Synopsis
Book by Maxwell Cathy Carlyle Liz
Extrait
Chapter One
Our hero is issued a challenge for Love
Colonel Michael Sanson didn't understand women.
He certainly didn't understand himself when it came to them...or rather to one in particular -- Ivy.
She was his Ideal. His Helen of Troy. His Cleopatra. His damn, bloody Delilah.
Five years ago, when she had been fresh from the schoolroom and he just turned one and twenty, they'd fallen in love. Of course, as the fifth son of an earl, he'd had little to offer her -- a point her father, Sir William Lewin, had made clear to him. Michael hadn't been afraid to prove his mettle. He'd purchased his colors in the military and had distinguished himself on the front lines of Barrosa and Vittoria. There'd been hardships but he'd been determined. While other officers had held back, he'd charged forward and had been promoted and honored for his valor.
Now, he had returned, a war hero and a man of substance -- and he'd not once had a private moment alone with Ivy.
She hadn't had time. Instead of the shy ingenue he'd left behind, she was now considered the Incomparable, the Toast of the Season. Men lined up at her door, wealthy, titled men who could offer her everything in the world.
Worse, Michael wasn't certain how well she remembered the fervent promises of love they had once shared. She seemed completely different from the woman he had left behind. She knew how to keep him coyly at bay while offering enough of a hint of the girl he'd fallen in love with to keep him dancing to her tune.
However, his patience was growing short and he understood tactical strategy.
He'd forced himself to ignore her at Lady Radcliff's rout. He'd wondered if she'd noticed he wasn't among the crowd of her many admirers. She had. The next day, he received a request from her for a private audience and, congratulating himself, he was on her doorstep in a trice dressed in his most dashing uniform of deep blue cloth and gold braid.
The butler escorted him into the formal sitting room where Ivy waited, looking more beautiful than any woman on earth had a right to. Blond, elegant, poised. She rose at his entrance. The air in the room was filled with the lily fragrance of her perfume, and he felt a moment of triumph.
"You are angry with me," she said. Was it his imagination or did she appear as if she'd been crying?
Immediately, Michael was at her side. She was willowy tall with china blue eyes and a straight, aristocratic nose. "I'm not angry," he said. "But I fear your interest may have waned."
She shook her head in surprise. "Oh, no, not ever."
Her vow was music to his ears. He took her hand. "Truly, Ivy? Do you still love me?"
She smiled, a benevolent goddess able to bestow on him his most cherished wish. "I have never forgotten you." She lowered her eyes, her dark lashes sweeping down upon her cheeks, the expression both demure and seductive. "Do you not love me...just a little?"
He stepped closer. "I worship you."
She hedged away a step. "But how would I know? Last night at Lady Radcliff's party you barely spoke to me."
Michael wanted to pull her into his arms and demonstrate his passion with a kiss, and yet he held back. She'd always been reserved. "I would talk to your father this minute if you would say the word."
"Say what word?" Sir William's voice boomed from the doorway of the room. Ivy hurried to her father's side.
"Nothing -- " she started, but Michael decided to seize the moment.
"I wish to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage," he said.
Sir William frowned and closed the door to the room. Michael catered to him because he was Ivy's father and for no other reason. The man fancied himself a radical and a scientist and always had schemes for new inventions on his mind that he hoped would make him rich. Once, he was very successful in devising an oar lock for the navy and earned a knighthood for his brilliance -- but he'd not had a great idea since. He also had an irritating habit of stroking his chin as if he sported a beard. The gesture was usually a sign he was formulating some sort of scheme. He stroked his chin now as he repeated, "You wish to marry her, you say?"
Michael did not hesitate to answer. "It is my one desire."
Ivy colored prettily, but did not speak. Her father strolled into the room where Michael stood and walked around him, his beady eyes assessing. Michael straightened his shoulders and met the man's gaze. Sir William stopped. "How much do you want her?" he asked, his voice low.
Michael frowned at such an indelicate discussion in front of Ivy. "If you are asking about a dowry, I'm making no demands. I can support her in fine fashion. I've done very well for myself under Wellington."
Sir William laughed softly. "I am aware that you have done well for yourself, Colonel, and that you have made several wise investments. There is much about you to be admired. However, what I want to know is what would you be willing to do for the honor of my daughter's hand?"
The odd phrasing of his question brought up Michael's guard. "I'm not certain I understand your meaning, sir. If you are questioning my devotion, let me assure you I remain as steadfast in my commitment to Ivy as I was before I left for the war."
