Outrageously Yours (3 page)

“Were men. It is one thing for a king to carry on with his mistresses, but let a queen set her big toe beyond the dictates of proper decorum, and oh!” She made a noise and tossed her hands in the air to simulate an explosion. “Royal or no, I am foremost a woman in the eyes of my subjects, and an impropriety like this ...”

“I understand.” Ivy pushed to her feet and went to stand before her queen. “What can I do?”

“Find the stone, Ivy. I don’t know how soon Albert might visit again, but I must have the stone back before he discovers the theft. What if he should speak of the stone in his letters? What will I do then?” Her eyes widened with alarm. “I couldn’t possibly lie to him.”

“Good heavens, no.” Ivy clasped her hands together and considered. “Do you have any idea who might have taken the stone?”

“Indeed, I do. One of my ladies-in-waiting, Gwendolyn de Burgh.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yesterday morning the stone was gone, and so was Lady Gwendolyn—quite without my permission. Why, she’d been asking so many questions, I should have realized her interest in the stone was more than cursory. But I trusted her as I trust all my ladies, or most of them. Never could I have imagined such treachery from within my own private chambers.”

Ivy’s heart fluttered. If only Laurel and Aidan were home. If anyone could recover the queen’s stolen property, they could. Last spring, Victoria had sent Laurel to Bath disguised as a widow in order to spy on George Fitzclarence, a royal cousin whom Victoria had suspected of treason. Together, Laurel and Aidan had followed a dizzying maze of clues to solve a murder, stop a financial fraud, and put a very nasty individual behind bars where he belonged.

But Laurel and Aidan were away in France on some mysterious business neither seemed inclined to discuss.

“If only Laurel were due back soon ...”

“No, Ivy, it is you I need.”

“But I’m not the adventurous one. Everything I know I’ve learned in books—”

“Precisely. I need someone bookish, someone who would fit in with scholars and men of science. I am all but certain Lady Gwendolyn has headed to her home outside of Cambridge. Her brother disowned her some months back, and I believe she intends giving him the stone as a peace offering. You see, he’s something of an amateur scientist, if a rather mad one, and the stone would be of particular interest to him.”

At mention of Cambridge, home of one of Europe’s most prestigious institutions of higher learning, all of Ivy’s senses came alive with interest. What she wouldn’t give to be allowed to attend lectures in those celebrated halls. The word
scientist
, too, had seized her attention. But she hadn’t at all liked Victoria’s one quick reference to the disposition of the man in question.

“Mad?”

After a brief hesitation, Victoria admitted, “Some call him the Mad Marquess of Harrow, but I’m sure it is merely collegiate fraternity nonsense. He maintains close ties with the university. That is where you will find him, Ivy, and perhaps the stone as well.”

“I see.” Ivy tapped her foot nervously on the carpet. “Then I am to appeal to him for the return of the stone.”

“Goodness, no!” Alarm pinched Victoria’s features. “He may not be mad, but neither is he known for being a reasonable man. He disowned his sister, didn’t he?”

“Then . . . ?”

“You must earn his trust. It so happens he is presently searching for an assistant for his experiments. If you could win the position, you would gain access to his private laboratory, and you could steal back what is rightfully mine.”

The outrageous proposal sent a chuckle bubbling in Ivy’s throat, one quickly coughed away when Her Majesty’s expression failed to convey even the faintest trace of humor.

This, apparently, was no jest but a true call to Her Majesty’s service, one that left Ivy more than a little perplexed. “How on earth shall I, a woman, track down a man in an academic setting? I wouldn’t gain admittance through the front gates, much less the lecture halls.”

Victoria smacked her lips together. “I have a plan for that, though admittedly a shocking one. More shocking, even, than when I asked Laurel to pose as a widow last spring and work her charms on my inebriate, adulterous cousin.”

More shocking than
that
? Ivy dreaded to ask, but ask she did. And the answer she received stunned her more than anything she had ever heard before in all her twenty-two years on this earth.

“O
h, Ivy, surely not all of it?”

