A Garden for Ivy (The Wednesday Club Book 3) Read online

  Prudence nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I enjoy your company, and I know Ivy does as well.”

  He cleared his throat. “Has she…um…she has said so? To you?”

  “Indeed, yes,” lied Prudence without a blink. “She has often mentioned how charming it is that you accompany me with such regularity.”

  “Ah.”

  “And now I must go and change,” she turned away and hid her smile. “I have a session with the seamstress, and then I’m coming back for Monsieur Durande.” She glanced at him. “Just to brush up on my dancing. Did you have anything you needed me to do this morning?”

  “No, that is quite acceptable. I trust you will enjoy yourself.” He smiled benevolently. “Remember that Mrs Hallowfield will be here at three for your music lesson.”

  Prudence sighed. “I remember. And I have practised my piece, as you are well aware.” She rolled her eyes. “I think the kitchen cat sings better than I do, but I shall endeavour to improve.”

  “Good,” he waved his hand at her. “Go and have some fun. Buy a pretty dress. You’ll wear it much better than the kitchen cat would.”

  Prudence laughed and quit the room, thanking her lucky stars yet again for such a kind and gentle uncle. The suspicion that he might have a more than passing interest in Ivy Siddington was growing, slowly but surely.

  Perhaps she might be the one to do something about that.

  If the opportunity arose…

  Chapter Two

  The sound of laughter filled the parlour at Davenport house as the friends settled in for a comfortable morning’s gathering. They were falling into the habit of meeting under such convivial circumstances at least once a fortnight—more often if they could manage it.

  Judith and Rose, being possessed of husbands, weren’t always able to drop everything and scurry off to Lydia’s, but since both Ragnor and Miles were part of the circle established at the Wednesday Club, they announced that they understood the need for regular social interaction.

  The ladies approved, knowing full well that the gentlemen had a pretty good idea the conversation would be along the lines of curiosity, fashion, potential husbands, and the latest scandal. Did they gossip? Of course not.

  They would have strenuously denied such an accusation.

  Did they discuss the most recent events within the world of London society? Most definitely. But never with glee over someone’s discomforts or acrimony over a downfall or two. And as it happened, things were quiet on this particular morning.

  Lydia and Rose were already settled near the fireplace, now boasting a lovely vase of flowers as the spring weather brought warm days and eliminated the need to hover around a crackling fire. Judith arrived, to be told how delightful she appeared in the latest shade of cerulean blue, and Ivy rounded out the group, bringing with her several amusing stories about her visit to the brand-new Burlington Arcade.

  The women shared a fascination with the idea of a covered street, and the descriptions of the fancy jewellery and fashionable items offered for sale there kept their interest alive.

  “Was it as elegant as everyone is saying?” Lydia leaned forward.

  Ivy thought for a moment. “Well, since a Cavendish is behind its creation, then yes, elegance is indeed a good adjective. And the fact that it is covered, and there are plenty of Hussars on patrol—it makes one feel very secure.”

  Rose tilted her head. “Lord George’s regiment? The 10th?”

  “I believe so,” grinned Ivy. “You’ve been listening to Miles.”

  “Well, yes,” laughed Rose. “I certainly wouldn’t have known, otherwise. But he has spoken of it too. And his thoughts align with yours on the elegance and security.” She glanced around. “Although he heard that Cavendish had the thing built to stop people from throwing rubbish over the wall of Burlington House.”

  After a second or two of silence, all four women burst out laughing.

  “The height of absurdity, but truly a case of where all’s well that ends well,” said Lydia, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “What an enormous project to stop flying rubbish.”

  Ivy shook her head. “That’s London Society for you.”

  The conversation turned general for a while and after tea had been drunk, Ivy re-directed their focus.

  “I have one little tidbit to share,” she began, noting the others fixing their attentions on her face.

  “Do tell,” urged Judith.

  “Well, as you know, I’m spending quite a bit of time with Prudence, these days.” She paused. “Which actually is working out quite nicely. She is just the dearest girl, so I’m happy to be a sort of chaperone.”

