A Provision For Love (Entangled Inheritance Book 1) Page 17

  However, once in the comfort of the floral-papered room, I was horrified to find that no solace was to be found. Rather, I was only further agitated when the men entered and I overheard my father and Lord Egerton speaking.

  “Then I shall come to speak to your daughter in the morning.”

  My head reeled at the implication. Tomorrow I would gain Bridgestone. Yet in the process, I would undoubtedly lose my heart.

  * * *

  My fingers slipped about the pianoforte’s keys, clashing in dissonance and disaster. I repeated the measure to no avail. My mind was like a kaleidoscope, spinning and spitting different patterns; my mistakes were no surprise.

  I was to await Lord Egerton. My father informed me of his desire to speak with me that morning, privately.

  The drawing room door cracked open, and my father’s face peeked inside. “Practicing I see.” He hesitated, as if awaiting an invitation.

  I motioned for him to sit at my side. “Practicing without success. Perhaps you can assist me.”

  He scooted into the room, closing the door behind him. “I shall take a crack at it.” His thinning hair was slicked to one side, and his steps were as measured as his perfected attire. He sat at the bench beside me, placing his fingers over mine. “I have not played since your mother…”

  I nodded. There was no use making him finish the sentence. Neither of us wished to recount my mother’s many years of illness and her untimely death. At times, the loss of my mother felt empty. She was lovely and kind but so very ill, so very confined to bed. I often wondered if I mourned the loss of what might have been more than her.

  My father tapped his shoes in time, and we began to play the first line of Haydn’s masterpiece. The warmth of my father’s hands over mine, the confidence he had in me, seemed to clear my mind, and we finished the page in perfect time. His skills at pianoforte were infinitely superior to his off-key singing voice.

  “There,” he said, shifting his weight. The bench creaked beneath us. “I did nothing to help you. You only needed to know you could.”

  My shoulders caved forward.

  “Ivy…” My father shook his head and pursed his lips. “I do wonder if I should speak to you about something else, something of much greater importance than music, something that will impact your life inordinately more…” He stopped, watching me for approval.

  Providence knew I needed advice—and not the type that came from Grandmother. My father rarely spoke of private affairs, but the fact that he wished to now only reaffirmed the importance.

  I dipped my chin. “Please.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Lord Egerton.”

  “Yes?”

  His lips parted, then closed, then opened once more, and his struggle was reaffirmed again by his twitching brows.

  I nudged his shoulder with my head. “Go on.”

  He swallowed. “In your choice to marry, you are choosing a forever.”

  “But Mother—”

  He put a finger to his lips. “Ivy, I believe you know what I mean. You will never again be in such a position, a position to decide the course of your life. Will you become a duchess, will you spend your summers at Bridgestone, or will you choose something else entirely?”

  “You do not approve of the marquess?” I asked.

  “Lord Egerton is well enough, if I were not convinced you cared for another.”

  I winced, closing my eyes. “What can you mean?”

  Time ticked on, as if we were the only two in the whole world. Something hung in my father’s next words, something I scarcely dared to believe; hope—hope that he might help me clear up my muddled heart and contrary wishes, hope that my father might be able to offer me an escape from the pressures of society and the possibility of losing Bridgestone if I chose wrongly.

  My father waited until I met his glance once more, and only then did he speak. “Ivy, your letters this spring and summer—I believe I came to know you in a different way. You are no longer a child, no longer a girl in need of tutoring and governesses. I believe you are well equipped for your future. A suspicion arose very early in your letters, if only by the sheer amount of times you mentioned…”

  “Henry?” My voice cracked.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  Words escaped me. My breath caught in my chest, and emotion clawed at any semblance of my composure. I moved away from the pianoforte, stopping only when I came to the window. The rolling carriages and strolling companies were a welcome distraction—or perhaps I felt less vulnerable there than sitting beside my father.