In the Sutherlands’ small kitchen to the rear of the bookshop, Ivy sat perched on a high stool. A linen towel was draped over her shoulders, while another covered her lap. Holly, her twin sister, stood directly behind her, a pair of freshly honed clipping shears clutched in her trembling hand.

“Yes, Holly,” Ivy replied. “Every bit of it. But do stop shaking or you’ll nip my ears clear off.”

Sitting at the head of the oblong kitchen table, their younger sister, Willow, hugged her arms around her middle and attempted, unsuccessfully, to stifle a sob. “Couldn’t you simply tuck it up under a cap?”

“No, Willow,” Ivy responded with stoic calm that surprised even her. “Caps come off, and then what?”

“Oh, but
why
, Ivy?” Holly gathered a handful of Ivy’s nearly waist-length tresses, letting them glide through her fingers to swish down her back in a torturous reminder of what she would shortly no longer have. “Why must you cut it
all
off?”

“Because Victoria asked it of me,” Ivy said. “Because she needs me, and, as you’ll remember, we have more than once pledged to be her secret servants. Are we to go back on our word simply because of a minor inconvenience?”

“But . . . it’s so beautiful.” Willow’s last word emerged as a wail.

Ivy shook her head. “It is not so
very
beautiful.”

No, while shiny and thick, her hair had always lacked the natural curl society deemed fashionable. Being neither golden like Laurel’s nor auburn like Holly’s, nor boasting Willow’s wondrous combination of both, Ivy’s dark chestnut mane, forever slipping from its pins, possessed little to recommend it and would therefore hardly be missed, not by her or anyone else.

Yet, as Holly obediently raised the shears and began snipping, a part of Ivy cringed at each snaking shank that littered the floor at her feet. But then, her misgivings amassed around far more than hair, or the loss of it. Victoria had led such a sheltered life that she could have little grasp of the sundry ways in which this plan could go awry. A woman in trousers was bad enough, but a woman pretending to be a man and entering a university’s precincts on her own, without a proper chaperone . . . She would be ruined—ruined for all time—and the queen herself would not have the power to save her.

For several minutes the only sound in the cramped kitchen was the ticking of the wall clock and the metallic scrape of the clippers . . . and Ivy’s labored breathing, which she hoped her sisters couldn’t hear. She would simply have to make certain that no one at Cambridge ever learned the truth, or ever traced the young male student back to the Sutherland sisters. It wasn’t so much her own reputation for which she feared, for to her, marriage seemed little more than a silk-lined trap.

She’d take her books over a husband any day. If the truth be told, she wished she
could
be a university student, and spend her days reading and learning and being among the intellectuals fast shaping a modern world. As far as marriage went, she doubted she would ever be as fortunate as Laurel in finding a husband who respected her intellect and treated her as a partner rather than a subordinate.

But what of Willow and Holly? With their parents and now Uncle Edward gone to their graves, it remained up to them to make their own decisions in life, yet in a world where breeding and background played such vital roles in the marriage mart, Ivy feared her manly masquerade could utterly obliterate her sisters’ chances of future happiness.

She had not explained any of that to Victoria. She had taken a vow; they all had. Surely their queen’s needs superseded their own. . . .

“You know, of course, that I am going with you.” Holly’s assertion broke the silence and made Ivy wince.

“Me, too,” Willow said eagerly, but with a conspicuous sniffle. “We’ll simply have to close up shop for however long it takes.”

“To what purpose?” Ivy shook her head. “How many university men do you know that have female chaperones?”

Willow pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “You know very well that there are no university men in our acquaintance.”

“No, nor will there be,” Ivy said. Then, “Ouch! Holly, that was my earlobe!”

“Sorry! Hold still.”

“That’s enough. Holly, don’t cut it any shorter than that.” Willow came to her feet. Mopping her cheeks with her hankie, she cast Ivy a look of sober assessment and drew a shaky breath. “You know, it really isn’t
so
very bad.”

“How reassuring,” Ivy said drily. She gathered her courage and ran a hand through it, only to experience a burst of frustration when far too much length glided through her fingers. “That can’t be short enough. Holly, please continue and this time do the job properly.”

