Outrageously Yours (36 page)

“I have been to the Three Horseshoes three times now, and the innkeeper denies having seen any sign of her.” Simon released an oath of frustration that garnered him sympathetic looks from the men seated around him in Alistair’s library. They had the room to themselves, an advantage of being well acquainted with the home’s owner. “Where could Gwendolyn be hiding?”

As soon as he and Ivy had returned from their latest ride into the village, Simon’s friends—Alistair, Ben, Errol, and even Colin—had joined him here in a show of support. Simon hadn’t hesitated before airing his disappointment in front of Colin. Only a few short days ago, he would probably not have been so open, but the death of young Spencer Yates had taught him that life was too short to hold grudges.

Besides, whatever had occurred last winter, Colin had expressed sincere remorse on countless occasions; Simon decided it was time to let go of his hostility.

Sitting in the wing chair, Errol absently twirled his walking stick between his frail hands. “Have you considered the possibility that Gwen never left London?”

Colin looked up at that but said nothing. Though he appeared to be paying close attention to everything Simon said, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they’d all entered the room. He sat half sprawled in his chair, long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, a slight frown tugging at his brow. Simon guessed the circumstances made him uncomfortable with the conversation, or perhaps he feared that voicing his opinion might result in a demand that he leave the room.

Simon returned his attention to Errol’s suggestion and shook his head. “As of yesterday I’ve heard from both of her friends who are presently staying in town. She isn’t with either of them.”

“One or both could be lying about her whereabouts.” With a graceful motion Alistair stretched an arm along the carved back of the settee. “You know how women are when it comes to their
bonnes amies
.”

“I did consider that,” Simon admitted. “But I also believe both girls would fear their monarch’s retribution more than they feel compelled to protect their friend. Harboring a fugitive of the queen’s household would put their own positions in serious jeopardy.”

“I must agree, all the more so because this monarch happens to be a woman.” Ben let out a low groan as he stood and stretched his limbs. Lately, his boyhood injury seemed to be manifesting itself. Simon had never thought of Ben as old, surely nowhere near as elderly as Errol. But while the dean of natural philosophies would soon be fifty, his body appeared a decade older.

Ben ambled to the window and glanced out, then turned back to them, the daylight silhouetting the permanent hunch left by a falling rafter some thirty-odd years ago. “There’s nothing a woman fears more than another of her sex.”

Colin seemed about to disagree. His gaze snapped from Ben to Simon, then sank to the floor. The hairs on Simon’s nape bristled. Was Colin thinking that Gwendolyn feared nothing more than her unreasonable brother?

He shoved the thought away. It was time he stopped assuming the worst about his former best friend and started figuring out how to win back his sister’s regard.

Alistair gave a light chuckle at Ben’s last words. Smoothing a hand over his carefully coiffed hair, he angled a pensive look at Simon. “You put a lot of store in this assistant of yours, taking him into your confidence about Gwendolyn.”

Simon didn’t want anyone taking an undue interest in Ivy, so in an offhand manner he said, “Why not? The boy’s got sharp eyes and a keen mind, and he’s been known to perceive details I miss.”

The men parted soon after, and Simon made his way down to the ground floor to find Ivy, who had returned to the ballroom earlier. Her joy in meeting the scientists and watching them prepare for the demonstrations was infectious, and Simon was glad she’d found something to distract her from thoughts of Spencer Yates’s death.

He reached the bottom steps just as an impeccably dressed dark-haired fellow hauled Ivy from the ballroom and along the main corridor by her elbow. The scoundrel was no one Simon recognized, and therefore could not be a member of the consortium.

Who was he, then, and what the devil did he want with Ivy?

Jasper Lowbry hovered in the ballroom doorway, staring after Ivy and her captor in perplexity. Simon paused long enough to question the youth.

“I haven’t the foggiest who that is, my lord. He simply strode up to Ned, seized his arm, and declared that they had matters to discuss. When I attempted to follow, he stilled me with a look I’ve only ever seen at the back entrances of gaming hells. I can’t explain it, but for the briefest instant I feared for my life.”

