The Bride of Ivy Green, Page 2

  Helena directed her next comment to Agnes. “And a hot bath, if you please.”

  A hot bath—now? When every inch of the stove was covered with cooking pots and simmering sauce pans, and their small staff stretched thin as it was?

  George glanced from woman to woman, then spoke up. “My dear, might your bath not wait a bit? I can smell our dinner, and my mouth is watering already. It has been far too long since I’ve tasted Mrs. Timmons’s cooking. Come, my dear. We can alter meal times in future, but if everything is ready now . . .”

  Mercy’s heart warmed to her brother, who at that moment seemed less like the stranger she had felt him to be at the wedding and more like the sibling she recalled.

  His wife’s eyes shone icy blue. “Heaven forbid you should miss a meal, my dear. If the bath must wait, so be it. But I will need an hour at least to rest and dress.” She patted George’s waistcoat and looked at Mercy. “Married life agrees with your brother, as you see, Miss Grove. He has gained a stone or more since we became engaged. He ate his way through every city on our wedding trip.”

  An uneasy smile lifted her brother’s handsome features. “And why not? What a delicious opportunity to sample the cuisine of several different regions.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Matilda agreed. “We look forward to hearing all about your travels.”

  While the newcomers went upstairs to rest and change, Mercy hurried to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Timmons to delay the meal. Mrs. Timmons grumbled, doubting it would look or taste nearly as good after being kept warm for an hour, predicting the new mistress would send her packing for serving fallen Yorkshire puddings, reheated meat, and congealed sauces.

  “She will understand,” Mercy said, trying to reassure her. “After all, she was the one who postponed the meal.”

  At least Mercy hoped she would understand. Kitty and Agnes were still young and could likely find new employment, but if Helena dismissed Zelda Timmons or Mr. Basu, both would struggle to find new positions—Mrs. Timmons because of her age, and Mr. Basu because he was a foreigner in a land sometimes unwelcoming to darker-skinned people. Both were dependable and hardworking. She hoped Helena would come to think so as well.

  An hour later, Mercy reached the dining room first and watched as her sister-in-law descended the stairs in a vibrant indigo gown with a high lace collar. The petite woman possessed fair skin and delicate patrician features. Cool hauteur pinched her small mouth, but she had likely been an angelic-looking child with a halo of blond curls. Now Helena wore her hair in an ornate style, with braids from ear to ear and tight pin curls fringing her forehead like curtain tassels.

  Mercy felt large, awkward, and ill-dressed in her presence, especially as Helena’s gaze traveled over her inelegant form with silent censure, or at least pity.

  When they had all gathered and taken their seats, Helena surveyed the table with its soup tureen, fish course, and more dishes to follow. After two weeks of sparse meals, Mercy’s stomach growled in anticipation.

  Helena said, “Quite a feast. Do you two always eat so well?”

  “No, but we wanted your first meal here to be special.”

  “I see.”

  Mercy added, “Mrs. Timmons has been with us for years. And we recently hired a new kitchen maid, as Mother suggested.”

  “I trust your father has increased the household allowance?”

  She was surprised Helena would raise the topic in company. “He plans to, I know.”

  “George, you will have to write to him. I won’t see my dowry spent on the butcher’s bill.”

  “Yes, my love. Straightaway.”

  As they began the next course, Matilda changed the subject. “Now that you have returned to England, George, what will you do?”

  Helena smiled. “Oh, we expect great things. Parliament, perhaps.”

  “Ah,” Matilda murmured doubtfully.

  Helena prodded a limp puff of dough with her fork. “Is this meant to be Yorkshire pudding?”

  “Yes. Made in your honor.”

  Helena did not appear impressed, and even less so when she lifted a ladle of lumpy gravy.

  Mercy’s enjoyment of the generous meal was diminished by the tense atmosphere of the room. Aunt Matty, she noticed, also ate sparingly.

