Page 83 of A Most Unlikely Lady
Philippa gently closed the fan and caught Ivy’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection. Love. Devastation. Grief. They all swirled in varying shades of sapphire, cobalt, and indigo. Philippa blinked, and her eyes cleared, but the pain did not. ‘Losing one’s partner is an agony I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And never experiencing the kind of love I was blessed to know – even if it was only for a short time – is not something I would wish for you, Ivy. Edward is a good man, and he loves you, but he is also an idiot. Luckily, he is less stupid now than he used to be. He shouldn’t have left you this morning. But sometimes, our own demons chase so close behind, the only option we have is to flee. At least for a time. A feeling you are most familiar with, and therefore best able to understand, I think.’
As usual, Philippa was correct. Ivy did understand the need to run at times. But if he was running away, how could they move forward? ‘What should I do, Philippa?’
‘While I credit Hannah, Millie, and Penny for giving sound advice, I think an honest conversation might be the best route. Lay out your cards, Ivy. Tell him what you want. Ask what he wants in return. What he is capable of giving.’
I never know what I want.
But for the first time in her life, it wasn’t true.
I want Edward.
And she wasn’t about to let a little fear stand in the way of claiming him.
‘Thank you, Philippa. Your advice is sound as always. I wonder if you would take some from me.’
Philippa raised a black brow. ‘You have found your courage. Rarely does someone dare give me advice. Except Stokes, perhaps, but that man lives to vex me. Please.’ She nodded her head, granting Ivy permission.
‘I can’t imagine how painful it must be to lose someone you loved so deeply. But I don’t believe opening your heart again to the possibility of a new love dishonours what you shared with Liza.’
Philippa’s eyes flashed, and Ivy nearly retreated. But this was too important to back down. She turned to face the duchess and gripped both of her shoulders. The jewels sewn into Philippa’s deep purple gown dug into Ivy’s fingers. ‘Liza would want you to find happiness again, Philippa.’
Philippa tried to pull back, but Ivy refused to loosen her grip. ‘If circumstances were reversed, would you wish her to remain alone for the rest of her days? Denied the comforts of companionship? Never again experiencing the beauty of loving and being loved?’
Philippa swallowed. She turned her head to look over Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy squeezed Philippa’s shoulders. ‘I know it is easier to remain in the shadows. Believe me. I’ve spent years safely tucked away. But it’s a half-life, Philippa. And you deserve more than that.’
Clearing her throat, Philippa met Ivy’s gaze. ‘I find receiving advice is far less enjoyable than giving it.’
Despite the weight of their conversation, the danger they would soon face, the impending conversation Ivy needed to have with Edward, a giggle bubbled up from her belly, and she let it burst free. ‘Very true. I shall endeavour to keep my advice to a very minimum henceforth.’
‘Thank you, Ivy. I will consider your words.’
Ivy let her hands drop free and brushed them over the softness of her silk skirts. ‘Shall we?’
‘We shall.’ Philippa led them out of her rooms and into the fray.
19
Edward generally avoided balls. They were crowded, smelly, exhausting affairs requiring him to wear his least comfortable suit, stiffest boots, and tightest cravat. He’d much rather have been riding his favourite gelding in the mews, or drinking whiskey in his library, or feasting on Ivy’s body in some shadowy alcove. A body he’d spent most of the evening watching with unabashed desire.
Ivy was brilliant. She moved through the guests like a sleek ship cutting through waves, engaging in conversations with lords and ladies, even dancing with a few dandies. Her face was a serene mask of charm, and while he’d noticed her finger tapping away at her skirts more than once, no one would ever guess the shy wallflower was anything less than a consummate host.
Edward kept his distance, watching the people around Ivy, focused on anyone who might look suspicious, but outside of a young man’s hand slipping lower than it should during a waltz, he’d seen nothing alarming. And Edward couldn’t stay away from her any longer.
Her back was turned to him as she spoke with Olivia. Lady Smithwick was stunning in an ivory gown of gossamer fabric that captured the candlelight and shimmered pearl pink, icy blue, and pale green, constantly changing as she moved. It clung to her curves and highlighted the woman’s pale skin and hair. She looked like an ice queen descended from the high mountains and drew appreciative glances from more than one titled lord. Her husband spent much of the evening hovering over her like a jealous dog guarding a bone. Edward couldn’t imagine their union brought either of them much joy, yet Lord Smithwick wasn’t about to relinquish his possession.
‘Commissioner Worthington.’ Lord Percival Smithwick nodded curtly before his gaze swiftly returned to his wife.
Warm satisfaction flowed through Edward’s blood as Ivy turned sharply, her lips parting on an inhaled breath. The blush painted her skin, and his body leaned closer in an unspoken question.
Will you accept me? Will you accept my imperfect love?
‘Commissioner, I was hoping you might join us. How are you enjoying the evening?’ Lady Olivia’s warm greeting was the perfect foil to her husband’s cold reception.
Edward forced himself to turn to the elegant lady who helped mastermind the charity ball.
‘Quite the turnout, Lady Olivia. Even your brother has graced us with his presence. I thought he only attended events when the Queen was present. Dare we hope Her Royal Highness might surprise us with a visit?’
Lord Smithwick put a possessive hand on Olivia’s arm, tugging her closer to him. ‘Doubtful. The Lord High Chancellor is a loyal brother, and his presence here is a credit to the devotion he has to his sister. He’s always wanted the best for you, hasn’t he, Olivia?’
