The Wednesday Club – Book Three
A Garden for Ivy
Sahara Kelly
Content © 2020 Sahara Kelly
Cover art © 2020 Sahara Kelly
(Cover Portrait “Welcome Footsteps” by Marcus Stone;
Currently in the Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museum;
Image Released to the Public Domain)
Acknowledgements
For my readers – a big thankyou, as always. You are pearls beyond price and I hope this story meets your high standards. For my family and friends and pretty much everyone everywhere, who are – at the time I write this – weathering a disaster of unimagined proportions, I send my love. For when all is said and done, it’s love that gets us through the hardest times.
This will be the last book I write in this particular location, since a move is in the offing. Will it change things? Probably not my stories, since they are independent of my surroundings. But I’m sure the pace may slow once I rediscover the joys of my own garden. I plan on following in Ivy’s footsteps and re-creating an English country garden, replete with as many scented blooms as I can manage. I hope to sit in a place not unlike where many of my heroines have enjoyed moments in the sun, indulging in their own thoughts, and surrounded by the fragrance of flowers. I’m not sure about eating nasturtiums in my salads, but I am positive there will be lavender. Lots of lavender.
In this story you will find mention of the unsettling events that led to Peterloo. I’m no historian, so please forgive the brevity of the comments. It was a complex and tragic time; if you are intrigued enough to learn more, I recommend any of the excellent research sources out there which go into great detail about the social uproar that led, eventually, to much needed political reform in England.
Prologue
“Shouldn’t you be with your husband?” Lydia Davenport looked at her friend. “I thought all newlywed couples couldn’t stand to be separated…”
Rose Linfield smiled. “Miles is at Linfield Lisle. Doing business stuff. I would have gone with him, but when it came to a choice between spending a week with his Mama, or with you all? There was no contest.”
“And how lovely a sentiment that is,” Ivy Siddington grinned. “We’re most appreciative, aren’t we, Lydia?”
“We are indeed.”
“Good. Because I want to ask you to help me get used to being Lady Linfield here in town.” Rose bit her lip. “I need all the assistance I can get, I assure you. I have to counteract Mama’s excessive jubilation. She would order an elephant and parade me around on it if she could, I swear. Just to show London.”
“Judith should be here for this. She got married and became Lady Withersby” observed Ivy. “Quite nicely and without an elephant anywhere.”
“She’s on her way.” Lydia nodded and sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile.
The three women were settled comfortably in the parlour at Davenport Place, and once Lady Judith Withersby arrived, they would enjoy tea and—as young ladies do—a healthy measure of gossip.
“I’m sure we’ll all be thrilled to help, Rose, as best we can. Not that you’ll need it, of course,” said Ivy. “But I will also ask that we spend a bit of time on the question of Prudence.”
“Hmm.” Lydia nodded. “Yes, we must do something about her, mustn’t we?”
“I wouldn’t want her to end up with young Mr Dartsbridge. That just isn’t acceptable.” Ivy frowned. “He’s a nice lad, but…just no.”
“He’s left town I hear.” Judith walked into the room, grinning at her friends. “I think you scared him off.”
“Oh dear,” Rose looked worried. “I hope I wasn’t responsible for that.”
“I doubt one dance at Almack’s would send anyone into the countryside.” Judith sat on the couch with a chuckle.
“I don’t know,” mused Rose. “It was an utter disaster. As were the rest of his dances, I believe.”
“More likely he’s been called home,” Judith shook her head. “I think I heard Ragnor mention something about the Dartsbridge estates being on the market?”
“Oh, poor chap.”
Tea arrived and while the maid was setting up the table, all four ladies spared a sympathetic thought for the unfortunate Romley Dartsbridge.
“Right then.” Lydia took a raspberry tart. “Who can we find for Prudence? Which eligibles do we know and which are nice enough to introduce to her?”
Silence fell, interrupted only by the gentle munching of excellent pastries.
“It might help,” said Rose between mouthfuls, “if we knew Prudence’s status.”
Ivy blinked. “She’s the niece of the Duke of Maidenbrooke. Isn’t that status enough?”
“Of course,” Lydia nodded. “But I think the status Rose referred to meant her financial status. Her dowry. That sort of thing.”
Ivy frowned. “No fortune hunters, Lydia.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lydia shot her a matching frown. “Not in a million years.”
“I apologise,” sighed Ivy. “It’s a difficult challenge, she’s a sweet girl and I’d like to see her happy. So I’m a bit touchy, I suppose. Forgive me.”
“You need not ask.” Lydia leaned over and patted her hand. “Let’s assume she is comfortably dowered and will bring a nice settlement to the table.”
“I think that’s a fair assumption,” echoed Judith. “There are one or two candidates that spring to mind…Sir William Fitzwilliam?”
“Hmm.” Lydia pursed her lips. “Bit of a wet blanket. I met him at some tea somewhere. Fancies himself an expert on basset hounds.”
“Ah.”
Three other faces expressed puzzlement, disillusion, and a certain amount of amusement.
“Now you mention it, his ears…” Judith snickered.
“Oh dear,” Ivy snorted.
Lydia rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. “Yes. God, yes. He looks just like one.”
It took a few minutes for them to settle. Then Judith made a woofing noise and set them all off again.
It was a good afternoon, spent with the best
