The Bride of Ivy Green Read online

  Again Mercy nodded, but made no reply.

  The next day, Jane’s father returned to The Bell as promised, driving a hired fly from Wilton. Over an early dinner of pea soup, roast, and spring salad, he looked around the busy coffee room and said, “I suppose John’s family stepped in to keep the place going after he passed?”

  “They have helped, yes. Thora has recently married, as has John’s brother, so they are busy with their own homes now. Thora and her husband stop by regularly and help out during busy times. But John left the inn to me, Papa. I am an innkeeper, if you can believe it. I hope that is not too shocking.”

  “Surprising, yes. But surely you have a manager who does the actual work?”

  “We all share the work. I do employ a clerk who is learning and coming along well. Perhaps in time, he might step into a manager’s role.”

  He slowly shook his head. “My goodness. My daughter, landlady of a coaching inn.”

  She nodded. “By the way, Papa. The settlement you arranged for me helped a great deal after John died.” She did not explain the loan, the gambling, the debts. “I know I mentioned it in my letter, but again, thank you for making sure I had some security, should the worse happen. As it did.”

  “It was the least I could do. I am glad it was helpful.”

  Jane hesitated, then asked, “When you left, Papa, did you tell anyone else of your plans to remarry? I didn’t know what you had told people, or if you had left me in the awkward position of doing so. I am embarrassed to say I took to mentioning you as little as possible. In fact, at least one newcomer to Ivy Hill has assumed both of my parents were dead, and I did not correct them.”

  He ruefully shook his head. “I told almost no one of the particulars of my decision to return to India. Thought it would cause less talk that way. I confided in Alfred Coine, my lawyer. And my old friend Sir William. Sorry to learn he died, by the way.”

  He considered, then added, “Jane, I know I could have handled things better, but please try to understand. Had my elder brother not died, leaving me heir, I would have remained in India the first time I lived there. Rani was just a girl when I met her. But I planned to wait a few years and marry her then. Instead, when my brother died so young, my parents begged me to return. How could I refuse my grief-stricken mother and father? Once here, I was persuaded to remain.”

  “Was Mamma always second choice? Did you even love her?” Jane wondered if he had wished all along he was back in India with Rani, raising a family with her.

  His face fell. “Need you really ask that, Jane? You who saw us day in and day out?”

  Jane lowered her head. “You can’t blame me for wondering.” For wanting reassurance.

  “I came to love your mother too, Jane. You know I did. The fact that I returned to Rani after your mother’s death does not negate our marriage. The human heart is more complicated than romance novels would lead you to believe, as you may find out for yourself one day. You can love more than one person in this life. Sometimes you have to. And that is a blessing, especially when a spouse dies young.”

  Jane could not deny her father’s words. She had once loved Timothy. And had come to love John. And now she loved Gabriel with her entire being. Nine years ago, she had been young and idealistic. Fiercely loyal to her mother’s memory and so harshly judging. Oh, God, forgive me.

  “You are right, Papa. I have discovered that for myself. In fact, I am engaged to be married.”

  His mouth parted. When he hesitated, Jane added quickly, “John has been gone nearly two years. I hope you don’t think it wrong of me.”

  “Of course not. How hypocritical would that make me? I am only surprised. But I am happy for you, Jane. Who is the fortunate man?”

  “Mr. Locke. You would not know him. He came here long after you left.”

  “May I meet him?”

  “Of course. I would like that. And he wants to meet you too. Perhaps after our meal?”

  Later, after her father had eaten his fill of Mrs. Rooke’s cooking, he sat back with a contented sigh.

  John’s brother, Patrick Bell, strode in and waved to her. “Good afternoon, Jane. Just rode over to pick up a novel for Hetty at the library. Thought I’d stop by and see how you were.” His gaze flicked to the man beside her and back again.

  Jane said, “Patrick, do you remember my father, Mr. Fairmont?”

  Her brother-in-law frowned. “Your father? I thought he was dead.”

