“I wasn’t cuddling,” she protested. “I was merely steadying myself with your assistance.”
“Well, it felt like a cuddle to me,” he grinned. “But that’s neither here nor there. You’ll be after looking at the fountain, I’m thinking…”
She walked over to it, knowing he’d follow. “It is truly magnificent, Sir Ronan. You have outdone yourself.” She ran her fingers over the edge of the large shell into which the nymph would, apparently, empty her small jar. There were tasteful touches of marble carvings made to look like coral, and the plantings included tall spiked leaves and tiny multicoloured flowers edging the base.
“Just have to prime the pump,” he said. “Here. Hold this.”
Obediently, Ivy held out her hands as he slipped from his jacket without a thought to the proprieties. However, since she had no idea if it was appropriate for a Duchess to be holding a guest’s jacket while he did something with a length of pipe and spigots, she said not a word, just watched.
He walked to the front of the fountain and flashed her a wicked smile. “Now for the miracle…”
He leaned in, put his hand and his mouth inside the nymph’s jar, and she could see his chest expand as he sucked in a breath of air.
“What the devil are you doing?” She spurted out the question, her gaze glued to the back of his head.
“Starting the process,” he said, backing away. “Look.”
“Ohhh…” Ivy whispered in surprise. “Oh how perfect…”
An arc of droplets tumbled into the large upturned cockle shell at the nymph’s feet, shining tiny rainbows in the sun and making a delightful soft tinkling patter on the marble. Exactly the sound she’d hoped for.
“’Tis simple science,” remarked Ronan, a satisfied look on his face. “Make sure the bowl is carved to the right thickness—not too dense or too shallow. Start the water running through the pipes and gravity takes care of the rest.”
She shook her head. “I will accept that as a good explanation. Anything more and you’ll spoil the magic.” She reached out and touched the stream of water. “I had no idea it could be so perfect. Thank you.”
He came to her side and took his coat. “No thanks necessary. This was a fun job.” He slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Besides, you’ll be getting the bill for it.”
She laughed. “Worth every penny. I can’t wait for Prudence to see it.” She dragged her gaze from the water and looked at the lovely little garden that now boasted flowering shrubs, arranged to show off their beauty, and—if she was any judge—to flower from season to season.
They had dug up the center of the small courtyard, but enough was left to form a charming path around the flowerbeds and the fountain itself. To one side there was now a covered walk, featuring stands of gleaming rhododendrons, and one or two benches for shaded comfort.
“Just perfect,” she smiled. “Just perfect.” She trailed her hand over brilliant blue lobelia, sniffed at a fragrant trail of honeysuckle and rubbed her fingers over the stalks of lavender hiding in the dappled shade beneath a stand of rhododendrons.
“We’ll start the door today,” he said, turning at the sound of wheels rumbling. “And here are the lads now. I’ve put three on, so no more than a few hours with this. It’ll be all done before you know it.”
She followed him to the windows that were covered inside by those thick draperies she’d moved earlier. “The staff is expecting you, I believe.”
“’Tis all in hand,” he reassured her. “Besides, a Duchess like yourself now, shouldn’t be concerned with the little details.”
She frowned. “I will always be concerned with the little details, Sir Ronan. That will never change.”
He led her back to the fountain, out of the way of the lads who were setting out their tools and various pieces of lumber.
“The way I hear it, you’ve some big details to concern you, Ivy lass.”
His tone was almost paternal.
She ignored the familiarity. “You’ve heard those rumours, then, I take it? About my husband and the northern rebel situation?”
“That I have.”
She bit her lip. “They’re not true, Sir Ronan. My husband would never countenance or support violence. No right-thinking man would.”
“I believe you,” he answered quietly. “It doesn’t work with what I know of your husband and his reputation.”
Ivy sighed in relief. “You believe him, then.”
“I do, but I can’t answer for others.” He stared at the fountain. “Seems you’ve gotten yourselves some enemies, your Grace.” His voice was sombre. “Somebody started those rumours.”
“I wish I knew who,” she muttered, clenching her fist. “I’ve a piece of my mind I’d like to share with them.”
Sir Ronan laughed. “I knew it. Ye’ve got the Irish in you, lass. That temper like fire when stoked the right way.”
“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But still…” A thought struck her. “If I may ask, how did you hear about these things, Sir Ronan?”
“I heard it from a lady. During a cotillion at the Porrell soiree a couple of days ago.” He glanced at her. “And before you ask, it was Miss Beatrice Ringwood.”
“I know the name,” she frowned.
“Not being an utter nincompoop, I asked where she’d heard talk of such matters.”
“You did?” Ivy’s gaze shot up to his face.
“Of course. But the answer…well, it surprised me.”
“Why?”
He looked at her, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “The lass said she’d heard it talked about at the Sydenham Wednesday ball.”
*~~*~~*
“I shall be forever in your debt, my Lady,” smiled Ivy as she and Maud set off for Lady Glenowen’s home. “Sir Ronan and his workers have done a remarkable job in creating the loveliest fountain and the plantings
