The Bride of Ivy Green Page 3

  “Very well. But you will visit again soon, I hope?”

  “I shall.”

  He helped her back into the saddle, hands lingering on hers as he returned the reins. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “Same to you. You are always welcome at The Bell, you know.”

  His mouth tightened, and his eyes glittered with some unexpected emotion. Irritation? Frustration?

  “I know. I’ll get away when I can.” He lifted his hand and waved her on her way.

  As she rode back into town, Jane found herself thinking about her brother-in-law and Hetty Piper. After becoming engaged to Patrick, the former chambermaid had seemed nervous about posting the banns for a church wedding and suggested they elope instead. Patrick had at first tried to persuade her to marry in Ivy Hill, especially for his mother’s sake, but after a private talk, he had silently supported her preference, without really explaining why.

  Swallowing her disappointment, Thora had offered to care for their daughter, Betsey, while they traveled. The two had returned as man and wife a week or so later, eager to begin work on an old lodging house they’d purchased in Wishford. Though Jane missed Hetty’s cheerfulness and Patrick’s steady presence at the inn, she was happy for them and wished them every success. Nothing about the couple’s relationship had followed the traditional pattern, but at least they were married now.

  Would she and Gabriel ever work out their differences and marry? And how in the world would Mercy find happiness now that she had lost Alice and her school? At least Rachel and Sir Timothy—married three months now—showed every sign of being blissfully happy together. That was something. Hopefully there would be more happy endings to come.

  When Jane returned to The Bell, she noticed Colin and Ned carrying a large trunk up the stairs. A second waited in the hall.

  Curious, she stepped to the reception desk and turned the registry toward her. One new guest had registered. She peered at the hard-to-read feminine scrawl and made out M. E. Victore, or something like it.

  A few minutes later, Colin and Ned returned to the hall, Ned huffing and puffing.

  “Those were large trunks,” Jane commented. “As heavy as they looked?”

  “Not too bad,” Colin replied.

  “Yes they were,” Ned panted, heading down the passage. “I’m for a drink of water after that. . . .”

  Jane watched him go. “A female guest, I take it?”

  Colin nodded. “Yes. A pretty one too.”

  “Traveling alone?”

  “Apparently. Though she said she visited Ivy Hill years ago with her family.”

  “Did she happen to mention her business here or how long she plans to stay?”

  “No.”

  It was uncommon for a female, especially a gentlewoman, to travel alone. “Did she seem . . . respectable?” Jane asked.

  Colin shrugged. “I think so. Well spoken. Well dressed. Are you worried about her sneaking out without paying her bill?”

  “Not with two trunks that size.”

  “True.” Colin started toward the office, then turned back. “Oh, she did ask where she might find the property agents. I directed her to Arnold and Gordon’s office down the street.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Colin.” Jane wondered what the woman’s business was with the property agents but kept that question to herself.

  chapter

  Four

  The next day, Jane and Rachel sat in the coffee room, chatting over tea. For their wedding trip, Rachel and Sir Timothy had traveled to Scotland’s Loch Lomond and the Trossachs Mountains, made famous in Sir Walter Scott’s Lady of the Lake. Not long after their return, Rachel had resumed her former habit of coming to The Bell weekly to talk with Jane.

  Jane was pleased that marriage had not dampened Rachel’s interest in keeping up their friendship and listened with interest as she read aloud part of a recent letter from her sister, Ellen, describing her new baby. “Your youngest nephew is bald and toothless and always hungry. He reminds me of Papa. . . .”

  The two laughed, and then Rachel asked, “Have you talked with Mercy lately? I saw her brother and his new wife at church and wondered how that is going.”

  “I have only seen her in passing myself, but she said she would stop by today if she can.”

  “Oh good.” Rachel sipped her tea, then leaned near to ask, “Anything new between you and Mr. Locke?”

  Jane had told her about Gabriel’s proposal soon after their return, as well as her reasons for hesitating.

  Jane nodded. “He did raise the topic yesterday. He said he would like me to meet his parents.”