  Surely things would improve after everyone grew more accustomed to one another. After all, they had weathered many changes in recent months, and hopefully they’d endure this one as well. Peace and joy, Mercy reminded herself. Hold on to peace and joy.

  chapter

  Two

  On the first of March, Mercy wrapped a shawl around herself and slipped out the back door. She nodded to Mr. Basu, preparing the kitchen garden for spring planting, and then opened the gate onto the village green. The world was awakening from winter—ivy and moss beginning to green, tree branches overhead starting to bud, and wrinkly rhubarb sprouting along the sunny wall. In the distance, she heard a lark singing for the first time that year. Ivy Green was transitioning to springtime before her eyes. She paused to fill her lungs with fresh, cool air, feeling as though she was transitioning too.

  Ahead of her, a man and a little girl stepped onto the green. With a jolt, she recognized Mr. Drake with Alice, the former pupil and ward she had once hoped to adopt as her own daughter. The two walked hand in hand in coats and hats, talking companionably, Alice laughing at something he said. For a moment, Mercy stood still, holding her breath, taking in the poignant scene with equal parts pleasure and aching loss. But she loved Alice too much to wish her to be anything but completely happy in her new life.

  Alice turned her head and a smile broke across her face. “Miss Grove!” she called, waving. With a quick look at Mr. Drake, Alice tugged her hand from his and ran across the green to her. Mercy glimpsed barely a shadow of the girl’s former reticence, her dimpled cheeks a little rosier than Mercy recalled.

  Mercy bent low of old habit to bring herself to eye level with the eight-year-old—though she did not have to bend quite so low now.

  “Alice, my dear. How lovely to see you. You are looking well, and so tall.”

  “I grew over the winter, Mr. Drake says.”

  “You have indeed. I like your redingote. I have not seen it before.”

  “It’s new. My dress and hat too. Grandmother had them made for me.”

  “Grandmother?”

  “My mother,” James explained, reaching them. “She asked Alice to call her that and insisted on taking her to a mantua-maker while we were there.”

  “Well, you look lovely,” Mercy assured her.

  From the opposite direction, two girls entered the green, walking arm in arm.

  Seeing them, Alice’s eyes brightened. “There are Sukey and Mabel. How I have missed them! And Phoebe, of course.”

  Phoebe and Alice had been Mercy’s youngest pupils and were close friends. But after her school closed, Phoebe’s father, a traveling salesman, had enrolled his daughter at a different school along his route.

  Alice asked, “May I go and speak with them?”

  “You may . . .” Catching herself, Mercy glanced at James Drake. “That is, if Mr. Drake doesn’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Go and greet your friends. Invite them to join us for tea and cake at the bakery.”

  Alice hurried away eagerly. For a moment, Mr. Drake watched her go, a smile on his handsome face. His smile lingered as he turned to Mercy.

  “Speaking of invitations, Miss Grove, I would like to invite you to the Fairmont to see Alice’s new room, and perhaps have dinner with us. I know Alice would enjoy that, and . . . so would I.”

  Mercy hesitated. The words he had spoken back in December echoed again through her mind: “I hope you and I might spend more time together, Miss Grove. And Alice, of course. I think it would help her to see that you and I are not enemies, but friends.” But so many weeks had passed without him calling again—except to pick up Alice and her things—that she’d begun to think he’d changed his mind.

  He lo
wered his head, then looked up at her from beneath golden lashes. “I realize you might have expected an invitation before now, but I hope you will understand that I wanted to give Alice time to grow accustomed to her new surroundings, and to me. Selfishly, I did not wish to try to compete for her affections—a contest you would still win, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t know. . . . Alice seems very happy in your care.”

  “I am glad to hear you say so.”

  Mercy asked, “How did it go with your parents? Did you have a pleasant time over Christmas?”

  “We did, yes, once they got over their initial shock. My mother especially took quite a liking to Alice.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Alice has never really had grandparents before. At least not doting ones.”

