The Bride of Ivy Green Page 7

  Lady Barbara accepted the one addressed to herself. “Ah, from Richard. How nice.” She opened the letter and read the few lines with the aid of her quizzing glass. Her younger son wrote but rarely, Rachel knew, and usually when he needed more money.

  Rachel took a deep breath, steeling herself.

  “Lady . . . Barbara, I have invited Mr. Ashford to join us for dinner sometime soon. I hope you don’t mind. Is there an evening that works better for you?”

  “Mr. Ashford?”

  “Yes. Nicholas. You have met him and his mother several times, I believe.”

  “I have, yes. At church, and at the Awdrys’ concert. But it never crossed my mind to invite them here.”

  “I thought it would be a nice gesture.”

  “Would it not be awkward for Mr. Ashford to be here, now that you are married to Timothy? The young man admired you, after all.”

  “That is in the past.”

  “Would it not be salt in his wound to see you and Timothy happy together as man and wife?”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Ashford and I have agreed to remain friends. And we are distant relatives, so I hope to maintain warm relations between our families.”

  “But why would he want to come?” Lady Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me you are not trying to encourage an interest in Justina? She is all but engaged to another man! Do you really want to raise that young man’s hopes only to be the means of disappointing him yet again?”

  Rachel had not thought of that. No, she did not want to cause Nicholas more heartache.

  “You had better make sure he knows Sir Cyril is courting Justina. So that his expectations—and his mother’s—are in line with reality. If not, I will certainly make it clear when next I see them.”

  “Very well.”

  Perhaps dinner was not the best idea after all. Rachel decided she would postpone the invitation for now.

  chapter

  Ten

  A few days later, Rachel and Justina accompanied Lady Barbara to Madame Victorine’s shop.

  “Remember, Justina,” Lady Barbara said, “I have only agreed to hear what the woman might suggest, how much time she requires, and so on. I have not agreed to actually hire her to make your wedding dress.”

  “Of course not, Mamma. That would be premature, as I am not even engaged.”

  “It is only a matter of time, so it does not hurt to start considering our options. But I still say we should go to my favorite modiste in London for your wedding clothes, as we did for Rachel’s.”

  Rachel offered, “It would be a kind gesture to support Ivy Hill’s new dressmaker.”

  “We shall see.”

  Reaching the shop, they paused to look at the fine gowns on display. Lady Barbara did not admit it, but Rachel thought she looked impressed.

  Inside, they greeted the pretty dressmaker and introduced her to Lady Barbara Brockwell.

  Victorine curtsied and then tightly clasped her hands. Rachel could not blame her for being ill at ease. The dowager was an intimidating figure.

  In her excitement, Justina plunged ahead, “I have decided, madame, that if I marry a certain gentleman, you must make my wedding dress! Mother would prefer we go to London, but I want you to make it right here in Ivy Hill.” She beamed at the woman.

  Victorine blinked. “A wedding dress. For you, miss? How . . . unexpected.”

  “Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Justina.” Lady Barbara looked pointedly at her daughter. “Remember, we are only here to discuss ideas at this point.”

  The four sat down together, and Justina handed Victorine a ladies magazine, opened to one of its hand-painted fashion plates. “I am thinking of something like this. I like the lower, more defined waist, and less fullness in the hips. I also like this Anglo-Greek bodice with puff sleeves, don’t you?”

  “Anglo-Greek,” Victorine echoed. “Yes, I see.”

  Justina opened another magazine, Ackermann’s Repository, to a page with square fabric samples glued to the paper, as some of the more expensive magazines did.

  “Isn’t this fabric breathtaking? I love the idea of sheer netting over satin. So much more interesting than plain ivory.”

  “It is beautiful,” Madame Victorine agreed, tentatively fingering the fine fabric.

  “Could you acquire it? Perhaps from the linen draper in Salisbury?”

  “I can certainly ask if they carry it. But this material is very delicate, and no doubt very expensive.”

  Justina looked at her mother. “Do you mind the expense, Mamma?”

