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

  And then I began to play.

  Chapter 12

  The back porch was a poor substitute to Bridgestone’s terrace, but I preferred to take tea out of doors. The flowers in the small garden boxes had come to full bloom, and the view of Hyde Park was unmatched. Only one detail disturbed my solitude—the unexpected guest sitting across the table.

  “You have quite the gall showing up here after your display three days ago,” I said, biting into my toast.

  Henry nearly dropped his teacup to the saucer, and the china clinked together. “Gall? I thought I made the necessity of our reviews clear. If you are to inherit Bridgestone, it will be by my approval.”

  “But the things you spoke of—”

  “Necessary, I assure you. How else would you ascertain a suitor’s partiality for leather?” Henry took a piece of toast from the platter and slathered it in jam. His lips trembled. “You think it was easy for me to conceal my amusement?”

  I blinked slowly. “You concealed it better than I did.”

  “True, your body spasmed in your attempts to keep from laughing.” He paused in the dressing of his toast. “You reminded me of cod on a line, flopping all about.”

  I scowled. “Is there nothing else you can compare me to? You had to liken me to a dying fish?”

  “You are the one that chose to mimic one.” His laughter was deep yet airy, rhythmic and childlike.

  I wanted to wallop him over the head for his absurdity—though, we were both far too old for that kind of behavior now.

  Yet, my predicament doused any threat of my own laughing. I took another sip of tea and cleared my throat. “Are you ever serious?”

  “More than you know.” He set down his toast and lightly brushed crumbs from the linen before resting his hands on the table. “Shall we begin the review?”

  I nodded.

  “Lord Egerton did not like the smell of a freshly cut field.”

  “Oh, for—”

  Henry held up a hand to stop me from interrupting. “Assuming to like the smell is different than actually liking it.”

  I leaned back and folded my arms. I would not allow Henry to reason me out of my best potential match as of yet. “Oh, no. This will not do. Lord Egerton may not have smelled the hayfield, but you cannot equate that with Mr. Knight’s confession of disgust. Lord Egerton professed fondness for leather and supposed fondness for hayfields. I consider that sufficient enough. Grandmother told me herself that the requirements are to be used as guidelines for inference.”

  “Mmm.” Henry ran his hand through his hair, seeming to contemplate. “Then you are of the opinion that Lord Egerton passes at present?”

  I nodded.

  Henry frowned. “I shall have to press him harder about horses and dogs, but we will discuss that another time. What is your assessment of Mr. Perry?”

  “Also passing, though I suppose you shall have to ask him about guns and horses.”

  “Mr. Perry will not stay in the running long. Have you not read all of your Grandmother’s requirements?”

  I huffed. “Of course I have read them.”

  Henry nodded slowly, as if waiting for me to catch on to his train of thought. When I said nothing, he imitated Grandmother’s voice. “Does he preen in front of mirrors? Forget him. Harsh is the life of a wife condemned to live her days in the company of a vain peacock.”

  “You must not mistake Mr. Perry’s fashion as vainness.” I intentionally looked Henry over from head to foot and waved a hand at him. “You would do well to take a bit more pride in your appearance.”

  “Pardon?” Henry’s voice cracked, and he examined his coat.

  I resisted the urge to tease Henry more. “Further, I have seen no indication of Mr. Perry searching out his reflection or cleaning his nails or anything that would—”

  “Fair enough.” Henry swallowed, and his glance remained fixed to the teacup on the table. “Then you still have two options, perhaps more after the dinner in two weeks.”

  A momentary silence settled between us, and he ate the remainder of his scone in silence. His dark brows furrowed, and I sensed he battled his own challenge.

  “Is something bothering you?” I asked.

  He rubbed his hands along his jaw. “My mother demands I marry by the year’s end.”

  My sympathy came to a crashing halt. A mother’s demand was infinitely less burdensome than a provisionary clause. “I was of the belief that a man could choose when and how he married.”