"Ah, yes, commitment," Sir William echoed with a funny little hum in his voice. He paused and looked to his daughter. "My dear, would you please ask Norell to send in some refreshments for our guest and give us a moment alone."
"Yes, Papa," Ivy replied, her relief apparent at being given a reprieve from the conversation. She dutifully hurried from the room, shutting the door behind her.
Michael sensed there was something odd going on. Nor did he trust Sir William's smile. "What do you want?"
Sir William laughed. "I admire directness, Colonel. Please sit down."
"Perhaps you should tell me what you wish first."
"A favor -- nothing more, nothing less. And in the end, if all goes well, I may grant your request for my daughter's hand."
Michael sat.
Taking the chair next to his, Sir William said good-naturedly, "Don't appear so uneasy, sir. I want you to marry my daughter."
"But...?" he prodded.
Sir William gave a worried sigh and dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. "But I have a small problem I was hoping you could resolve for me. You see, I have been robbed and I need to have my goods returned to me."
"If you've been robbed, call the magistrate."
Sir William shook his head. "The case is too delicate for a public hearing."
par"Then hire a Bow Street Runner."
Sir William rested his elbow on the chair arm and stroked his chin for a moment before saying, "I may have made a mistake. I'd thought you wished to marry my daughter and could help me, you know, as a family member would. Ah, well, I can see I may have made an error in judgment."
He started to rise. Michael leaned forward. "What do you want me to do?"
"Not very much," Sir William said, sitting back down. "I have been on the verge of an important discovery utilizing the properties of a substance called rubber."
"The stuff of a child's ball?"
"The same. However, it could have vast and important uses. My idea was to use it to make fabric waterproof. Imagine the implications. But I am in danger of having all my careful work stolen from me. I need someone resourceful like yourself to fetch a copy of the formula from the pirates who would claim my work as theirs. It will call for a bit of subterfuge."
Michael lifted an eyebrow. "Subterfuge?"
"A disguise. The Royal Society is a very touchy group. I would not want my name connected with the formula's disappearance. I believe you can understand my actions could be misconstrued by those eager to discredit me."
Something was not right. Michael was not surprised Sir William was puffed up over his own consequence. Every ounce of common sense Michael possessed warned him to get up and leave.
As if seeing the direction of Michael's thoughts, Sir William said, "A young viscount has been calling on Ivy. Good man. Excellent background, five thousand a year. You may know him, Thorpeton? My daughter could do no better."
"But she promised herself to me," Michael said.
"Years ago, Colonel. And what is the promise of a young girl without her father's consent?" he asked rhetorically. "Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder. My daughter is as practical as she is vain. She would like to be a viscountess. However, a word from me could make the difference."
Michael drew back. "Am I being blackmailed?"
"Blackmail? No. Consider this more a quest, like Jason in search of the Golden Fleece."
"Golden Fleece?"
Sir William leaned forward. "Make no mistake about this, Colonel, the formula could be worth a fortune...for both of us."
At that moment, there was a light knock at the door and Ivy entered without waiting for a summons. Michael came to his feet. She closed the door and looked to her father. "Will Michael help us, Papa?"
"He has not said."
Her gaze flew to Michael and he sensed for the first time that she really saw him since he'd returned from the Continent. "You must help us. There is no one else we can ask."
She was so beautiful. He could not bear the thought of her going to another man. Not after he had sacrificed for her over all these years. He'd grown up in a large, gregarious but ambitious family where, as the youngest, he was often an afterthought. Ivy's attention had made him feel special and given his life purpose.
"If I do as you ask," he said carefully, his eyes on Ivy but his words directed to her father, "will you consent to our marriage?"
"Absolutely," Sir William replied. "With a healthy dowry and my blessings. Why, you could be married within the fortnight if you are quick about the matter. I'd even purchase the special license."
Ivy looked away, becoming color staining her cheeks. She was as soft and submissive as a houri. He had the urge to protect her, even as he suspected he was being manipulated.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
Sir William smiled. "I need you to go to Wye, a small village on the river Avon. Geoffrey Kenyon lives there, an inferior scientist who makes his living off the backs of other people's work. He has a formula that I suspect is mine."
Michael tore his gaze away from Ivy. "How did he get the formula in the first place?"
