“Are we playing pantomimes?” Wendover inquired as he took a sip of wine.
“I love pantomimes,” Mary said from the small corner table where she sat with Sally and Walker.
“Eat your dinner, mistress,” Sally said. “We won’t stop again until London.”
Wendover finished his wine and glanced from Ivy to the duke. “What happened to your neckcloth?” he asked James, his tone implying he knew it was none of his business.
But now the mystery of the missing cravat was on the table, so to speak, and Ivy couldn’t have come up with a plausible answer as quickly as James did.
He shrugged. “It was too tight. I took it off.”
“It looked fine when you left the house,” Wendover said, smiling at Ivy. “Would you like to borrow one of mine?”
“No, I would not. What’s the point in dragging open all your trunks to impress the staff at Berkeley Square? Considering the reason for my return, I don’t think the state of my attire will be their primary concern.”
“I agree,” Wendover said. “But you can’t walk into the town house with a table napkin around your neck.”
Ivy looked away, realizing she’d found an ally in Wendover. At least while James was engaged in a friendly disagreement about table napkins, she could repin her hair so that when she arrived at the town house, the staff would not assume her to be a slattern.
By the time they’d reached the duke’s Berkeley Square town house, the rain was falling so heavily that everyone was soaked before they dashed up the front steps. No one could look presentable in this downpour.
Ivy found herself standing in an immaculate candlelit hall, dismayed at the puddles the arrival party had made on the marble floor. The staff expressed only sympathy for their bedraggled appearance, and of course for the unhappy event that had brought His Grace back to London.
“I told you,” he whispered to Ivy as a maid divested her of her soggy cloak. “I could be wearing a tablecloth on my head and be forgiven for it.”
It was true. By the mere act of tipping back his hat or shrugging out of his coat, he had transformed himself from a decadent scoundrel to an impeccable gentleman. Ivy decided she might as well come to terms with his abilities. She had been raised with sisters and their secret pacts could never be broken. That didn’t mean she couldn’t learn to penetrate the less mystifying world of the English male. She couldn’t call James completely uncomplicated, however. He’d kept certain facts of his life private, and she had only begun to understand him. She looked forward to the task of taming him, even if he thought the balance of power between them should remain the way it was.
* * *
The first task James tackled early the next morning was to send for a special license to marry Ivy. She’d decided it would be in bad taste to hold a wedding in St. George’s, considering his brother’s condition. James agreed. He didn’t want to wait a month for banns to be called and social invitations extended to people whose names he could hardly remember.
His second task was to contact his solicitors to prepare for the process of filing divorce proceedings for Curtis. His brother, of course, might argue instead for a separation. He might hope Cassandra would come home. But divorce was a drawn-out affair that required an Act of Parliament, and Carstairs had informed James that several of Curtis’s servants had already sent letters offering to give signed depositions against her ladyship should they be needed in the lawsuit.
Last on his list was to visit Curtis’s town house to make certain it was in suitable condition for his brother’s return. Curtis would likely resent any implication that he couldn’t manage on his own; James knew that from experience. But at minimum a few accommodations would have to be made, and Carstairs needed to interview a new staff.
“I’d like to accompany you,” Ivy informed him as he stood in the hall waiting for his carriage. The children stood beside her. Their upturned faces reflected hope and not their usual mischief. “I explained to Mary and Walker that they had to ask your permission to come. They’d like to gather up a few of their old toys and books. Oh, and Elora is waiting outside. She wants to be of help, if you don’t mind.”
James shook his head in resignation. He wondered whether Ivy and Elora would eventually compare their experiences with him out of curiosity. He had no actual reason to worry. Ivy had taken possession of his heart and soul, and if she shared anything of an explicit nature, it would be with her sisters.
“A man must stand his ground in times like this.” And hope that he had sons to even out the ratio of male to female in the family.