  “Lord Egerton spoke to me briefly two days ago, and again at the dinner last night. He is wealthy and respectable and enough to make any father proud. However, you will not fail anyone by rejecting Lord Egerton’s proposal. Conversely, I believe you will fail a great many people by choosing to marry for the sake of inheriting stone and dirt.”

  “Stone and dirt?” His words cracked against my heart, summoning my tears. “How can you—a man set on dividends and profits—say such a thing? Even so, it is not only Bridgestone on the line. Memories and places, dearer to me than any others—did you not know what Bridgestone was to me? It was there I found freedom, freedom from our home that was always darkened by illness and death, freedom from my constant tutoring and rules and lists, freedom to spend hours in the gardens laughing with Percival. So you see, Father, Bridgestone has never been about dirt and stone—not to me, and not to Henry.”

  His steps against the carpet were almost as soft as his next words. “Dearest daughter, I do not mean to downplay your interest in the inheritance.”

  A sobbed parted my lips. “Then what are you about?”

  He placed a hand against my shoulder, but I did not face him. “I only wish to keep your heart free as well.”

  I shook my head frantically. There was no guarantee that Henry returned my feelings, no guarantee that I would ever be offered for by such a respectable match as Lord Egerton again. How could I possibly turn down the marquess—and my certainty for Bridgestone—based on a feeling, a feeling that was only answered with possibility?

  “He very well may care for you, too. Then, you might have Bridgestone and love.” When I shook my head again, my father retreated from me.

  I heard the clink of the door’s latch, and I collapsed against the window seat. I had no way of knowing if Henry cared for me or another woman entirely—or if I could trust any action or sentiment of my competitor.

  Chapter 23

  “Miss Linfield.”

  The sound of my name on his lips, though infinitely preferable over Lord St. Vincent’s, still scratched against my ears. There was something so disheartening about being addressed so formally. I blinked, grateful my tears had dried in the thirty minutes before his arrival. “Lord Egerton, please take a seat.”

  After the discussion with my father, I had fled to the back porch for tea. I craved the comfort of tradition, and I hoped it would carry me through this exchange.

  His light brows knitted. “I prefer to stand.”

  I managed a nod. I looked back to the table and chair and my half-eaten scone. What had I been thinking eating at a time like this? I knew his design. I ran my tongue over my teeth, hoping any unsightly crumb might be done away with.

  A single bird had perched atop the terrace roof, chirping the same lonely tune for the past twenty minutes. Haunting beauty resided in the melody. Even now, as Lord Egerton stared at me with increasing intensity, the bird continued its song.

  “Shall we go to the drawing room?” I asked, fearful my worry was far too apparent. I brushed the remaining crumbs from my skirt, wondering how I had been so clumsy in the first place.

  He stepped into the sunlight, and the effect highlighted each of his elegant features. The marquess was strong, handsome, and regal—not to mention kind and good. He would make an excellent husband. A future duke and Bridgestone—my life was destined for more fortune than most.

  “I wonder if you know my purpose in callin
g on you today?” He tucked both hands behind his back, shifting his weight. His lips trembled. “I wonder if you might guess my intention as we are alone, without a chaperone.”

  Miss Worthington had prepared me for such an occasion. The game of courting was one of which both male and female had particular parts to play—the female as the docile and unsuspecting one, and the male as the dealer at cards, bold and decisive. Yet, I could not force a wide-eyed glance or deferring remark.

  I twisted the fabric of my skirt, summoning all courage. “I imagine I do know why you are here.”

  He took two steps toward me, landing an arm’s-length away. “I do not pretend to know everything about you, or your every hope and dream, but I believe we might get on very well together.”

  My eyes darted toward his, examining his expression. His eyes held no pretense, but neither did they hold tenderness—the kind I had seen on multiple occasions in Henry’s glance. I rubbed a finger over one eye, hoping to clear my vision.

