Chapter 8

Ivy stepped into the sitting room she shared with her sisters. Two bedrooms joined with this smaller chamber, giving the three of them the ability to have private family conversations away from the other inhabitants of the castle.

Juniper and Betony looked up when the heavy wooden door closed with a soft thud behind Ivy. Golden late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing the room and her sisters in a warm glow.

“Where have you been all afternoon?” Juniper asked, tucking a ribbon into the book she had been reading.

Betony sat bent over a tray full of tiny glass beads and dark, thick thread while she wielded a thin needle, sewing the beads to a reticule. She kept her focus on her work as she spoke. “In the library again, I would wager. Given that the duke has a host of books on every subject imaginable and our dear sister is always curious.”

“It is rather freeing, to read whatever we wish without Fanny commenting on the appropriateness of our choices.” Juniper grinned and held up her own selection. “I’m reading about the Golden Age of Piracy.”

Fanny certainly wouldn’t approve of such a topic for young ladies. Ivy was cheered enough by her afternoon in Lord Dunmore’s company that she didn’t resist the playful desire that overtook her.

Ivy put her nose in the air and affected her sister-in-law’s superior tone and accent. “See here, Juniper. Pirates are not gentlemen. Therefore, a lady ought not be aware of such persons. I insist you put that book away and take up something more appropriate. A treatise on embroidery, perhaps.”

Feigning horror, Juniper put a hand to her cheek. “Dear me. Perhaps you are right. Although there is a pirate mentioned as being called ‘Gentleman Jack.’ Perhaps I may still read about him?”

Ivy bit back a giggle. “I suppose you may read of him. But no others, my dear. Imagine if the patronesses of Almack’s found out that you filled your head with such horrid things.”

Betony snorted. “If they are everything that Fanny has said, the patronesses of Almack’s can be no better than harpies or gorgons.” She caught a bright red bead on her needle before glancing up at Ivy with raised eyebrows. “You still haven’t said where you were. Do not think we’ve forgotten the question.”

Warmth spread through Ivy’s cheeks. “I went for a walk in the gardens.”

Juniper and Betony exchanged a glance.

“And?” Juniper prompted.

“With a blush like that, there must be an and.” Betony put down her needle, a certain sign of her interest in her eldest sister’s tale.

“And we ought to dress for dinner.” Ivy turned to the door that led to the smaller of the two bedrooms, with just one bed, she had claimed for herself. The other room was larger, with two beds, for her sisters.

“Ivy, what have you been up to?” Juniper leaned forward in her seat. “You know we won’t tell anyone.”

“Not a single soul,” Betony agreed with a hand placed over her heart. “If you don’t tell us?—”

“—we will do our best to find out,” Juniper finished with a grin.

Ivy looked between her sisters and let her shoulders drop with her resignation. “It wasn’t anything secretive. As I said, I went for a walk in the gardens. Lord James was there, along with Miss Frost. The two of them were playing at exploring, and that tall footman was there, too.”

Betony’s lips parted with a gasp. “Were you flirting with the footman?”

“You weren’t,” Juniper said, her eyes going large. “Were you?”

That would be worse than the truth. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. “I wasn’t flirting with anyone. I never even spoke to that man. I was walking with someone else.”

“Who?” both sisters said at once, obviously at the end of their patience.

“Lord Dunmore.” Ivy kept her eyes squeezed shut another moment, but when neither of her sisters made comment, she dared open one to take in their reactions.

They were looking at one another with highly amused expressions. Betony raised her eyebrows, and Juniper’s lips were turned upward in a smirk.

Ivy folded her arms over her chest. “Neither of you seem shocked by that particular admission.”

It was Juniper who stood and mirrored her stance first. “Perhaps because you have made a point of not mentioning him. Several times. Since he arrived.”

“What do you mean?” Ivy tucked a curl behind her ear, briefly glancing away from her sisters.

