“My darling, everyone has heard. But before we get to that, I must ask how your leg is doing…” She walked into the room, and bent over Ivy’s knees. “Let me see what that brute did…”
“It’s only a scratch,” Ivy muttered. “Nothing to make a fuss over.” She lifted her nightgown and extended her bare leg, showing Elvina the long mark from just above the inside of her knee to halfway down her calf.
Elvina winced. “You’re right. ‘Tis only a shallow scratch, but I’ll wager it stung like a dozen bees…”
“It did when Ellen put salve on it,” nodded Ivy. “But it’s fine now. I barely know it’s there.”
“Sadly, everyone else knows it’s there.” She frowned. “That oaf should be shot on sight.”
“I will agree on that point, certainly.” Ivy swallowed. “But I’m rather embarrassed to be at the centre of such a silly fuss.”
Elvina crossed the room and fetched Ivy’s robe. “I think you’d better tell me all about it from the start,” she said. “Breakfast will be ready in a few moments. Tea and food will help.”
“I’m in a mess, Elvina,” sighed Ivy. “Such a dreadful mess.”
The older woman was silent, her head tilted to one side as she watched Ivy shrug into her robe.
Then she smiled. “No Siddington ever escaped this life unscathed by messes, my dearest. It’s part and parcel of your heritage. This is quite minor compared to the war one of your ancestors nearly started…”
Ivy blinked. “Oh. Really?”
“Yes, really. You should ask your grandmother to tell you about it.”
“Oh dear God.” Ivy put her head in her hands. “Grandmother. D’you think she knows?”
Elvina shrugged. “I have no idea. But I’m sure she will hear soon, if she hasn’t already.”
“This day is going to get progressively worse, I predict,” said Ivy gloomily. “Better make that a large pot of tea.”
*~~*~~*
The Duke of Maidenbrooke was experiencing some of the same misgivings as he awoke in Hartsmere House.
After the events that had resulted in his rather rash declaration, Ivy had been whisked away to be tended to, and there had been no chance to speak with her again. That annoyed him, since he’d seen the stunned shock in her eyes when he’d announced their engagement.
He admitted he might have worn the exact same look had their roles been reversed, but upon review, he accepted that there was no other course of action.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror as he shaved…a task he preferred to perform himself, which was fortunate since he had managed to avoid having a valet. An idiosyncrasy, perhaps, but he preferred doing for himself in personal matters. A footman took care of his clothes and he did the rest. Or had done up until now. Things might be changing as far as the household was concerned, once he had a woman’s hand on the helm.
The notion of Ivy Siddington as the Duchess of Maidenbrooke was, on the surface, not the most terrible of mismatches. The Siddingtons were probably possessed of a greater lineage than the Maidenbrookes, since they’d been around for what seemed like centuries. So there would be no untoward gossip this morning about how Miss Ivy had ensnared herself a Duke by guile or cunning. And the Duke would be viewed as having made a mostly appropriate, though unexpected, selection of a bride.
He knew the topic of this morning’s gossip would be focussed on the manner in which he’d made the announcement. Pretty much while holding Ivy’s slender thigh in his hands.
For a few moments that image, followed by one of Ivy in his bed, flittered across his brain, and he cursed as he nicked his chin. Holding a handkerchief to the tiny wound, he took a breath and accepted that the notion of having her, taking her, stripping her naked and making her his wife in fact—well, it was certainly not an unpleasant vision at all.
He’d made himself hard just considering it—imagining all that hair spread out on the pillow and those green eyes full of light and passion glazing over, those white thighs around him as he took her to her peak…
The bolt of yearning, mixed with a savage wave of lust, was enough to completely rattle what was left of his composure.
“Ouch.” His hand shook once more and he sighed, putting down the razor lest he cut his own throat before any such event could take place.
As he dried his chin and carefully blotted the tiny wounds, he reviewed his liquor intake of the night before.
None. So he wasn’t experiencing the aftereffects of cheap brandy.
He glanced at himself in the mirror once more…and stilled as the vague outlines of a face drifted before his eyes.
Her red hair floated around, her lips parted, and her tongue darted from between them leaving a sheen on the full redness…
The Duke of Maidenbrooke realised he was either losing his mind, having some kind of mental fit…or there was actually something appearing in his mirror. He felt the prickle as the hairs on the back of his neck rose in shock.
He blinked, hard, squeezing his eyelids together. And when he opened them again, the vision was gone.
Letting out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, he shook his head at himself. This whole business was getting much too far out of hand. Time to set aside any fixation he might be developing, and focus on practical matters of importance.
He had, to all intents and purposes, proposed to Miss Ivy Siddington last night.
Well, so be it. This morning he needed to pay a call to Vine Place and make sure that she understood where the current situation had let them. They were engaged. He would need to take care of the formalities, an announcement in the Times and so forth.
Slipping into his shirt,