  Henry tossed his head back and laughed, but the sound came out haggard, desperate. “You must think me pathetic.”

  I softened. “Not pathetic, but—”

  “Insensitive to your situation?” Henry’s widened gaze met mine.

  For a moment, my heart stopped. “I have yet to meet a man that sympathizes with a lady’s obligation. You, for example, are seven years my senior. You have had seven years to experience life without being forced into an attachment, seven years to write your own marital requirements. And me? I have been raised for one purpose—to marry well. And now I’m being asked to perform that task in one season.”

  Henry folded his arms across his chest. “Can’t you see our situations are not so different?”

  I inhaled sharply. “Henry, you have multiple properties to your name. You are the heir to multiple sums of money. I have nothing to my name but a marital portion and a slight possibility at attaining Bridgestone. My entire future depends on my marriage, while only your mother’s approval hangs on your marriage. No, our situations are nothing alike.”

  “Tradition—”

  “Tradition gives little comfort.” I had interrupted too many times, but I could not bear to hear him speak of tradition and obligation.

  Henry reached across the table and took my hand. “Ivy, I am sorry.”

  The warmth of his touch tugged against my already weakened state. I sniffled and pulled my hand away. “Now, perhaps we should institute another kind of review.”

  “Yes?” Henry’s features softened.

  “Yes, a review on your progress.”

  He gasped. “Ivy, to discuss my marriage prospects is highly improper, not to mention uncomfortable.”

  My lips tugged. “I can well imagine.”

  Henry’s mouth fell open, but he recovered quickly. A soft smile replaced his expression of reproach. “Very well. I suppose your request is only fair.”

  * * *

  Dear Father,

  It has been two weeks since your last letter. How are you faring?

  My life continues to spiral into absurdity. Henry has decided to torture me in my already torturous circumstance. Despite my protests, he has taken it upon himself to investigate potential suitors. Father, even you would have cringed at his tactless questions. In the middle of Lady Sefton’s drawing room, Henry asked a group of men if they fancied the smell of a freshly cut hayfield and leather.

  I nearly died of humiliation.

  Grandmother has changed into half-mourning. She worried about her decision at first, but once she tasted London society, she seems most content to hang the blacks. For my part, I am grateful she dons grays and purples. She is severe enough without the dreary dresses.

  My first weeks in London have been encouraging. Lord Egerton has called twice this week. His visits are brief, but I do believe the future duke has shown interest in me. He has planned a dinner and asked me to provide the list of ladies for the invitations. Such an honor, though suggested by Henry, can only signify his attention.

  A Mr. Perry has also come to call—once when Henry was here to check in on Grandmother. I had to assure Mr. Perry of Henry’s relation to Percival and our general familiarity. I do believe Mr. Perry thought Henry was there to see me, which I assured him was outrageous. I was tempted to explain Henry’s claim on Bridgestone and therefore rivalry with me, but I refrained.

  Please find any excuse you can to visit London.

  All my love,

  Ivy

  * * *
r />   Dearest Daughter,

  Once again, your letter summoned my laughter. Percival’s provision is turning out to be quite the spectacle. I do believe Henry finds joy in your discomfort. Now, I must beg to make his acquaintance, for he is a man that I would undoubtedly find amusing, especially since it has been years since I saw him.

  As for freshly cut hayfields and leather—are they not the mark of manliness? I ask in jest, but I have yet to meet a man that would say otherwise, even if doing so went against his personal preference. Just as you are expected to do a great many things in lady accomplishments, so are men required to fill a mold of manliness. Therefore, I applaud the originality of any man that dares to defy the norm.

  Now, in exchange for your diverting letter, I shall recount one of my own tests that Lady Barrington put me through before permitting my marriage to your mother. Your grandmother required I memorize the lyrics to each verse in her hymnal. I was then required to perform a weekly concert, where I was tested on both lyrics and musical style. Lady Barrington claimed a God-fearing man should know every verse to every song.