Betony rose, too. “You’ve spoken around him enough times. It was rather like circling a particular word in a poem again and again. ‘What do you think of the Irish family? The baroness is lovely.’”

“‘The little girl seems to be a special favorite at the castle,’” Juniper added. “Then you talked of what it must be like in Ireland at this time of year.”

“You wondered aloud if they would stay long, at least twice.” Betony came a step closer. “Everyone noticed your reaction to seeing him again, and how careful you both were in speaking of your mysterious first meeting.”

Juniper nodded smartly. “Which you never told us about.”

Betony’s brow furrowed as though a new thought had occurred to her. “And you do tell us everything, except things you think will worry us. Does that mean we ought to be worried about Lord Dunmore?”

Ivy turned from her sisters and went to the window, fingers brushing the delicate lace curtain back as she took in the view. The garden below was saturated in amber hues, the flowers almost luminous.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she turned her face to the sun’s fading warmth on her skin, letting it summon the memory of walking along the garden pathway as vividly as the real one stretched out below the window, where the woods met the manicured landscape in a riot of colors.

“No. You needn’t be worried about Lord Dunmore.” When the silence stretched behind her, she released a sigh and let the curtain drop from her fingers. She turned to look at her sisters, the two of them watching her with open expressions, waiting for more explanation.

What should she tell them?

It had been a perfect afternoon, in a perfect place, and with perfect company. The baron’s words echoed in her mind, his voice a gentle baritone that seemed to have the power to simultaneously soothe and unsettle her.

She remembered the careful manner in which he’d listened to her, the intensity in his eyes, the genuine interest he’d shown in the few words she’d dared to say. The world had faded away, leaving the two of them—and the children—to quietly wend their way through flowers and shrubs. He’d shared stories about his travels, family, and hopes, making her feel as though he held her in some esteem, as though she wasn’t a mere stranger requiring polite conversation. Someone he already trusted.

“You’ve turned all serious,” Betony noted, her eyebrows drawn sharply together. “Yet you say not to worry? What is it, Ivy? Has he said something unkind?”

“No. He wouldn’t.” Ivy shook her head and went to the chaise near the hearth. She sat with a sigh, her fingers finding and absentmindedly twirling a loose strand of hair. “Fanny wouldn’t approve of him, I think. Nor would William.”

She didn’t need to look up to know her sisters were exchanging another knowing glance. She felt it, just as she felt their concern.

Despite the casual nature of her interaction with the baron, she felt a connection to him—a pull that she wasn’t certain she ought to acknowledge. Not to her sisters, and certainly not to herself.

As she remembered the timbre of his voice, the way he’d said her name, Ivy’s heart quickened and a shiver traced her spine. She could almost feel the ghost of his fingertips brushing her arm as he pointed out a bloom, igniting a rather curious spark in her core.

He’d also flirted at nearly every turn, which had flattered what remained of her vanity and feminine pride.

“Who cares what William and Fanny think?” Betony asked at last, the question bursting from her with impatience as she came forward and sat down next to Ivy, snatching up her hand in a fierce grip. “Ivy, you like him.”

Juniper abruptly sat on Ivy’s other side. “You do! Look at her cheeks bloom like a pair of roses. Did he flirt with you?”

“Did he compliment you?” Betony asked. “Or ask to walk with you again?”

Ivy shook her head quickly and tried to laugh away their sudden interest. “He was a perfect gentleman. I certainly didn’t flirt with him, which is all that matters. I think he must flirt with everyone, given how casual he is about it. Besides, we are both guests in the duke’s household. We passed an enjoyable afternoon together in the gardens. There is nothing else to be said.” She cleared her throat. “Tell me how you enjoyed your afternoon with Lady Isabelle and Lady Rosalind.”

“Absolutely not,” Juniper said softly. “Because there is more to say about Lord Dunmore.”

“There is much more to say,” Betony said with enthusiasm, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “Because you like him.”

“I like a lot of people.” Ivy could be as stubborn as her sister.

