A Provision For Love (Entangled Inheritance Book 1) Read online

“You suggest we stay beneath this table for another three hours?” I stretched my neck to each side, resisting the urge to stretch my legs from their cramped position. “I cannot stay here that long. Besides, hunger alone might draw me out.”

  Henry lifted a finger in the air. “That I can remedy. If you will only wait.”

  I waited, watching him, until the voices began to disperse and footsteps signaled a break in the rush of guests. Henry then lifted the corner of the tablecloth, looking in the crack. Then, to my horror, he stuck his arm outside the cloth, returning it with a handful of cakes.

  “Sustenance, as you wished for.” He grinned. “Do eat. We may be here a while.”

  “Henry,” I hissed, swallowing when I realized my whisper was no whisper at all. I swatted his knee. “You must not stick another limb outside the tablecloth, not until it is safe. Our futures depend upon it.”

  Henry stuffed a cake in his mouth and offered another to me.

  I sighed. My stomach complained. I took the stale offering and nibbled at it. “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “You suppose?” Henry leaned his head closer. His lips lifted on one side. “Shall I get you another glass of punch then?”

  My resistance wore thin, and my lips curved upward.

  “There,” he said pointing at me. “Your smile will be gratitude enough. Punch then?”

  He lifted the edge of the table cloth once more, but I intercepted his hand, tugging it back to safety. “Henry.” Exasperation leaked into the muted tone. “No punch.”

  The corners of his lips fell once more, and his glance moved to my hand on his.

  My heart seemed to climb into my ears, pounding at an absurd rate. Again, the nearness of our confines struck me, though this time I felt a bubbling in my stomach. Grandmother would have scolded me to high heavens had she witnessed this display.

  “Ivy…” His eyes were near black in the dimness, yet there was something unmistakably warm about his tone. “Suppose nobody lives up to your grandmother’s requirements, then what will you do? Will you marry Lord Egerton as consolation?”

  My chest buzzed. Was it heartburn, or had Henry’s gaze brought about the effect? I looked down at my hands, now clutched in my lap. “A future duke is hardly a consolation prize. Besides, I will find someone to fill the list. The marquess has not missed a mark as of yet. I may win Bridgestone yet.”

  “Right,” Henry snapped. He wiped his hands together, and a few crumbs fell between us.

  The muscles along my jaw tightened. Losing Bridgestone would not be easy—for me or Henry. However, I had thought Henry and I had forged a friendship of sorts. Seeing his irritation spurred my own. I bit the inside of my cheek. “My winning Bridgestone has been a possibility since the reading of the will. Did you think I would shrink at the chance?”

  “Shrink? Ivy, no—” Henry closed his eyes, breathing out his mouth.

  “I understand what Bridgestone means to you, what it means to anybody who has stepped foot there, but I thought we were friends, that somehow you were…” Emotion cracked my words, making my whisper into more of a whimper. I blinked over and over, hoping to prevent any tears from pooling. Why did Henry’s frustration hurt? “I was mistaken.”

  “No.” He gasped, and his voice grew soft once more. “Do you believe I wish you to lose? That cannot be true…can it?”

  A single tear escaped down my cheek. I swallowed hard, determined to keep the rest at bay. “I do understand. I only thought that your desire would be tempered by our friendship.”

  He pushed his hands through his pomade-encrusted hair, creating a disastrous set of spikes. “No, you could not possibly understand. Ivy, Bridgestone means everything to me, but your friendship—”

  A disastrous crash of glasses and trays sounded, and footsteps sprinted across the floor. I peeked beneath the cloth. Pink punch pooled at the far end of the room, and an entire cart of cakes had been spilled atop the sticky lake. The four servers were bent over the mess, and onlookers curved around.

  I sucked in a breath and crawled out the underside of the table. Freedom had come—thankfully—and just in time to stay my tears.

  Henry wobbled after me. Beneath the lights of the chandelier, the marks of his face betrayed him; he was as distressed as me.

  I brushed my fingers down the front of my gown, hoping to flatten any wrinkles.

