Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (128 page)

Adapting to her new role as Lady Letham of Wisteria Castle had been daunting at first, but Ivy had the household staff to help ease her into her duties.  They took to her immediately and her to them, just as she had always looked at the servants of Sparrowhawk as extensions of the family.  Her personal lady’s maid, Susanna, reminded her of Lily in both manner and age, and Ivy began to form an almost sisterly affection or her.  It gave Ivy comfort to know she had someone close to her own years in whom she could confide.

The kitchen staff had been quite glad for Ivy’s presence.  “The castle wants for a woman’s care,” she had said, as Ivy made the rounds one day and sampled some of the pastries they had been preparing for the afternoon meal.  “The first Lady Letham, she was quiet and frail, but she still managed to brighten every room she entered.  Lord Letham did love her so.”

“How long were they married?” Ivy had asked. 

“Only three years,” the cook had replied.  “She had always been so delicate.  She had lost two babies, but she was determined to make Lord Letham happy, and give him a son.”  The large woman had sighed and returned to kneading her bread dough.  “He lost both the baby and her, that time.”  She looked up again, this time with a smile.  “But now he’s found himself a good, strong wife – one who is sure to give him
many
sons.”

Ivy had to chuckle at this.  “I shall endeavor to do so,” she had said.  “But from what I have been told, it is never guaranteed.  I could end up like my mother and only produce daughters.  What joy would that be to a man who wants a son?”

“Begging your pardon, Your Ladyship,” the cook had said, “but as a woman wed going on fifteen years and with seven children to show for it, I can attest that the
joy
is in the
trying
.”  She had given Ivy a meaningful wink and cause to blush, laughing behind her hand.

Two months into the marriage, Ivy still remained without child.  Esmond would call her to his bed twice a week.  She had tried to be responsive to his touches, and even once found herself achieving a pleasurable completion, but each time her monthly bleeding would begin, she would have to perform the remorseful task of informing her husband that her attempts to conceive had been unsuccessful.  As time passed and this became a regular occurrence, Lord Letham had begun to grown brusque in manner toward Ivy. 

One day, word came that Lord Letham’s sister would be stopping for a visit on her way to the summer estate of her husband, Baron James Banbury, and would be staying at Wisteria Castle for a week.  The staff began preparations straight away.  Ivy looked to Poole, the head servant, for advice about her sister-in-law.

“The Baron and Baroness are quite formal,” Poole had said. 

“Baroness?”  Ivy had found this amusing.  “I thought the wife of a Baron was to be addressed as ‘Lady.’”

“Not this one,” Poole had said with great solemnity.  “She prefers ‘Baroness,’ and make no mistake. 
Baroness
Banburymay appear aloof and distant when first you meet her.  She had been very fond of her brother’s first wife, Madelene, so she may still harbor some resentment over her loss.”

“Is that why she did not come to the wedding, I wonder?” Ivy had asked. 

“Perhaps, madam,” Poole had replied, and rolled his shoulders in a shrug.  “I could not say for certain, however.  But you needn’t fret.  Once the Baroness gets to know you, she will take you into her heart as she did your predecessor.”

“One can only live in hope,” Ivy had told him.

The carriage arrived several days later.  Ivy wore her best dress of golden peach satin and had a blue ribbon to match the color of her eyes wound up in her hair.  She curtseyed to their guest while Esmond, standing beside her and dressed in a green waistcoat and ivory breeches, greeted their visitor with a bow. 

“Welcome, my sister,” Lord Letham said.  He then turned to motion Ivy forward in order to make a formal presentation.  “My wife, Lady Letham.”

An older but still handsome woman with black hair, resplendent in a gown of violet and ivory silk, Baroness Eleanor Banbury regarded Ivy with unfeeling, dark brown eyes.  Like Lord Letham, she had a strong jaw and impressive stature; she also possessed an overall elegant bearing about her.  “My brother wrote of you in a letter prior to your marriage,” she announced.  “I must admit, I was dubious, but I see now what he meant when he said you were ‘of good stock.’” 

Ivy did her best to maintain her smile in light of that information, not quite understanding the meaning behind it beyond a possible comment on her country upbringing.  “Thank you, Baroness,” she said.  “It is unfortunate you could not be present for the wedding, but I do hope we may be able to become better acquainted with one another over the course of the following week.”  Ivy had set herself the task of winning Eleanor’s approval, and would not allow anything to deter her.  She did not expect to be adored as much as Madelene had been.  Not right away, but perhaps with time.

