THE DEFIANT LADY (4 page)

She folded her hands in her lap. “As you well know, I have not pressed you for full repayment. I simply do not need the money. Marry Ivy and I will relinquish the debt
and
provide her with a dowry.”

His eyes narrowed.
Her granddaughter must be a spiteful shrew
, he thought unkindly. Why else would the Duchess offer her granddaughter to him, willingly volunteer to clear the debt
and
bestow a dowry?

“I am engaged to Miss Emily Fitzgerald,” Cy stated. The ink was barely dry on the contract, but it was an engagement nonetheless. He would not rescind; he was no scoundrel.

The Duchess stared at him in disbelief. “Then why have I not seen an announcement?”

Touché
, he thought. “It has only just been settled,” he averred.

“Do you care for Miss Fitzgerald?” the Duchess asked pointedly.

Cy’s face remained impassive. “I fail to see how that is any of your concern, nor does it matter.”

Surprisingly, the Duchess cackled and responded, “Your deflection answered my question. I loved my husband. We were the darling set of society. Our relationship, though unusual, was envied by all.”

“What makes you think I would marry a woman I have not even met?” Cy inquired, skipping over the topic of love. Love was not a necessity, not for his marriage. More so, in his circle, love was mentioned in the same breath as the lost city of Atlantis.

The Duchess inclined her head. “Miss Fitzgerald may be lovely, but she will bore you. Are you marrying her for her dowry?”

“My reasons for marriage do not concern you, Your Grace,” he answered in a clipped tone. “Did your husband ever tell you why he lent my father money?”

She shrugged elegantly. “I did not ask William about his affairs. All I knew was that a large sum exchanged hands. After William died, I discovered from the family solicitor how large the debt had grown from lack of payments on interest.”

Cy smiled without humor. “Ah, of course. You can thank my father for that.”

“This is a reasonable solution. It is rumored by well-respected men that you have a talent for business, but you cannot forge ahead saddled with this debt. Do you not wish to see your wealth restored?”

“At what cost?” Cy brooded. “You are trying to seek a title for your illegitimate granddaughter. Are you trying to buy her way into society? Is she not pleasing to look upon, or perhaps she is a harpy with a vicious streak? Surely there must be someone else who is indebted to you so that you can shackle one of your granddaughters to another titled man, or am I so far in debt that you think I have no other choice?”

The Duchess’s face darkened in anger. “Are you so
exceedingly
cold and cynical that you would marry a woman merely for her dowry? If that is all you desire, then why not marry Ivy, or do you also wish for your wife to have noble blood? Miss Fitzgerald is the daughter of a lowly baron. Ivy is the granddaughter of a
duke
, Stanton! The Cavehill line is old and prestigious. Your children can have everything that was meant for them. Your future will be secure. The debt will be cleared, and two powerful families will finally have an alliance.”

“You cannot simply buy me, Your Grace. I still have a sense of pride,” Cy stated very quietly, his gaze level. “And I highly doubt you are overjoyed to have two reminders of your son’s indiscretions living under your roof.”

The Duchess flinched as though Cy had reached out and slapped her. “What I feel for my granddaughters is none of your concern. I, too, have pride. You are entitled to yours. I am giving you an out, Stanton. Why not take it? I am not unfeeling towards your plight.

 
“Your father was not shrewd with financial matters, but pride never entered his mind when he thought of asking my husband for money to save the land and estate that has become
your
inheritance.”

She was presumptuous and self-righteous, but she was correct.
Damn the woman!
Cy thought irritably.

“At least meet Ivy before you dismiss the idea of marrying her. You will see she is neither homely, nor mean spirited.”

Cy sighed and finally relented to the battle of wills. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will meet your granddaughter.” It would do no harm, though he doubted he would be swayed from his course of marrying Miss Fitzgerald.

The Duchess rang her brass bell, and a moment later a maid entered. “Please bring Miss Ivy to the salon.” The maid curtsied and left. “Miss Fitzgerald does not have the fire you need, Stanton. Your life will be dull and empty with her as your wife.”

Cy’s mouth quirked in amusement. “And your granddaughter is…?”

