the stairs an instant before she appeared.

Fiona and James spotted Ivy and charged toward her, their excitement barely contained.

“Lady Ivy, you’ll represent England with me on our journey, won’t you?” the young lordling asked with wide eyes.

“Teague must be for Ireland,” Fiona added with a tip of her chin. “It’s only fair.”

To Teague’s amusement, Ivy’s eyes widened slightly as she listened to them explain their purpose as they had to him minutes before. It was evident she hadn’t expected to see them there, let alone accompanying him for the walk. Instead of showing any signs of annoyance, her eyes sparkled with a hint of mirth.

“I will happily represent my kingdom,” she agreed with a note of solemnity in her words, placing one hand over her heart. Satisfied, the children scampered ahead, darting through the door the moment a footman opened it for them.

“I thought you might be in need of protection during our garden tour.” Teague nodded toward the children. “They were quite willing to ensure I am on my best behavior today.”

Ivy’s amused laugh more than repaid him for the effort, the sound light and cheerful. She wasn’t affronted or reluctant in the slightest. He rather liked that.

She stepped ahead of him out into the open air, walking through the courtyard.

“Indeed? Are there times when you are not on your best behavior?” she asked, casting a glance at Fiona and James. They had darted ahead, voices raised in light argument about which direction they ought to go first.

“I suppose there must be,” he acknowledged. “Else how would I know what my best was, if I didn’t also have a worst and everything else in between?”

Ivy’s eyes sparkled at him as she shook her head, then she gave her attention to the children as Fiona danced back to her side to show off the map she had found in the nursery. It was a map of the gardens.

“Isleen drew it for me last time I visited. She said she had to draw up maps of the castle and gardens, again and again, or she’d never learn where everything is. She has to know. Someday, she will be the duchess and she will have to help Simon take care of all of it.”

“That is an important responsibility,” Lady Ivy noted with a serious nod of her head. “What sections ought we to explore today?”

James came back with a huff. “We won’t see any of it if everyone keeps going so slow, plodding along like donkeys. I think we ought to take this route.” He touched the map, his fingers tracing a path as he explained which gardens were best for their game and which were “better for the bothersome, boring conversations the adults are always having.”

Teague’s heart swelled with warmth at the exchange. Hearing Ivy’s soft laughter, watching her easy interaction with the children, he felt an unexplainable sense of contentment. As they moved towards the gardens, he dared to hope that this afternoon might reveal why he found the woman so intriguing.

It wasn’t like him, really. To see a pretty lady and make a point of pursuing an acquaintance. If his mother had noticed, he would have a difficult time convincing her not to plan a wedding. She would order Irish lace by the yard if she thought there was a chance of him finding a bride.

That wasn’t what he was doing. At least, not yet. Certainly not with an English lady.

Why had he even thought of the word wedding? He cast the single most dangerous word to bachelors throughout the kingdom into the darkest recesses of his mind.

The gardens sprawled out before them, vast and meticulously manicured, sloping downward from atop the hill where Clairvoir Castle stood, like giant steps leading down into the valley.

Fiona and James darted ahead, the boy holding the telescope to his eye and pretending to scrutinize their surroundings. Sterling kept his distance from all of them, but tall as he was, he couldn’t be ignored entirely.

“There!” James cried out, pointing at a common daisy. “A new variety of flora. I shall name it... James’s Delight.”

“We really ought to have had that Mr. Gardiner fellow with us,” Fiona said, opening a notebook. “And Mrs. Gardiner. They know so much about flowers.” Fiona had met the entomologist and his wife, whose interest also lay in the natural sciences, the summer before. They lived nearby and regularly visited the duke’s family to study the gardens and their creatures.

“They know too much,” James countered with a scowl. “Mr. Gardiner can talk about a single damselfly for hours.”

Fiona ignored him, going to the nearest bed of bright pink roses.

“Oh, look,” she cooed, spotting a butterfly that rested momentarily on a blooming rose before taking flight again. “A rare, winged creature. I’ll make note of it.”

The children’s imagination and zest for exploration lightened the atmosphere. Teague and Lady Ivy shared an amused glance, she as clearly entertained as he was by their game.

“It appears we’ve embarked on a groundbreaking expedition,” Teague said with mock gravity, watching as Fiona and James bent to examine a shiny beetle on the path. “Captain Cook couldn’t do such a fine job of the thing.”

“Indeed. I doubt these gardens have ever witnessed such enthusiastic explorers before.” Lady Ivy tucked a stray lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, and he immediately wondered whether her hair was as soft to the touch as it looked.

Then he mentally chastised himself for wondering such an ungentlemanly thing.

As they strolled side by side, they reached a section of the garden dedicated to a larger variety of flowering plants, creating a layered work of natural art and color. Teague, seizing the moment, bent down to pluck a bloom from a vibrant geranium.

“This one,” he said, holding the delicate flower up, “reminds me of someone. Graceful, vibrant, and standing out effortlessly amidst the many.” He offered it to her with a bow.

She accepted the bloom, ducking her chin slightly as she smiled. “Very charming, sir. And which flower represents you, Lord Dunmore?” She didn’t seem to take him seriously in the least.

He considered for a moment before pointing at a white rosebush set back in the garden beds. “Perhaps this? A bit prickly, but not lacking in charm.”

“You know yourself to be charming?” The dry amusement in her voice felt like a challenge.

“I must be.” He feigned surprise. “How else would I merit the company of so fine a person as yourself?”

“Do all Irishmen offer flattery as freely as you, sir?”

“I haven’t any idea. I haven’t met all the men of Ireland. Though I’d wager a fair few of them have a gift for paying pretty compliments to deserving ladies.”

