Page 42 of Season of the Scoundrel
“It sounds as if you think she’s here to dissuade me.”
Lily sighed. “I think perhaps she might be. But what you must know is that it does not matter what she wants. Only what you and Blackbourne have decided together.”
Ivy nodded, not confessing that she and Ross had gotten so lost in each other last evening, they hadn’t truly agreed to anything.
Still, she made her way to the drawing room, sucking in deep breaths to steel her nerves.
“You’re Grace,” she said by way of greeting as she stepped into the drawing room.
Ross’s mother had not taken a seat. She seemed to perusing the knickknacks Lily had arranged on the fireplace mantel.
When she turned to Ivy, her expression was unreadable. “Miss Bridewell, do forgive the unexpected call, but I thought it best we speak privately about a matter that’s come to my attention.”
Ivy gestured toward a damask chair and waited until the duchess lowered herself onto it before sitting on the settee.
“Miss Bridewell,” she said, her tone inquisitive and slightly cool. “I understand theengagementbetween you and my son is a ruse. Is that true?”
Ivy gripped the fabric of her skirt and steeled herself. “Initially it was, Your Grace.”
“I do not believe my son would enter into such an arrangement, and I cannot imagine what you did to persuade him to do so. Ross is not a liar. He’s a man of honor.”
“That’s why he suggested it.”
The duchess made a scoffing sound and let out a bleat of choked laughter. “He would never do such a thing.”
“But he did, Your Grace, to protect my reputation. After we both attended an event at Lord Penrose’s home, rumors began.”
The duchess’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “So it’s scandal. He’s known you for all of a week and already he’s embroiled in scandal.”
“Well, no, because we agreed to the false betrothal to stem any scandal.” Ivy’s nervousness began to ease. She had nothing to hide, nothing she was ashamed of, and it was clear that the duchess didn’t understand her son as well as she thought she did.
“Miss Bridewell, my son’s duty is to choose a duchess, not to spend his time squiring a false fiancé through London society.”
“I understand, Your Grace.” This was the part that would be difficult. “You see…I said that the engagement was initially feigned, but now...”
The duchess’s eyes widened. “Now what, Miss Bridewell?” She tipped her head, studying Ivy. “What is between you?”
“We care for each other.”
For a moment, the older woman closed her eyes. “Does he return this affection you seem to hold for him?”
“I believe he does, Your Grace.” Ivy sat up straighter and lifted her chin a bit.
“He’s so careful. So strategic. Even as a boy, he never took a decision lightly.” She drew in a breath and studied Ivy. “And yet he’s upended all of that for you. I cannot help wonder why.”
Behind them the study door opened.
They both looked back. Ross stood in the doorway. He looked windblown, a bit disheveled. He wasn’t wearing a necktie or a suit coat. Just his shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. He looked magnificent.
“Your sister sent word of your visitor,” he said, his eyes locked on Ivy. “I came immediately.”
Then he turned his attention to the duchess. “Mother, do you mind if I join this tete-a-tete?”
“Are you truly giving me a say in whether you do or not?” she asked him, a bit of amusement in her tone.
“No. Of course I’m not.” He strode in, sat beside Ivy, and reached for her hand.
Ivy slipped her palm against his and rested their joined hands on his thigh.