  “No. It is lovely fabric. If we decide to proceed, I will advance the funds needed to purchase the material.”

  Justina spread one more magazine before Madame Victorine. “And a veiled bonnet like this one, I think.”

  Victorine bent to study it, then nodded with more confidence. “I could make that, yes. The Miss Cooks have many excellent pieces of lace we might use.”

  Justina closed the magazines. “Well. What is the next step?”

  Victorine answered slowly, “I think I will make some drawings first, if you don’t mind. One can only see so much detail in these fashion prints. I will show you some options, then we can go from there, if you approve them.”

  “Very well. How long will you need for that?”

  “A few weeks.”

  Lady Barbara asked, “And how long to make such a dress once approved?”

  “Oh, um . . . a month, perhaps? Six weeks?”

  “You don’t seem certain. Are you up to the task, madame?”

  “If we can agree on the design and acquire the materials, then yes, I will be . . . anxious to proceed.”

  The dowager narrowed her eyes at the qualified response. “May I ask where you took your training? Were you apprenticed to some dressmaker I might have heard of?”

  “No, my lady. Not . . . officially.”

  “Then how did you learn?”

  “I learned a great deal from my mother, who trained as a dressmaker. And when I grew older, I worked with another woman, Madame Devereaux. She taught me how to take the simplest materials, even castoffs, and create the most beautiful pieces.”

  “Castoffs?” Lady Barbara’s nose wrinkled.

  “Not everyone has a large budget, madame. If funds were scarce, she could take apart an old dress, perhaps two, incorporate some leftover trimmings, and create a whole new costume.”

  “By costume, I assume you mean a riding costume, or a bathing costume, or the like?” the dowager asked.

  Victorine nodded. “Whatever was needed. Everything she touched turned out beautifully. She had many other talents as well.”

  Lady Barbara sniffed. “Then perhaps we ought to pursue this Madame Devereaux instead.”

  “Impossible, I am afraid. She died very recently.”

  “Pity.” The dowager Lady Brockwell rose to her full, imperious height. “Well, make your drawings for now. And we shall let you know when the engagement becomes official.”

  “Very good, my lady. I shall begin at once.”

  Rachel held her tongue. She did not want to disappoint the new dressmaker, but she privately hoped that the engagement would never take place.

  Jane rode over to the farm to see Gabriel again. She regretted how their recent dinner had ended and hoped to suggest a more pleasant evening to make up for it.

  Seeing her ride down the lane, he stepped away from his hired men and walked over to greet her.

  “Hello, Jane. I didn’t expect you today.”

  “I have come to ask a favor.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “I am afraid you may find it rather shocking.”

  “How intriguing.” He grinned. “Shall I help you down first?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He reached up to grasp her waist and eased her down.

  “There, you see?” she lamented as her feet touched the ground. “That is just it. It’s too difficult to mount and dismount on my own.”

  He
tightened his arms around her. “I don’t mind helping you.”

  “Well, I admit it is far more pleasant when it is you doing the helping. But to be dependent on a groom, or at the very least a mounting block or stile every time I want to ride?” She shook her head.

  He sent her a sidelong glance. “What are you suggesting?”

  With a glance toward the men near the barn, she stepped from his embrace and lowered her voice. “I would like to try riding astride, as you do. I imagine the control would be far superior. Just once I’d like to experience the freedom of galloping without a sidesaddle.”

  He nodded. “I can understand your curiosity. I have often wondered how you do it, riding so fast and so well like that.”

  “The newer sidesaddles with double pommels do help.”

  Gabriel considered. “I imagine if you had grown up with a brother, you would have conspired to make it happen long ago.”

  “Then will you act as my accomplice instead? Not that I think of you as a brother.”

  He smirked. “I should hope not.”

  “I thought perhaps it would be wisest to try it in the evening when I’d be less likely to encounter a neighbor. Or even Talbot and Thora.”

  Gabriel rubbed his chin. “Evening might suit the purpose. Though it stays light later now that spring is almost here.”