  “I am to come to my full inheritance this year, after I marry. I have searched for a suitable wife for these past two years, Miss Linfield—a wife that will uphold her duties to my family and honor and society’s expectations. In my search, I have found few candidates worthy of such praise, and even fewer that inspire my affection.” He paused, and I noticed how very flushed his cheeks had become. A line of perspiration fell by his hairline. “Miss Linfield, I admire your every word and deed. I cannot imagine a more beautiful woman to spend my life with. Please accept my sincere offer, and consent to be my wife.”

  I clasped my fingers to my chest, shivering at their iciness. ‘Yes’ was such a simple word to say. One word and my entire future would be decided. One word and Bridgestone would be mine.

  Lord Egerton, seeming to sense my hesitancy, took my arms in his hands. “Miss Linfield, I beg you will accept my offer. I will be the dearest of husbands. You shall not want for anything, and I will see to the care of Bridgestone.” Before I could gather my senses, the marquess bent down and placed a kiss upon my lips. “Miss Linfield, say you will be my wife.”

  His kiss was dry and quick. I stumbled over my words. “My lord, I—”

  He pressed his lips to mine once more. The movement was just as hard, just as abrupt.

  Grandmother’s list flashed before my mind:

  A husband, of course, should a kisser be…but he must command a repertoire. A man’s kisses should have fire and passion, yes…but he must have the art of kissing kind and gently too.

  I pulled away with sudden clarity, understanding exactly what was to be done. Difficult as it was, I could not accept the man standing in front of me.

  Chapter 24

  “Where is the tea?” Henry’s steps against the porch came to a halt, and he glanced from the empty table to me.

  A pair of robins fluttered past me to the rose garden. Their song was as cheery as the sun-filled morning—warm, gentle, and melodious. The day seemed to promise brighter endings, or at least a more hopeful beginning.

  I brushed my fingers over the terrace railing. The business of yesterday hung heavy on my heart; Lord Egerton had been difficult to dissuade. In fact, despite my protests, the marquess pled with me to consider his offer for the next week.

  “I thought we might walk the small garden for our final review,” I said, attempting to steady my words.

  Never before had I felt so sure of a decision. However, being that confident did not lessen the risk or ensure my happiness. I would forfeit Bridgestone—as I had already done with my heart—to Henry. He would take care of my beloved estate, but I doubted he had the least idea of my affection.

  Henry’s voice cracked. “Final?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself, still glancing at the garden below. I loved Henry, but I was not so selfless to forget the stab of losing my beloved summer home. Explaining my failure would only further the ache. “Yes, the final.”

  “Maybe we should sit then.”

  I shook my head, still unable to face him. Seeing his warm eyes, the golden and green flecks amongst the brown, would be my undoing.

  He moved beside me. “Well then. Shall I begin? Let us begin with my congratulations.”

  My eyes rounded, and I turned to him. “Your congratulations?”

  “Yes.” Henry’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and his features fell flat. “I am happy for you, Ivy. I understand what Bridgestone means to you, and despite my own sentimentality, I hope you know that I am—”

  “You offer your congratulations?” I asked again. My eyes burned, and I swallowed hard. Henry believed I had accepted Lord Egerton’s proposal; he believed I would stop at nothing to win, just as when I was a child in the grassy field playing croquet.

  He pursed his lips and nodded. The wrinkles near his eyes deepened, and his voice wavered. “Perhaps we should begin the review. Lord Egerton has passed each of your grandmother’s tests with ease, at least from my perspective. Shall I go down the list?”

  Admiration swelled within me—and I wanted to curse Henry’s name. How could he stand before me so composed, so congratulatory, when he believed he had lost Bridgestone? I knew what that place—and Percival—meant to him. I clasped my hands in front of me. “Let us get on with it then.”

  Henry pulled out a folded paper from his pocket. I knew the handwriting as well as my own—Grandmother’s list. “Very well. The man you love…Does he have mountains in his eyes? Do his eyes sweep across the plains?”

  A sudden thought buzzed inside my mind, nearly robbing me from all rationale. The man I love. I surveyed Henry’s eyes for a long moment. “Yes, I believe he does have mountains in his eyes, at least as I understand it. His gaze is warm and observant and unfailingly kind. I see a life of adventure with him at my side.”