  “Ivy,” Henry said.

  I shook my head. “We have escaped unscathed. If you wish to straighten anything, do so to your hair.”

  His hands flew to his disheveled waves.

  I dipped my chin and returned to the ballroom.

  Chapter 17

  Afternoon light poured through the crack in the curtains, falling directly on my face. I turned, pulling the covers higher. The birds perched outside my window sang, oblivious to my late night at Almack’s, and their songs were irritatingly cheery.

  I did not feel cheery in the slightest.

  I flung a pillow at the window, and with the thump, the chirps and whistles ceased. I sighed, rolling onto my back. The robins and blackbirds knew nothing of expectations and the anxieties that accompanied them; instead, the birds did what I longed to—lived to feel the warmth of sunlight against their backs, bouncing from tree to tree to hilltops and beyond.

  “Ivy, are you still asleep?” came my grandmother’s voice from outside my door.

  “Yes,” I said, burying my face into the pillow.

  The door creaked open, and her slippers slid across the floor. “You mustn’t stay there all day. You will have callers, unless you have scared all prospects away.”

  I lifted my chin. “Do you have no compassion?”

  Gray ringlets peeked from her mob cap, and her eyes looked much too bright for how tired I felt. Her purple morning dress hung loose over her thinning frame.

  Self-regard fled. I sat up. “Have you lost weight, Grandmother?”

  She placed her hands at her middle. Her nose pinched. “Is that any way to greet me?”

  I smiled. At times, her iciness became charming; Grandmother’s moods were one thing I could count on in London’s maddening society. Pulling back the covers, I stood and kissed her cheek. “Good morning.”

  “Thank you. I was beginning to wonder where my polite granddaughter had disappeared to.” She surveyed me, lifting one of my bed-tossed curls to better examine it. “How was Almack’s last night?”

  My voice shook. “Between Lord St. Vincent’s most unwelcome advances and the disappointment with Henry—”

  “Disappointment?” She jerked back her head, and her wrinkly jowls echoed the movement. “Has he done something out of line?”

  “No.” I pursed my lips, chiding myself. I knew better than to speak so freely around my grandmother, but the tired-fog of the previous evening lingered. “Henry only wishes for Bridgestone.”

  “Ah, you thought he might surrender now that you have gotten to know one another?” She chuckled and continued, disregarding my slumped posture and dark frown. “He has grown up believing he would inherit Bridgestone. You cannot fault him for attempting to preserve his future.”

  Henry had said as much the previous night. I did not understand my emotions—the ache that came to my chest each time I contemplated Henry’s and my discussion beneath the table. Henry had grown to be more than my opponent, more than the great-nephew of Percival. I had grown to care for him and to enjoy our time together. Worry was beginning to creep in; was our friendship one-sided? Was I just a silly girl of the ton to him? Or worse, did Henry still view me as the little girl from his childhood?

  I blinked, nodding at my grandmother. “Yes, you are right.”

  “Exactly so. Now, get dressed and come eat your breakfast before your first caller—I presume the marquess—arrives. I will not have you keep him waiting.”

  Her departure was as abrupt as her entrance, and I laughed in disbelief. Once again, I reminded myself that Grandmother’s harshness was her version of affection and her demands a version of
thoughtfulness.

  I yawned and pulled back the drapes.

  The birds had returned to their perch. Their song carried across the busy street sounds—the hooves of horses, the barking dog, the wheels of carriages spinning in the mud.

  “Miss Linfield,” Pearl said from the open doorway. She tapped against the frame. “Lady Barrington said you needed me.”

  “Yes.” I pulled back my shoulders and faced her. Sulking would not help me in my mission. Lord Egerton would call, and I would be ready.

  * * *

  I measured each step to the drawing room. After my discussion with Grandmother, the competitive flare of my younger years returned with a vengeance. I would not relent when it came to Bridgestone. I would find a man to fit the list—and my current hopes rested on Lord Egerton, the man seated behind the drawing room door.