  He thought, then added, “Since Athena is primarily trained to sidesaddle, and Sultan has experience with both, perhaps you might ride him astride. I know you like him anyway.”

  “Indeed I do. Though Athena is first in my heart. So . . . tomorrow evening? The almanac calls for a full moon.”

  “You are eager. Yes, I don’t see why not.”

  “There is no other man I would trust with such a request, I assure you.”

  He gazed fondly into her eyes. “I am glad you know you can trust me, Jane.” He winked. “You rebel.”

  The following night, Jane wore her old riding habit, the brown one with the long frockcoat-style jacket and separate skirt. Under it, she wore a pair of John’s old breeches, a sash tied at the waist to keep them up. Beneath those, she wore opaque stockings and her boots.

  She rode past Thora and Talbot’s place, feeling strangely ill at ease. When she reached the farm, Gabriel came out to greet her, dressed in his riding clothes. Sultan and a second horse she did not recognize were already saddled and waiting at the post.

  He dubiously regarded the long, full skirt. “Mounting in all that will pose a challenge.”

  “I know. I’m wearing breeches beneath. I thought I’d tuck up the skirt just until I’m in the saddle, then spread it out again.”

  He pursed his lips, eyes twinkling. “I think I’m glad the men have left for the day.”

  Together they stabled Athena. Then, feeling self-conscious, she tucked her skirt hem beneath her sash, which shortened it to about half its length, exposing the breeches. The jacket of her riding habit covered her hips, so she hoped she was still modest enough.

  Her face heated. “I suppose I look ridiculous.”

  “On the contrary. I appreciate this glimpse of your figure usually hidden by billowing skirts.” He grinned impishly. “Are you ready?”

  Jane looked at the tall chestnut with a white blaze on his forehead. “You know I never pass up a chance to ride Sultan.” She stroked his forelock. “I don’t believe I’ve seen this other horse before. Is he new?”

  “Yes. I bought Spirit at the auction in Salisbury. I prefer to buy from breeders directly, so I can see where and how a horse was raised. But the man selling him couldn’t handle him and let him go for a low price. I could not resist.”

  Gabriel stepped to Sultan’s side, shortening the stirrups. “With or without mounting block?” he asked.

  “Without.”

  “Very well. To mount, put your left foot in the stirrup, then swing your right leg over his back. If you can.”

  His eyes glinted with playful challenge and Jane rose to it. “I am sure I can manage.” She wasn’t sure. The horse was tall and broad, and she had never swung her leg in such an unladylike manner in her life.

  Riding crop in one hand, she took the reins, grasped saddle leather, and pulled herself up, trying to swing her leg up and over. She didn’t quite clear Sultan’s back the first time and he shifted uncertainly.

  “There, there, boy,” Gabriel soothed. “She’ll manage next time.”

  Jane tried again. And this time, Gabriel gave her a boost from the rear. Her leg cleared the horse’s back and settled on his other side. She smiled down at Gabriel. “I think you enjoyed giving me that hand up a little too much.”

  His only answer was a grin.

  Jane wiggled the toe of her boot into the other stirrup and shifted in the saddle. “My goodness. How different it feels.”

  She untucked her skirt and spread it over her legs. Only a few inches of her stockings showed over her half boots. Noticing his admiring gaze linger on her calf, she tugged the skirt a little lower.

  When she was settled, he mounted his new horse, who jigged to the side.

  “Are you sure he’s ready?” Jane asked, studying the animal with concern.

  “I can handle him.”

  As twilight fell, they trotted out the farmyard gate and started across the adjacent field under a full moon.

  With a glance at her handsome companion, Jane took a deep breath and expelled a contented sigh. If she married him, their life together would be full of evenings like this—though probably with only one of them in breeches.

  As they rode, Gabriel said, “You asked me if I had changed the name of the farm yet. I have not. But I do know what I’d like to call it.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “I was thinking . . . Locke and Locke.”

  Jane flinched and looked away. There it was again. The stumbling block between them. He might as well have said Locke and Sons. Sons she could not give him. “Gabriel, I told you. I cannot have children.”

