Page 111 of Taming Ivy
Grace reached up, ruffling a shock of hair on her forehead so the silk strands fell into place, pieces of it framing her face in an appealing manner. It was quite long, tumbling to her waist. Although some might consider it boyish in nature, the fringe across her forehead somehow made her features more feminine.
She was not gently beautiful, at least not by the current standards dictating women be soft, wispy creatures speaking in demure tones. There was something brashly irresistible about her, a genuine sweetness, and when combined with bronze hued eyes and skin touched with the sun’s rays, it all made Lady Grace quite stunning.
Realizing Ivy was assessing her hair style, Grace chuckled. "Never let anyone curl your hair unless they first practiced on their own.” She ran her fingers again through the blonde pieces. “My guardian’s daughter, Celia, burnt off what was wrapped about the iron, then mourned my loss for two days. No matter, it's only hair, and it does grow back. If only you’d seen it three months ago! Oh, it was beyond dreadful.”
Ivy choked on a laugh before composing herself. "Have you been in London for the season? I confess I do not recall making your acquaintance."
With a glance over her shoulder to determine her companion’s whereabouts, Grace nudged the sorrel closer. "One month. One long agonizing month.” Her sigh was intentionally dramatic. "My guardians have only allowed me to attend certain functions as apparently, I lack a certain decorum deemed necessary for London Society. I’ve been trying so damnably hard, too. Gaining this social polish.” Grace brightened. “Every morning I've ridden in this park and it’s been the only cheerful spot during my time here. However, today I saw you and knew I must introduce myself. I wished to do so last night, although the situation was not appropriate. Even I, with my deplorable lack of refinement, realized that.” Her tone brisk, she continued, "You see, Lady Ravenswood, I confess to ulterior motives. I own a rather magnificent stallion, and my fervent hope is to persuade the earl to consider a breeding venture. Or, in the alternative, introduce his Raven to one of my fine mares. My guardian would have my head if I approached Ravenswood with a suggestion of breeding horses, though. Quite the delicate subject, you understand. The earl was distracted last evening but I do hope he’ll listen to my proposal. Being wearecousins, it is not completely beyond the bounds for us to converse."
"Wait.” Ivy frowned in confusion at the twisting conversation. "What?"
"I’ve shocked you,” Grace crowed in delight, her lush mouth stretched into an infectious grin. "Was it the indelicate subject of horse breeding or the fact we are indeed cousins? Ravenswood and I, that is. Fourth cousins. Or is it fifth? Do forgive me; I forget…yes, I believe it is fifth. When my father, the Earl of Willsdown died, the title ceded to Ravenswood. And, when my dear mother passed, their friends, the Earl of Darby and his wife, were named my guardians. It’s all so devilishly complicated. Men tend to do these things when they are in control of a woman’s future. I find it quite maddening and wholly unnecessary, don’t you?"
Grace seemed not to notice Ivy’s open-mouth shock and continued with a merry breeziness. “When I reach the age of twenty-one, I shall return to my Bellmar Abbey in Cornwall. And, social polish be damned, I shall ride my horses when I please, how I please, dressed as I please. I’m very fortunate my majority was not set at twenty-five, as most young women in my situation find themselves. Bless my mother for that… she obtained a special petition to allow it. I shall have full control of my inheritance and my horses and won't be forced to ride at the crack of dawn so as not to be seen in my scandalous breeches. Do you think one was meant to wear a skirt and sit sideways on a horse, Lady Ivy? It puts one at a terrible disadvantage. How is it possible to control your mount if you are unable to utilize your legs, your calves and both heels? It’s what they respond to. Much more so than a bit. I daresay a sidesaddle is the silliest invention created by man…with the exception of a corset. I’ve refused to wear one when riding, a corset that is, not a sidesaddle. Lady Darby believes it very wicked of me, and while I do hate to disappoint her, they are devilish things.”
"Please, you must call me Ivy.” Caught off guard by the girl’s outspoken views on saddle equipment and women’s fashion, Ivy nearly stuttered. "I'm so sorry for the loss of your parents.”
Undeniable sadness crossed Grace’s features. She ducked her head in appreciation of the condolences, and then brightened, as though a shadow passed from in front of the sun, leaving everything joyful once more. "Thank you. Please call me Grace. After all, as I said, we are cousins.” She threw Ivy an admiring look. "I do wish we’d met upon my arriving in London. Things would not have been so dreadfully dull.”