Before the Duchess could reply, a musical voice asked from the doorway, “You requested my presence, Your Grace?”

Turning slowly, the breath left Cy’s lungs. The woman who stood at the entrance to the salon was simply stunning. She was petite with flawless, porcelain skin, high cheekbones and emerald green eyes that gazed at him speculatively. Her hair was a mass of molten, titian waves that fell all the way to the middle of her back. Cy’s gray eyes roved appreciatively over her, settled for a moment on her plush, pink lips and then drifted back to her face. He rose immediately, unfolding his long frame from his seat.

She was staring at him with nothing more than courteous interest, and suddenly he wished to see her eyes darken with passion. He was completely caught off guard by his own desire.

“Ivy, this is our neighbor, the Earl of Stanton,” the Duchess introduced plainly.

 
Ivy turned to him and fell into a graceful curtsy. He crossed to her, took her hand in his and kissed it. She rose, and craned her neck to look at him. She was so delicate, and he was well over six feet. He towered over her, enjoying the hesitancy in her eyes, as if she did not know what to make of him. Though she obviously attempted to conceal her emotions, she did not win the conflict. She was so expressive, and he enjoyed the fact that she did not appear aloof. Instantly, he knew she was not like other young ladies her age that simpered and acted coy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” she murmured.

“Miss Sinclair, your grandmother has told me such wonderful things about you.” He noticed her disbelieving glance in the Duchess’s direction, and raised a mocking eyebrow.

Ivy responded glibly, “Her Grace is the epitome of hospitality and generosity.”

“How is your dance lesson coming along?” the Duchess interjected quickly.

“Well. It is one area where I excel. If you will excuse me, I would like to get back to it.” Ivy curtsied again and then left in a swish of blue muslin.

Cy leisurely turned back to the Duchess and began to smile slowly. “I should have given you more credit, Your Grace. You missed your calling. You could have been an agent against Napoleon for all
your
skill in battle.”

The Duchess raised her eyebrows and inclined her head in salute. “She is spirited, Stanton. It must be a quality of their mother. Her sister, though different in appearance, shares some of the same characteristics.”

“
Dear God
,” Cy breathed. “I forgot there was another one. Why did you insist that I meet Ivy and not her sister?”

The Duchess spoke candidly, “Willow will no doubt enjoy the excitement of courting in London, and as beautiful and charming as she is, she will have no lack of suitors, but Willow accidently divulged that Ivy would much prefer to fish than wave a fan. She needs to be with a man that appreciates pluck, Stanton. Ivy is headstrong and willful, but she listens to reason. Do not let the circumstances of her birth sway your decision. I saw the way you reacted to her. Given some time, I believe you will both come to an agreement that suits us all.”

Cy looked at the Duchess with skepticism. “Will your granddaughter agree to my suit?”

The Duchess set her cup of tea down and said, “I have made it quite clear that the girls will marry in accordance with my wishes, but I have not informed Ivy of my decision to make a match between the two of you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Cy nodded and said, “I will extract myself from Miss Fitzgerald post haste. However, I want a few weeks, perhaps even a month with Miss Sinclair so that we might get to know each other.”

“As you wish. I am throwing a ball for the girls in May to introduce them to the rest of our neighbors. You will of course be in attendance.”

“I would not miss it. I am sure it will be a most diverting evening,” he replied politely.

***

Paris, France

Emily gripped her hands tightly to keep from reaching for one of Aunt Mildred’s small glass figurines on the fireplace mantle. She wanted nothing more than to pick one up and throw it against the wall and hear its fragile body shatter.

The Earl of Stanton had broken their engagement, and she did not have the faintest idea why.
I am beautiful, well-bred and would make any man a perfect wife
, she thought loftily. Yet here she was, sitting in Aunt Mildred’s drawing room hearing from her father that her betrothed had cried off, tossing her aside like rotting vegetable one throws out with the refuse.

There had been no repercussions.

“Em, kitten, you must look at the bright side,” her father soothed, ignoring her glare. “At least he broke the engagement off
before
it was announced. No one has to know.”

“Why did you come here?” she demanded angrily. “I could just as easily have read about it in one of your letters.”