  “Who said anything about children? Locke and Locke, as in Gabriel and Jane Locke. Husband and wife. Partners in the horse business, or at least I hope we shall be.”

  “Oh. But I already have a business.”

  He huffed. “Jane, do you want to marry me or not?”

  “I . . . do. But—”

  “Not very reassuring.” Gabriel turned his horse’s head. “You said you wanted to gallop, so let’s go.” He started off across the field.

  For a moment, Jane remained where she was, watching him ride away, regret filling her. Sultan strained against his bit, eager to follow.

  Then a flash of movement startled Sultan and Jane both. A brown blur leapt from the thicket and shot across the field. A large dog, fangs bared, chased after Gabriel’s new horse, growling and snarling.

  Spirit lurched to the side, head turned, eyes and nostrils wild with terror.

  Jane saw Gabriel react, choking the reins up tight. He yelled at the dog, which startled the spooked horse all the more.

  Then the dog lunged and snapped at the horse’s foreleg.

  Jane sucked in a breath. No . . .

  She rarely used her riding crop, but she now touched Sultan’s side, calling, “Hyah! Get up!”

  The well-trained horse leapt forward, and Jane gripped tight with her legs as he galloped onward. She bent low over Sultan’s neck, willing him to catch up with Gabriel’s runaway horse.

  Nearing them, Jane stretched out her riding crop and tried to strike the dog—deter it, if she could.

  At the same time, Spirit reared up violently, sending Gabriel flying.

  Jane gasped, fear seizing her. He fell, landing on a mound of some sort. Startled, Sultan lurched away. Jane almost lost her seat as well, but she hung on with a mighty press of strength and desperate grip on saddle and mane. “Whoa, boy. Whoa.”

  Sultan begrudgingly halted, while the other horse ran on, kicking its hooves to forestall its attacker, the dog still at its heels. Struggling to dismount and nearly falling herself, Jane ran toward G
abriel’s fallen form, pulse beating wildly.

  She fell to her knees beside his prone body, expecting him to rise up on an elbow and yell at the dog in his commanding voice, his first concern for the horse and not his own bumps and bruises. Or to rub his head, grin sheepishly, and say, “That’s what I get for being overly confident.”

  Instead, he lay unmoving, eyes closed, legs sprawled.

  Closer now, Jane saw that the mound was not a molehill or a gorse bush, as she had at first thought, but a rock. Dear God, no!

  Jane gently touched his shoulder. “Gabriel, are you all right?”

  She took his hand. “Can you hear me? Gabriel!” Her throat burned, and tears swamped her eyes. Why had she put him off? She should have married him months ago. She loved this man more than she had ever loved anyone. And if she lost him now . . .

  She circled her fingers around his wrist and closed her eyes to focus, feeling his pulse with ecstatic relief.

  “Gabriel, I am going to get help.” Jane rose, relieved to see no sign of the dog. “If you can hear me, try not to move. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  With a prayer, she pressed a hand to her bosom and ran to Sultan’s side. She clumsily remounted and galloped the short distance to Thora and Talbot’s farm.

  chapter

  Eleven

  Jane sat in a chair pulled close to Gabriel’s bedside, her fingers entwined with his, stroking his arm with her free hand.

  Walter Talbot and his men had borne Gabriel into his bedchamber at Lane’s Farm. Dr. Burton had come and gone. No bones were broken as far as he could tell, but Gabriel had several nasty abrasions and bruises. He’d briefly regained his senses—long enough for the physician to ascertain he had a concussion. Dr. Burton was also concerned about possible injury to his neck and spine but said they would have to wait and see.

  In the meanwhile, Jane continued to pray, and to thank God that the man she loved still lived.

  Dawn brightened the sky. Through the bedroom door, she could hear Thora’s hushed voice and the occasional clatter of pots and pans. Helping Susie make breakfast, she guessed. Thora and Talbot had spent the night in one of the spare rooms, just in case their help was needed.