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

  I moved toward the window, resting my hand against the stone ledge in front of it. The rock was cold to the touch, a welcome change to the sun against my arms. I studied the rows of plants in the field beyond. In a month or two, the lavender would bloom into full vibrancy. Perhaps I could too.

  Chapter 2

  Grandmother ran her crooked fingers through my curls for a third time. She pressed her lips together in a tight line. Her expression appeared as rigid as her stiffened silhouette against the drawing-room window. “I was sure you understood the importance of this meeting.”

  “Yes, and I have come,” I said, offering a weak smile. Her irritation was entirely justified. Indeed, I had spent far too long in the gardens, leaving insufficient time for me to change into my afternoon gown and attend my hair. “Lady Sefton will not deny me from Almack’s list simply because my curls have gone limp.”

  I winced. I hoped that was true; I had never met the woman.

  Grandmother stepped back and lifted her chin. “I am not sure which is worse—you missing your only chance to meet with Lady Sefton before going to London or showing up with windblown curls and pinkened cheeks from running. Running, Ivy? Are you trying to put me in my grave?”

  I dropped my gaze, studying the mahogany legs of the nearby chair. Grandmother did not accept apologies nor excuses, and I had nothing else to offer.

  After an excruciating minute of silence, she sighed. “Well?”

  First, I had lost my pluck; now I had too much? The irony of the moment startled me, and I snickered. Satisfying Grandmother’s expectations might prove impossible. “Would you rather I had sacrificed my walk to the garden?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Well, no—”

  “Then you must claim your role in this curl conundrum.”

  She shifted her weight, and the corner of her lips flinched. She would never admit fault, not in the slightest, but I knew that expression: Grandmother was endeavoring with all her might to keep from smiling. “I suppose I shall count the both of us fortunate. Providence has seen to bless you with enough beauty to counter limp curls, and I am beginning to see you still have enough spirit to conquer even the most dissuadable of people.”

  Thank goodness for humor—it was my greatest defense. I released a slow breath. “Then you will forgive me?”

  She tilted her head, motioning to the front drive where Lady Sefton’s carriage rolled to a stop. “Forgiveness? That remains to be seen. Convince Lady Sefton to accept you into the ton, and I shall consider forgiving you.”

  “Convince?” I smiled, watching curiously from the window. “I had thought your friendship with the woman was enough to convince her—not to mention my study under Miss Worthington.”

  Grandmother lifted a hand to silence me.

  The front doors opened, and Lady Sefton’s footsteps echoed across the marbled entrance, growing in volume as she approached.

  I stood beside Grandmother and pulled back my shoulders. If convincing Lady Sefton was what it took to earn Grandmother’s forgiveness, I was willing to stake my acceptance into Almack’s and the ton.

  “Lady Sefton, Lady Barrington and Miss Linfield,” the butler said.

  My eyes widened. Lady Sefton was exquisite, enough so that I began to feel as small as the chair beside me. I had never known beauty to have such an effect. Her complexion was clear and smooth, and I would have doubted she was old enough to have grown daughters of her own were it not for the silver hair amongst the brown.

  “Margaret,” she said, taking Grandmother into her arms. “My home in Lancashire is so very far away from Ashford, so naturally I could not resist stopping to call on my way back from the coast. You are kind to receive me.”

  When their embrace ended, Grandmother took Lady Sefton’s hand. “Goodness, Maria, think nothing of that. I should be thanking you. You must meet my granddaughter, Miss Ivy Linfield.”

  Lady Sefton’s glance turned to me, and her lips parted in surprise. Her eyes swept over me, glistening in a curious way. “Oh, Margaret. You mean…? I had not realized that much time had passed.”

  I curtsied, overwhelmed by her glance. “Lady Sefton, a pleasure.”

  She smiled, and she took my hand. “My darling, how you favor Diana.”

  “You knew my mother?” I turned to Grandmother; she had neglected to tell me anything about Lady Sefton and my mother being acquainted.

  “Yes, we were inseparable during our first seasons.” Lady Sefton released my hand. “I introduced her to your father, you know.”