His expression bitter, Sir William said, "Through a mutual friend, one whom I trusted. He sent it to Kenyon claiming my work as his own and refuses to discuss the matter with me. His credit is better with the Royal Society and he knows it would be his word against mine."
"Why don't you just write the formula down again?"
Sir William threw his hands up. "Does every housewife remember her recipe for cake? I wrote it down, but misplaced the scrap of paper. I'd have to start over again."
Ivy took a step forward and placed her hand on Michael's arm. "Please, help my father."
Michael felt a bit dizzy when she stood so close, especially when her breasts brushed his shoulder. And there was his family, none of whom was as wild about Ivy as he. He did not want to lose her so they could say I told you so. "What will I have to do?"
"How do you feel about pretending to be a tea merchant?" Sir William responded.
"A tea merchant? A peddler?" Michael almost spit out the words. "I'd rather be a rat catcher."
"A peddler is the perfect disguise," Sir William said. "I've been thinking on this. As a tea merchant you
can go all over the countryside without anyone being the wiser. I've even thought of a name for you. Donaldson. Michael Donaldson. Very nondescript."
"I'd rather walk up to Kenyon's door and demand the formula back."
Sir William came to his feet with a frustrated sound. "He won't give it to you -- and he might even destroy it rather than face its loss or the public humiliation. If he does, we all lose. No, you must steal the formula and a tea merchant is a very good disguise."
Michael did not trust him, not at all. Then, he thought of the sacrifices he'd already made for Ivy -- of the hardships, the battles, the witnessing of the deaths of good men. He was ready for home and hearth.
Compared to what he'd already done to win her, peddling tea would be easy.
He swung his gaze to Sir William. "I'll retrieve your formula. But, while I'm gone, you must keep her safe -- for me."
Sir William did not mistake his meaning. He understood Michael expected him to keep the other suitors at bay. "Consider it done," he said. "When you return with my formula we shall have a wedding that will leave all London talking. Is that not right, daughter?"
Ivy's face had gone pale but she nodded her head. Michael wanted a moment alone with her. He wanted to hear the promise from her lips. But it was not to be. Sir William took over, refining his scheme and embellishing it.
The next morning, Michael exchanged his uniform for an ill-fitting coat and valise containing an assortment of East Indian teas for sale to the discriminating country housewife. He set off for Wye and the strangest adventure of his life.
Jocelyn Kenyon charged into her dearest friend Lucy Lettman's kitchen the moment Lucy answered the knock on her kitchen door. Without waiting for a greeting, Jocelyn declared, "This is the worst day of my life and Uncle Geoffrey is completely oblivious."
She yanked at the ribbons of her bonnet, her fingers shaking so hard she couldn't untie the knot. Exasperated, she quit the struggle and pulled a heavy vellum envelope addressed to herself and her uncle out of the pocket of her dress . "Did you receive one of these?" It was an invitation from Lord Vaughn to attend a ball in honor of his daughter Elfreda's betrothal to Thomas Burkhardt.
Lucy closed the door before admitting, "Yes, I did. I'm afraid, dear, one was sent to everyone in Wye. Lord Vaughn is determined to make this the social event of the parish."
"That means I must be there," Jocelyn whispered and felt her knees go wobbly. She walked down the hall of Lucy's house and into the comfortable sitting room where a cheery fire blazed in the hearth, but she could not feel its warmth. Everything inside of her was cold with the certainty of complete humiliation.
Lucy put her arm around Jocelyn's shoulders. "Jocelyn, we all understand -- "
"Yes, I know." She stepped out of her friend's comforting embrace and slipped her finger between the ribbons. This time, the knot gave way gracefully. She pulled her bonnet off her head, for once not caring about the springiness of her curls. "Everyone understands, and everyone pities me. For the past six months it's been ?poor Jocelyn, what shall she do?' Don't pretend it hasn't been, Lucy. I know people have been discussing me over their teacups. Of course, the gossip was worse in the beginning when Thomas started paying marked attention to Lady Elfreda, but once he'd jilted me -- " She broke off, afraid she might give way to tears and she'd already shed too many.
Thomas had been the love of her life. He'd been by her side since the day she'd first met him sixteen years ago. She'd been eight; he was ten. Her parents had died and she'd been shipped off to Wye to live with an uncle she'd never met. Thomas's friendship had eased the transition. He'd made her feel accepted and she'd idolized him. Around the parish, it had been a foregone conclusion they would marry...someday. Neither one of them had been in a hurry.
But then Elfreda had returned...
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