  “I agree. She’s a sweetheart,” nodded Lydia.

  “I got an interesting letter a week or so ago. After our last meeting, I believe…” She frowned in thought.

  “Never mind the timing, dearest, get to the meat of it. What was in the letter?” Lydia urged her on with words and a beckoning of her hands.

  “Um,” began Ivy, “it was from the Duke.”

  “Goodness.” Rose blinked. “He writes his own letters?”

  Ivy lifted her chin a little. “He works very hard, Rose. From the little chance I’ve had to observe his life, he’s not all about horses and mistresses and gambling, you know. He’s not that kind of Duke.”

  Judith leaned back in her chair, a look of interest on her face. “So what kind of Duke would you say he is, Ivy?”

  “One that works very hard indeed,” she answered without hesitation. “And yes, he does write his own letters.” She blinked. “All right, I will qualify that…he probably has a secretary to do much of his correspondence, but this letter, the one that I received, was definitely from him.”

  “Accepted and agreed.” Lydia nodded. “But if you don’t get to the contents of the dratted thing shortly, I will be forced to get up from this chair, walk across the room, and pull your hair. Hard.”

  Amidst the ensuing mirth, Ivy sighed dramatically. “Oh very well.” She looked around at her friends. “His Grace is devoted to Prudence, as you know. Apparently she has often expressed the desire for a garden party. Something she read about when she was a child and the notion stuck in her head.”

  “Well that’s lovely,” said Judith equitably. “A nice idea.”

  “Yes, it is.” Ivy agreed. “So his Grace wishes to set up one for Prudence. As spring is upon us, he is wondering if I can help him arrange it in time to celebrate her birthday.”

  “How lovely, and how thoughtful of him,” declared Rose. “He has just gone up a good many points in my estimation.”

  “Well now,” cautioned Ivy. “There is one small problem in his plans.”

  “What’s that?” Lydia looked at Ivy, brows drawing together. “It can’t be the expense. He could afford to hire Vauxhall gardens if he chose to.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s not the expense. It’s that he has no garden here in London at all.”

  “Oh.” Rose sat back and puffed out her cheeks. “Hmm. That’s a bit of a problem…”

  “He’s asked me to help him make one.” Ivy bit her lip.

  “Er…” Judith blinked.

  “Quite,” sighed Ivy.

  “Can you make a garden?” asked the ever-practical Lydia.

  “Well, yes, probably.” Ivy squared her shoulders. “I mean I do know about plants, of course. It’s a hobby of mine. Not one that I get to explore too often here in London, but at Siddington Castle my grandmother allows me free rein.”

  “He’s not anticipating you arriving with a shovel and a trowel in hand, I’m hoping?” Judith grinned at her friend.

  Ivy laughed back. “Goodness, I shouldn’t think so. But he has asked if we could discuss it. And if I had some thought as to its direction.”

  “Oh. Well then.” Lydia pursed her lips. “And do you?”

  Ivy considered the question. “As a matter of fact, yes. I do.” She straightened her skirts as she gathered her words. “Hartsmere House is a lovely res
idence, but like most town homes, there isn’t a lot of surrounding land. Certainly not enough for a real garden with elements such as walks and a maze.”

  “I know the feeling,” sighed Lydia. “There are times I would do anything to be able to wander outside. But all we have is a little path between the kitchen and the mews. And that’s full of cook’s herb pots.”

  “The cost of living in town,” murmured Rose. “And probably why everyone leaves quite regularly.”

  “All true,” endorsed Judith. “But I have a sense that Ivy may have a solution?”

  Ivy nodded. “Hartsmere has the same sort of thing, a shortage of outdoor space. But it does have enough that a kind of terrace has been created. Nothing huge, but a paved area with a small stone bench.” She shifted on her chair as she tried to describe it with her hands. “Now right next to it is an old carriage house, and although it’s not very large, it could be included in the terrace. The old walls could be removed, leaving only a few columns supporting the roof…it would be a charming and shaded place to sit, once completed. And also quite private.”