  “Well, my father is not the doting type, but Mamma is generous and affectionate enough for the both of them.” His gaze sought Alice across the green, and he lowered his voice. “I know you hoped Alice’s origins would remain secret, but neither of my parents believed the pretense of Alice being the daughter of friends. They saw too much resemblance to me, and even more to my sister.”

  Mercy’s smile faltered. “And have you told Alice?”

  “She overheard our conversation and asked me directly. I decided to tell her the truth.”

  Suddenly cold, Mercy drew her shawl more closely around herself. “You will acknowledge her openly, then?”

  “Yes. I think the truth is easiest.”

  “Easier for Alice to be known as your illegitimate daughter than the orphan of respectably married parents?”

  His jaw tightened. “That was a fiction, Miss Grove. A fiction I don’t feel compelled to perpetuate. In fact, I have begun legal steps to make Alice my heir and change her name to Drake.”

  A stew of conflicting emotions churned through Mercy. “Was Alice upset? She must have been, after thinking herself the daughter of Lieutenant Smith all her life.”

  “At first, perhaps. You may ask her yourself, if you like. But in my view, she seems to have adjusted well to the news.”

  Perhaps it is for the best, Mercy thought. Better to be a daughter than a mere ward. How Mercy hoped Alice’s beginnings would not bring rejection later in life.

  He changed the subject. “And how are you, Miss Grove?”

  Mercy hesitated. “I am well, thank you.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Come, you needn’t pretend with me. You must be sad about closing your school.”

  “I am a bit at loose ends, I admit. The school was my focus for many years. Now that the girls have gone, we have changed the schoolroom back to a bedchamber for my brother and his new bride.” Her chest ached at the words.

  “And have they arrived?”

  “Yes, a fortnight ago.” Eager to divert attention from herself, Mercy asked, “And you, Mr. Drake? How goes the Fairmont?”

  “Not well, truth be told. I have been preoccupied with more important matters, as you might guess. I gave the Kingsleys time off to spend with their families in December and January. And outside work had to be postponed during the last cold spell, which Alice and I happily spent in more temperate Southampton.”

  He inhaled deeply. “Now that there is a hint of spring in the air, progress will hopefully accelerate. We are accepting post-chaise traffic now, but I hope to soon open the remainder of the rooms and advertise for more business. When you visit, you will have to judge the accommodations for yourself. I am sure Mr. Kingsley would be willing to give us a tour of his many improvements.”

  Mr. Kingsley . . . Mercy grinned. “Then I shall look forward to visiting the Fairmont,” she said. “Just name the day.”

  chapter

  Three

  Jane Bell rode her horse down the long tree-lined drive to Lane’s Farm, now the home of Gabriel Locke. The old farmhouse gleamed with a fresh coat of whitewash and green trim. New slate shingles capped the roof. Two hired men were hauling straw into the barn and stables across the yard, while a drystone man skillfully arranged stones to close a gap in the low wall around the paddock.

  Nearby, Gabriel worked with wire and pliers, securing a long pole to three evenly spaced trees, where he could tie horses being saddled or groomed.

  His dark head lifted, and noticing her, a smile split his handsome face. “Morning, Jane. How is Athena today?”

  “She is well.” Jane rode toward him, teasing, “And so am I. Thanks for asking.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  He tied Athena’s reins to the new post and raised his hands to help Jane down. She leaned into his arms, thrilled at his strength and the warm light in his eyes as he lowered her to the ground. He took her gloved hand and kissed it, and she wished away the leather. He bent closer, his face nearing hers. Her heart rate accelerated in anticipation. But one of the hired men hailed her from the barn, and Jane stepped back to return the man’s greeting.

  “Morning, Mr. Mullins.”

  Then she returned her gaze to Gabriel. “The house looks well. Everything is much improved already.”

  “Not everything.” He nodded toward a sagging shed and chicken coop. “The woodshed and coop will have to wait. I plan to first build a forge, so I can more easily shoe my own horses. Then we plan to build a few small cabins for the hired men—the single ones, at any rate. Mr. Mullins walks over every morning.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “Better. I admit I was surprised he took the job, considering a kick from a horse is what put him out of work before. I understand he wasn’t expected to walk again.”

