Page 104 of Taming Ivy
Rachel Garrett greatly resembled her deceased son. She bore the same black curly hair and blue eyes, the same mouth and chin. But whereas with Timothy, these attributes created a charmingly boyish face, on his mother, those same features created a hard countenance of angles and severity. Ivy resisted the urge to squirm, feeling a sudden desire for Sebastian to be near.
"Thank you,” Ivy murmured, unsure how to respond to a compliment that was not truly a compliment.
"It certainly explains why Ravenswood could not resist you.” Rachel studied Ivy as though she were an experiment gone awry. Something to be examined, dissected, then quickly labeled and stored away; a danger to mankind. “Nor Timothy, for that matter.”
Tracing the lettering of the book’s cover to conceal her mounting annoyance, Ivy remained silent as the tea was delivered and poured. She was glad Rachel did not wish to drink her Rosethorne tea. It might be selfish, but she did not want to share it with someone who disliked her so intensely.
Rachel continued. "I suppose my nephew says he loves you. Although men will say anything to gain the prize, especially one wanted so desperately.”
Ivy bristled. "Whatever led Sebastian to marry me is between us, madam.”
The other woman’s laugh was dry. "Calm yourself, my dear. Let us remain civil. After all, we must share this house for periods of time. While I am not happy you are here, I cannot change the fact it is so. And we shall endeavor to make the best of it. Don’t you agree?"
Ivy's lips tightened. A thread of insincerity laced Rachel’s tone, a note of calculated planning, but the olive branch she extended must not be ignored. Sebastian would want it accepted. He would be so disappointed if it was not.
Rachel sipped her tea, her tone conversational. “I’ve noticed you are wearing the Butterfly Brooch often. As the new countess, the Ravenswood jewels are yours, but my dear, I do hope you realize, while somewhat humble in appearance, it is one of the more valuable pieces. Please take care of its handling, won’t you? I hoped that Timothy would be allowed to choose a few heirlooms for his own bride but, unfortunately…”
Ivy swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Lady Garrett, I’ve wanted to tell you for so long how Timothy’s passing was tragic.” She touched the brooch as if to protect it. “I understand your feelings toward me, but I want you to know, I never encouraged him in the manner you believe. Never. And, I do wish to put the past behind us. I hope we can reach a level of understanding.”
"Please, my dear.” Rachel’s half smile practically reeked of satisfaction as she ignored Ivy’s hesitant words regarding her deceased son. "You may call me ‘Lady Rachel,’ and if you do not object, I shall call you...Ivy.”
Ivy bit her lip. The word "poison" trembled on the tip of Rachel's tongue before it was swallowed back. Then Lady Rachel sipped her tea and smiled at her over the rim of the cup.
The truce existed in words only.
A gleam of sympathy existed in Gabriel’s dark brown eyes, his manner subdued, but he would not reveal Sebastian’s location, only relaying the earl’s delay was longer than anticipated. He sat with the coachman as they drove Ivy to the Graham residence and he was the one to help her down from the coach. Before she disappeared into the manor however, he murmured, “Do not fret, my lady. He will be here to accompany you home, I promise you that.”
Two hundred guests turned to watch as Ivy entered the ballroom alone. A chorus of chattering voices, excited to see the Earl and the new Countess of Ravenswood, exclamations over the outrageousness of their elopement, fell abruptly silent. Ivy cursed the Graham’s and their antiquated penchant for announcing guests. Someone should inform them it was no longer the thirteenth century.
Snickers of laughter brought her chin up. Her fingers rose to trace the filigree butterfly. For an eternity, Ivy stood, and her gaze, glittering with anger and embarrassment, cut the crowd like a queen through vagabonds.
The Earl of Bentley, the dear man, appeared at her side to twirl her into a waltz the musicians apparently forgot how to play. The notes were jarring, with stuttering half-starts, but Alan’s kind actions opened the floodgates. Other gentlemen sought her attention following that initial dance. Without Ravenswood’s glowering visage to stem the tide, Ivy found she was in even higher demand than before her notorious wedding.
It did not seem to matter she was newly wed to one of the most feared men in all of England. She was a woman to be conquered for different reasons now. Gentlemen who carefully steered clear of the Marriage Mart eyed her with consideration. If Sebastian deserted her with such haste, it was a reasonable assumption the new countess was open to discrete advances.
For nearly an hour, Ivy danced before excusing herself. Several Pack members approached her, offering congratulations on her marriage, comically diligent in their efforts at avoiding mention of Viscount Basford. Count Phillipe Monvair gave her a lackluster wave from across the ballroom, his arm occupied by a lady most definitely not an heiress. Ivy bit back a smile at his air of resignation.
Declining Lord Longleigh’s entreaty of a second dance, Ivy found refuge near a cluster of young ladies enjoying their first season. Like busy, fluttering sparrows dusted in white, they flocked together, giggling behind gloved hands. One girl in particular calmly returned Ivy’s perusal until the contingent of men from the Faringdon's Ball snagged her attention. The Earl of Clayton boldly met her eye for the briefest of moments, a spark of interest evident in his hungry stare, but the others were noticeably subdued. Was it true? Had the dissolute lot of them been punished for that fateful night? It seemed a bit unfair. She should bear some blame for her own rash behavior.
Her gaze next landed on Lady Veronica Wesley as she was announced by the Graham’s majordomo.
An awful rumor had already circulated the ballroom twice over, preceding the lady’s late arrival. Lady Wesley was recently the recipient an inheritance of some sort. An obscene amount of money, someone whispered. Subsequently, she dismissed Lord Alimar as her sponsor just two days before. It was all quite secretive; no one really knew where the funds originated from. Someone said a great aunt living abroad in Italy had died, leaving her fortune to Veronica, but Ivy knew better. Sebastian was her mysterious benefactor. Veronica was rewarded after all.
A lump of sour tasting jealousy rested in the hollow of Ivy’s throat. Was the lady Sebastian's current favorite once again? Had her husband spent his day in her bed? Where was he now? In another paramour’s arms? The thoughts swirling about her head left her nauseous. Sebastian would not do that to her. He couldn't.
He loves me. I know he does...but still, men are such fickle creatures...
Ivy stared at the glittering blue topaz ring on her finger. It felt impossibly heavy. As if it weighed a ton. Focused on her own misery, she failed to notice Veronica approach until the woman's husky voice sounded in her ear.
"Begging your pardon, Lady Ravenswood, but are you alright?"
Ivy pasted a smile on her dry lips, her response wooden. "Of course, Lady Wesley. Why do you ask?"
Veronica smiled. "Just that you did not appear yourself for a moment. My felicitations upon your recent marriage. I understand it is agreeable to you both, which I’m glad to hear. How I love elopements - so very romantic. Is Lord Ravenswood about? I’d like to offer him my congratulations as well.”
The lady exhibited genuine inquisitiveness. Her tone held no cattiness; no snide implications underlying the words. Glancing about the ballroom, Ivy realized wildly curious eyes now fixated on the two of them - the new wife and the former mistress. The situation was simply too delicious to ignore.
"Oh, they do adore a good scandal, don't they?" Veronica murmured, her lively eyes dancing with amusement.