  “Oh, that sounds brilliant.” Lydia nodded enthusiastically.

  “No expense will be spared, I assume?” Judith grinned.

  Ivy raised an eyebrow. “It’s Hartsmere House. No, no expense will be spared.” She sighed. “I’m thinking of a fountain. It needs the sound of water.” She once again moved her hands, mimicking the rippling of cascading droplets. “It is in front of the windows in the largest parlour, which isn't used very much since it has no view of anything at all. Imagine how lovely it would be if there were French doors that could be opened during those warm summer evenings, and the sound of the fountain could echo through the room…”

  “So now you’re not only creating a garden, knocking down an old carriage house and building a fountain, you’re knocking out a back wall of Hartsmere House?” Rose eyed her friend with a degree of astonishment.

  “Um…yes. Basically, that’s my plan.” Ivy lifted her chin. “What do you think?”

  There was a respectful silence for a moment or two.

  “I think it’s a lovely plan,” approved Lydia. “But I also think you’re completely unhinged to take it on yourself.”

  Ivy had to laugh. “Yes, you’re probably quite right.”

  *~~*~~*

  The Wednesday Club was in full swing; music played, skirts whirled around shining boots in the ballroom, and more attendees thronged the tables kept filled with the delicious nibbles for which the entire evening was becoming known.

  Lady Maud surveyed the proceedings with a satisfied air.

  “Lovely as always, my Lady,” said Ivy, coming to her side with a smile.

  “I’m pleased,” agreed Maud. “I wasn’t sure, to be honest, if this entire idea would work, or fall flat on its face, thus embarrassing me in front of all the Almack’s patronesses.”

  “Well now you have your answer.” Ivy gazed at the smiling faces, many of whom were well-known arbiters of fashion. “Almack’s will always be Almack’s, but you have offered an alternative that many of us prefer.” She chuckled. “And I’m not just talking about the food, but I will admit that for the gentlemen that’s an incentive.”

  “Ah yes. Men and their appetites.” Maud grinned. “Speaking of that…where’s his Grace this evening?”

  Ivy sighed. “He and Prudence are out of town at the moment. They have guests at Maidenbrooke Castle.” She turned to Maud. “Which reminds me. I have an odd question you might be able to help with.”

  Maud glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Go ahead. I adore odd questions.”

  “Do you know anyone who could build a fountain?”

  Maud blinked for a moment. “A fountain?”

  “Yes.” Ivy looked around and leaned closer. “And it’s to be a surprise, so if you could keep this conversation between the two of us, I’d be most grateful.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” answered Maud wryly. “I don’t get asked about fountains very often.”

  “You don’t?” Ivy bit her lip. “Oh dear. Well then, never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you with such a strange request.”

  “No, no. Wait.” Maud put her hand on Ivy’s arm. “I may not get asked much, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know someone who might help…”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked,” laughed Maud. “Yes, really. He helped Laurie when we wanted to make some changes here a couple of years ago.” She thought for a moment. “I wonder if he still has offices in town.”

  “Who’s that, darling?” Sir Laurence came up silently behind them and made both women jump.

  “Goodness, Sir Laurence.” Ivy held a hand to her heart. “You do sneak up.”

  “Sorry,” he grinned, looking completely unrepentant.

  “He does it all the time,” complained Maud. “But since you’re here…do you know if the O’Malleys still have an office in town? Are they still working in London?”

  Sir Laurence paused, glanced curiously at his wife, and then at Ivy. “She’s not talking about tearing anything down and rebuilding, is she?” He tipped his head toward Maud.

  “Not at all,” chuckled Ivy. “I’m the one who needs help. I have some…um…stonework that needs doing. I was wondering if you might have a recommendation for someone to do it.”

  “Then O’Malley is your man. His workers are excellent and I’d certainly recommend them for that sort of thing.” He paused in thought. “And yes, I believe I might have their direction here in London. Remind me before you leave, Miss Ivy, and I’ll jot it down for you.”

