An Earl by Any Other Name Page 4

  It was a strange sensation coming in through the front door after all these years. It still felt like home. Motes of sunlight stretched through the high windows, alighting on the main staircase’s gleaming wooden banisters. Every nook and cranny contained memories of her early childhood and her mother. Her heart clenched, and she bit her lip.

  “That was certainly a short drive, my lord.” A familiar fatherly figure greeted them. “I am sorry I was not able to meet you at the door. I was attending to a request by her ladyship.”

  Ivy resisted the urge to hug the middle-aged man who appeared at their side. The butler, Mr. Gordon, had been a surrogate father to her. She met his gaze and a faint twinkle winked out of the gray depths.

  “Gordon, would you believe it? I found one of Mother’s guests stranded on the road. Her speedabout malfunctioned. This is Miss Ivy Leighton.”

  The butler bowed.

  “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Gordon,” she replied, hoping Leo didn’t hear the breathless note to her voice. This ruse of mystery concocted by Leo’s mother was not going to be easy to carry on whilst in the company of old friends.

  But it won’t be forever. I’ll tell him soon enough who I really am. I just want to pretend a moment longer that I’m a lady and he is a gentleman and that…

  She put an end to that hopeful trail her thoughts were taking. Wanting Leo to fall in love with her was a dangerous dream. Lady Hampton had hopes that Leo would and had mentioned it during their tea, but Ivy wasn’t so sure. It sounded as if Leo was looking for a traditional wife, much to his mother’s dismay. I’m not a traditional woman and I certainly don’t need a husband. She hadn’t had the heart to tell Leo’s mother that she had no plans to marry. A modern woman simply couldn’t submit to a husband, not without sacrificing her rights.

  “A pleasure, Miss Leighton,” Gordon rumbled, a hint of a smile peeping out from beneath the neatly styled gray mustache. “I will have the footmen see that your belongings are put in your chambers. Lady Hampton is having tea on the terrace, should you care to join her.”

  Leo glanced at Ivy, and then frowned slightly as though considering her. “I suppose you’d like to freshen up before tea? Shall I wait for you?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but she was a guest, and he would want to wait for her.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll only be a moment.”

  Gordon gestured for Ivy to follow him up the stairs. “This way, Miss Leighton.”

  They left Leo at the bottom of the stairs as Gordon took her to the India Room, her favorite of all the guest rooms. She felt a bit like a favored concubine of a sultan as she stroked her fingers over the red damask cover. Gordon had known she was coming and put her in the room she’d always loved. He stepped aside for a footman to set her bags on the floor next to her bed. The footman shot a shy glance in her direction before ducking out of the room.

  Before leaving, Gordon whispered conspiratorially, “We’re so glad you’re back, Miss Ivy. Mrs. Gordon cannot wait to see you. You’ve been sorely missed all these years.”

  He smiled warmly, and she blinked away tears as memories of him and the other staff at Hampton assailed her with longing.

  Leaving them had been devastating. But when her father had discovered he had a daughter, he’d moved heaven and earth to bring her to London and make up for his absence during the first eight years of her life. The past had been buried, and with it, all connections to Hampton until she’d received Mina’s invitation to tea in London.

  “Thank you, Gordon. I’m happy to be back. Please tell the others, even though I cannot show it.”

  The butler smiled. “They know. Her ladyship has informed us of the particulars of why.”

  Ivy grinned. “Poor Leo.”

  Gordon snorted. “She is most determined to shake him out of his severity of character. I think she fears he will follow through on his intention to marry Miss Mildred Pepperwirth.”

  “Who?” A prickle of jealousy flitted through Ivy on dark wings. Although she had no claim to Leo, she didn’t like the idea of him proposing to anyone. Lady Hampton had left out any mention of another woman when they’d been concocting this plan to revive the wild, wicked man Leo had once been.

  “The daughter of Viscount Pepperwirth. She lives in the neighboring park. A well-bred lady, but—” Gordon clamped his mouth shut.

