Page 114 of Taming Ivy
Aunt Rachel delighted recounting, in exacting detail, every one of his wife’s waltzes at the Graham Ball, how she laughed and flirted over lemonade and champagne. How many times she strolled the terrace and visited the exotic attached garden conservatory, and the different gentlemen lucky enough to accompany her before his arrival. Jealousy stung him, but his finger, tracing the curve of Ivy’s soft cheek, did so gently.
These moments of doubt were despicable. He loathed the insecurity he felt, the nauseating punch to his gut as Gabriel reported the events of his wife’s morning ride. Ivy could not possibly betray him. She did not want to marry him, but she possessed too much honor to be unfaithful. He was the worst monster to think it, even for a moment. Ah, he was so goddamn awful to her at times - could he blame her if she ever did turn to someone who treated her kindly?
“Mmmm…” Ivy snuggled closer. “Is it night still?”
“Nearly daybreak.” He shifted so she fit more comfortably in the circle of his arms. “I did not mean to disturb you. Go back to sleep.”
“Were you sleeping?”
Sebastian let out a weary sigh, dropping a kiss to her temple. “No.”
“Oh. Then, will you - will you kiss me awake, Sebastian?” Her face lifted to his, aqua eyes alight with invitation. “Kiss me and make love to me as the sun comes up?”
How could he resist her? She was so lushly sweet and warm and pressing against him. Oranges and lilies enveloped him, the headiness of her scent swamping him as they made love with an odd tenderness never present before. When Ivy wept at the end, holding onto him as if nothing in the world would ever make her let go, Sebastian couldn’t help but hope he was finally breaking through his wife’s fragile barriers.
Flying from the bed, a hand clamped over her mouth, Ivy barely made it to the commode room. Molly hurried to her, pulling her mistress’s hair, sticky with sweat, away from her shoulders and flushed face. When the violent retching spell was over, she wiped Ivy’s cheeks with a cool cloth.
“Tis the eighth time since you arrived in London, milady,” the maid stated matter-of-fact. “It could be a babe.”
Ivy took a shuddering breath, blotting her lips with the cloth before accepting the cup of water Molly offered. Swishing the liquid around her mouth, she spat into the sink. “Impossible. My monthlies were less than three weeks ago.”
“Tis not uncommon. To bleed and still carry a child. My mum told me once the two could overlap. We should call for the doctor…each time is worse than the last.”
Ivy drank the remaining water before trusting herself to answer. Thank heavens Sebastian was not there to witness these bouts of illness. It usually did not happen this soon following breakfast - the last two times occurring just after she’d had afternoon tea.Oh, God. Just thinking of tea made her queasy.
“I would know if it were a baby. At least, I think I would know.” Steadying herself before exiting the commode room, Ivy made it as far as the bed before needing to lie down. The dizziness was intense, the room whirling like a child’s toy top. “I do not need a doctor and the earl does not need to know of this either.”
“But he will find out, milady. Especially when you start to grow,” Molly said with her usual stoic, Irish pragmatism.
“Molly,” Ivy’s voice grew sharp with irritation. “It’s not a baby. Now, please, bring something to quiet my stomach. It feels like a basket of seagulls, all swirling about. And, God, my head. If only this dizziness would cease.”
“I’ll ring for fresh tea.”
Swallowing hard against a second wave of daunting nausea, Ivy groaned. “No. I cannot stomach it. I wonder if perhaps that batch has gone bad.”
“I’ll see what Cook suggests, milady. Maybe some ginger water and something soft to eat. You can’t be sick like this and not eat. You’ve lost weight as it is.” Molly bustled about the room, pulling the drapes against the bright sunlight although she’d drawn them open just an hour before.
When the door closed behind the maid, Ivy sank against the pillows with a heavy sigh, her eyes closing in fatigue. She pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders, appreciative for the coolness of the silk pillowcases against her flushed cheek. Blissful silence ensued until the door creaked.
Waving a hand, Ivy’s eyes remained shut. “For God’s sake, Molly, do not bandy it about in the kitchens. Miss Agnes concocted some manner of foul tonic for me last time. It was dreadful, awful stuff…”
“Last time?”
Ivy’s eyes snapped open to see Sebastian framed in the doorway, his brow pulled into a fierce frown. “What’s this about the last time? I passed Molly on the stairs - she was scared as a rabbit to see me.”
“I-I thought you left to meet with Bentley.”
“He can wait. I hoped you would be agreeable to a ride in the park. Raven and Spring could use the exercise. And I wanted to spend the day with you.” Crossing to her, Sebastian placed a hand on her forehead. He frowned again at feeling how warm she was. “You are ill. I gather this is not the first time?”
“It is nothing. Something I ate or perhaps the tea from Rosethorne. I adore it, but maybe it has spoiled.” Ivy leaned into his hand, grateful for the soothing motions against her scalp as his fingers brushed her hair away from her forehead. “I do not wish to burden you.”
“Ivy, you are mine. Mine to care for and to take care of. You are my wife.Nevera burden. How many times have you been ill? When did this begin?”
After hearing her explanation, he nodded. “It may be the tea, although I’ve never heard of this happening before. I’ll have it disposed of and procure a new batch from Beaumont’s cellars. But, should this occur again, you will tell me immediately.”
Sebastian demanded Ivy stay abed the rest of the day and she reluctantly acquiesced. Her claims she felt much improved went ignored. When the noon meal came, he watched while she ate weak chicken broth and a small bowl of fruit. Later, she polished off a small plate of biscuits Molly snuck up to her, along with a cup of coffee, complete with extra sugar so she could abide its bitterness.
The next day it was as though Ivy was never sick and she convinced Sebastian it was perfectly safe to ride Spring at a sedate walk. That afternoon all of English society witnessed the Earl of Ravenswood, courteously, and with all the mannerisms of a besotted husband, attend to his wife as though the two had never quarreled so fiercely just the week before.