  “I will be eternally grateful, Sir Laurence. I know absolutely nothing about masonry, so an expert’s advice will be most welcome.”

  Maud nodded. “Agreed.” She glanced at Ivy. “If you’ll forgive my familiarity…and with your colouring my dear, you must get asked this all the time…how much Irish is there in your heritage?”

  Ivy shook her head. “None, as far as I know. Although I believe my companion, Elvina, was originally from somewhere in southern Ireland. But that’s all I can tell you. The Siddingtons are a mix of bits of everything, as are so many of such families, so if there is a dash of Irish in the familial stew, it’s not anything I’ve ever heard of.”

  “I only asked because O’Malley’s is owned and staffed by Irishmen. I think they’ll be charmed to work with a young lady whose appearance might well remind them of home.”

  Ivy shrugged. “As long as they don’t expect me to break into songs about the Emerald Isle, it’ll be fine.”

  “There’s a lovely one about the lass from…”

  Maud elbowed her husband sharply in the ribs. “Not now, dear.”

  “Ow.” He massaged his side and frowned at her. “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “I know that song.”

  “Oh.” He sighed. “I forgot.”

  “Perhaps some other time, Sir Laurence,” said Ivy, biting back a laugh. “But I would appreciate an address for the O’Malley’s if you have one.”

  “Of course, my dear. I’ll pop along to my study and get it for you right now.” He grinned at Maud. “Before my wife decides to break another rib.”

  Maud sighed as he left. “The O’Malleys are excellent, Ivy,” she said, ignoring her departing husband. “Sir Ronan, the owner, has a great deal of well-founded pride in his organisation. Apparently they’ve been stonemasons for more than a few generations.” She returned to her surveillance of the ballroom. “His family was recognised with a title and lands many years ago, back when some minor royal decided to buy land in Ireland and the O’Malleys built him the finest home in the county.”

  “That really does sound exactly like the sort of organisation I need to help with my project,” mused Ivy. “Perhaps this Sir Ronan might have some suggestions that would help. I expect he has years of experience under his belt.”

  Maud’s lips curved into an attractive, if enigmatic smile. “I’m sure he does.”

 
; Ivy couldn’t help but wonder, as the hours progressed, exactly what that odd little smile signified. But since she had the O’Malley direction in her reticule, she counted the evening a complete success.

  Tomorrow she would learn for herself if this Sir Ronan would live up to Lady Maud’s recommendation. She was rather looking forward to it.

  Chapter Three

  True to her plan, Ivy set off the following morning with the address of the O’Malley business offices clasped in her hand. Her maid wasn’t quite sure about the entire matter, since she’d been conscripted to accompany her mistress while she walked from Vine Place into the City proper; a lengthy stroll over more than a mile.

  Why Miss Ivy couldn’t have taken a carriage was beyond her, and she panted as she followed her young mistress’s footsteps.

  “Keep up, Betty.” Ivy slowed her pace. “We’re almost there.”

  “Thank God,” muttered the maid, clearly fighting for breath.

  “You should come down to Siddington Castle. A few walks around there and you’d be able to run all over London without a problem.”

  The look she received in answer to this bracing comment spoke volumes. “If you say so, Miss Ivy.”

  “I do indeed.” Ivy’s lips twitched, but she refrained from pursuing the matter by glancing down at the paper in her hand. “This is it, I believe. The O’Malley offices should be here on the ground floor.” She glanced at Betty. “Let’s go and find out, shall we? I expect there are chairs, so you can rest.”

  “Then God bless the O’Malleys,” replied Betty earnestly, making Ivy laugh aloud.

  The building was tidy, clean, and Ivy found no complaints as she and Betty walked down the wide corridor toward the rear. The tile beneath their feet gleamed, as did the beautiful wainscoting. Clearly the occupants made sure their surroundings were well cared-for.

  A large door with a sign next to it brought Ivy to a halt. “Aha.” She nodded. “Here they are. O’Malley Stoneworks. Excellent.”

  Without hesitation, she opened the door and peered inside.