  “But not what Leo needs in a wife?” Ivy supposed. It shouldn’t have mattered; she had no intention of competing with another woman for his affections. Even if she had a foolish notion of wishing to marry, which she certainly didn’t, how could she compete with a woman who likely had a pedigree dating back to Charlemagne?

  “If her ladyship believes you are the one for Leo, you should trust her,” Gordon said.

  True words. Ivy couldn’t deny that. The countess had always been right in every situation, but that did not change Ivy’s plan to never have a husband.

  No matter how much I might wish for him to love me, I cannot marry him, or any man. The thought was grim and her heart was hollow with an ache that couldn’t be eased.

  Chapter 5

  Leo lounged against the banister, drumming his fingers on the polished walnut.

  Ivy. A name as beautiful as the woman herself. He had nearly wrecked his Stanley when he’d caught a glimpse of her shapely legs in the air as she wriggled to right herself. Even now, his blood heated at the mere memory of how warm her stocking-clad calves had been beneath his hands.

  Her face…something about it…Like he’d seen her before. Just when he thought he’d placed it, the memory would dissipate like morning mist. She was certainly unique, and he knew without a doubt he would not have forgotten meeting her. Her hair was a Gypsy black, rich and long. Eyes the color of cocoa. Her skin was a light olive. She had a hint of Italian in her blood or perhaps something else and it fascinated him. It also was damned dangerous. He couldn’t let himself become distracted by her. Although she was younger and far more beautiful than his father’s mistress, the parallel of the situation hadn’t escaped him. If he started chasing Ivy’s skirts, he would be no better than his father. London would be full of gossip about how he was just like Old Hampton. Every single reputable family’s door would close in a resounding slam after that.

  He gave himself a little shake, trying to forget the way her honey brown eyes had been as gold as honey and the way her smile had dazzled him. These were not the proper thoughts of a man ready to propose to another woman. Mildred Pepperwirth was to be his bride, just as soon as he stopped delaying and actually proposed to her. She was the logical decision. An English beauty, no muss, no fuss, and definitely no passion. A sensible wife for a sensible man. She was not a wild Gypsy who would tempt him into losing control.

  Lord, Mother was right—he had become boring. The old Leo would have hunted down the most exotic of beauties or seduced the sweetest of ladies into his bed, showing them hours of pleasure at his hands. But when he thought of Mildred, there was no heat, no fire in his blood.

  But she was the best choice. A man could not pick his wife by how she affected his lusts, especially a man needing to revive his family’s good name. He needed to focus his attention on Mildred. Not the alluring and mysterious Ivy with full lips meant for kisses and that husky laugh more suited for a gentleman’s bedroom than polite conversation.

  What I wouldn’t give to let go, to take what I desire and seduce the raven-haired beauty…

  “Ready.” Her voice was soft and light and carried with it a natural sultriness. It would be so easy to return to his old ways, to guide her into a private room and kiss her until she was desperate for more. He straightened with a little shake and dispelled such wicked thoughts, then smoothed his hands down the front of his waistcoat and smiled as she descended.

  Windblown hairs were swept back into place and her hat was gone. The motoring clothes had disappeared and she was dressed for afternoon tea in a pale rose-colored gown that gathered at her narrow waist and showed off her luscious
hourglass figure. As she floated down the stairs, he admired the way the filmy gold lace overdress shimmered and set off her dark hair, which was gathered in waves and pulled back in a loose knot. She was breathtaking, and it took him a moment to swallow before he could speak.

  “You look…” He stumbled over the compliment and then decided to skip it. “I’m sure you are anxious to see Mother.”

  Ivy grinned and lifted her skirts enough to reveal a layer of orange silk just above her crème-colored satin mule slippers. “Oh yes!”

  She joined him at the bottom of the stairs, and he lifted his elbow so she could slide her arm through his. She did so and the movement brought her closer. A delicate aroma of oranges and flowers teased his nose, tantalizing him. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and inhale the barely detectable scent. It had been a year since he’d let the scent of a woman affect him…He banished memories of his wild days. It did not do to dwell on the past or on things he could not have—like Ivy.

