Page 40 of A Most Unlikely Lady
Ivy was certain Edward would not want her traipsing across London on her own, even for the temptation of a delicious ice and the hope of much-needed funds for the orphanage. Thankfully, she was under no obligation to ask his permission.
Dressed in a sprigged muslin gown three seasons old, her reticule heavy with a muff pistol and dagger, and a straw bonnet she’d just redone with new ribbons plunked on her head, Ivy stepped out into a bright day and took a deep breath of the summer air, fragrant with dog rose and honeysuckle. She made her way along Upper Street where hackneys were plentiful. Soon, she was tucked away in a carriage smelling faintly of onions, the summer breeze tickling against her neck as she trundled toward Berkeley Square.
The last time she was in the same neighbourhood, she had been chasing a man with a gun.
‘Ivy Cavendale, who have you become?’
It was a worthy question, and one she couldn’t yet answer.
Gunter’s was packed with young ladies grouped together like brightly coloured bouquets, gentlemen in summer suits of white linen or taupe smoking cheroots and laughing too loudly, and young children running to and fro with dripping fingers and sticky faces. Sitting at a table in the corner of the crowded tea shop was Olivia, like a fairy queen in a bubble of solitude amongst so much chaos.
Ivy wove her way through the crowd.
‘Ivy. How wonderful to see you. You look beautiful.’ Olivia rose and pulled Ivy into a hug, placing a soft kiss on each of her cheeks. ‘Please, sit. I ordered us two ices. Elderflower and cherry. You choose.’ She gestured to two smalltasse á glacecups with a scoop of white ice in one and bright red in the other.
‘Thank you so much for the invitation, Olivia.’ Ivy smiled at her friend. Looking at both ices, her mouth began to water. ‘Elderflower, I think. Less chance of staining my dress.’ She sat down and pulled the glass of white ice toward her, scooped a spoonful into her mouth, and closed her eyes, savouring the creamy, sweet treat. ‘Divine.’
Olivia’s blonde ringlets were expertly twisted into an intricate knot with tendrils framing her face. A lavender gown highlighted her full figure while bringing out the pink hues in her cheeks and lips. She looked lovely, but there was fatigue in the lines around her mouth and the carefully concealed bruising beneath her eyes that pearl powder couldn’t hide.
Ivy leaned forward, lowering her voice in the loud tea room. ‘Are you quite well?’
Olivia stretched her lips wide. She scooped up her own spoonful of cherry ice. ‘Of course. I’m splendid and so excited to discuss my new plan with you.’
Ivy was familiar with not wanting to share private affairs, even with close friends, so she did not press Olivia. ‘What mischief are you hatching?’
Olivia popped her spoon in her mouth before it could drip on her dress. Taking a moment to swallow her treat, she gave Ivy a conspiratorial wink. ‘A fundraising ball held by none other than the stuck-up, thinks-she’s-better-than-everyone-else Duchess of Dorsett.’
Ivy’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. ‘You can’t be serious.’ Leaning back in the wicker chair, Ivy shook her head. ‘She’ll never agree to host a ball for you.’
Olivia ate another spoonful of ice. She kept her eyes on the spoon as she placed it carefully next to the glass. ‘No. But she might ifyouasked.’
Bloody hell.
‘Olivia, I think you grossly overestimate my influence on Philippa.’ Ivy indulged in another spoonful.
‘We must try, Ivy. The orphanage is in desperate need of funds, and the Committee of Concerned Ladies for Community Betterment can only do so much with the limited pin money we are privy to. Not like a certain duchess who has a veritable fortune at her disposal.’
‘Not all titled members of the beau monde are flush with money.’
Olivia sent Ivy a dark look. ‘I’m aware. But the duchess is not one of the many titled poor. And more importantly, every lord and lady south of Scotland is tripping over themselves to win her favour. You are her friend. Surely she wouldn’t refuse your request to throw a charitable ball, would she?’
Ivy couldn’t imagine what Philippa’s reaction might be as she’d never dreamed of asking her for something so outlandish. But the orphanage did need money, and the beau monde would follow Philippa’s lead like lemmings.
‘Can you not ask your husband if he might be willing to host the ball? I’m sure I could get Philippa to attend.’
Olivia almost spit out her spoonful of cherry confection. ‘Percy? I dare not ask him for anything. Funding Hyacinth’s debut has put him in a foul mood, even though he brought me back from Europe especially to manage the task.’
Ivy had not asked Olivia about her relationship with her daughter. Rumours swirled that Lord Smithwick banished Olivia to Europe for ten years, keeping her separate from the girl. But she could hardly ignore the topic now Olivia mentioned it.
‘You must be so excited for her debut.’
Olivia’s green eyes misted, and her chin quivered. She pushed away her nearly emptytasse á glace. ‘Much trust has been broken between us. I am working to regain her faith, but it has not been easy.’ For a horrifying moment, Ivy worried her friend might burst into tears in front of some of the beau monde’s most vicious gossips.
Throwing her head back, Ivy laughed so loud, she worried she might upend the unsteady café table.
Shocked from her tears, Olivia looked around the room, then back to Ivy. ‘What on earth are you?—’
‘Don’t let them see your pain,’ Ivy whispered before breaking into another peal of false cheer.