He sighed. “I had business to attend to, and I thought it only fitting to be the bearer of bad news in person.”

“Perhaps if we had immediately sent the announcement to
The Times
none of this would have happened! You claim he is a gentleman, but no gentleman would do this! He is a lying, deceitful coward! This is
your
fault!”

Fitzgerald shook his head regretfully. “Now Emily, you do not know all the reasons behind his decision. Marriage is a business, my dear. You will see, when you are engaged to someone with an even greater title. Trust me. I will find you someone else. Would you like that?”

She crossed her arms and seethed as her father rose and swiftly retreated. Finally succumbing to her rage, she picked up one of her aunt’s delicate glass swan collectibles and threw it against the wall as hard as she could. It gave a resounding crash, but did nothing to appease her anger.

Chapter IV

Hampshire, England

A few ready-made outfits, including riding habits for Willow and Ivy were delivered the day before to the Duchess’s home. Willow had jabbered excitedly while holding up different gowns, marveling at the expense and construct. Ivy was glad to have a riding habit. Ever since she stepped foot in England, she had been relegated to the confines of the manor. She yearned for the freedom of galloping across the countryside on the back of a mount. She had chances to ride outside Paris in her very limited spare time, and she had loved every minute of it. The feeling of air being forced into her lungs and the wind whipping through her hair while galloping on a fast mare made her feel alive and carefree.

The late winter morning was unusually sunny as Ivy made her way to the stables. She was impressed by the choices of mounts and horses, and chose a spirited gray mare with snowy white feet named Moonlight.

“I shall saddle her right away for you, Miss Ivy,” the groom said.

Ivy shook her head. “That will not be necessary.” She took the reins from the groom and quickly mounted the horse despite her cumbersome green skirts.

The groom was scandalized. “You cannot ride without a saddle!”

Ivy grinned at the younger man’s wide eyes and astonished face.

“I can and I will,” she said confidently. “I have spent many hours cultivating such a skill. I can control a mount perfectly well while riding this way.” She would not have
every
freedom renounced. She refused to give up all the things she loved, and would not forget the girl she used to be. She practiced ballet at night in the privacy of her room, but without a real bar and studio, it felt sloppy.

“At least let me escort you,” the groom sputtered.

She shook her head, causing the red curls to bounce playfully under her dark green riding hat. “I am staying on Cavehill land. Which way is the little stream I saw on my journey here?”

The groom wanted to protest, but one smile and a shake of Ivy’s pretty head threw him into such confusion that he gave in and pointed the way. After receiving directions, she took off across the hill and drew in deep breaths as she rode. The cold breeze whipped through her hair and flushed her cheeks pink. Her spirits soared. Ivy missed having time to herself. She liked not having to worry about judgmental eyes speculating whether or not she was becoming a ‘perfect lady.’ If anyone saw her now, they would realize it was all a veneer, and she was very much a hoyden.

Half a mile later, she reached the small stream, and the sound of trickling water was soothing to her ears. She had to admit that though she missed Paris, she was beginning to enjoy the acres of space in the English countryside.

She dismounted and tied Moonlight to a nearby tree, and then wished she had thought to bring a blanket so she could sit on the grass without soiling her newly made clothes. She made do with standing along the bank, watching the stream carry dead leaves and twigs along its meandering, dribbling path.

Ivy yearned for spring, and noticed signs all around her that it was on its way. Trees were showing the barest hints of life and animals were poking their heads out of their burrows. She, too, felt like she was shaking off the sleepy, somber winter, her spirit blooming with the coming spring.

Lost in her own thoughts she did not hear a solitary rider approach. The sound of boots on grass startled her. In annoyance, she turned to see who interrupted her solitude. Her displeasure evaporated and a thrill shot through her when she recognized the handsome face.

It was the Earl of Stanton.

His dark brown hair was perfectly cut, yet mussed from riding, his strong jaw cleanly shaven. Garbed in a crisp, white shirt and tan riding breeches that fit him snuggly, she also could not help but notice his tailored riding coat that spanned the wide breadth of his shoulders. She wondered if she could see her reflection is his polished boots; the Earl looked every bit like the titled gentleman he was.