  Henry’s brows rose. “And what about his laughter, is it hearty? Are his lips kind?”

  My own lips tugged, though my heart banged against my chest at an alarming rate. “Yes, I believe there is no greater sound in the entire world than that of his laughter.”

  Henry’s cheeks flushed. He pushed a hand through his tousled waves. The light beat against each strand, highlighting the depth of browns and reds. “And his lips?”

  I nodded. “Very kind. And before you even ask, his hair is precisely as Grandmother described…with more than a couple unruly locks against his forehead.”

  Disbelief broke through his lips, but he continued. “I will defer to your judgment as I am sure you know the marquess much better than I do. Carrying on…Does he fawn in the company of others?”

  “Not at all. Never.”

  Again, Henry’s expression betrayed his disbelief. However, he pressed on once again. “Does he clink his coins with glee, and does he welcome competition with manly zest?”

  “The man I love is not a miser.” My throat throbbed with every breath. Goodness, how had I missed Henry’s adherence to the tenets of the letter? I recalled the way he had risen to the love-letter challenge at the marquess’s dinner party.

  “And competition?”

  A smile spread across my cheeks, though the memory brought with it pain—pain for my own stupidity and blindness. “Yes, he is a formidable opponent.”

  Henry stared at me, as if sensing the heartache behind my thinly veiled smile. “Ivy.”

  I closed my eyes, gripping the railing. “Continue.”

  His silence lasted only a moment, and then his baritone voice moved to the next item. “Is he at home with dogs, horses, guns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he vain?” Henry asked.

  I opened my eyes and looked to the flowers. Henry was far from vain; in fact, I rather doubted he understood in the least how handsome he was—his two dimples on one side of his cheek and chin, the freckle beneath one eye, the line between his brows whenever he worried, or the charming way his lashes tangled together. “No.”

  “Does he speak well of his companions?”

  Unexpected laughter climbed my throat, and I s
wallowed hard to keep it from escaping. I had only witnessed Henry speak ill of one person—Lord Egerton. But they were not friends, not by choice at least. “Yes, I believe I can say he, as a rule, does speak well of those in his acquaintance.”

  Henry pressed his finger to my grandmother’s list, squinting in the sun beating directly across his olive cheeks. “What of his carriage? Does the man you love like the feel of leather and the smell of new hay in a field? Does he look well standing near a tree?”

  Again, how had I missed such obvious signs? Henry lived for the outdoors as much as I did. He was often seen in a leather saddle, riding the fields of Bridgestone. “As for his carriage, I cannot say. Yet, the man in question does like leather and fields of all kinds.”

  Henry tapped his finger against the paper. Impatience settled along his brow. “And what of his looks by a tree?”

  My heart raced. Henry looked rather well no matter what he stood near. “Yes.”

  “What of his solid walk and animal grace?”

  Each of Grandmother’s tenets pressed against my chest, as if her entire plan all along led to this—my helpless realization. Love fit no list, yet Henry fit mine. Bridgestone was not worth sacrificing my heart, yet with Henry, I might have both. “Yes.”

  “And a gift? I believe we already discussed this…” Henry scanned the next line. “A man that loves his mother but does not worship her?”

  Henry had given me the gift of laughter. Tears balanced against my lashes, and I blinked furiously in hopes that Henry would not notice them. “He is very good to his mother. I doubt I have seen a man so committed to obedience whilst also wishing for independence.”

  Henry dropped the letter to his side. “I do not know why I pretend to read. I know this letter’s contents by heart.”

  I sighed. “We both do. Perhaps we always will—the words that Bridgestone hung upon.”

  “Right.” He dug his hands into his coat pockets, crunching the letter as he did so. “Then perhaps I should stop asking every detail. Does Lord Egerton fit the entire list? I won’t prevent you from winning Bridgestone, Ivy. I won’t.”