Simon burst into motion. Ivy and the stranger had turned into the dining hall, but when he entered the long room, he discovered it empty. A butler’s chamber lay beyond, and a contentious clash of voices led Simon to it. Careful to silence his footsteps, he crept close to the doorway.

“You are returning to London with me at once.”

“That is impossible. Victoria sent me—”

“Victoria had no right to endanger you this way.”

“She needs me here, just as she needed Laurel in Bath last spring.” The triumphant note in Ivy’s response implied that she believed she had just won the argument.

Her adversary didn’t agree. “Laurel was nearly killed in Bath. More than once. Which is why I am here. There are things we haven’t told you, and it’s time you knew the truth.”

“Unless it has anything to do with my business for Victoria, it can wait.”

“It cannot—”

“Aidan, this house is full of scientists. What harm can possibly befall me here?”

“Ah.” This burst from the man’s lips as something of a bark. “Let us take a moment to examine this fact. You, an unmarried, unchaperoned woman, are here alone in a house full of men. In fact, you apparently have been the houseguest of one man in particular for more than two weeks now, and have kept company with him night and day. The very moment I get my hands on him, I am going to—”

“He has no idea who or what I am,” Ivy countered in an urgent whisper. “He believes me to be a university student named Ned Ivers, as does everyone else here. I swear to you, Aidan. You have no cause for argument with Lord Harrow.”

So she isn’t going to tell him the truth.
Simon briefly pondered the significance of that and wondered whom she sought to protect, him or herself. He decided it was time to discover who this Aidan person was and what claim he had on Ivy. Backing up several steps, Simon then walked forward without attempting to muffle his tread. As he crossed the threshold, the murmured debate that had continued to rage stalled to an awkward silence.

“Ah, Ned, there you are,” he said breezily. “Your friend Lowbry indicated you’d gone this way.” He shifted his gaze to take in the man.

He stood about Simon’s height and was of similar age and build, and, as Lowbry had intimated, possessed a direct gaze forceful enough to make a lesser man cower. This, coupled with the costly cut of his attire, suggested that he, like Simon, hailed from privilege. His speech patterns hinted at a university education, though Simon’s guess would be Oxford rather than Cambridge.

The man’s harshness with Ivy had Simon seething at him through narrowed eyes, but he nonetheless maintained a cordial tone. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. You can’t be a member of the consortium, or I’d know you. Are you a representative of the Royal Society, then?”

Even before Aidan denied it, Simon knew he held no such position. He’d said it only to persuade the other man that he hadn’t overheard his conversation with Ivy.

“I am the Earl of Barensforth,” he said with an imperious curl of his lip that made Simon rather detest him, “and I have come to collect my—”

“Brother-in-law,” Ivy burst out. “Lord Barensforth is married to my sister Laurel.”

Simon expected the earl to correct the claim that Ivy was his brother-in-law. When he didn’t, amusement at the situation made Simon smile. “I see. How good of you to come. Are you a dabbler in the sciences, sir?”

“No, I am not, sir.” Ivy shot the earl an imploring look, which he summarily ignored as he regarded Simon down the length of his patrician nose. “My
brother-in-law
here has given the family a scare by disappearing from the university without so much as a by-your-leave. It’s taken me days to track him down, and I’ve every notion to grab the bounder by the ear and haul him home.”

“A misunderstanding.” Ivy waved her hands in the air. “I explained everything in a letter, which must have gone awry. But as you can plainly see, I am safe and sound, and enjoying the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The earl flashed her a furious look, and Simon suppressed an urge to laugh. Argue though they might, it seemed the three of them had all silently agreed on one point: to continue the pretense of Ivy being a man.

Simon strolled farther into the room, running his hand along the beveled edge of a sideboard before turning and leaning against the mahogany piece. “I’ll have you know that young Ned here has proved invaluable to me.”

He shifted his gaze from a clearly livid Lord Barensforth to a thoroughly unsettled Ivy. “Ned, Dean Rivers has requested that you and Mr. Lowbry assist him presently in the ballroom. Why don’t you go along while Lord Barensforth and I smooth out this little wrinkle with your family?”