  Rachel’s eyes brightened. “Oh, Jane, it’s perfect. A handsome husband and a horse farm. You shall be surrounded by horses every day and may ride and jump to your heart’s content. You will have everything you’ve always wanted.”

  “Not quite everything.”

  Rachel pressed her hand. “I’m sorry, Jane. But is it possible it will be different this time? There is always hope, is there not?”

  Jane sketched a shrug. “With God, all things are possible. With my body? I think not, but I appreciate your well wishes. If I do marry Gabriel, I hope it will not create a new barrier between you and me—your being married to a baronet while I’m married to a farmer.”

  “Of course not. Timothy already esteems your Mr. Locke.You know the two share a passion for horses. They get on splendidly. And Lady Brockwell is appeased by the fact that Mr. Locke is a landowner now. So while she doesn’t exactly encourage his invitations to Brockwell Court, she is at least polite to him.”

  Jane said gently, “You are Lady Brockwell now, you know.”

  “I know, but I find it difficult to refer to my mother-in-law as Lady Barbara. She has asked me not to call her Mother Brockwell—says it makes her feel ancient. She is not fond of the term dowager either.”

  “And how is Justina?” Jane asked. “I have not seen her in some time.”

  Rachel considered. “She is well for the most part, though conflicted over her future. She likes the idea of pleasing her mother by marrying Sir Cyril and being mistress of his fine house one day. But I don’t think her heart is in it. And for his part, he’s as nervous as a cat around her.”

  “What does Timothy say?”

  “Not much. He agrees with his mother that Sir Cyril is a man of excellent character, and if the match would make both his mother and sister happy, then he is for it. Thankfully, Timothy asked Sir Cyril to wait until Justina is a year older before proposing.”

  Rachel raised her teacup partway to her lips, then set it down. “Oh look, here’s Mercy.”

  Jane turned and waved to her. “Come and join us.”

  Mercy walked toward them, a small parcel in her hands. “I stopped at Fothergill’s on my way here.”

  “Fothergill’s?” Jane echoed. “You are not feeling poorly, I hope?”

  Mercy shook her head. “My sister-in-law is complaining of indigestion, so I asked the apothecary for advice. He prescribed hiring a new cook, but I settled for peppermint and lemon verbena tea instead.”

  Jane chuckled. “Well, we are glad to see you. May I offer you tea or coffee?”

  “None for me, thank you. I took tea with Aunt Matty and Helena before I left the house.” Mercy sat down and smiled at each of them in turn.

  Rachel said, “I have been thinking about you, Mercy. How are you faring now that your brother and sister-in-law have moved in?”

  Mercy hesitated, then replied, “I am enjoying my brother’s company, and I know Aunt Matty is too. I’d almost forgotten how amiable and amusing George can be. His years in India have matured him to a degree. When he was young, he could not wait to escape Ivy Cottage. Now he looks upon it as a comfortable home.”

  “And his wife?” Jane asked.

  Again Mercy hesitated. “Helena is . . . growing accustomed to the house and the village. I trust in time she shall settle here happily.”

  Rachel’s eyes glinted knowingly. “You
are quite magnanimous, Mercy.”

  Mercy shrugged. “Having seen the grand house she grew up in, I can understand her . . . disappointment. She probably feels she has come down in the world. Not a pleasant feeling, as I can attest to.”

  Jane tucked her chin. “Have you come down in the world, Mercy Grove?”

  “I only meant . . . Never mind. I have no right to feel ungrateful. I have a roof over my head, family, food, friends. I am blessed. I am.”

  Jane wondered if Mercy said it to reassure herself or them.

  Rachel said, “Thankfully, I am enjoying living with my sister-in-law. I hope you and the new Mrs. Grove will become friends as Justina and I have.”

  Mercy nodded. “Me too.” Then she changed the subject. “By the way, Mamma has written to ask Aunt Matty and me to visit them in London again.”

  “Oh?”

  Mercy nodded. “The tone of her letter was so uncharacteristically warm that I was touched. She rarely invites us, except at Christmas, though I know their door is always open, if need be.”