  Leo took Ivy onto the back terrace, where they found his mother sipping tea and staring off in the direction of the gardens. She seemed lost in thought.

  “Mother, Miss Leighton has arrived early.”

  His mother glanced over her shoulder at them, the melancholy expression vanishing in an instant.

  “Ivy dear! You look beautiful! Doesn’t she look beautiful, Leo?” She stood and opened her arms. Leo’s lips parted in surprise as the young lady flew into his mother’s embrace.

  They really did seem to be close, and it amazed him that his mother had formed an attachment to a young woman after so short an acquaintance. Why had she never mentioned Ivy to him before now? The mystery around Ivy only deepened.

  “Leo, dear, come here.” His mother beckoned him to take a seat at the table.

  Tea was poured, and Leo watched in fascination as the two women gossiped about London, their mutual friends, and a host of other things, mostly intellectual. Ivy seemed to be quite well educated. The desire to insert his own thoughts was strong, but he could see that his mother would not approve of him interrupting their catching up. It only meant he would have to find his lovely guest alone later to speak on the subjects she seemed so knowledgeable about. He’d never met a woman who knew about business and the current economic structure of rising companies, particularly the news industry. Was she echoing her father’s sentiments or were these thoughts of her own? Leo was rather curious to find out.

  “Ivy, your father sent word via telegram. He’s coming down late this afternoon instead of tomorrow. He’ll be on the train. I’ve arranged for our driver to pick him up,” the dowager countess explained.

  Concern furrowed Ivy’s brow. “I fear he will be cross with me. I broke his new motorcar. Lord Hampton was kind enough to rescue me.”

  “He did?” His mother’s eyes lit up with a curious gleam. That spelled trouble for him. No doubt she had some matchmaking scheme afoot.

  “Yes, he was quite the hero,” Ivy replied.

  Leo watched the way her nose crinkled and her eyes sparkled as she laughed. She was teasing him.

  “I’m sure any man would have been happy to assist you. I was only fortunate enough to be the first to come along.” He swallowed hard, the sudden image of her teasing smile filling his head as though he’d downed a whole bottle of brandy in a matter of minutes.

  “Nonsense, Leo. If a lady insists you are heroic, do not correct her,” his mother said archly.

  “As you say, Mother.” His automatic reply made her frown. He ignored it and reached for the plate of crumpets, trying not to think of the pile of papers in his office that needed tending. For the moment, he allowed responsibilities to be pushed down beneath his desire to get to know Ivy better.

  “Now, Ivy, have you attended any new suffragette meetings since we last met?”

  His mother’s seemingly innocent question had him sitting up straighter. After his mother’s heated discussion with him, he was afraid she would rally another decent woman to her cause and corrupt her.

  “I haven’t in the last month. I’ve been busy, but I will be attending the one in town while I’m here for the party,” Ivy replied, and added two sugars to her tea, seemingly completely unconcerned that she was speaking nonsense. So Miss Leighton desired for women to vote? He studied her again. She did not appear to be a wild radical like the women depicted in the papers. Well-bred ladies knew better than to get involved in such nonsense.

  Women voting. Ha! He frowned at his mother.

  “My son”—his mother directed her comment toward Ivy—“doesn’t believe women should vote.”

  He choked on the crumpet and coughed violently. Tea with his mother was fast becoming a danger to his health. With a little shove, he put the crumpets out of reach and fixed his meddlesome mother with a pointed stare.

  “It is not a matter of belief, but truth. Women have not the sense, nor the education to vote. They would simply vote as their husbands, fathers, and brothers would demand. It wouldn’t change anything. Any man able to persuade a woman would merely double his own vote, rendering the entire process useless. It is pointless to entertain such a notion.” He sat back in his chair, delighted that he’d set the young lady straight on the matter.

  “No great change?” Ivy queried softly. Her full lips slid from a smile into a slight frown. The fire burning her ochre-colored eyes was the only warning that he had made a terrible mistake.