“Lord Longleigh was remiss in making introductions last night,” Ivy said slowly. “He also failed to mention the family connections.”
Grace grimaced, blowing the hair off her forehead with an outward puff of her lips. “Yes. I certainly mean no offense, but my assumption is Tristan sought your favor in a misguided attempt of provoking my jealousy. You see, he’s only recently decided he is in love with me and I believe it is more of a physical attraction than anything else, much along the lines of what stallions feel for mares during the first part of spring. I’ve told him as gently as possible I am not interested. Neither Lord nor Lady Darby has encouraged him in this, for which I am ever so grateful. It would be an awkward situation if his parents did wish such an alliance.”
Hoof beats boomed in the distance, and hearing them, Grace’s chin tilted. A stubborn glint to her golden eyes, she said to Ivy, “Please say nothing of what I divulged. He’s yet to accept it, and squeals like a rejected stallion when reminded of my indifference.”
Ivy clearly saw the desire in Longleigh’s eyes. That, and a fair amount of annoyance.
“Grace.” A muscle ticked in his stern jaw. Astonishingly handsome, with deep chocolate-tinged eyes and dark brown hair glimmering with glints of auburn, his broad shoulders fit his navy blue riding jacket to perfection. Long muscular legs in buff colored breeches gripped his horse’s flanks with just the precise amount of pressure. “I realize you insist on riding pell-mell whenever the opportunity presents itself, but for God’s sake, you will end up breaking your neck.”
Undaunted, Grace rolled her eyes. “Do not accompany me if you cannot keep up.”
Tristan drew up ramrod straight, his face darkening as he bit out, “My concern is for your safety.”
“That, and my neck, are my own to worry over.” With careless aplomb, Grace steered the conversation to Ivy instead. “Aren’t you pleased to see the Countess of Ravenswood?”
Longleigh gave Ivy a tight smile, his frustration with Grace still readily apparent. “Lady Ravenswood. How wonderful to see you this beautiful morning. I trust Ravenswood is well? He did not seem himself last evening.”
Ivy grit her teeth. “My husband was uninterested in an early morning ride, sir, but his health is fine. Grace was just explaining her connection to my husband. It would be lovely for Lord and Lady Darby to pay us a visit so that formal introductions may be undertaken. Or perhaps the earl and I may come to call?”
“I believe my mother intended to wait until the summer season was upon us.” Tristan nudged his gelding closer to Grace’s mount, ignoring when her lips tightened in exasperation.
“Perhaps once we’ve settled at Beaumont, you could all come for an extended visit. Grace, you might be particularly interested in seeing our stables there.” Ivy offered.
“I would indeed.” The girl’s features lit up with the sparkle of a firefly while Tristan groaned in obvious dismay.
“Lady Ravenswood, do you even realize the danger of your offer? You’ll never be able to convince Lady Grace to leave your estate.”
Sebastian was absent from their rooms when Ivy returned. As Molly assisted her with a bath, she learned the earl was in his study, but left instructions that she was to join him for breakfast when she was presentable.
An hour later, Ivy slipped into the dining room, taking a seat at the head of the table, opposite the end Sebastian and she usually occupied together. While servants carried in breakfast platters, she fidgeted, and when a footman opened the door to admit her husband, her stomach dropped to her feet at seeing Sebastian’s frown. She’d seated herself so far away they might as well have been on opposite ends of the earth. With an unconcerned shrug, he stalked to her end of the table, hauling a chair closer until his elbow touched her own. Fordham raised a brow and without comment, relocated the earl’s place setting and poured the coffee while Ivy shifted on the hard, wooden plane of her chair.
It simply wasn’t done…the seating arrangement highly improper. The earl should be at the head of his table - not to her left, as if she occupied a place of honor.
A curious detachment clung to Sebastian while he gazed at her with eyes of flint. He seemed to have trouble deciding how best to deal with her and the issues raised the night before. And although outwardly calm, every nerve in Ivy’s body prickled with awareness. She was so tightly wound, waiting for him to say something, she thought she might shatter into a million pieces.
"How was your ride?" His voice, so abrupt after so long a silence, had Ivy nearly dropping her teacup.
"Fine.”