  My vision blurred. “I did not know. My mother made no mention of you before her death three years ago, and my father…” What could I say about my father? He was so reserved, even to his own daughter. He was more concerned about frugality than friends, interest rates than anything even mildly interesting. “And my father does not speak of courtships or the like.”

  Lady Sefton gave me a knowing look. I sensed sympathy in her downturned brows. “I suppose your mother would not have spoken about her season much before her death. I hear she suffered for some time—four years, was it?” Lady Sefton asked.

  I nodded. There was something about the way she asked the question that made offense impossible. “Yes. I was only eleven when she fell ill.”

  Grandmother sighed. “Please, let us sit, especially if we are to discuss Diana.”

  I sat on the settee across from Lady Sefton, still trying to picture this woman and my mother gallivanting through ballrooms and promenading along shop streets. I had always envisioned my mother far removed from her season, but perhaps the illness had made such imaginations impossible.

  “Let us discuss something else entirely. Margaret, you know how I cared for Diana, but I can see the subject brings pain to you both. Now, let us speak of Miss Linfield.” Lady Sefton squinted, tapping a finger to her chin. “Tell me, have you had a season, Miss Linfield? I don’t recall seeing your face before.”

  I shook my head. “Not yet, Lady Sefton. I leave this week. My grandmother will accompany me of course, but as she is still in mourning, she has yet to procure me another chaperone. She is considering my father’s sister, Mrs. Smith.”

  Lady Sefton’s brows lifted. “Very appropriate, I suppose. Though I must ask—which Mrs. Smith? There are so many in London. I venture to guess at least ten of my own acquaintance.”

  Grandmother cleared her throat. “Mrs. Adriana Smith. I am sure you do not know her. A frightful shame if you ask me, for all Ivy’s study under Miss Worthington! I had hoped she would make quite the splash.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, and my eyes widened entirely too much. Perhaps Grandmother would do all the convincing for me. Besides, Lady Sefton seemed the opposite of dissuadable. “I do not mind my aunt as a companion. She is a pleasant sort of person.”

  “A pleasant sort of…person?” Grandmother snickered. “Oh, dear. Maria, I am afraid my granddaughter and I have quite different ideas of pleasant. Adriana hardly speaks but three words at a time, and when she does, she is so soft spoken that I wonder at what she says at all.”

  I would have pinched my grandmother if seated next to her. Perhaps she was the one in need of Miss Worthington’s tutelage. My cheeks burned . “I disagree full-heartedly. There are times when silence is infinitely preferable to nonstop chatter or gossip.”

  “Ivy Estelle Linfield,” Grandmother said between the daggers of her glare. “You do a discredit to yourself by speaking so. I cannot have my own blood insulting me.”

  My cheeks, already red, turned considerably darker. I had not intended to insult Grandmother; rather, I meant to defend Aunt Adriana’s contemplative and quieter nature. However, my embarrassment, paired with my combative inclinations, had loosed my tongue in the most horrendous of ways—and in front of Lady Sefton!

  “I did not mean…” I shook my head. Denying would not help my case. “Forgive me, Grandmother, Lady Sefton. I simply—"

  “Margaret, she has personality—more than I can say for many ladies her age,” Lady Seft
on said, interrupting me, and then she startled me by laughing. “I think I shall adopt Miss Linfield for the season.”

  My lips parted in surprise; my impertinence had won Lady Sefton’s good opinion?

  Grandmother lifted a brow. “Personality—I suppose Ivy has plenty of that, more than you might realize, Maria. I cannot deny how happy it would make me to see you chaperone my granddaughter. Further, I have long wished to see Ivy at Almack’s. If I were not in mourning, I would see to it myself, but as things stand…”

  “Goodness, I would be honored to attend to such things.” Lady Sefton smiled, and her glance grew glazed. Her voice was silk. “I am a patroness after all.”

  The housekeeper carried in a tray of tea.