  Jane nodded. “Dr. Burton’s son studied medical massage and stretching under an East India Company physician. Apparently, he showed Mrs. Mullins how it was done, and she took it from there. At all events, thank you for giving him a chance. I know his whole family appreciates it.”

  “He works hard. Still skittish around the horses, but I can’t blame him for that.”

  Jane nodded. “What else is on that long list of yours?”

  He gestured toward a murky green pond. “I plan to dredge the old duck pond and stock it with fish, extend the stables, and . . .” He went on, listing off projects and needed repairs.

  Jane said, “Your long list reminds me of what I faced when taking over The Bell.”

  Gabriel looked at her. “Speaking of The Bell, how are things going with Patrick gone?”

  Jane shrugged. “Colin and I are managing, for the most part. And Patrick seems happy. He and Hetty have begun renovations on their lodging house. A great deal of work to do, much as you have here.”

  He nodded. “I am enjoying it, actually. I wake up each morning ready to tackle another project.”

  “I can understand that. After all, you are no longer working for your uncle or for me. This is your farm now.”

  He stepped closer and took her hand again. “It could be our farm, Jane. In fact, I very much hope it will be one day soon.”

  She ducked her head, cheeks warming with pleasure and uncertainty. She recalled the day he announced he’d bought Lane’s Farm, right after Rachel and Sir Timothy’s wedding. The words he spoke to her in the churchyard echoed through her mind. “I’m not going anywhere, Jane. I love you, no matter what the future brings, and I will wait.”

  True to his word, he had been content to wait—not pressuring her or raising the topic of their future. Until today. Was she ready to take the next step, even if marriage meant more miscarriages?

  Not sure how to reply, Jane instead asked, “Will you be able to manage all the repairs between you and your men?”

  “Most of them. I’ll likely hire the Kingsleys to help with the cabins and stables. Although my uncle is threatening to visit, and he’s handy himself.”

  “Has he come round to the idea of your managing a farm of your own?”

  “Yes, I have his full support.”

  “And your parents? I remember you told me they once hoped you would go into the law.”

  He nodded, crossing his muscular ar
ms. “They are pleased, actually. More financial security than working for my uncle all my life—or the risky business of horse racing. I would like you to meet them, Jane.” He looked at her closely, gauging her reaction.

  “I . . . would like to meet them as well,” Jane said, hoping he had not noticed her momentary hesitation. She did want to become acquainted with the people who had raised the man she had grown to love. But did agreeing to meet them signal her intention to join that family through marriage? They would certainly assume Gabriel was settling here in Ivy Hill and introducing her to them for a reason. Two more people to disappoint. People who no doubt longed for grandchildren, as Thora had.

  She asked lightly, “Have you told them about me?”

  He nodded. “I told them there was a woman I wanted them to meet. Someone very important to me.”

  A puff of dry laughter escaped her. “Did you happen to mention I am a thirty-year-old who has been married before?”

  “I am not so ungallant as to mention a woman’s age, Jane.” His brown eyes twinkled, but then he sobered. “I did tell them you were John Bell’s widow. They met him once, so had heard your name in passing.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. They will love you. As I do. You will be the daughter they never had.”

  Pleasure warmed her heart even as fear lingered.

  Then she thought of something. “Gabriel, there is something I should tell you. About my own father. He—”

  “Mrs. Bell.” Mr. Mullins walked over, a humble smile on his face. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for putting in a good word for me with Mr. Locke here. Much obliged.”

  Jane was quick to deflect the gratitude to Mercy Grove, who was better acquainted with the Mullins family than she was. By the time the man had returned to his work, Athena was stomping her hoof, anxious to continue their ride.

  Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “What about your father, Jane?”

  “Another time,” Jane said. “Athena’s patience is wearing thin, and I have to get back to The Bell before the midday rush.” She had waited this long to tell him; a few more days wouldn’t matter.