  Rachel asked gently, “You don’t think she is planning on matchmaking again, do you?”

  “I don’t think so. She gave no hint of any particular reason for the invitation. She mentioned we might attend the theatre or a few routs. But she wrote nothing of new gowns or any single gentlemen who will be in town for the season.”

  “That’s a relief, I imagine. So, will you accept?”

  “I am not sure. I will see if Aunt Matty wants to go. If we do, you two would be more than welcome to come with us. I’m guessing you won’t be so inclined, Rachel, being newly married, but what about you, Jane?”

  “I couldn’t get away either,” Jane said. “But it is kind of you to offer, and to consider going for your aunt’s sake.”

  “Not at all. I would enjoy the diversion as well.”

  They went on to discuss other village news, including James Drake’s return and his invitation for Mercy to visit Alice at the Fairmont.

  The three talked a few minutes more, and then Mercy rose to take her leave. “I had better get this tea to Helena. But thank you for listening, dear friends. I feel better already.”

  As they watched her go, Rachel sighed. “So sad about her school.” She gestured out the coffee room window. “And sad to see Mrs. Shabner’s shop is still closed. I feel guilty for not buying any new dresses from her recently. I had hoped she might change her mind about retiring.”

  Jane nodded, glancing through the window to the building across the street. A For Let sign hung on the dressmaker’s door. The bow window had been papered over to conceal its empty state, or some renovation work in progress.

  Jane had been surprised when Mrs. Shabner finally retired and moved to Wishford after years of threatening to do so. Good for her, Jane thought. But sad for the women of Ivy Hill, who would now have to travel farther for the services of a milliner or dressmaker.

  Mr. and Mrs. Prater were taking advantage of the dressmaker’s absence, stocking more ribbons, gloves, and fancy wares in their windows in place of the baskets, brooms, and brushes that had been arrayed there before. A year ago, Jane might have disparaged the wily shopkeepers, but now, as a fellow business owner, she begrudgingly admired their swift action to increase profits.

  Just as Jane was about to return her gaze to her friend, Mr. Gordon came striding down the High Street and stopped in front of the shop. “Rachel, look.”

  As they watched, the property agent took down the For Let sign, and out in the street, a commotion arose. As if they had been lying in wait, Mrs. Barton emerged from the butcher’s and the two Miss Cooks from their shop to converge on the man, shooting questions at him like grapeshot.

  With budding smiles of unspoken agreement, Rachel and Jane hurried over to join the inquisition. News in Ivy Hill usually passed quickly along the village’s many connected vines, but Jane had not heard a word about the shop’s future.

  “Who is the new tenant, Mr. Gordon?” Mrs. Barton demanded. “Pray, don’t keep us in suspense.”

  Charlotte asked, “Is it a dressmaker or perhaps another lace maker?”

  “You must prepare us.” Judith’s fingers fluttered nervously around her lace collar. “Are we to have competition?”

  The man lifted a quelling hand. “Ladies, ladies, I am not at liberty to say just yet. But when my client is ready to open her shop—”

  “A her, is it?” Judy said. “Well, that is good news.”

  “Is it?” Charlotte frowned. “A man might be less likely to be a lace maker.”

  The agent looked kindly on the Miss Cooks. “I think it safe to tell you that the new tenant is not a lace maker, ladies. You may ease your mind on that score.”

  Charlotte Cook expelled a relieved breath, and her sister clutched her heart. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Barton, however, was not appeased. “Is that all you are going to tell us? I call that unfair, Mr. Gordon. I have known you since boyhood. I promise we would keep the information to ourselves.”

  The agent gave the dairywoman a grin. “And I have known you since boyhood, Mrs. Barton, so you will excuse me if I doubt that.”

  She huffed but could not deny her penchant for gossip. The only women more known for gossiping were Mrs. Craddock of the bakery and Mrs. Prater of the Universal Stores and Post Office, who was, moreover, Mr. Gordon’s mother-in-law. Typically, the shopkeeper enjoyed her role as bearer of the latest on-dit, but perhaps Mr. Gordon had been as reluctant to confide in his mother-in-law as he had been with Mrs. Barton.

