“I’ve asked everyone to keep an ear open,” Ivy toyed with a stalk of asparagus. “We have one sketchy sort of lead. And believe it or not, it was from someone attending the Wednesday Club.”
“That seems highly unlikely…”
“I couldn’t agree more, but apparently Miss Beatrice Ringwood was overheard discussing your Uncle’s alleged involvement.”
“Could that be credited to what she’d already heard?”
“If so, then she heard it a lot earlier than anyone else.”
Prudence frowned. “I can’t place her, although I recognise the name…”
“Second daughter of Lord and Lady Ringwood. Fairly good lineage, from what I read in Debrett’s, but not top of the trees.”
“Obviously good enough for Lady Maud to find her acceptable.” Prudence chewed thoughtfully. “What’s the connection, Ivy. Is there one?”
“That’s what I’ve wondered too. Hence my hour with Debrett’s.”
“Well we should certainly make a point of asking Sir Laurence and Lady Maud if they’ve any ideas at all…”
“Do you think I should attend the Wednesday Club tomorrow?” Ivy bit her lip. “Without Colly?”
Prudence blinked. “Goodness, I’m not certain you should be asking me that question,” she answered. “I’m sure there are others better qualified to respond.” She paused. “But logically, it would appear that you are visiting friends, since you’ve been close with the Sydenhams, and of course Judith, Rose, and Lydia. It’s not as if you’re there to snabble a husband or anything.”
“Good point.” Ivy sighed. “I shall ask Woodleigh. I believe he knows everything.”
Chuckling, Prudence nodded. “Always the safest course of action. Ask the butler.”
As if summoned by some mystical force, the aforementioned butler tapped on the door at that moment and peered around the jamb. “Beg pardon, your Grace. Sir Ronan O’Malley begs a moment of your time.”
“Oh…er…” Ivy stumbled, tripping over the thought that Prudence mustn’t know why he was there, and then grasping for excuses to explain his presence.
Prudence stood, a smile lingering on her face. “I expect you’d like to talk with him about the secret project I’m completely unaware of.”
Ivy’s jaw dropped and her mind blanked.
“It’s quite all right, dear Ivy. I know nothing about it.” She turned to leave, but glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, by the way. Good afternoon, Sir Ronan…” She dropped a polite curtsey to the man who entered. “I believe her Grace will regain the power of speech shortly.”
Sir Ronan and Woodleigh stared at each other, then turned to watch Prudence sail nonchalantly from the room.
“What the devil was that all about?” Sir Ronan turned to Ivy, who had managed to struggle to her feet.
“That young woman is a force to be reckoned with,” she sighed. “I forget sometimes that there is a brilliant mind inside that beautiful young head.”
“Is that so,” he answered thoughtfully. “Well young lasses are often full of surprises, aren’t they now.”
Ivy recalled herself. “I apologise, Sir Ronan. And I suppose you should know that Prudence is no longer in the dark about the fountain and garden project.”
His handsome mouth twisted into a wry grin. “I never made the mistake of thinking she was.”
She couldn’t help smiling back. “It seems most of the world is smarter than I am today.”
“Nay, never say so.” He sobered. “I’ve a mite of information for you, your Grace.” He walked to her and took a seat at the table, ignoring the remains of lunch. “Sit if you would?”
Somewhat amused at being invited to sit at her own table, Ivy obeyed.
“Now, ‘tis said that Miss Ringwood, of whom we spoke earlier, is to attend the Wednesday Club tomorrow.”
“Oh,” said Ivy, intrigued. “Prudence and I were just discussing whether to go ourselves. Now it seems as if we must.”
He nodded. “I would recommend it.” His face was unusually serious. “She has a link, a connection to someone who wishes your husband ill.”
“You are sure?”
“Without a doubt.”
“But who?”
Sir Ronan shook his head. “That I do not know. However, another piece of gossip has surfaced, and this is an ugly one.”
Ivy straightened. “Tell me. Best I hear it as plain words from a friend rather than a hushed whisper from an enemy.”
“Well put,” he said with approval. “The current rumour has your husband as a silent partner in a string of brothels that use the starving women in the north to make their coin.” He lowered his head. “And believe me, some of the things said about those places…well, it’s not good. Not good at all.”
Ivy closed her eyes for a moment or two, then opened them again. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Colly? Brothels? He’s so…so straitlaced…” She almost laughed.
“Listen, girl. The rumour isn’t that he’s visiting them. It’s that he’s taking their profits.” Sir Ronan fixed her with a sober gaze. “And to some, that’s even worse.”
*~~*~~*
Sir Ronan’s words rang in Ivy’s ears as she prepared for their visit to the Wednesday Club. There had been one quickly scrawled note from Colly; he had reached the outskirts of Manchester and had found a pleasant room to stay in. That was all. She could infer nothing more than the simple facts, but consoled herself with the knowledge he was safe. For now.
She and Prudence had spent time poring over tomes filled with lineage records—the Hartsmere House library had more than its fair share. But nowhere could they find or make a connection between the Ringwoods and the Maidenbrooke line.
It was Ivy’s hope that by actually meeting Miss Ringwood she might be able to find out more, but she was not convinced it would help. Besides, if this girl was actively spreading rumours and lies about Maidenbrooke, then it was unlikely she’d quietly tell her secrets, reveal her sources, or empty her soul to his Duchess.
Mindful of the
