The Most Wicked Of Sins (18 page)

Priscilla laughed. “Do tell us, who gave back their noon meal to Mother Nature? Please tell me it was Lord Tinsdale.”

Ivy scowled. “What a thing to say. It was Miss Feeney…thanks to Mrs. Wimpole’s fish-gelatin tart.”

Grant chuckled. “Aye, caught a whiff of one of those.” He shuddered for effect.

“Speaking of Tinsdale and Miss Feeney. How goes the ruse, Ivy?” Lachlan asked. “Any progress?”

“I should say so,” Grant interjected. He nodded to Poplin, who scurried out into the passage, then returned a moment later with a silver salver.

“Lady Ivy,” the butler said, moving the tray before her, “for you.”

Her sisters exchanged confused glances, but Grant could barely contain a smile.

Ivy lifted the letter and broke open the seal. “It’s…from Lord Tinsdale.” She looked up at Grant.

“Tinsdale’s footman delivered this last night,” he informed her. “Damn it, Ivy, stop staring at me and read it.”

Ivy shook the letter from its folds. She could hardly believe what it said. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “He wishes an interview at four of the clock.” She jerked her eyes from the missive and looked back to Grant. “What shall I do?”

“How is it that you do not know, Ivy?” Grant peered at her for a long while before speaking. “Is not this what you wanted—for Tinsdale to return his attention to you?”

“I—I…” Ivy looked down at the missive again. “Well, of course it is. It was the whole purpose of the ruse—the reason for all of my efforts.” She turned her gaze upward again but was completely taken aback by what she now saw.

No one was smiling, or seemed pleased for her at all, at this new development. Instead, they were all looking back at her with expressions so dour one would believe someone had died.

She came to her feet at once. “Why are you all looking at me like that? Tinsdale’s coming to call is a very positive sign. He would not have requested the interview if he was still infatuated with Miss Feeney. He must intend to return his affections to me—if I will accept them.” The tone of her voice started to resemble a whimper. “Why aren’t you happy for me? You know that this is exactly what I needed to happen—what I wanted.”

Ivy especially couldn’t bear the way Grant was looking at her. It was as if he somehow saw into her heart and her head and knew what had happened last night. A rush of confused emotions flooded Ivy’s senses.

“Aye,” Grant said softly, “it
was
what you wanted. But, Ivy, is it still?”

Ivy swallowed and peered down at the letter. Tears began to catch in her lashes. “Aye, it is,” she whispered, trying to convince her brothers and sisters. Trying to convince herself. She raised her gaze. “It is exactly what Da would want. What I have worked so hard to achieve.”

But she knew Grant would not let her leave it at that, though her sisters might. And so, she spun around and left the dining room without another word.

Malice may be sometimes out of breath, envy never.

Lord Halifax

From her bedchamber, where she’d taken refuge from her family, Ivy heard the door knocker strike two different times before the tall case clock tinged three in the afternoon. She came to her feet and stood in the center of her room both times, but Poplin never came for her, and no cards were delivered.
p. Ivy had expected Dominic to call for her, if not to make sense of what had passed between them last night, then at least to ensure that she had arrived home safely.

But he hadn’t, and now, when the clock sounded the hour and the doorknocker slammed into its rest, she knew Tinsdale had arrived.

He was never tardy. In truth, his punctuality was as predictable and reliable as the sun taking its perch each morn, which, she decided, was probably a very good quality in a husband.

As were his calm demeanor and common sense. She’d never had to worry about Tinsdale backing her into a wall and kissing her with a passion that would make her mad with wanton desires. With him guiding her and setting a fine example, she would become the respectful woman her father demanded—a Sinclair worthy of the family name.

Ivy had been staring blankly at the door, reminding herself of the list of qualities that recommended Lord Tinsdale, when she suddenly noticed Siusan standing before her, waving her hand.

“Gorblimey, Ivy,” Su was saying. “Are you well? I’ve been calling to you from outside your door.”

Blinking, Ivy focused on her sister. “Aye, I was thinking.”

Siusan nodded knowingly. “About how to break it to Tinsdale that you have set your heart on Counterton.”

“What?” Ivy shook off the notion like a dog that had just come in from the rain. “Good Lord, no! I mean to encourage his interest in me, if that is why he has come.”