  I stopped before I got to the room, resting my hand against the knob. Attracting a man was no different than the other games I had played; there were rules, rules that I would follow. I turned the handle and donned my prettiest smile.

  “Miss Linfield.” The marquess rose to his feet with remarkable speed.

  I curtsied and offered my hand.

  Grandmother smirked from across the room. She wore her amusement like she wore her black shawl—impossible to miss. Her hands trembled against the arm of her chair. “Goodness, I thought you would never come. I will have to speak with Pearl about attending to you with greater urgency.”

  I narrowed my eyes but ignored her. “Lord Egerton, I am so happy to see you. I hope I have not kept you waiting too long.”

  “Not at all.” His cheeks were uncommonly pale, and a line of perspiration dotted the edge of his cheek. He took a shaky breath. “Lady Barrington was just asking me a few questions.”

  I spun in the other direction, hoping my look of reprimand made its mark on her senile senses. Grandmother had the ability to put almost anyone into a fit of nervousness. “What kind of questions?”

  She grinned, rather unabashedly. “Simple questions—pedigrees, how many children a duke should settle for, the exact size of his estate…”

  I pressed a hand to my chest, hoping to revive my sluggish heart. Was this what death by humiliation felt like? If Henry had been in the marquess’s place, he would have sparred with Grandmother; he would not have allowed her to steal an ounce of his composure. The marquess, however, had been raised with the strictest of manners. Without a doubt, Lord Egerton was mortified.

  Grandmother lifted a brow, and I suspected she found great satisfaction in his embarrassment.

  I gritted my teeth. “For shame, Grandmother. Lord Egerton, I hope you did not pay the slightest of attentions to my grandmother. She only means to rattle you.”

  Relief flashed across his features, but then his lips fell into a frown.

  If he is quick to anger, look again, but beware of a man who sulks in too much silence.

  My shoulders tensed, and I shifted my weight. A frown was not an indication of anger necessarily, but anxiety crept in. Lord Egerton was my ticket to Bridgestone. I would be hard pressed to find another man that measured up to Grandmother’s list, especially with half the season already passed.

  “I was hoping to take tea on the back porch,” I said, offering a weak smile. “Perhaps you would join Grandmother and me?”

  “Tea?” Grandmother heaved, hacking between raspy chuckles. “Is that your solution to every uncomfortable situation, Ivy?”

  “Lord Egerton?” I asked, ignoring my grandmother completely. Even rebuttals tended to inspire her continued efforts. Besides, I was quite distracted by the frown on Lord Egerton’s face. I doubted my ever seeing such a handsome brooding man, but, still, I detested his expression. Even more so, I detested his inability to see Grandmother for what she was—an aging baroness.

  Age tended to weaken the tongue’s restraint. I had seen this happen to multiple individuals but most obvious in Grandmother. Goodness, she had always had a fieriness—that I could not deny. But with mature years, and the death of Percival, came an even greater tongue-loosening. No topic seemed sacred to her now, no scolding capable of keeping her tongue from wagging.

  Lord Egerton cleared his throat, and his expression returned to that of polite smiles and benign glances. His ability to school his features should have been admirable, but I inwardly cringed. More worrisome than his offense was his ability to mask it. What else had he masked in his pursuit of me?

  “Yes, tea would be lovely. Thank you, Miss Linfield.” He looked to Grandmother.

  Her nose scrunched near the brim, and her eyes lifted to mine. Behind the wrinkled lips and blank stare, Grandmother’s amusement screamed.

  I nearly lost my balance. Had she meant to test the marquess’s temperament?

  She stood, legs shaking, and motioned for me. “Come, help me to the outside table. Tea does do a spot of good now and again, particularly when you have lost all appetite for conversation.”

  I shot her a look of disdain, warning her in every possible way I knew how.

  Her brows, thinned to mere lines, lifted. “On second thought, perhaps I will send Pearl as chaperone. My morning’s activities have tired this old body.”

  Lord Egerton let out a slow breath.

