Page 19 of An Earl by Any Other Name
“Sixteen years,” she breathed. The words so often thought but never spoken trembled on the tip of her tongue. She closed her eyes, but tears still seeped out beneath her lashes.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t come back until now. I miss you, Mama. So much.” Her throat constricted as the memories she’d locked away broke free. How many nights had she sat on Lady Hampton’s bed while her mother dressed the countess for the evening? The three of them would laugh and smile. She could still recall the faint lemony scent that clung to her mother, clean and fresh as she leaned over Ivy, tucking her into bed. Her mother had always taken care of her, loved her. And Ivy had left her here in this cold bit of earth. Alone. For sixteen years.
Ivy sucked in a ragged breath as her chest tightened.
“I wanted to come back, but it hurt too much. Please forgive me.” Ivy wiped the back of one hand across her cheeks to brush away tears as she touched the gravestone with the other. Her father would come soon and pay his respects to the woman he had once loved, but Ivy had needed to come by herself to grieve. Her mother had inspired her to be the woman she was today. Watching a bright woman live as a servant in an age that was dying out had driven Ivy to become passionate about women’s rights. If she didn’t fight for change, then who would? Women had to work together. If that meant sacrificing a husband and children, she would do that. She owed it to her mother and to the generations of women who would come after her.
We deserve better. You deserved better, Mama.
“Not a day passes by that I don’t miss you, Mama.” She bowed her head. “I love you. Always will.” She let go of the cool stone and stepped back. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her fur-lined cloak tight about her body and turned to leave the cemetery.
Coming back to Hampton was something she had been dreading and longing to do for years. She only wished Leo could have been there to share it with her. She shook her head at the foolish thought. What would he think when she told him who she was? Would he be furious at her deception? Or would he withdraw and turn cold? She supposed it didn’t matter; her childhood hopes had vanished. He was going to marry another woman. They were destined for separate lives, but it didn’t keep her from wanting him…from loving him.
* * *
Leo silently counted the seconds as he waited for Ivy to exit the graveyard. When she was out of sight, he slipped through the gate and searched the scattered tombs for a glimpse of the dahlias she must have left behind. Guilt at following her was a distant emotion. His curiosity outweighed his violation of her privacy. It wasn’t his fault that he’d dressed early for the shooting party and had seen her slip outside. Concern for her had soon turned to fascination as he trailed behind her and realized she was headed to the cemetery by the old Gothic church. From his hidden spot behind the stone wall near the gate, he’d watched as she touched a gravestone and spoke, her words carried away by a faint breeze.
Why would she come here? Why visit a grave in a place she’d claimed she’d never been? Something wasn’t right. There was deception somewhere in all of this, but he couldn’t fathom how all the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
Leo tugged his hat down a little more snugly and crossed the graveyard, dodging tombs until he found the one where a bouquet of dahlias rested at the base of the stone. He read the name, then stumbled back a step.
Here lies Elizabeth Jameson. Beloved mother and dearest friend.
That name. One he would never forget. She had been his mother’s lady’s maid so long ago. His mother’s friend and confidante. Cancer had claimed her life sixteen years before…
The blinding truth hit hard enough to make him stagger.
A little girl with large brown eyes and a trembling smile. He rubbed his palm at the memory of how her small hand fit in his when he’d held it. Her clear, joyous laugh and the pert button nose he’d tapped so often with a finger as he’d teased her.
Button. Ivy Leighton was Button all grown up. She had been his one friend at home, the only friend he’d ever had when he wasn’t away at school. She’d been his constant shadow, with a wide-eyed innocence and a sweet little voice. It hadn’t been about romance then, not for either of them. They had been bound together as friends, a trust and love that ran deeper. When he’d come from Eton during the holidays and learned that Elizabeth Jameson had died and her child had been sent away to live with her father…it had broken him. His father had scoffed at his soft heart and informed him he was better off without the little half-breed running underfoot. Leo had stood stoically, listened to his father’s cruel words, and then he’d gone upstairs to his rooms and cried, not caring that he felt like a child and not a young man. Button was gone. His only friend at Hampton gone forever…
He’d buried that love and affection for his missing friend over the years, but to have her back now? Like this? As the beautiful woman who both drove him mad with lust and fascinated him with her rebellious nature and brilliant mind?
My darling little Button…His chest ached fiercely and he swallowed hard as he tried to still the fluttering rush of hope inside him. Ivy was Button. For as long as he’d known her, she’d always been his Button. The name Ivy had never entered into his mind and therefore he hadn’t known who she was, especially since she’d taken her father’s surname. Surely she remembered him, but why then hadn’t she told him who she really was? Had she meant to deceive him and if she had, to what end?
Leo raked a hand through his hair, trying to puzzle out whatever purpose Ivy had for hiding her identity from him, but he could not think of any reason. Was she ashamed of her past? Did she think he would judge her? It was possible; he’d been an arrogant arse from the moment he’d quarreled with her at tea. He’d dashed her hopes and dreams with his foolish opinions. She wasn’t just some chit who wanted to be wild and play the rebel; she was Button, and he wouldn’t have said those things about women’s rights if he had known who she really was.
I shall have to find a way to coax the truth out of her by hook or by crook…or perhaps by kisses. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. He’d half seduced her already. The mere memory of it heated his blood anew until he recalled how she’d come here at his mother’s insistence.
“Mother,” he growled.
She had to have known all along who Ivy was and had played him like a hand of faro. Was this part of her plan to distract him from marrying Mildred? By presenting him with a delicious mystery like Ivy? Did she think him discovering her true identity would make him change his mind about proposing? Or did his mother simply want to create trouble? He could easily credit her with either scheme.
He clenched his fists, then unclenched them as he pondered his next move. He wanted Ivy. That hadn’t changed, but it was clear, now more than ever, that having her would come at a price. He could not marry Mildred and have Ivy at the same time. He would not be his father. Yet taking a half Gypsy for his wife wouldn’t stop the whispers and the gossip. That she was also a suffragette was something else he would have to deal with.
It would mean more doors slammed in his face. He would lose all his hope of connections with former friends of his father’s who might have helped him with smart investment opportunities. Leo weighed the options and consequences. He couldn’t let Ivy go. She was his childhood friend, a person who had seen him at his worst moments, someone who had always had the strength to keep his spirits up. As a child, she hadn’t been afraid of his father. Would she be afraid of society if they married? Or would she be brave enough to show him that they could live happily together despite the rumors that would spread? He knew in his heart that she was brave. He would do anything to win her love. His Button wouldn’t vanish again and leave his heart shattered. It didn’t matter how much he would lose, so long as he could have her in his life. His choice was clear.
* * *
Dressed warmly for a day of pheasant hunting, Ivy joined her father at the edge of the field. His dark eyes roved over her speculatively, missing nothing.
“You’ve been crying,” he noted softly.
She offered him a smile, aware that her eyes were likely red from her tears.
“What is it, my heart?” he asked.
My heart. He always called her that. In the last several years he had proved again and again to be a wonderful father, and she never got tired of his innate desire to protect and care for her. She glanced around, noticing the footmen who dodged about, seeing to the needs of the shooters before they left for the day. No one was close enough to hear her.