Juniper tried a gentler tone. “All right. Say that we believe you. That you like him no more than you do anyone else. What was it the two of you talked about while you walked?”

“I didn’t take notes,” she protested, somewhat weakly. “We talked of many things.”

Lord Dunmore had surprised her. From their initial introduction and the snippets of conversations she had overheard the evening before, she had painted an image of him: a handsome nobleman with traditional beliefs, bound by his political aspirations, society’s expectations, and family concerns. Yet, during their walk, he had hardly spoken of any of those things. Instead, he had shown a curiosity about her she hadn’t expected.

She smiled at the memory of his teasing, the way he had made her laugh, and how he had listened intently to what she said. She had seen a man not of privilege, but of understanding and empathy. He had seemed to genuinely want to know her, to inspire an open conversation and exchange of ideas that no one had sought from her since the loss of her father.

“That smile—something he said made you smile like that,” Juniper said. “Oh, he flirted with you more than a little, I think.”

“Out with it. Or I will take up a needle and torture you until you tell.” Betony’s tone held some impatience, but her expression was one of worry. “What did he say to you, Ivy?”

He’d said something that had struck her to her heart. She repeated it aloud, tone soft, “‘I believe there’s a strength in being one’s true self.’”

The cadence of his voice as he spoke, near to matching the way other well-educated Englishmen spoke, but still—there was something different in the manner of his speech. He spoke in conversation with a lilt others used as they recited poetry.

If he believed such a thing, she had to admire him for it.

“Is that all?” Juniper sat back. “It has made you smile as though he’d confessed affection for you.”

“Oh, hush.” Betony gave Ivy a sympathetic squeeze of the hand. Though she was the youngest, she’d often seemed the most sensitive of the three of them. Perhaps even the most intuitive. “Obviously that wasn’t all he said. But it made an impression on Ivy. Didn’t it?”

Slowly, Ivy nodded. “He was quite sincere. I haven’t had anyone suggest that being true to myself was a good thing. Not since Papa died.”

Juniper closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chaise. “Fanny would prefer us to be copies of herself.”

Betony nodded her agreement. “William would have us be at hand when he has need of us, then tucked away in cupboards the rest of the time.” She patted Ivy’s hand again. “I can see why you would admire someone expressing such a sentiment, Ivy.”

With her budding admiration came hesitation. Ivy had been hurt before by fleeting connections. Ladies who promised kind companionship, disappearing the moment they had secured a husband. Gentlemen who spoke with her, only to wander off the moment she said something unconventional.

Could she trust this initial impression of the Irishman, or was he just another person adept at saying what one wished to hear?

The memory of their garden walk continued to repeat itself in her mind. The way the sunlight had danced on his hair, the faint scent of his soap, the warmth of his fingers when he’d momentarily touched her arm to point out a particularly beautiful flower.

It ought to embarrass her, the amount of detail that had etched itself into her memory after such a short time in his company.

“There was more to it than that,” she confessed at last, softly. “I feel silly about it. We were only on a walk, in a garden. We do not know one another very well. Or at all, really. A handful of interactions does not make a true connection.”

“A summer at this castle might.” Juniper rose. “And getting to dinner on time will contribute to a positive impression on him. It is nearly time for the evening meal and none of us are dressed.”

Betony rose, too, tugging Ivy up with her. “Dress quickly and I will help you with your hair. Then we can see if Lord Dunmore looks at you with more than friendly admiration.”

With a groan, Ivy tried to retake her seat, but Betony kept firm hold of her. “If the two of you start staring at him, I will be mortified. Please, can we pretend I never even spoke his name?”

Her sisters laughed without mercy as the two of them gently tugged and pushed her to her door, admonishing her to wear her prettiest dinner gown.

Once the door closed behind her, Ivy sighed and leaned against it. Regardless of her reservations and her sisters’ teasing, one thing was undeniable: Lord Dunmore had made a lasting impression on her. She hoped that, in time, she’d find out what that meant for her peace of mind.