  Rachel whispered, “I would wager my last farthing that a new dressmaker has let the place, and that’s why he won’t tell us. His in-laws want to sell their inventory before people hear about the new competition.”

  Jane nodded. “You are probably right.” She thought of the guest at the inn who had asked to be directed to the property agents. It seemed too much of a coincidence to be unrelated.

  chapter

  Five

  On the agreed-to day, Mercy walked across the turnpike and through the Fairmont gate. From a window above, a flash of movement caught her eye. Alice waved at her before the lace curtain fell back into place. It took Mercy back to her childhood, when she had come to visit young Jane Fairmont and had seen her waving from that same window.

  As Mercy walked up the drive, Alice came bounding out the front door and across the lawn to greet her.

  “Miss Grove!”

  Mercy held out her arms, and the little girl ran into her embrace.

  For a moment, Mercy closed her eyes and relished the sweet affection. Though the ache of loss lingered, she adopted a light tone. “Now, that is what I call a proper welcome! Thank you, Alice. I gather you are eager to show me your new home?”

  The girl vigorously bobbed her head, blond hair swaying.

  James Drake appeared on the threshold, the door still open from Alice flinging it wide.

  He greeted her warmly. “Welcome, Miss Grove. We have been looking forward to your visit.”

  “I have as well.”

  “I would have been happy to send a carriage, you know.”

  “No need. I like to walk.”

  “Well, what would you like to see? I will give you the grand tour myself.”

  Mercy swallowed a lump of disappointment. He had said Mr. Kingsley would be the one to show her his work.

  She smiled anyway. “Everything, I suppose. I have not been inside since I was a girl—other than my brief visit to your office that day. . . .” She winced at the memory of their horrid argument over the guardianship of Alice.

  “I promise you today’s visit will be far more pleasant.” He gestured for her to precede him around the side of the house. “Did you visit Jane here when you two were girls?”

  “I did, yes. Many times.”

  “Then allow me to show you the recent additions.” He pointed out the new stable block, repaired after a fire had damaged the timber-framed building he’d first built, and an impressive masonry-and-bric
k carriage house.

  They walked around the house, where he gestured to the rose garden, leaves beginning to green, and then the gardens at the rear.

  Inside, he led her through the hall, which had been converted into a reception room and sitting room with sofas and chairs clustered around tea tables and inlaid game tables for chess or draughts. Next, he showed her the new coffee room, as well as private dining parlours and a formal dining room that looked completely different than Mercy remembered.

  He explained, “This is the old library.”

  “Ah! This is where all those bookcases came from—the ones you donated to Rachel’s circulating library.”

  “Just so. Have you any interest in seeing the kitchen and workrooms belowstairs?”

  When Mercy hesitated, Alice said eagerly, “Let’s go upstairs so I can show you my room.” She looked at Mr. Drake. “Is that all right?”

  “Of course.”

  He gestured across the hall to the stairway. “We’ll see the guest rooms while we’re up there.”

  Reaching the next floor, James opened a door with a flourish. “Here is one of the finest rooms. It has a private water closet. We have also added a bathroom and water closet on each floor to be shared by other guests.”

  “Impressive. You have been busy!”

  “Yes, or rather, the Kingsley brothers have been busy.” He grinned. “Though I’ve been kept busy paying them.”

  “But you directed the work.”

  He shrugged. “I hired an architect to determine what structural changes were needed to accomplish the plan I had in mind. Countless decisions and details, but very little muscle or skill on my part, I’m afraid. Thankfully, the Kingsleys have a great deal of both.”

  “Yes . . .” Mercy murmured. She had noticed Joseph Kingsley’s muscles and skill on more than one occasion.

  Alice tugged her hand. “Come and see my room.”

  Mercy and Mr. Drake exchanged amused smiles as they allowed Alice to lead them down the corridor.

  Alice opened a door at the far end and waited for Mercy to join her. Mercy noticed a sheepishly proud tilt of the girl’s chin and a dimple of suppressed pleasure.