  Jane felt her neck heat.

  Patrick grimaced. “Sorry, sir.”

  “An understandable misapprehension,” he replied. “I have been gone a long time.”

  Jane explained, “My father has been in India these last nine years or so.”

  “Ah.” Patrick nodded. “I have never been to India, sir, but have done a fair amount of traveling myself. I am here to stay now, however. Are you?”

  Winston Fairmont hesitated. “That depends.”

  “Oh? On what?”

  He glanced at her, and then away. “Well, of course I must stay long enough to see Jane married. After that, only God knows.”

  Jane and her father rode out to Lane’s Farm together to meet her intended. When they arrived, Gabriel came out of the farmhouse, still supporting his leg with a walking stick.

  “Papa, I’d like you to meet Gabriel Locke. Gabriel, this is my father, Winston Fairmont.”

  “An honor, sir.”

  “Likewise.” Her father’s gaze landed on the stick in Gabriel’s hand.

  Noticing, Gabriel said, “Don’t mind this, sir. I am only recovering from a recent accident.”

  Jane added, “And regaining strength daily, God be praised.”

  Her father’s expression remained sober. “I understand you are engaged to marry my daughter.”

  “I am, sir, and count myself blessed to be.”

  “And will you be able to support her?”

  “Papa!”

  “It’s all right, Jane,” Gabriel said evenly. “A valid question. We plan to establish a horse farm here together. Raise thoroughbreds, riding horses, and private carriage horses, as well as train and board them. I admit the majority of my funds are tied up in the purchase of stock at present. This injury has been a setback, but I hope in time to be successful.”

  “Fell from a horse, did you? Doesn’t exactly give one confidence.”

  “Papa . . .” Jane repeated, shifting uncomfortably. “Gabriel is an excellent horseman. And we don’t need a great deal of money.”

  “But it sure came in handy when your inn was failing.”

  “True,” Jane allowed. “As I said, the settlement you arranged was a godsend.”

  Her father sent Gabriel a challenging look. “I trust you won’t object to another marriage settlement, Mr. Locke?”

  In her father’s confident posture and profile, Jane saw remnants of the Winston Fairmont of old. Respected gentleman, proud landowner, determined father. She also recalled Gabriel telling her that John had been offended when her father insisted on that first marriage settlement. His pride pricked that Mr. Fairmont assumed a lowly innkeeper might not be able to provide for the privileged gentleman’s daughter. Now Jane glanced at Gabriel, wondering if he would be offended as well.

  For a moment, Gabriel held her gaze, then turned humbly to her father. “No, sir. Though I have every hope of supporting Jane in the manner she deserves.”

  “Hope is one thing, insurance another.” His eyes glinted. “We have to look no further than Thornvale or The Bell to see the truth of that.”

  “I can’t disagree, sir.”

  Her father’s tone softened. “Have you family, Mr. Locke?”

  “I have, sir. Parents, uncle, cousins. It would be my pleasure to introduce them to you at the wedding. Assuming, that is, we have your blessing?”

  “You do. And I shall look forward to meeting your family on the big day. But for now, I’d like to see more of this farm of yours.”

  Jane released a relieved breath, and Gabr
iel smiled. “With pleasure.”

  chapter

  Sixteen

  The next night, Mercy lay on a narrow bed tucked beneath the eaves of Ivy Cottage’s top floor. The small chamber was adjacent to the larger room that had formerly served as her pupils’ dormitory and before that the nursery for several generations of Grove children. The narrow bed had been occupied by a series of governesses, some who took advantage of the distant room rarely visited by parents to neglect their duties, and one to exact harsh punishments. Finally, there had arrived Miss Dockery, who was everything good and caring. Mercy would have liked to keep her forever, but eventually her father replaced the young woman with a tutor in the hopes of preparing George for university. At least he had allowed Mercy to be educated alongside her brother, and in many ways, in spite of her non-scholarly sibling.