Eleanor turned back to her brother.  “Well, I suppose I should adjourn to my rooms and rest from my travels until supper.  I trust that you have not planned for the ball tonight – you know I like to have at least two days to prepare for such festivities.”

“A ball?” Ivy echoed, lifting her eyebrows in surprise.  She glanced at her husband and stammered.  “I was not aware we were to host a ball.”

“My dear girl!” the Baroness exclaimed, pressing a hand to her breast as she let out a short laugh.  “Do you know
nothing
of protocol?  As Lady of Wisteria Castle, you should host at the very
least
one ball a month, and attend each one to which you are invited!”

Ivy felt the heat of embarrassment rise in her cheeks at the condescending tone of the Baroness’ voice.  “Ihave deferred to the will of Lord Letham, in those matters,” she said at last.  “My husband is a private man not given to such occasions.”

“Is that what he told you?” Eleanor rolled her eyes and shook her head with a cluck of admonishment at Esmond.  “My dearest brother, you know you must continue to keep up appearances and attend social functions, no matter
how
much you may abhor them.”  She sighed.  “Well.  As I came with the expectation of a ball, I suppose I shall have to be the one to see that one happens.  But first, I must rest.”

The Baroness made her way up the steps and through the main doors into Wisteria Castle.  Lord Letham heaved a sigh of his own and looked at Ivy.  She could only blink at him, still reeling from the way Eleanor had just swept in and, in a matter of moments, took charge.  She wanted to ask if this was a normal occurrence.  Going by her husband’s grimace, she had to think it happened far too often for his tastes.

***

Wisteria Castle had come alive.

Coaches continued to roll up to the house throughout the early part of the evening.  The grand ballroom teemed with ladies in beautiful gowns and gents in their finest brocades and velvet coats.  The band played one rousing set after the next.  People danced, whirling and skipping through quadrilles, laughing and letting out whoops of joy.  The servants kept up a steady stream of refreshments from the kitchens.  In one of the rooms adjoining to the study, some of the men gathered to smoke, talk, and even play cards to pass the time. 

For her part, Ivy found herself being asked to dance by nearly every fellow save for one: her own husband.  Esmond had retreated to the study to mingle with the other gentlemen.  Right before their first guests began to descend upon them, he had visited Ivy’s rooms where she had been putting the finishing touches on her appearance, a wine-colored gown trimmed with ivory ribbons. 

“You should enjoy yourself tonight,” Lord Letham had said to Ivy.  He had come up behind her and in a rare moment of tenderness he had not shown since their wedding night, he lay his large, warm, callused hands upon her pale shoulders.  “I am not one for these affairs, as you know.  This is all my sister’s doing; it is her ball, but I wish it to be yours, as well.”

Ivy had twisted around to look up at him.  “But you
will
join me for one dance, at the very least?”

He had shook his head and the corners of his mouth had twitched for a fleeting instant in what could be considered a smile.  “I will make no promises,” he had said.  “I do, however, give you permission to dance with anyone who may extend an invitation.”

For those few moments, Ivy had felt a closeness to her husband that she had not felt in some time.  She bit her lip and then reached up to cover one of his hands with her own.  “Perhaps a bit of gaiety will stimulate the blood,” she had said.  “Once our guests have all departed, shall I visit your bedchamber?”  She had looked up into his hooded eyes, hopeful, the unspoken suggestion of trying again to conceive hanging in the air between them.

“We shall see,” was all he had said, but he had pressed a kiss to her forehead all the same.  Yes, Ivy had thought, perhaps a party to lighten the mood would be just the thing they needed to help them in their ongoing struggle to create a child together.

Ivy’s parents had been invited, along with Rose and her husband Douglas.  To Ivy’s delight, her sister Lily and Major Fennimore walked in, as well.  Ivy squealed and ran to embrace her little sister.  “You came!” she said, laughing, and held Lily at arm’s length.  “I did not think you would, even when I sent out the invitations.”

“We are only here for two nights,” Lily said.  “When we return to London, Jonathan will be leaving for France.  I will be staying with his sister and her family while I await his return.”

“Well, you
must
stay here at Wisteria Castle until you depart again,” Ivy said.  “I insist.”

“Oh, I would love that,” Lily said, “but we have already promised Mama and Papa that we will stay with them at Sparrowhawk.”  She smiled.  “Next time, all right?”

“Yes,” Ivy agreed, nodding and grinning.  Just the mere suggestion of ‘next time’ filled her with happiness.  Ivy had often wondered if Lily’s visits home to Little Amberton would grow fewer and far between once she had moved to London and grew accustomed to city life. 

