Page 10 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

“Oh! Excuse me, my lady.” Her gaze dropped to the dust on Ivy’s skirt. “Doing some exploring, were you?”

“I found the gramophone.”

“Did you now.” Mrs. Hewitt looked less than pleased. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back downstairs.” She moved to step around her, but Ivy stopped her.

“You’re actually just the person I was hoping to see,” Ivy said.

Mrs. Hewitt’s look turned wary. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I’d like a different room.”

“Is your room not to your liking? I assure you it is by far the best room in the abbey, and I oversaw the cleaning of it myself. If—”

“No, it’s not that. It’s...” Ivy tried to put her thoughts in order, squirming a little despite herself under the housekeeper’s steely inspection. “It’s just that, there was an incident.”

“An incident?” Mrs. Hewitt repeated, her brows raising.

“Yes. That is, a hairbrush. It went...it flew across the room.”

There was no amount of confidence that would make the assertion sound dignified, or anything short of sheer fantasy. But Ivy waited anyway for Mrs. Hewitt to respond.

After a painfully long pause, Mrs. Hewitt sighed. “My lady, I’m not sure what you saw, or what you think you saw, but a different room will hardly change it. Of course, if you insist I will air out another room and have Agnes clean it. We will have to wash the linens and scrub the water closet...” Mrs. Hewitt made a show of wringing her hands.

“All right, Mrs. Hewitt. Never mind all that.” It was a battle that Ivy didn’t think would benefit her in the long run. Maybe she had just imagined it, and even if she hadn’t, Mrs. Hewitt was right; there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen in another room.

“Very good,” Mrs. Hewitt said, impassive once again. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

“As a matter of fact, I was hoping to go into the village. I’m afraid the weather was too uncooperative the other day for me to be able to remember the way. Could you point me in the right direction?”

The housekeeper looked as if Ivy had suggested traveling naked on horseback. “You mean to walk? Oh, no, my lady. The way is much too long.”

Ivy’s heart sank as another little piece of her freedom fell away. “Surely I will need a way to be able to get about?”

“You can always ask Ralph, and he will drive you where you need to go.”

Relying on the mercurial Ralph for a ride did not strike Ivy as ideal. But she gave Mrs. Hewitt a tight smile. “Do you know where I might find him?”

Mrs. Hewitt pointed her in the direction of the stables, and then continued down the hall, walking as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

Ivy found Ralph mucking out an empty stall, sleeves rolled to the elbow, sweat darkening the hair at his neck. Like the stables of most wealthy families, it must have once housed racehorses of the finest bloodlines, but was now home to only a couple of plow ponies, a donkey, a big brown nag, the other end converted into a garage for the abbey’s autos. The animals swung their heads over the stall doors, greeting Ivy with soft snuffs and inquisitive, velvety brown eyes. Though she’d never ridden a horse, she’d always felt a sort of affinity with the carriage horses of London, wild creatures that were broken and shackled, forced to exist in a habitat far removed from the green pastures they were used to. Ivy put out a flat palm, and the mare nuzzled against it, soft lips searching for food.

“Can I do something for you, m’lady?”

Ivy startled, not realizing that Ralph had heard her come in. He was leaning against his rake, watching her with an interest that made her cheeks heat.

Returning to stroking the nag’s long brown face, she focused on regaining control of her erratic heartbeat. “I didn’t realize we had any horses at Blackwood. Are they riding horses?”

“No, Minnie here came from a slaughter auction,” he said. “Her owner said she was ornery and wont to bite, but I think she was just in the wrong hands.”

“Will you break her in? Put her to the plow?”

Ralph had come up beside her, and the mare transferred her attention, eagerly nuzzling into his palm. “I have no interest in breaking her,” he said, running his hand over the horse’s neck with long, soft, strokes. “But I will tame her, accustom her to the harness. She could make a fine lady’s horse.”

Realizing that he was looking at her, Ivy’s blush stupidly deepened. “Oh, I can’t ride.”

“Mm. Well, I assume you didn’t come here to pass the time with the horses.”

“Yes, that is, I was hoping to go into the village. Mrs. Hewitt said you would—”

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