  Ivy, you well know my inability to hold a note. Your mother, dear soul that she was, sat opposite me and mouthed every lyric to me. I believe Diana felt more anxious of my passing than I did.

  Needless to say, your grandmother ceased such a test after only the second week. She deemed me incapable of carrying a tune but allowed a mark for effort. Fortunately, I have since never needed to bring my hymnal, and, on occasion, when I sing a song your mother mouthed, my heart seems to smile.

  Tell me about Lord Egerton. Has he a pleasant face and disposition?

  All my love,

  Samuel Linfield

  Chapter 13

  “How very kind of Lord Egerton.” Grandmother leaned closer to the drawing-room window, inspecting the recently-arrived carriage. “The fact that he sent his carriage is a mark of his thoughtfulness, and a mark of his consideration for you.”

  I clutched my hands together; sweat threatened to soak through my new pair of white gloves. Lord Egerton’s picnic invitation seemed a clear indication of his intentions to court me. I clutched my stomach, which had been rolling since breakfast. Why was I so nervous?

  Grandmother wore her mob cap beneath a gray bonnet. The weather continued to turn lovelier with each passing day. Rain was as constant as it ever was, but the sun peeked through with growing frequency and warmth.

  “I cannot tell you how grateful I was to be included in your invitation. Many neglect those in mourning, even those in half-mourning such as me,” she said.

  Her excitement calmed my nerves for a short moment, but then I witnessed Lord Egerton climb down from the carriage.

  “Your anxieties work to your favor.” Grandmother flicked her hand toward me. “If you were to feel nothing at his arrival, I should think you uninterested. The fact that you are twisting your bonnet ribbons into such a disaster speaks of your hopes.”

  My eyes dropped to the coiled ribbons on my fingers. I released the pink satin at once and then, rather poorly, attempted to flatten out the fabric. I bit the inside of my cheek. “Shall I call for Pearl to bring me another? I do not wish to meet the duchess looking like a ninny.”

  Grandmother’s shaky hands fell over mine, stopping my fingers from their frantic attempts. Her voice became uncharacteristically tender. “My dear, you look ravishing, nerves and all. The duchess will be taken with you.”

  Emotion gathered in the back of my throat. Between the coarse layers of ice and prickles, I had hoped to find affection for me in Grandmother’s heart. Now, in her tenderness, the truth revealed itself. I pulled her hand to my lips. “Thank you.”

  We walked, arm in arm to the carriage, and I was handed up by Lord Egerton.

  “Miss Linfield,” he said, exhibiting his perfectly straight smile. “I am glad to see you looking so well.”

  I dipped my chin in acknowledgment and took a seat on the brown, velvet cushion. I scanned the interior, taking in the combed fringe trimmings and the ornamental gold accents along the window and door. The floor was meticulously clean. Instantly, words played across my mind.

  Does he keep his carriage spotless and in good hue? This could be a minus sign. A man who expends much energy and pride on an inanimate possession may in time deploy his wife to second place.

  Grandmother seemed to read my thoughts, for once seated next to me, she arched her thinning brow. She spoke the moment he entered after her. “Your coming to fetch us is the mark of a gentleman, Lord Egerton, and your carriage—I believe this is the finest I have seen.”

  “Thank you, Lady Barrington. My mother enjoys taking her lunch at Hyde Park every Thursday. The duchess, as you will find, is the kindest of women. Her one fault, however, lies in her need for exactness. She likes her carriage just so.”

  “And you do not?” I asked much too quickly. I held my breath, realizing how strange my question sounded.

  He paused, shaking his head. “I trust my staff in the keeping of my carriages and horses.”

  “Rightfully so,” Grandmother said, pursing her lips. “Percival was just the same. He trusted those under his employ, unless experience warned otherwise.”

  “Well,” he said, slightly settling back into his seat. “When we choose our staff with care, I suppose that affords us some liberties.”