  * * *

  Ivy settled her hands into her lap, curling her fingers around her napkin to prevent herself from screaming. Would it be so terrible to upend the entire pot of hot tea over his head? Surely not…

  No great change? How could I have ever thought I loved him as a young girl? He’s an arrogant fool!

  She schooled her features into a polite but icy expression. Very well, if the man meant to go to war, then she was perfectly ready to lay siege to his insipid ideas of a woman’s place and role.

  “There is no scientific proof that men are stronger intellectually. If women were treated exactly the same as men, given the same opportunities, the same education…and most importantly, the same expectations, both behaviorally and intellectually, then we would not be relegated to a secondary existence.”

  Leo narrowed his eyes, clearly ready to do battle. “No woman of my acquaintance is qualified or even interested in voting. They understand it is up to their husbands, fathers, and brothers to make the decisions because they are better informed. It is what is best for everyone.”

  “Is it really what is best for everyone?” Ivy asked, her tone sweet, but he seemed to sense a poisonous layer to her tone because he shifted back in his seat. “Women are more intelligent than you give them credit.”

  When he made a little scoffing noise, it took every ounce of her self-control not to reach across the table to grip his necktie and strangle him.

  “Do you think a wife, sister, or daughter would confess her true desires to any man when she only expects three outcomes—ridicule, abuse, or simply being ignored? That is our fate. You men are allowed to lose your tempers and declare your opinions with shouting and fists, but the moment a woman raises her voice or persists in stating her opinion, she is declared to be suffering from hysterics and is sent to an asylum where she is then truly driven mad. Do you believe women would own up to their need to be equals if they knew such a fate awaited them? If you do, you, my lord, are a fool.”

  She knew firsthand the deprivations her sex suffered at the hands of men trying to repress them. She’d helped more than one of her fellow suffragettes recover from force-feeding and other unspeakable acts they’d been subjected to after being arrested. Men were frightened of women, so frightened that they felt the need to act out in violence. One could not speak to men of fear, nor expect them to behave rationally. They reacted harshly toward anyone who suggested they learn to accept change. But change would come one day, and men would have to catch up to the times.

  Ivy managed to keep her voice calm during her entire speech, bu
t afterward she was so furious, she stood and stalked off in the direction of the gardens. This was not at all how she had pictured her first meeting with Leo after so many years. Thank heavens she hadn’t told him of her involvement with the Women’s Social and Political Union. He might have had her removed from the manor house.

  Fleeing through the maze of hedges, she found the familiar oak tree by the left edge of the long rectangular pond. She lifted her skirts above her ankles and stepped onto the bed of ivy that had worked its way up the trunk of the tree. Her fingers brushed over the waxen surface of the leaves, and she almost giggled. Who knew a simple afternoon tea would have ended with such fireworks?

  Her face was hot and her body flushed with her outburst. Her heart still beat wildly, like the wings of a dragonfly. She had just told the Earl of Hampton off over women’s suffrage. Emmeline Pankhurst would have been proud and likely given her a hearty “Bravo!” A little snort escaped her and she turned around, startled when she came face-to-face with Leo.

  He stood only ten feet from her, one hand tucked in his trouser pocket, looking both irritated and on the verge of smiling.

  How had she not heard him following her?

  “Something amuses you, Miss Leighton?” He arched one golden brow, an imperious look on his face. He was every inch a lion with his puffed up male pride. And he was damnably handsome. It was a pity, she realized, that he would not see reason where women’s issues were concerned. What was it her mother used to say? A handsome man should never go to waste. However, if the man in question was not intelligent enough to give women their due, then she would not be able to stand him for long. This was exactly the reason she could never marry. She’d met only a handful of men who believed women should have the right to vote and most were young men in their early twenties, desperate to please a childhood sweetheart who was loyal to the cause.

  “I’m sorry. ’Tis a private joke.” She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  He took one step closer. “I can’t help but think that you are laughing at me. And to think I came after you to offer my apologies.” He folded his arms and glowered but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes that made her want to smile, even though she was still furious that he didn’t see her point of view.