“Och, why would you do that?” Siusan huffed a sigh as she sat down on the edge of Ivy’s pallet. “Dominic’s feelings for you are true. Everyone can see that, and I suspect yours run just as clear and strong as his.”

“You do not know what you are talking about, Su. Dominic is just playing the role I paid him to, and he happens to excel at his position, that’s all.” Ivy thrust her hands forward. “I don’t even know his real name, or anything about him.”

Siusan set an elbow on her knees and propped her chin in her palm. “Have you asked him?”

“Well, no, I haven’t. In fact, I asked him not to tell me so I wouldn’t accidentally bungle the ruse by addressing him by his true name, or mentioning where he grew up.” Ivy, feeling flustered again, folded her arms tightly across her chest. “The point is, it is impossible to have fond feelings for someone you do not even know.”

Siusan abruptly sat up straight. “And why do you think you don’t know him at all? He is a very kind, intelligent, charming, and diverting man. No matter how skilled an actor, if he were not truly all of these things, we certainly would have seen a very different Lord Counterton. No actor could remain immersed in his character for so long without breaking and exposing his true self—which is why I believe, sister, you do know him very well.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Father would never consider an actor a suitable match for his wayward daughter.” Siusan was studying her now, getting her nerves on edge. Ivy started for the open door. “Believe me when I tell you that if Tinsdale has come to reestablish our relationship, I shall accept him without delay and close the curtain on Lord Counterton.”

“I shouldn’t do that
yet
if I were you, Ivy,” Siusan called after her.

Ivy whirled around. “Why not?”

“Because Priscilla spied Miss Feeney and Lord Tinsdale walking together along Pall Mall only an hour ago.” Siusan rose from the pallet.

“T-today?” Ivy tried to clarify.

“Aye,
today,
” Siusan replied, slowly and quite deliberately.

Ivy stiffened. Very well. Perhaps it had just been wishful thinking, especially after her disastrous encounter last night with Dominic, that Tinsdale was now in the parlor waiting to tell her he had set Miss Feeney aside for her. But he was here to see her right now, and that was at least a start.

“You may be right that I shouldn’t release Dominic from our agreement just yet,” Ivy said. “Besides, I have paid for the house and staff on Berkeley Square until the end of the month.” With that, she turned again and descended the stairs to the parlor, where the man she intended to be her future husband awaited.

Ivy paused outside the parlor, leaning against the wall as she prepared herself to greet Tinsdale. Her heart thumped inside her chest, and her nerves twisted and wriggled like a nest of warring spiders.

Lud, she’d never felt so conflicted about meeting Lord Tinsdale before. Why then did she now? She was being such a great goose. She had just drawn in a deep, fortifying breath in preparation for turning into the room when Tinsdale stepped around the corner and in an instant was standing before her.

“I thought I heard you come down the stairs,” he said, “and I wondered if you thought I was waiting in the garden.”

Ivy shook her head stupidly. “My hair had shaken loose on my way to the parlor, and I was simply tucking it back into place.” A smile was in order, and she fashioned one for him.

Skirting around Tinsdale, she started for the parlor, one of the only rooms in the house they’d had funds enough to furnish properly. And it was lovely, and usually she was happy to entertain in the parlor, but today she saw it as naught but a cage. “But the afternoon is beautiful and the weather mild. I rather like your suggestion to visit in the garden.” She and Tinsdale whirled to reenter the passage, where they almost collided with Poplin.

The little man nearly dumped the large silver tray he held. The tea service atop it shifted, but aside from a biscuit that rolled off a serving plate into an open pot of jam, nothing spilled to the floor. “Your Ladyship, will you be taking tea in the—”

“Garden,” Ivy inserted.

Poplin followed Ivy and Lord Tinsdale to the French windows leading out to the portico and the garden beyond. Ivy reached for the door latch, but Tinsdale cleared his throat, and so she paused.

Tinsdale looked at Poplin, though the elderly man who walked up behind them was weighted with a heavy tray.

This was ridiculous. The Sinclairs had but a two-member house staff. She could easily open the door for Poplin. Ivy made for the latch again, but Tinsdale caught her wrist and pulled her arm down against her side.