The band began to play again.  Major Fennimore appeared, ever resplendent in his uniform, and bowed to Ivy before he offered his hand to Lily.  “Come, my love,” he said.  “I should like to dance.”

Ivy watched them weave their way through the crowd of guests to the ballroom.  She could see Rose and Douglas already out there, taking positions for a scotch reel.  Her smile faded a bit.  To see her sisters with their husbands, so happy, reminded her of her own marriage, and how she still struggled to find it within her to love a man who did not show her the same affection she could see between her siblings and their spouses.  She could not even get Esmond to dance with her at a party in their own home.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to see one of the young gentlemen who had come to the ball.  He bowed to her.  “Your Ladyship,” he said.  “It would appear you are without a partner at the moment.”  He offered his arm.  “Would you do me the honor of this dance?” 

Her mood brightened again, like the moon emerging from behind dark clouds.  “Of course,” Ivy said, and placed her hand on his elbow.  He led her to the dance floor just in time to take their places, bow and curtsey, and then launch into the lively reel. 

When the set ended, Ivy excused herself.  She felt parched from all the activity, her skin dewed with sweat.  She fanned herself with a hand as she sought out something to slake her thirst. 

People began to ask after Lord Letham; only then did Ivy realize her husband’s distinct absence from the smoking room.  “I shall go and see if I can find him,” she told the last gentleman to inquire on Esmond’s whereabouts.  The music and laughter faded behind her as she made her way through the large manor to the wing that housed her husband’s private study.  She could see light spilling out from the doorway onto the hallway floor.  Ivy ventured into the room.  She found Esmond standing in front of the fireplace, a bottle of brandy in one hand and a glass in the other.  She called out to him.  “Our guests want to know where you’ve gone,” she said lightly.  “Come back to the ball – come and have just one dance with me.”

“I told you before, I do not dance,” Lord Letham said in an adamant tone.  He poured another glass full of brandy and took a deep gulp from it.  “You seem to be dancing quite well without me, anyway.  All those men…I’ve been watching you with them.  I see the way you look at them.  You would rather be with
them
than with
me
.”

“That is not true,” Ivy said.  She shook her head, bewildered.  What could have inspired her husband to have these strange, jealous thoughts?  “Do you not remember that you gave me permission to dance with whomever I liked?  I have only done as you wished.  Why are you saying these things to me?”

“Madelene would not be bold as to dance with other men whilst I watched,” Esmond went on, ignoring Ivy’s questions as though she had not even uttered them.  He sounded sullen, his drink-slurred words full of bitter regret.  “She had eyes for me and me alone.  And I for her.”  He swung around, staggering a bit, to cast a glare at Ivy.“
You
will never be as good as my Madelene.  She had all the bearing of nobility, a true Lady.  But, you?”  He snorted and waved Ivy away.  “You’re nothing.”  He turned back to the fire.  “Go.  Remove yourself from my sight, woman.  I have no need of you, now.”

Ivy reeled in shock, his remarks burning her like a wasp’s sting.  She opened her mouth to say something but could not muster a single sound.  Finally, she decided to just do as he commanded.  She whirled around and hurried from the room, only to run into Baroness Banbury in the hallway just outside the door.  “Oh!” Ivy exclaimed, startled.  “Forgive me!”

“Not to worry, my dear,” the Baroness laughed.  “Actually, I had just come to look for you!  Have you by chance seen my brother?”

Ivy cast a dour glance back at the study.  “He is otherwise occupied,” she said quietly.  Turning back to Eleanor, she managed to muster a bright smile to mask both her dismay and the lie she was about to tell.  “A magistrate’s work is never ending, you know.  Come, now – let us leave him in peace and return to the ball.”

Baroness Banbury nodded in agreement.  “A novel idea,” she said.  “You know, my son would have enjoyed this evening.  He is quite the accomplished dancer.  Perhaps I shall bring him around with me when I pass this way again.”  Linking arms, the two women headed back toward the music and jollity.

That night, Ivy did not visit her husband’s bedchamber.  Poole had come to her as she bid their departing guests safe travels to inform her that he had found Lord Letham asleep in his study.

“Shall I wake him and have him moved to his rooms, Your Ladyship?” Poole asked.

“No,” Ivy replied, inwardly glad that she did not have to deal with Esmond in the state he had been in when she last spoke to him.  She smiled at Poole.  “Leave him be.” 

***