Page 16 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

Her skirt was stuck to her thighs, and any protection her flimsy coat offered had long since given way. Miserable rain. Even in London the weather wasn’t usually so unforgiving, and if it was, there was always an awning or shop to duck into. Thunder cracked and a moment later a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. A lone tree, crooked and bare, stood behind a wall and Ivy started to head for it, until she remembered there was something about trees and lightning storms. She would have to take her chances on the road.

Mud sucked at the bicycle wheels, and she wrestled to free them, throwing her weight against the stubborn contraption. Her feet went out from under her, and she found herself on the ground, cold quickly seeping in through her skirt as pain shot through her leg.

She closed her eyes, wishing very much that she had taken Arthur up on the invitation to his club. If she allowed herself to indulge in self-pity, she might have come to the conclusion that she was going to die here, wet, cold, and alone at the side of the road, all because she had been too proud to ask her chauffeur for a ride.

Ignoring the throbbing in her leg, she scrambled to her feet. Riding was out of the question, so she doggedly righted the bicycle and began pushing. As if to punish her efforts, the wind kicked up, a gust nearly knocking her back over. Step by limping step, she put her head down against the wind and began the long walk back.

The sound of an automobile motor cut through the deluge, and Ivy navigated the bicycle to the side of the road to get out of the way. Except that the car didn’t pass, it slowed down and drew up beside her, mud splattering her already drenched skirt.

The window lowered, and Ralph stuck his head out. “Get in, my lady,” he ordered.

As if her afternoon couldn’t have gotten any worse, here was Ralph of all people to witness her plight. Even with the miserable weather and dismal state of her clothes, his demand abraded her.

“I am perfectly fine,” she countered, making to push her bicycle from the rut of mud where it was caught again. If she conceded defeat, she would lose the only sliver of independence she had.

Ralph pulled his head back inside and for a moment she thought he was going to keep driving and leave her there. But then there was a slam of a door, and he was coming around to her side. He easily disengaged her hands and lifted the bicycle, stowing it—muddy wheels and all—in the back. The rain made quick work of obscenely slicking his sleeves to his leanly muscled arms. Ivy tore her gaze away as Ralph stood before her, hands on hips, rain dripping from the brim of his cap. “Will you get in yourself, or would you like me to put you in as well?”

Glaring at him, she allowed him to open the door for her. The warm leather seats felt decadent, and she could have leaned back her head and fallen asleep right then if not for her pride.

Ralph slid into the driver’s seat, wiping rain out of his eyes. Pressing his foot to the pedal, he muttered a colorful stream of curses as the car heaved itself out of the mud and onto the road. The windshield wipers worked frantically to clear the rain.

“You should have asked me for a ride into town,” Ralph said, once they were back on the road.

Ivy crossed her arms in an attempt to appear unflustered, despite shivering from head to toe. “I have a bicycle, I didn’t need you to drive me.”

An unimpressed grunt. “What was so important that you had to pedal into town by yourself?” His gaze flicked up into the mirror to meet hers, a flashing hint of interest behind the indifferent façade.

“If you must know, I was meeting a friend at the pub.”

“Who do you know in Blackwood?”

“You certainly ask a lot of questions for someone who has made it clear that you don’t like me.”

Ralph’s brows gathered in a frown. “Why would you think I don’t—”

But Ivy didn’t want to hear it. “I met a man named Sir Arthur Mabry at the bookshop the other day and he invited me to lunch at the pub.”

There was silence for a moment, and Ivy thought that was the end of it. But then Ralph let out a soft curse. “And you thought it was a good idea to meet a man by yourself, a man you don’t even know?”

The censure in his voice caused her to stiffen in surprise. “Do you always speak so directly to your employer?”

“And here I thought you said you weren’t a ‘real lady’ and didn’t believe in, what was it? ‘Class distinctions’?”

Ivy bristled. “I don’t. That is, I’m not. But you certainly have a way of getting under one’s skin. In any case, pope, chauffeur, or the king himself, I don’t see how it’s any of your business with whom I converse.”

If Ralph had a witty rejoinder, he kept it to himself as he swung the automobile onto the winding drive. Rain droplets obscured the landscape, but the outline of Blackwood Abbey was just visible as they pulled up. The gray stones were stained black with rain, and Ivy couldn’t imagine a less inviting place to come home to.

Ralph stopped the motor, and for a moment, it was just them in the silent car, rain pelting against the metal and glass. “You be careful of Sir Arthur, my lady,” Ralph said suddenly. “I know it’s not my place, but I also know that you haven’t any friends here yet, and I don’t want to see you fall in with a bad lot.”

“Thank you, Ralph. Though I’m certain the son of a decorated war hero and peer can hardly be considered a ‘bad lot.’”

“All the same, I shouldn’t trust him.”

“And I suppose I should trust you and take your word as the final one on the matter?” she retorted. “After all, I don’t really know you either.”

Her words hung in tense silence. “Listen to me,” Ralph finally said, his voice so low that she had to lean toward the front seat. “You shouldn’t trust me. You shouldn’t trust anyone here.”

Another cryptic warning, and this one no more coherent than the first. “What? Why?”

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