Page 98 of Taming Ivy
"I'll have that kiss now,” Sebastian demanded once Ivy was done repairing herself.
"To the victor go the spoils of victory.” She grinned, nudging Spring to where Raven pawed the ground.
"I didn't encourage you to challenge me…and I did try to give you the win.”
"I would not have claimed victory if you gifted it to me upon a silver plate. But, I would have given you the kiss no matter who reached the tree first,” Ivy admitted.
Charmed by her unexpected playfulness, Sebastian seized his prize as soon as her face lifted to his.
At noon, they reached a large meadow dotted with sweet yellow flowers and inhabited by a herd of black and white sheep and several new lambs. A low stone fence covered with wild red and white roses enclosed the meadow with a rustic wood gate providing entrance. Sebastian indicated an old trail led into the woods on the backside of the field and they would follow it after lunch.
At the top of the rise stood a small grove of ancient oaks and while Sebastian took care of the horses, Ivy unpacked their lunch, setting everything out on the edge of the shade trees.
“Annie is absolutely wonderful,” Ivy exclaimed. “Look, she had Chef include strawberry teacakes. My favorite.”
“The teacakes were Annie’s idea.” Sebastian grinned, plopping onto the grass beside her.
“And the wine?” She held up a bottle, brow raised at the inclusion of the beverage.
“Mine, of course. I intend to get completely intoxicated so you are better able to take advantage of me. You may have all the lemonade you desire.”
Ivy giggled. “And if I prefer wine instead?”
“We’ll work something out.” He winked.
Chef had also packed thick, salty slices of ham, fluffy biscuits, and a mixture of cut up fruit. Pickled cucumbers provided a tart compliment to the salted meat and the teacakes were a sweet finish to the meal. While they ate, a small herd of sheep ventured close, the baby lambs curious to explore the strange creatures invading their meadow. The sweet little dears wobbled closer until finally, Ivy got upon her knees, stretching a hand to touch the wooly softness of one bi-colored lamb. Tottering forward, it collapsed in her lap, a tangle of spindly limbs, as its mother watched, ready to take action if necessary.
“You darling thing,” Ivy crooned to it as Sebastian refilled their wine glasses. “I've never touched one before. It's so soft.” Ivy took a sip of wine then set the glass down in the grass so she could better cradle the lamb. Gazing out over the meadow, her expression turned wistful. She was silent for a few moments then sighed. “I do wish we could stay at Beaumont forever.”
"The endless balls and soirees in London no longer hold any appeal?"
"I enjoy the dancing, but usually not the company.”
Grimacing with mock pain, Sebastian held a hand to his heart. "You wound me, love. I thought the times we waltzed were as precious to you as they are to me.”
Ivy lightly slapped his arm. "I am not referring to you and you well know it. I’m sure I appear quite besotted by your attentions. Anyone with eyes could see I despised dancing with anyone other than you.”
Sebastian could not stop the flash of memory from the last ball they attended, when he so grimly watched from the shadows while Ivy whirled in the arms of countless men. Jealousy - bitter and ugly - darkened his features. Thankfully, Ivy did not see it as she nuzzled the lamb’s neck.
She’d been far from happy during those awful weeks of their separation, suffering as much as he. At the mercy of those who took advantage of her weakness and sorrow. Men like himself.
What would Ivy think of the ruthless plans he recently set into motion? He had carefully plotted to bring significant financial burdens to a particular set of predators. Those pursuing her at the Faringdon Ball deserved a great deal of discomfort, worry, and angst. Would the exhibition of her husband’s malice please her? Or disturb her?
Sebastian had neither forgiven nor forgotten those involved that night. While the gentlemen would not be completely destroyed, their losses would prove devastating. It would become blatantly obvious who orchestrated those monetary damages when the Earl of Ravenswood gained from their misfortunes. Sebastian did not desire anonymity. Hewantedthem to know. Only the future Duke of Richeforte danced beyond Sebastian’s reach.
Ivy laughed as the lamb softly butted her in the chest. She did not know Sebastian was engaged in a complete analyzation of that night once again, counting friends and enemies. Reluctantly, she untangled the baby’s ungainly legs, setting it in the direction of its bleating mother.
“It's breathtaking here. Like a fairy tale. Or a dream,” she murmured, watching as the herd gradually began to move away. “With all these roses, you would have held the advantage in London this past month.”
Sebastian reached for her hand. This grove of trees grew on a slight swell, making it easy to see much of the land stretched between them and the manor. The sun had burned off the early morning mist, and now, puffy white clouds drifted lazily across the blue of the sky. Combined with the light and dark greens of the grasses, the low, stacked stone fences, and the cascading profusion of red and white wild roses, the huge house far off in the distance resembled a work of art.
“You’ve never told me why you dislike roses so much,” he remarked quietly.
Ivy ducked her head. “I don't mind them so much anymore. My previous aversion to them is difficult to understand.”
“I'd like to try.” Sebastian settled closer to her. “If you do not wish to…”
“No, I don’t mind telling you.” Ivy took a deep breath. “My father had the habit of sending roses whenever he and my mother were at odds. When she fell ill, and later, when she was dying, he sent them every day. Even if he was out of the country. Now, I understand what the roses meant. To her. To him. I used to think them a paltry, sympathetic gesture, something he sent from guilt. But I was wrong. Those roses gave my mother a measure of comfort and reminded her of their love.” She smiled at Sebastian. “And of his sorrow in his failings of our family. Every time he sent his roses, he begged Mother’s forgiveness and reminded her that he loved her. But, I only saw them as a symbol of death. Betrayal and pain. Loss.” Her aqua blue eyes sparkled with tears. “I don't see it that way anymore. Father explained how things were...and then there you were, with your endless bouquets, and I realized how silly I was for hating a simple flower. Especially knowing your own mother loved them too.”