  “Ah, tea—just the thing. I always say that tea clears the head, and my granddaughter seems to—” Grandmother jerked forward in her seat, looking into the foyer. A smile lit her eyes. “Is that…Henry? Goodness, when did you arrive?”

  My heart sank to my slippers.

  “Lady Barrington,” came a deep baritone voice. “I would have come in immediately, but I saw you had company and did not wish to disturb you.”

  I held my breath. I had not seen Henry Thorne for three years, and since that time, I had come to fully understand that he would inherit my beloved Bridgestone. I clutched my hands to my lap, hoping to keep my composure. He had done nothing remarkable to earn Percival’s favor. Henry, like most heirs, was born to fortune.

  “Please, do come in, my dear boy. Lady Sefton has graced us with her presence, and Ivy has come.” Grandmother stood and motioned to me. “It has been far too long since the two of you have seen each other.”

  The sound of his footsteps jolted me to my feet. I stumbled to my grandmother’s side, attempting a pleasant expression. Just as Henry had done nothing to deserve Percival’s inheritance, he had done nothing to deserve my anger.

  His height startled me. Had he always been so tall?

  “Lady Barrington,” Henry said, taking her hand in his. He bowed, and the light from the window illuminated the highlights of his auburn hair. “I came as soon as I received your letter.”

  Grandmother smiled. “Then you are just as good as I remember. Now, you remember Miss Linfield?”

  “Of course, Miss Linfield.” He took my hand and lifted his chin to face me. His eyes narrowed, and a smile spread across his freshly shaven cheeks. “But the girl I remember was no more than twelve.” He lifted his hand, indicating the height of a child.

  I blinked. Twelve? I could hardly think of a more insulting thing to say. I pulled my hand away and curtsied. “Mr. Thorne.”

  Grandmother touched his shoulder, oblivious to my offense. “Yes, my granddaughter has grown considerably since the last time you met. Ivy will take her first season. We were only just about to discuss my wish that Lady Sefton place Ivy’s name on the list for Almack’s—”

  “Did you ever doubt it, Margaret?” Lady Sefton asked, shaking her head. “I will see to it that Miss Linfield will be placed at the top of the list. I assure you.”

  I hardly knew where to look or how to act; the sudden appearance of Henry sent my heart flipping. I bit the inside of my cheek before swallowing. “Thank you, Lady Sefton. I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

  She nodded. “I am happy to assist in any way I can. Diana would have wished it.”

  Henry’s gaze flooded over me, but he seemed entirely unconscious of the threat his presence presented to my happiness. “Miss Linfield, have you been at Bridgestone long?”

  I studied him for the first time in years—perhaps longer. He was seven years older than me, and that age gap had served to separate us. My only clear memory of Henry surrounded a game of croquet, one of which the two of us had battled well into the evening in order to pronounce a winner. At ten years old, I had claimed victory over Percival’s heir, a fact in which I had taken great pride. Perhaps that was the first wedge; we’d scarcely said more than a few sentences to one another since.

  Despite seeing Henry most summers of my childhood, I could have never described his looks...He was a blurred image in my mind. Had his cheekbones always been so pronounced, his jaw so strong and angled? I shook my head, tracing his features with my gaze. He was as much a stranger to me as Lady Sefton.

  “Ivy, Henry asked if you have been here long,” Grandmother said, nudging me.

  I startled. “No, I arrived at my grandmother’s estate only a week ago.”

  “Then you have come for the reading too?” he asked, raking his fingers through his disheveled waves. Had he come on horseback instead of a carriage?

  I sucked in a breath. “I came to visit Bridgestone and my grandmother, Mr. Thorne, but I would not miss the reading of Percival’s will. He was my grandfather, blood or not.”

  Grandmother shot me a look of reproach.

  I attempted to regain a semblance of pleasantry. “And you are on your way to London?”

  Henry’s dark brows lifted, and he nodded slowly. “Yes. My mother demands I participate in the festivities.”

  “Then she has determined it is time?” Grandmother asked, winking. She did not wait for an answer before continuing. “I admit, you’ve hung on longer than most. A man of great material means and still a bachelor. What is it—two estates to your name already, with another on the way, and a sizeable fortune? I cannot imagine a more suitable prospect for a respectable young lady.”