But Holly held the shears to her bosom and stepped back. “It is plenty short. Many a university student has unkempt hair. They either don’t have time to visit their barber or consider such details beneath their notice.”

“Holly’s right, Ivy,” Willow concurred. “And since it has suddenly taken on a propensity to curl, it feels much longer to you than it looks.”

“Truly?” From under the towel, Ivy stretched out an arm. “Holly, hand me the glass.”

“Perhaps the ends do want a bit of neatening first....”

“The looking glass, Holly, if you please.”

Ivy resolutely clamped her fingers, gone cold these many minutes, around the gilt handle. Upon discovering, however, that she was not quite as brave as she would like to pretend, she pressed the mirror facedown in her lap.

Then she looked—
really
looked—at each of her sisters in turn. Were they horrified by her new appearance? Dismayed? Their countenances revealed no trace of either sentiment. Quite the contrary. But then, Ivy had long considered herself the least attractive of the four Sutherland sisters. That she might now be
less
attractive was perhaps a matter of marginal significance.

With a sigh, she raised the mirror . . . and gasped. “Is that
me
?”

Coming closer, Willow touched her fingertips to Ivy’s cheek and whispered, “Indeed. Goodness, Ivy, I never realized what high cheekbones you have.”

Holly came around to stand at Willow’s side. “Nor did I ever notice how large your eyes are, and how delicate your nose and mouth are in comparison.” Holly’s own eyes misted. “To think, Ivy-divy,” she said, using the childhood nickname she had once made up for her, “all this time, you have been this family’s undiscovered beauty.”

Even Ivy couldn’t deny it, though neither could she quite believe the evidence gazing back at her in the mirror. Though her neck was bare and her ears stood out a bit awkwardly, Holly had left enough length for a miracle to have occurred. Her hair now covered her head in soft, thick waves that framed her face and emphasized her best features in ways her long, heavy, woefully straight locks never had.

“Why,” she whispered, “the effect is ...”

“Charming,” Holly supplied.

“And lovely,” Willow added.

“And thoroughly contrary to Victoria’s aims,” Ivy concluded with a groan of frustration. “What am I to do now? They’ll never let me into Cambridge looking like
this
. I’m more feminine than ever!”

Their eyebrows gathering tight, her sisters drew closer and considered.

“You’ll be wearing a man’s suit of clothes. Surely that will help create the desired illusion.” Willow’s doubts rang through her attempted optimism.

“And you’ll . . . well . . . bind your breasts, of course. Not that ...” Holly didn’t finish the sentiment, but Ivy guessed that her twin had been about to comment on the size of her bosom, just as Victoria had done when she’d attempted to dispel Ivy’s qualms.

“Of all of the Sutherland sisters, you alone have the technical knowledge needed for this scheme,” the queen had said. “The study of mathematics and natural sciences comes easily to you. And with your slim figure, narrow hips, and—forgive me, dearest—but decidedly small bosom, you are the most likely to fool people into believing you are a young university student. Trust me, Ivy. This plan will succeed. It must.”

And if it didn’t?

“I have an idea.” Grabbing a ladle off the work counter, Willow disappeared down to the cellar, returning out of breath a few minutes later. She held out the ladle, its shine obscured by a coating of black powder.

“Coal dust,” she announced, and dipped in two fingers. “Now, Ivy, hold still.”

The next time Ivy gazed into her glass, she was taken aback to behold a fine-boned youth of about seventeen, just beginning to sprout a beard—too sparce to require shaving, but enough to be noticeable.

“What do you think?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“I think I am no longer the baby of the family,” Willow said with a laugh, “for it would seem I have acquired a younger brother.”

“I think,” Holly said slowly, tapping a finger against her bottom lip, “that once Victoria’s tailor makes you a proper suit, Ivy Edwina Sutherland will vanish and the doors of Cambridge University will swing wide to welcome young Mr. Edwin Ivers.”

 

With his fiercest scowl fixed in place, Simon marched to the front of the lecture hall, allowing the flapping edges of his cloak to whip at the shoulders of those sitting in the aisle seats. The thirty-odd natural philosophy students assembled to take part in his challenge watched him intently, their expressions ranging from baffled to anxious to downright intimidated.