  His eyes met mine, and I held his gaze, looking for something indefinable—even to myself. Something in Grandmother’s words would hopefully help me settle my thoughts. But with such a short time in front of me to be able to claim my home…I hadn’t the faintest idea how I would know for certain which gentleman would make a good match. When I thought of the love Grandmother and Percival had shared, the task of finding a husband felt far too out of my reach of experience.

  They spoke for the full fifteen-minute ride about all sorts of dull topics, each prompted by my grandmother. But my mind wouldn’t stray from the war between a suitable match and love, all the while wondering if one could lead to the other.

  More than a few times, the marquess seemed to search my face for an answer to an unspoken question, or possibly to a spoken one. His voice was pleasant, his eyes kind, and his position to be sought after. I stammered through a few responses, afraid to wonder how poorly I sounded. The sprawling park lawns finally fanned out in front of us as we reached the appointed picnic spot.

  An elegant quilt lay spread beneath a grove of trees. A table was set in the middle, surrounded by five chairs. The duchess sat in one, and another woman, who looked to be a daughter, sat in another. Three servants stood behind the table like statues.

  “I did not anticipate such an intimate gathering,” I said, blinking rapidly. The earlier flutters of my stomach were nothing to the knots coiling there now. “You might have mentioned, Lord Egerton.”

  Guilt played over his features, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I did warn you that my mother and sister, Mrs. Cumberlin, wished to meet you before the dinner, Miss Linfield. Did you not read it in the note I sent?”

  The marquess’s invitation had come with a letter, and I recalled his explaining that the duchess would be there. However, I had not understood the guest list to be comprised of solely Grandmother and me. I scratched at my throat. The carriage felt uncommonly warm. “I did, Lord Egerton. It is only—”

  “Nerves,” Grandmother said, sending me a narrowed glance before she climbed down.

  I gasped in disbelief but swallowed the irritation brewing in my pursed lips. “Yes.”

  Lord Egerton offered his hand with a kind smile. “Miss Linfield, I shall not feed you to the wolves.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I feared he already had; Grandmother was liable to eat me alive if I ruined my chances with the marquess. Where had her tender tone of earlier gone?

  Self-preservation was an interesting thing. At the slightest threat from my Grandmother, my defenses shot up, my focus narrowed—Bridgestone, the list. I raked through my memory, until another phrase of
discerning counsel came to mind.

  Look for a man who loves his mother, but be cautious of the one who worships her. He, indeed, may turn out to be a chronic son who whimpers all his days at his mother’s knee.

  “Miss Linfield?” Lord Egerton said once more, snatching me from my thoughts.

  Worry seemed to flee, for I had a mission. My lips obediently curved into a smile, and I accepted his hand, climbing down from the carriage. “Thank you.”

  Lord Egerton kept hold of my hand and commanded my attention. “I must speak with you.”

  I studied his expression. His features were steady, symmetrical, the very definition of handsome. I searched his face for some defining attribute, perhaps a freckle or dimple or line near his lips. Yet, his face was as smooth as his manners, and the unspoken question from the carriage ride remained in his flickering gaze.

  “Of course,” was my only reply.

  He led us through the shaded grove until we reached the blanket. The duchess and her daughter rose to meet us. They were both as charming as Lord Egerton—regal, and warm, with intelligence shining from their eyes.

  We greeted one another, and the duchess took my hand. Her touch was like her voice, soft and light. “Miss Linfield, my son has spoken excessively of you as of late. I demanded a meeting.”

  Lord Egerton’s cheek pinked. He cleared his throat. “Mother, shall we sit?”

  She smiled but continued speaking. Motherly pride shone from her every movement. The slant of her lips, the ring to her words, the gleam in her eyes—the duchess approved of Lord Egerton. “You will have to tell me how my son behaves at Almack’s. I am beginning to think I should attend just so I may check in on him.”

  “Your son does you credit, Your Grace,” I said, but my breath hitched. My father was also prone to exhibit parental pride. The memory of his love startled me, accompanied by both fondness and longing.