  I smiled, equal parts amused and relieved that Grandmother had turned her attention to someone else’s marriage prospects; she’d spent the better part of the previous day rehearsing mine—Lord William Egerton, Lord Felton St. Vincent, Mr. Hugh Knight, and Mr. Roger Perry. In that order.

  “You are well aware of my situation, Lady Barrington.” Henry’s voice cracked, but his lips twisted into a smirk. “And I see you are as perceptive as always. My mother wishes me to marry. She seems to think another season will spark my interest.”

  “And?” I asked, realizing I was still smiling. “Will it?”

  Henry scowled, and he pushed his hands into his pockets. “I imagine my interest in balls and plotting young women will remain as it has always been—near nonexistent. However, I will go to London, if only to appease my mother.”

  I took a step closer, curious. Only a slighted man spoke like that. “But you must marry.”

  His dark gaze snapped to mine with surprising intensity. “Must I?”

  My mouth parted, but no words came. Heat beat against my neck, and I fanned myself.

  His cheery disposition had turned dark in an instant. I had struck a chord, and though I knew his anger had little do with me and everything to do with expectations and his mother’s edicts, I shifted away from him.

  “Yes.” Grandmother’s tone was stern, final. “Your mother is right, Henry, and so is Ivy. You must marry if you are to carry on any kind of legacy. That is the way of life.”

  He swallowed, and his features resumed a pleasant expression. “Yes, of course, Lady Barrington. Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to my horse.”

  Grandmother touched his arm once more. “Goodness, Henry, we have grooms enough. Shall I have the cook bring a meal to your room instead?”

  “No, thank you.” His shoulders stiffened. “I shall attend to my horse myself.”

  “Very well,” Grandmother said, puckering her lips. “Then I shall see you at dinner.”

  He bowed. “Lady Barrington, Lady Sefton, Miss Linfield.”

  I watched from the window as Henry traipsed to the stables. He was not nearly as bland as my memory suggested. His striking features and pleasant conversation were enough to soften my resentment. Still, he was the man stealing my beloved summer home.

  “Ivy,” Grandmother said, slicing through my thoughts. Her voice wobbled. “You really must show him the grounds tomorrow or Thursday.”

  “Show Mr. Thorne?” My stomach rolled at the thought. “I wager he knows Bridgestone’s properties as well as Percival.”

  Gra
ndmother snickered. “I doubt there is anyone—dead or alive—that knows the grounds as well as you. Lady Sefton, did you know…”

  Her words faded into a mere hum against my ears. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the women across from me, yet the effort proved futile.

  There was something about the way Henry had challenged me and the way he had turned down Grandmother’s offers of grooms and meals. Stubbornness and independence—both qualities that Miss Worthington had faulted me for possessing—seemed to run as deep in Henry as they did me. I could not fault him for that.

  But giving Henry a tour of the grounds? Emotion stung my eyes. I could think of nothing more painful, no sharper reminder of my impending loss, than obeying Grandmother’s edict.

  Chapter 3

  I clutched the letter to my chest, skipping steps down to the gardens. The rising sun poured over the manicured lawn, beckoning me with its wide-open spaces.

  More than a month had passed since receiving word from my father.

  I unfolded the letter and smiled when I saw my father’s penmanship; each letter was precise, calculated, and careful. With a single glance, one might read his character as easily as his words.

  Dearest Daughter,

  Lady Barrington assures me that you have enjoyed good health since your arrival at Bridgestone. I am happy to hear it, but I hope it goes without saying—take heed you do not spend all afternoons outdoors. I well remember the gardens there and all their insects and poisonous snakes. I urge you to take caution. I received a snake bite near my ankle once when I was simply walking through the fields with your mother. I was most fortunate that the snake was only the pestering kind, and my wound was only surface.

  As you are to travel to London next week, I ask you to write me both at your departure from Bridgestone and your arrival at Lady Barrington’s townhome.