She laughed at that, twirling the flower he’d gifted her between her fingers. “Perhaps I ought to visit Ireland, then, to test such a thing for myself. I imagine it would do wonders for building my confidence.” There was the barest hint of wistfulness in her words, and he suddenly wondered what the men of England were about that they hadn’t showered her with pretty words at every chance.

“Ah, you needn’t make the journey for so simple a thing.” He kept his hands tucked behind his back as they walked, not even daring to brush her arm with his. But he dared in that moment to offer her a wink. “I’m happy to pay you all the best of compliments while in your company. In fact, I consider it my duty.”

“To build up my pride?”

He shook his head. “To tell you the truth of things. And the truth is, you’ve a smile as lovely as the sun on a spring morning.”

Her cheeks pinked and her eyes went dark with caution. Did compliments make her uneasy when he offered them up too bare? He changed tack immediately.

“Though your taste in literature is questionable, reading dusty old things like Pamela.”

“I read Shakespeare, too.”

“Even worse.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You know, I’ve heard a rumor that the Bard stole most of his ideas from an Irishman.”

“I have never heard such a thing.”

“Of course not, you being English.”

The playful banter kept her relaxed, and he maintained a distance of several feet between them as they walked.

As they wandered further, the curiosity he’d seen Lady Ivy exhibit before finally showed itself. “You’ve spoken fondly of Ireland at every turn. What do you miss most about your home when you’re here, in England?”

Teague let his eyes travel across the distant trees at the bottom of the hill, looking at the immense expanse of land.

“Where do I begin? I miss the clover-covered meadows stretching to the horizon, the lively music that floats in the very air, and the tales about the ancient heroes told by the hearth at night. Most of all, the sense of belonging. There’s a unique pull the land exerts on the soul itself, something all Irishmen feel whether we are poor or wealthy, noble or servant. It is a thing I’ve experienced nowhere else.”

Ivy’s tone softened as she spoke, holding the flower he’d gifted her near her lips. “I almost envy your love for your homeland. It’s been a very long time since I have felt that sort of belonging anywhere. I understand why you miss it.”

“When did you last feel that sense of belonging?” he asked, watching her expression change to something almost wistful.

“Before my father died. Years ago. It wasn’t so much the place as it was the way I felt in his company. He traveled a great deal, and he brought my sisters and me with him sometimes.” Her expression softened as she kept her eyes ahead, seemingly watching the children scamper about between the hedges. “Nothing too exotic, of course. We went as far north as Scotland, westward to Wales, southward to Weymouth, and east to Dover. He always made me feel like I could be myself. Say whatever it was I was thinking, for example, without any fear of censure or disapproval.”

“An honest way to live,” Teague murmured, studying her profile with interest. “You don’t speak your mind as freely now?”

“No.” Her gaze lowered to the flower. “As a member of the House of Lords, I’m certain you must know the importance of measuring your words, that our society is often bound by expectations and judgments. A single word or action can influence opinions and shape reputations. As a lady with younger sisters to look after, I’m constantly on my guard against saying or doing anything that might cause judgement. In the absence of my father, it’s more crucial for me to safeguard my family’s name and uphold its honor. There’s little room for anything else.”

Teague’s brows knitted together in understanding. “That is true. The upper classes have their expectations and rules. They are rarely kind to those who fall short or are different in ways they do not expect.”

He watched as Sterling moved along the hedges, eyes on the children. Another reminder of what it meant to occupy a central role in Society. Danger. Constant vigilance.

“If I might be so bold, Lady Ivy, I believe there’s a strength in being one’s true self. Often it is the very thing that sways opinions, because honesty stands out in a sea of pretense.”

She looked up at him, a touch of vulnerability in her gaze. “It’s not that simple. Not for me.” He thought she might say more, explain her reasoning, but she turned her gaze away from him and watched the children instead.

They walked in silence for a few moments, Ivy still tracing the petals of the geranium with her fingers. The playful mood had taken a serious turn, but with an intimacy of mind Teague appreciated. She had confided in him.

Lady Ivy stirred his curiosity. He wanted to know the depths of her thoughts, the facets of her character. He’d never been one to ignore the lonely either, and there was something of loneliness in the lady’s eyes.

If he could ease her discomfort with a kind word or a touch of humor, he would. It would be a shame for one as lovely as Lady Ivy to retreat behind walls of silence and formality.

The English were terribly stuffy at times. He wondered how much they lost by maintaining that sort of behavior.

“The children certainly don’t hold back their thoughts,” he commented lightly, nodding towards Fiona and James, who were at that moment engaged in a lively debate about the height of the surrounding hedges.

Lady Ivy watched them with a tilt to her head, her mood visibly lifting. “No, they certainly don’t. It’s refreshing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed with a grin. “Perhaps we can take a page from their book and allow ourselves a little more freedom now and then. Just in this garden, for today. What say you to that, my lady?”

She looked at him, a playful glint returning to her eyes. “I think, Lord Dunmore, you might be a bad influence on me. You’re a near stranger. You cannot possibly expect me to throw aside caution and speak to you as I would a close companion.”

“Not yet, it seems. But I’ll tell you true, Lady Ivy. I don’t intend to give up.” He winked at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him in return. “Why not?”

Indeed. Why not?

“Because a lady who isn’t content to look at the world the way it is, but wants to see it through the lenses of what it could be, is a lady worth knowing. In this Irishman’s opinion, anyway.”

The pink returned to her cheeks as she turned away, and Teague presented her with his most sincere smile before calling out to the children, “I think that’s time enough arguing about the shrubbery. Let’s go look at the frogs a bit before we return for tea.”