She bit her lip, knowing that Tinsdale was not truly being rude, just reminding her of her proper place in the house, even in one so poorly staffed.

Poplin’s shaggy white eyebrows lifted for an instant, but then he settled the tray on a table in the passage and walked back to open the door for Ivy and Lord Tinsdale.

As they walked to the garden table and sat down, Ivy watched over her shoulder to be sure that the door hung open for Poplin. When she was certain that it had, and that the butler had sidled through with the weighty tea tray, she returned her attention to Tinsdale.

“I must admit, Lord Tinsdale, I was greatly surprised to receive your missive,” Ivy said, as Poplin laid the tea service.

“Pleasantly so, I do hope.” Tinsdale’s smile was cloyingly sweet.

“Absolutely, it was merely unexpected.” Ivy lifted the porcelain teapot and topped a cup with hyson tea. She breathed in the scent of dark amber broth. The family never drank it. Hyson was ruinously expensive and because of the Sinclairs’ reduced means, was reserved only for esteemed guests—and today that meant Lord Tinsdale.

“I do hope my request for an interview was not entirely unforeseen after our conversation at the Argyle Rooms. We never finished our discussion, not during the picnic or even the Winthrop musicale.” He took the tea she offered but allowed his fingers to brush over hers and remain in that position without drawing the dish of tea to him directly.

After a few moments, Ivy lowered the dish of tea to the table and pulled back her fingers. “Actually, my lord, I thought we had concluded that particular conversation, and I would have thought that my continued association with Lord Counterton would have confirmed that for you.”

“Perhaps so, if I truly believed he was in love with you.” Tinsdale leaned forward over the table and snatched up Ivy’s hand into his. More firmly this time. “But I do not. He cannot love, not anymore. He is a scoundrel. His string of conquests is legendary throughout Lincolnshire.”

Ivy struggled to pull her hand away, but he held it firm. “And how do you know this?”

“I…made some inquiries.” Tinsdale’s pale cheeks flushed with a mottled red color.

“Word in Averly is that when he was young, he once loved the daughter of an earl and she loved him as well. But Dominic Sheridan was the son of a mere gentleman. Her father would not approve of the match and hastily married her off to a widowed baron. She died in childbirth one year later.” Tinsdale pinned Ivy with his gaze, waiting for her reaction.

But there was none. Why would there be? This man, this scoundrel Tinsdale spoke of, was not her Lord Counterton—the actor.

“Do you not understand me, Ivy? He doesn’t love you because he cannot love anymore. He casts off women as regularly as his neckcloths.”

“Lord Counterton is not the man you speak of. Believe me, I know.”

Tinsdale’s brow furrowed. “Ivy, you are only his choice of the moment. Have you not seen him hover about Miss Feeney lately? You are about to be replaced.”

“In the same way you replaced me with Miss Feeney?” Ivy knew those words were too sharp. She knew she should use this moment to feign sadness and make it easy for Tinsdale to return to her and offer up his slightly bruised heart.

But she couldn’t.

She was still angry with him, and hurt, by the way he had cast her aside without a word of explanation. Reining in her emotions was impossible at this moment and, before she knew it, she had lashed out at him. “Do you not fear, Lord Tinsdale, perhaps
you
are the one being replaced this time?”

Tinsdale stared at her, utterly thunderstruck.

Ivy pushed up from the table and stared down at him. Then, without a further word of explanation, she left him in the garden.

Alone.

At two in the afternoon, when Nick had knocked at the Sinclair front door the first time, he was promptly told by Mr. Poplin that Lady Ivy was not taking visitors that hour. And so, he waited an hour longer before knocking again, hoping three of the clock was a more suitable hour to accept a very sincere and genuine apology. But the response remained the same.

Nick decided to wait an hour more, hoping that Lady Ivy, who oft enjoyed taking tea with her sisters at that hour, might emerge from the house. If he approached, she’d have no choice but to listen, at the very least, to what he had to say.

But when he peered down at his pocket watch and saw the hour hand sitting atop four, the front door opened, and instead of Ivy stepping outside, a blond gentleman, who could be none other than Lord Tinsdale, was invited inside.

Anger surged through Nick, and he stalked across the green and straight up to the door of No. 1 Grosvenor Square and instead of knocking politely, he charged straight into the house.