  Her exit brought the same relief to me, though I dared not hint at the fact. Instead, I lead the marquess to the outside table, waiting until Pearl took her seat near the door.

  I stifled a smile. Less than a week ago, I had sat on the terrace for tea with Henry. Grandmother made no fuss about chaperones nor manners nor anything of the like. All the more humorous—Henry was decidedly less careful than the future duke. I doubted the marquess had, nor would he ever, chase an attacking flock of turkeys from a poor understudying gardener or climb beneath a refreshment table at Almack’s.

  Lord Egerton appeared as tightly wound as a well-ordered estate—lovely yet regulated in every single regard. I imagined he kept his own lists of manners, his own letter of wife requirements. I scanned him. He knew little about me, little that mattered anyway, but he considered me a suitable match. I wondered at his list; what did it include, and would I measure up if he knew more than my manners and pleasantries?

  Another set of lists in my life might bring about my death, or, at the very least, the death of any semblance of joy and spontaneity.

  The marquess sat across from me, and a tray of tea was set between us.

  I sighed. “I hope you will forgive Grandmother. She is absurd and nearing senility, but she has a good heart.”

  “Certainly. I could not harbor ill feelings against anyone so connected to you.” He took the smallest, yet drawn out, sip of tea between words. “I imagine she hardly remembers etiquette.”

  I gasped. “Pardon?”

  He took another sip of tea, just as minuscule as his first and just as long in duration. “Forgive me. I only meant that allowances are made for those advanced in years.”

  “Of course.” I tucked my napkin beneath the table.

  Lord Egerton smiled, reminding me again of his perfect teeth and how handsome he was. “Miss Linfield, do you remember what we spoke of at the picnic?”

  I might have spewed tea all over my lap, had I not had the sense to inhale it instead. I coughed and took another drink. “Yes.”

  His shoulders seem to lose a touch of their rigidness. He leaned forward in his seat. “And have you considered how you feel about my intentions?”

  I nodded, though I felt like shaking my head and fleeing. Why did I hesitate? A careful tea-sipper was hardly reason enough for rejection. His annoyance at Grandmother was even less of a reason. On the contrary, irritation was to be expected.

  Lord Egerton fit Grandmother’s list. Yet…my stomach rolled. “I have considered your attentions.”

  Love was built over a lifetime, as my father often said. I could—and I would have to—learn to love Lord Egerton to secure Bridgestone. He was handsome and kind, good and gentle; he had wealth and title, connection and manne
rs.

  He took another sip of tea, this one so small that I doubted liquid even passed down his throat. His cheeks drained of color once more, and he stood from the table, banging his knees against the top.

  I startled. Had I spoken out loud? “Lord Egerton, are you well?”

  He shook his head emphatically, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his brow. “Yes, I—I only remembered a matter of business I am to take care of.”

  “So suddenly?” I lifted a brow.

  He pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to me. “I do believe you already know the contents of this letter, but I wish you to know the sincerity of my efforts. The words were written for you and no one else.”

  I accepted the paper, but a sense of bewildered dread settled upon my shoulders.

  “Good day, Miss Linfield,” he said, bowing.

  My voice cracked against my farewell, and my eyes remained fixed to the paper. When he was gone, and Pearl returned to her quarters, I unfolded the letter. My eyes scanned the first word, and I let out a shaky groan.

  Fairer skin I have never seen,

  Nor fairer eyes of brown and green.

  What can this heart’s desperation mean?

  For you, my love, remain my queen.

  For all your kisses, I do pray.

  My heart is yours, here on display.

  Can I more clearly but convey

  My love for you won’t want a day.

  If all the stars would but align,

  If you will only say you are mine,

  Then I would thank my God divine,

  For twisting my life in with thine.

  Worry encompassed me, and I shivered. A drop of rain pelted my folded arms. I ducked inside the back door. More raindrops were sure to follow; a storm was on its way in.

  Chapter 18

  …he should look well standing near a tree…

  I threw the list to the sofa. Of all things to require! He should look well standing near a tree? I could not read the list again; I had already reviewed it three times that morning.