Color flooded her face. She opened her mouth as if to protest, apparently thought better of it, and compressed her lips. Still, an entreaty flashed from her eyes, one filled with equal parts warning and apprehension. Simon smiled in return and gestured for her to be gone.

Warming to the game they seemed intent on playing, he clapped Lord Barensforth’s shoulder. “Come, sir. I happen to know where Sir Alistair keeps his finest brandy.”

 

That evening, Ivy found herself once more confronted by the disapproving glower of her brother-in-law and the possibility that at any moment he would seize her and carry her bodily from Windgate Priory.

And yet . . . as far as she knew, both he and Simon were continuing to uphold her masculine charade, and quite possibly for the same basic reason. Simon knew that Aidan knew that Ivy wasn’t a man, but Aidan didn’t know that Simon knew, and therein lay Ivy’s trump card. Aidan didn’t dare drop even the slightest hint for fear of destroying her reputation. For the time being, she had him over a barrel.

The two men had spent the better part of an hour closeted away in one of Sir Alistair’s private salons, drinking brandy and discussing Ivy’s supposed future. Afterward, Simon had winked at her and whispered, “I believed I’ve convinced him that I’m enough of an absentminded idiot not to have recognized the truth in front of my face.”

“He’s letting me stay?”

Simon had shrugged. “He remained somewhat evasive, but if he drags you home, it won’t be because he fears for your virtue at my hands.”

“Then we had best not discuss our sleeping arrangements,” she’d whispered back. Upon arriving at Windgate Priory, she had learned that assistants were allotted cots in their masters’ dressing rooms. The discovery had raised a flutter of anticipation, until Simon had established a pattern of staying up long into the night, retiring only after she had drifted off to sleep.

In truth, Aidan had little to fear in allowing her to complete her mission.

The next time she saw her brother-in-law, she could not keep from pressing him. “You and Lord Harrow spoke at length,” she said. “Are you satisfied?”

“Satisfied?” he shot back. “In what inconceivable way can you imagine that I should be satisfied?”

“Lord Harrow has no inkling of my gender.”

“Good grief.” He reached up and grabbed a shank of his hair as if to yank it from his head. “Lord Harrow aside, there are other, even more pertinent reasons you should be safe at home, not running wild doing God knows what.”

“I am not running wild—”

“Ivy, listen to me.” For the second time that day he seized her elbow. This time he propelled her down the first-floor corridor outside her bedroom to the relative seclusion of a recessed window. “Laurel and I made some disquieting discoveries while in Bath.”

In the months Ivy had known him, Aidan Phillips had become like a brother to her and her sisters, unfailing in his kindness, never wavering in his good-natured generosity. Never before had she seen him look so grave. And that led her to venture a guess. “Those discoveries are what took you and Laurel to France.”

“Yes. While we were in Bath, we attempted to locate the home where you and your sisters grew up.”

“Peyton Manor. In the Cotswolds.”

A subtle change in his expression sent a chill across her shoulders. “Ivy, it doesn’t exist.”

“Of course it does. I have memories ...”

“Of a manor, yes, but not in the Cotswolds. We have come to believe not even in England.”

“Then . . . in France?”

“Perhaps.” He angled a quick glance along the corridor. “Are you familiar with the button Laurel wears from a chain around her neck?”

She nodded. “The one with the crown and fleur-de-lis crest.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze that did little to quell her rising misgivings. “This will shock you, but while we were in Bath, Laurel was attacked by a Frenchman.”

She gasped, then reacted in anger. “Why on earth weren’t we told?”

“Because Laurel and I didn’t wish to alarm you, not until we had more information. But I now believe that decision was a mistake. We all should be alarmed, or at the very least wary.” He fell silent as, down the corridor, a door opened. Elias Howe, the inventor of the automatic stitcher, stepped out and locked his bedchamber door behind him. He noticed them, nodded a greeting, and headed for the main staircase.

Aidan released a breath and continued. “Although the origins are vague, this crest seems to be associated with an illegitimate line of the Valois family dating back to the sixteenth century. This line settled in the northeast of France.”