Page 3 of Taming Ivy
“She’ll bewitch you as she did my poor Timothy.”
“Impossible.”
“Men foolishly pursue her.” Rachel clasped her gaunt cheeks in distress. “You’ll be one of many.”
Sebastian just spent the past half hour listening with a calm detachment to his aunt’s histrionics. Now, his lips quirked. It was possible the young countess had done little to entrance his cheerful, romantically inclined cousin, but it did not absolve her guilt. Swirling his brandy, he contemplated various methods of escaping this dreadful meeting.
“She cares not that he is dead!” Aunt Rachel wailed.
“That, madam, is most likely true.” Pulling a crumpled piece of vellum from a drawer of his desk, he wondered if Ivy Kinley cared that Timothy was dead. Shehadkilled him, after all. Indirectly of course, but she was the instrument of his destruction.
Rachel watched him with shadowy eyes, perched on the edge of a leather club chair in Sebastian’s study, her spine painfully rigid. She possessed the air of a small black crow, stricken with grief yet alert with private loathing.
Sebastian eased out the deep crinkles of the page before pinching the bridge of his nose. Thanks to Rachel’s incessant despair upon learning his intentions, he now had one hell of a headache. And no matter how many times he read this letter, he’d come no closer to understanding his cousin’s disturbing fascination with the Countess of Somerset. Nor to unraveling the mystery behind it. The anger contained within the tear stained ink was as bewildering as Timothy’s chaotic swings between despair and adoration.
My Dearest Ivy,
I’ve called upon you countless times and still that damned butler won’t allow me entrance! He treats me as if I’m the lowliest chimney sweep or a piece of rabble seeking your charity. It is unacceptable, but I know full well he only does your bidding.
I long to hold you, to feel the sunlight of your smile. You know I adore you. You know you are mine. Ivy, I need you. Without you, I am nothing. I feel nothing. Can you understand my simple words? I am nothing without you.
My sweet Ivy, my heartless, beautiful love. These past weeks have been hell. My headaches grow worse, my medication as useless as sugar water. But I think you do not care. Damn you, goddamn you! Do you see the depths I’ve fallen to? I curse your name and hate myself for it. Your cruelty blinds you to my suffering. Or do you know my torment and find this agony amusing? Does it please you? Knowing this wretchedness has beset me?
What have you done to me? God, what have I done to you? Ivy, I beg you to see me again. Today. Tomorrow. Now. I don't care. This is torture and I cannot bear it. I am in Hell and you are the Devil’s own angel, but I love you. I know you love me. Your affections could not have lies. Please, before it is too late. What must I do? Tell me how to make you love me again. Because I must have you. I must. I simply cannot live without you.
I love you. Yes. I love you. But damn you, damn you, you are killing me. As surely as if you twist all these knives in my heart…
~Timothy
His cousin died in his private rooms, here at sprawling Ravenswood Court on Grosvenor Square, his dark head of curls pillowed upon this very letter. A decanter of brandy teetered on the edge of his personal desk, the liquor forming a puddle on the expensive rug. Beside Timothy’s stiff hand lay an empty bottle of laudanum and a bowl of sugar cubes. A writing quill, the silver nib crusted with dried ink, was still clutched within his fingers.
Lady Garrett’s cries for justice resulted in the bobbies being called in.
“An unfortunate tragedy,” Inspector Barrett declared. “I’m afraid nothing can be done in the matter, milady. No law exists preventing a young lady’s refusal of a gentleman’s courtship.”
“An unintentional death,” Old Doctor Callahan determined upon meticulous examination of the suite and Timothy’s body. The official declaration guaranteed his cousin’s final resting place in the family plot, complete with all necessary blessings of the Church. Rumors of suicide escaped nonetheless.
Sebastian shot his aunt a sharp glance when she sniffled. “You must trust my judgment on this matter, Aunt Rachel.” He hoped she would not collapse into sobs again and sighed with relief when she did not.
“It’s scandalous…this notion you have of courting her. After what she did.” As if realizing the hysterics annoyed him, Rachel stated this in a more restrained manner.
His aunt was correct; it would be scandalous. But had he been in London, this whole madness might have been avoided. Shouldn’t he bear a bit of the responsibility for the tragedy? From the time he’d come to live with them at the age of four, Timothy idolized Sebastian. In fact, the boy emulated him and in the careless manner of an older brother, Sebastian loved his cousin as well. Much could have been done to alleviate the situation before Timothy harmed himself. How the carefree and jovial young man spiraled so quickly into such a dark pit over a woman was difficult to comprehend. And in just a few months’ time according to Rachel.Damn it, Timothy, you love-struck bastard. Did you not learn anything from my mistakes with Marilee? Now I’m left to deal with your irrational mother, all the damnable gossip. And the heartless little bitch who caused your downfall.
The uncharitable thoughts of Aunt Rachel caused a stab of guilt. His father’s eldest and only sister was suffering the loss of her sole child. For his father’s sake, and Timothy’s, Sebastian summoned forth his most sympathetic nature.
“There will be times you question my actions.” His eyes flickered over the woman, evaluating her reaction. “I’ll caution you not to interfere.”
Rachel’s mouth curved in a tight slash of disapproval. She’d lost a stone in the time he'd been gone. It did not compliment her gaunt face, marking her far older than her sixty years. Her husband’s demise and the impoverished state due to his gambling debts had not aged her as Timothy’s passing had. A haunted expression flitted in her blue eyes whenever she spoke of the girl responsible for her son’s death nine months before and Sebastian thought his aunt’s return to society was far too soon.
“I want Lady Kinley to suffer for what she did to Timothy.”
“She will.” The assurance was firm. “In a method of my choosing.”
After Rachel exited his study Sebastian pondered the latest scandal involving the Countess of Somerset. A popular wager emerged in the gaming hells and private gentlemen clubs during the months following Timothy’s death, a grotesque amusement for those with deep pockets and a sense of the macabre. Some fool, obviously lacking a clever bone in his body, devised the appalling title,Taming the Countess.The objective of the game hinged upon one’s ability to withstand the charms of Lady Ivy Kinley. Ultimate victory was twofold; one could not end up as dead as the unfortunate Lord Timothy Garrett and one must capture the lady’s hand in marriage. Of course, considering the size of the fortune in question, it was not simply the countess herself men were so eager to capture.Survive her or win her…
His family now the brunt of sordid entertainment, Sebastian had no sympathy for the girl caught in the midst of the scandal. It was incomprehensible theton, notorious for its fickle nature, was fascinated with her.
It was seven years before when Sebastian first met the young countess. The day he arrived at the Somerset estate was one of his first social calls following a year of mourning his own father’s death to a sudden illness. His recollection of that afternoon, and memories of a disagreeable twelve-year-old little girl crowned with frizzy brown hair, her face sprinkled with unfortunate freckles, were far from pleasant.
