“You certainly may.”
Ivy gave her husband many silent cheers for not even arguing the point with Lydia, just handing her one of his elegant duelling pistols.
The tension grew as the minutes passed and they began to relocate to their assigned positions, tucked variously away behind heavy curtains, a thick hedge and concealed by shadows cast by the bright sunlight. Silence fell, an expectant kind of hush, into which the large grandfather clock in the hall chimed loudly.
Ivy nearly jumped, but before the sound of the hour had faded away, there was a knock on the front door, and Woodleigh made his way across the hall.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ringwood. Sir. You are expected.” He welcomed them into Hartsmere House without batting an eyelash.
Ivy swallowed down her nerves and moved into the hall. “Hallo, Miss Ringwood. I’m so glad you were able to visit this afternoon.” She turned her eyes to the man removing his hat.
Miss Ringwood curtsied. “Good afternoon, your Grace. May I present my fiancé Sir Timothy Barrett? He’s been kind enough to escort me this afternoon.” She managed a weak smile. “We are both looking forward to seeing this unique garden. It is so kind of you to arrange it.”
“Not at all.” Ivy nodded at the silent man as he bowed. “Sir Timothy. A pleasure, sir. Won’t you both come this way? We’re so fortunate to have sunshine today. It shows off our new garden to its best effect, I believe, but I’ll let you be the judge…” His eyes were ice, she thought, cold, expressionless. But the rest of him was unremarkable. His air was elegant, his manners polite, and his gleaming cane clicked on the tiles as they walked. He didn’t resemble Fiona at all.
Chattering away, Ivy led her two guests down the hallway and into the back room where the French doors were open to the fresh air.
Neither were aware that far from being empty there were several people concealed within.
It really was quite lovely, and Miss Ringwood’s gasp of pleasure as she stepped outside was warranted. Ivy smiled. So far, so good.
The small outdoor space was now filled with colours, tall delphiniums behind shorter marguerites, roses scenting the air, and many elegant containers spilling pansies, nasturtiums and greenery down from their rims like brilliant waterfalls. The sunlight danced off the hues and directed the eye to the taller rhododendron shrubs, their blooms past now, but their leaves shining and moving in the slight breeze.
“Oh how lovely…” Miss Ringwood stared as Prudence emerged and joined them. “I’d never have imagined something like this in town.”
Ivy swallowed down nerves. Prudence had provided logical arguments as to why she should join Miss Ringwood outside. But it still worried her aunt.
“I’m so glad you like it. It’s the best birthday treat I could possibly have wished for.” Her voice was friendly and correct. “Everyone has worked so hard. I cannot truly believe the wonder of it.” She moved a little. “You must let me show you the fountain. I believe we have some milkweed underneath it. Perhaps we shall see butterflies soon.” Both girls strolled to one end as Ivy remained beside Barrett at the other.
“Are you interested in gardens, sir?” A natural question.
“Everything interests me, your Grace,” he replied politely. “And this is a most pleasant arrangement.”
“Indeed. We are very content with it.”
He raised his cane and pointed at a large urn. “Pray enlighten me, your Grace. What are those delightfully bright blooms?”
“Ah, the orange ones? Those are nasturtiums. Cook asked me to plant them. She favours them for some of her dishes. So lovely to have a dual purpose for such beauty, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Good afternoon.”
Both Ivy and Barrett turned at the sound of the Duke’s quiet greeting.
“Ah, here’s my husband. I’m sure you’d rather speak with him than listen to us women rhapsodising over our flowers,” she laughed. “I must join my niece and make sure she names the blooms correctly.”
“Of course, Ma’am.” Barrett bowed, then turned to the Duke and bowed again. “Your Grace.”
Ivy strolled away toward the other women, but her ears caught the conversation she left behind her.
“Delightful of you to come, sir,” said Colly, in tones she recognised as ducal. “A pleasant afternoon.”
“Indeed,” came the response, equally polite. “You have my congratulations.”
“For…”
“Both your garden…and your recovery.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Duke’s blood chilled as he heard the soft voice speak those words. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sir Timothy.”
“Do you?” The other man moved away slightly. “I wonder.”
The Duke also moved, toward the house, putting some distance between them. The goal was to ensure that whatever Sir Timothy said, it would be clearly overheard by those surrounding the garden. In this position, the other man’s words would definitely find their way into the eagerly listening ears.
“I’m not sure as to your meaning, sir,” he said over a rosebush.
“Come now, your Grace. Could you be naïve enough to believe I don’t know why you brought us here today?”
The Duke tilted his head to one side as if in puzzlement. “Again, I must reiterate. I am not sure of your meaning, sir. You speak strangely. This afternoon is for Miss Ringwood. She chose to bring you, not I.”
“Hah.” The snort was quite clear. “You mean to finish me and you’ve used Beatrice to do it.”
The Duke blinked. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” He stared at Barrett. “That is utterly ridiculous.”
By this time, the young ladies had moved back into the house, entering through a side door into another room where there were refreshments set out. Miss Ringwood was now, to all intents and purposes, confined to the house. Ivy would be watching the men from near the French doors while Woodleigh and Rose remained on guard with Prudence and their unsuspecting guest.
For a