  Now here she was, the former mistress of the Ivy Cottage Girls School, relegated to this small, drafty room, far from the family, sleeping in a chamber meant for a governess but with none of the benefits of actually being one—no pupil to teach, no wages, no position of respect. She recalled the momentary affront she had felt when Mr. Drake mentioned he’d considered asking her to be a governess. The irony washed over her. She had never thought herself vain, but was this God’s way of humbling her even further?

  Or was it a sign?

  She pushed away a kernel of bitterness and forced herself up and onto her knees beside the small bed. With her body in the posture of submission, she surrendered her heart as well.

  The next time Rachel came to The Bell for coffee, she told Jane about an upcoming house party she was hosting.

  “We have sent invitations to several single people near Justina’s age, including Richard, the Awdrys, the Bingleys, and Nicholas Ashford.”

  Realization flashed through Jane. “Ahhh . . . I recall you mentioning Justina’s reluctance where Sir Cyril is concerned. Are you doing a little matchmaking of your own?”

  “Perhaps. Though you shall not hear me admit that to Lady Barbara.” Rachel’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Just trying to be a good sister to Justina, you know. And everyone has replied in the affirmative, except for Richard. He sent a few lines to his mother, and some flimsy excuse about an important meeting at his club. Lady Barbara sighed and said it was as she expected, but I could tell she was disappointed. My heart goes out to her. How sad to have a son disconnected from the rest of the family. It is little wonder Lady Barbara is so attached to Sir Timothy. It makes me appreciate my thoughtful husband all the more.”

  Jane nodded her understanding. “What do you have planned for the party?”

  Rachel described the activities—archery and shooting and hopefully a dance. “That reminds me. May we hire The Bell musicians for one evening? That way none of the women will have to play instead of dance.”

  “Yes, assuming it is not our busiest night, and the men are willing.”

  “We will pay them well, of course.”

  Jane smirked. “Then they will definitely be willing.”

  After discussing the details of the party, Jane told Rachel about her father’s surprising return.

  “Oh, Jane, how wonderful! And in time for your wedding. I cannot believe you let me prattle on about an inconsequential party when you had such news to share!” Rachel leaned close and embraced her.

  The two talked a while longer, and then Rachel took her leave. Jane returned to the paperwork awaiting her in the office.

  Later, while Jane sat writing orders at the desk, her father appeared in the office doorway. “Jane? Sorry to disturb you.” His gaze traveled over the paper-strewn desk. “You look busy. Never mind.”

  “Not too busy for you, Papa. I am glad to see you again.”

  “Thank you. I have asked Matilda to meet me here for coffee. But she won’t be arriving for a few minutes. Could you join me for a bit?”

  “Of course.” Jane put her quill back into its holder and rose.

  The two sat in the coffee room and talked of generalities, their conversation at first a little stilted. Grasping for a topic, Jane told him about her struggles to save the inn and acquire a license in her own name. “Your old friend Lord Winspear gave me rather a hard time, but he acquiesced in the end.”

  “Dear old Winspear. Always did like to be difficult. Still, a good man deep down. I shall have to visit him while I’m here.”

  Jane nodded, and another awkward silence stretched.

  She knew she should ask more about his wife, show some interest. Doing so made her uncomfortable, but she reminded herself that the woman had been very important to her father—as important as Gabriel was to her.

  She swallowed and asked, “You and Rani were not blessed with children?”

  He pursed his lips. “She was late in her childbearing years, so we knew it unlikely from the outset.”

  “I see.”

  He swirled his fingertip in the salt cellar. “How would that have made you feel, Jane? If I had written to tell you we’d had a child?”

  “I am not sure. How strange to imagine a half brother or sister half a world away.”

  “Considering how you felt about my marriage, I assumed you would feel resentful. Would you spurn a child of a union you disapproved?”

  “How shrewish you make me sound! I suppose I would have felt a whole flurry of emotions, truth be told. But how could I hold any negative feelings toward an innocent child?”

  He watched her carefully but did not look convinced.

