Page 28 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“I hope you’re right.”
“Someone who manipulates others is not a person you want to call friend.”
Ivy’s remark stung. Not only because Mary had never been so critical of Esme, but also because she worried that hers and Fifi’s charade was silly. Pretense interfered too much in the normal course of relationships and she should not have suggested a charade to Fifi. Even at that, she failed so far. She’d failed two years ago when Millicent Weaver asked for her help to make Lord Langdon jealous. She should have known then to stop. Millicent had cared for the earl more than she’d known. After their quarrel, he’d returned to the Army and been wounded, badly. Millicent faulted herself for that. She attended here again this year, looking like a ghost of her former self. “Do you think of Esme as controlling?”
Ivy’s bright emerald eyes lit upon her, hard as stone. “Don’t you?”
Mary’s heart clamped. Ivy had never been so pointed with her.Did she know what I’d done to separate Millicent and Langdon?“I thought of her as…peculiar.”
“I always used the term ‘coy’.” Ivy frowned and yanked at her gloves. “It’s true. Call me judgmental and unforgiving, but Esme was cruel when she was younger. I didn’t like her. Grace claimed what she wanted was attention. Needed it.”
Mary shook her head. “Odd. Her mother gave her enough to cosset ten girls.”
“Exactly. She learned to crave it. Plus she’s beautiful. Men always thought her a diamond. Even when she was twelve. And she invited them to admire her. As if she’d flirt with any man. I didn’t like that in her. It felt…unsafe.”
“She hasn’t done that for years.”
“No.” Ivy said the word as if it were a minor concession. “But don’t you wonder if she loves Northington?”
“She does. I had a letter from her the other day. She’s never been so frank with me. I believe she truly wants to be friends with Fifi and show her that she does care for Northington.”
“Let’s hope he returns the sentiment.”
“What do you mean?”
Ivy searched her gaze as she fought some inner battle. “Ugh. All right. I’ll tell you. Grace told me the other day that Esme fears he marries her for her dowry.”
Mary’s mouth fell open.
“I know,” Ivy said with no satisfaction. “That worries me too.”
“Esme believes he loves her.”
“Wouldn’t every bride want to believe that?” Ivy asked, but didn’t sound as if she were convinced.
“Why would she think he wants her money more than her?” Mary halted in her tracks.
But her father’s words about the Duke of Brentford rang in her ears. Years ago when her father wanted to improve the land above the river, he and Brentford had had a falling out. “Brentford will spend a fortune to live like a king, but won’t spend a penny on his own coffin,” her father had complained. “He’d rather rot in the earth in his shroud and leave his creditors to bankruptcy.”
“Look at that.” Ivy nodded toward Northington. The marquess stood before the May Pole and there in broad afternoon sun, Northington—dark and gruff and angry—argued with his future father-in-law, Lord Courtland.
“I don’t know,” Ivy speculated and opened her parasol with a whoosh. “Perhaps if we knew what that altercation is about, we might have insight. But frankly, I don’t want to learn.”
“Esme must have had reason to believe he did love her. She wouldn’t have agreed to marry him otherwise.”
“Not even if her mother demanded it of her?”
“No.” Mary was certain of that. “Esme would not marry for a title.”
“I hope you’re right. Because if he doesn’t love her and she does not love him, they may both have more problems than they do at the moment.”
“Oh, Esme would never commit…” Mary could not finish.
“It happens. You know it does, Mary. And if he doesn’t love her, do you think he’ll stay committed to his vows?”
Mary could not bear to answer.
Chapter 8