  Matilda Grove entered the coffee room, and her father stood. “Miss Matilda, thank you for coming. Sit with me and tell me everything I have missed in all these years.”

  “That could take all day!”

  His expression and voice softened. “Yes, I hope it does.”

  “And that is my cue to get back to work.” Jane rose to let the two old friends talk in private.

  Matilda gently grasped Jane’s arm as she passed, forestalling her exit. She drew near and whispered, “Are you terribly busy?”

  The woman’s troubled eyes sent needles of alarm through Jane. “What is it, Miss Matty?”

  The older woman hesitated. “I just thought you might, em, stop by Ivy Cottage when you have a spare minute and visit Mercy.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I . . . just think she could use a friend right about now. I had already promised to meet your father today, or—”

  “Of course I will go.” Jane laid her hand over Matilda’s. “You know I am always happy to see Mercy.” And at the moment, curious to see her and a little worried as well.

  After putting on a bonnet and slipping a long-sleeved spencer over her dress, Jane walked directly to Ivy Cottage.

  When she knocked, Mr. Basu came to the door to let her in, and Helena Grove stepped out of the drawing room to see who had come to call.

  They had met briefly at church, but knowing the woman had met many new people, Jane introduced herself again, adding, “I am a friend of Mercy’s. Is she at home?”

  “Yes, I believe she is upstairs in her room.”

  Jane nodded. “Then I shall just pop up, if you don’t mind.”

  Helena gestured her assent, and Jane started toward the stairs.

  “Oh, you won’t find her in her old room,” Mrs. Grove called after her. “She has taken a different room on the top floor.”

  Jane turned back, brow furrowed. “Oh? Why?”

  Helena smiled. “Why, to make room for our expanding family.”

  “I . . . see. Are you and Mr. Grove to be congratulated?”

  “Not yet. But I do like to be prepared. And my parents, brother, and sister will soon pay a visit. Mercy was so kind in offering up her old room. Between you and me, I think she prefers it up there. So much more solitude, which bookish people seem to like, don’t they?”

  “I . . . wouldn’t know,” Jane murmured. She turned and continued up the stairs, concern for her friend fueling her steps.

  Reaching the attic floor, Jane walked
down the passage, looking into open rooms. She found Mercy sitting atop a narrow, neatly made bed, dressed and wearing a wool shawl, reading a book.

  Jane knocked on the doorframe. “Mercy?”

  She lifted her head, eyes wide. “Jane! What a surprise to see you up here.”

  “I could say the same of you.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. Not really. I almost feel closer to my former pupils here. Feel sorry for them too. I never realized how drafty it was.”

  Jane sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you’re all right? Your aunt is concerned about you. But when I arrived, your sister-in-law told me you prefer it up here, as ‘bookish people like solitude.’” Jane smirked.

  “Good heavens. She’ll paint me a hermit in my lonely tower.”

  “An exaggeration, I’m guessing?”

  Mercy shrugged. “I truly don’t mind, Jane. Except . . . the stairs are a bit hard on Aunt Matty. We were so accustomed to being across the corridor from one another, borrowing this or that, helping each other with fastenings or pins. Ah well, I am taking more exercise, going down to her and back up again, and that is not all bad.”

  Jane studied her. “You needn’t pretend with me, you know.”

  “I know.” Mercy nibbled her lip. “Jane, may I ask you something in confidence?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me honestly. If I were to become, say, a governess, would you think less of me?”

  “Of course not. Did you think less of me when I became an innkeeper?”

  “Not at all. I admired you for it. But we can’t pretend it didn’t cost you something in terms of social position and friendships.”

  “True. Marrying John strained—even broke—some relationships. With Rachel, Sir Timothy, Lord Winspear, the Bingleys. . . . But never with you, Mercy. And thankfully, relationships with many of my old friends have been restored.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Yes, I think so. But, Mercy, this is different. I married into innkeeping. Becoming a governess . . . that’s a single state.”

  “Which I am resigned to.”