Page 23 of My Secret Duke
I vo had accompanied his mother and sisters to a dinner at the Monteiths’ town house in London. Jane, Viscountess Monteith, had arrived home from Devon with some exciting news, and Ivo’s mother spent a great deal of time trying to guess what it was. His cousin Harold was there, and Adelina had prevailed upon Ivo to escort one of her old school friends, who was staying with them, and who had recently suffered a disappointment in love. Miss Fenwick was a pretty girl with dark hair, blue eyes, and a serious demeanor, and as she hardly said two words together and didn’t giggle at his every utterance, accompanying her was no hardship for Ivo. He had told his sister not to expect anything more from him, but she had assured him that “poor Daphne” was too shattered to even think of another gentleman after her true love jilted her.
“She has sworn off men,” his sister had added teasingly, “so don’t fear she will come between you and Lady Olivia.”
The Ashtons were there as well—the dowager, Justina, and Olivia—and Ivo ignored the flare of warmth in his chest at the thought of her company. He must not make his partiality too obvious or there would be talk, and nothing was more likely to drive Olivia away. Having just gotten her friendship back, he did not want to lose it again.
Vivienne, the new duchess, was still at Grantham, but there was a whisper that the viscountess had not invited Vivienne’s mother, her sister-in-law, to make the journey from Cornwall. For some reason, the prince was also present, and Ivo wondered when it had been decided he was part of their clique of friends. He suspected the Dowager Duchess of Grantham had something to do with that. Even though Olivia had insisted she and Nikolai were not an item, it didn’t mean her grandmother thought the same. She would be doing everything in her power to bring about the union of the Season. What if an announcement was made tonight? It might be a good thing Ivo had the jilted Miss Fenwick at his side—didn’t misery love company? And he admitted to himself that if Olivia married the prince, he would be miserable indeed. Frankly, whoever she married would send him into a state of melancholy.
Viscountess Monteith called everyone together before dinner, and Ivo could see from her flushed face that she was bursting with exciting news. She insisted on complete quiet before she launched into a rather breathless speech.
Ivo felt rather sick, but he reminded himself that if Olivia was marrying, then the dowager would hardly allow anyone else to broadcast the news.
“You have been invited here to share in this happy occasion. I have an announcement! Annette is engaged! We are very pleased to welcome the fortunate gentleman into our family. Indeed, he already feels like one of us. Harold, where are you?”
Harold! Of course. Ridiculously relieved, Ivo watched as his cousin slipped through the chattering crowd, a beaming smile on his face. Although Ivo had been aware his cousin and Annette seemed to be close, and he had suspected for some time they were ideally suited, it was still a surprise. A nice one. Harold reached for Annette’s hand and turned that smile on his intended. A smile she returned with tears in her eyes.
Ivo went to congratulate them. “You sneaky devil,” he said to Harold. “When did this happen?”
Harold laughed and drew him to one side. “It was hush-hush. I went down to Devon after Annette sent me a rather fraught note and… well,” he said with a slight grimace. “The viscountess wasn’t exactly thrilled at first, but she’s come around. And I love her.”
“The viscountess?” Ivo raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Annette, you idiot!”
Ivo’s expression softened. “I know you do. And she loves you too, and I suspect she has for quite some time.” He did not need to explain to Harold that Ivo and Annette had never been more than friends, and there had never been any intention by either of them to marry.
“Thank you, Ivo. You will be my best man, won’t you?”
Ivo agreed. “And just think,” he added, sotto voce, “your wife will be able to pen as many romantic novels as she wants, and you can publish them for her.”
Harold grinned. “I’m counting on it.”
As if by magic, servants had appeared with champagne, and a toast was drunk, before everyone was ushered into the dining room for a celebratory dinner.
The Monteiths had outdone themselves with the meal. The table was groaning with course after course. Ivo wondered if he would be able to walk by the time it came to retire to the drawing room, where there was to be dancing for those capable of it, and conversation for those who weren’t.
Adelina, Lexy, and Justina were whispering secrets with Annette, and his mother had her head close to the viscountess’s. He had caught his mother’s glance once or twice over the meal and knew what it meant. When they arrived home, she would be asking him when he was going to marry and give her some Fitzsimmons grandchildren, and he would smile and say he had yet to meet the right woman. It was a theme they revisited whenever someone announced an engagement, but lately, his mother had been getting more determined.
Olivia and the prince were conversing in low voices. When Ivo found himself staring, trying to guess what they were saying, he made himself look away. Miss Fenwick sat mute by his side, twisting her fingers in her lap, so Ivo bestirred himself to find a topic of conversation that might interest her.
“Are you enjoying your stay in London? Adelina did not say whether or not you had been here before,” he said kindly.
“I am trying to enjoy myself, but I keep thinking of all the things we were going to do. Before…” Her lip wobbled, and she bit it before meeting his gaze. “Adelina says you have suffered a disappointment too, Your Grace?”
“Did she? The little wretch!” Ivo said before he could stop himself.
Daphne looked shocked, and then she chuckled, and suddenly she was much more appealing to him.
Someone had gotten up from their chair and moved across the room, and only then did he notice it was Olivia.
Miss Fenwick was speaking again. “Adelina says I should turn my mind to other matters, but it is difficult when memories of him consume me.”
She had a dramatic turn of phrase, but Ivo understood what she meant.
“When I go home, I expect I will be thrown into his company again. He is a neighbor, so I cannot avoid him,” she added with a sigh. “I am hoping that if I treat him as if he were any other casual acquaintance, it will become the truth.”
“Does he feel no guilt for the way he has treated you?” Ivo asked softly.
“He’s head over heels in love. With somebody else. He told me he didn’t understand what love was until then.”
Love. It was an emotion Ivo had not believed in before Olivia, and he still wasn’t sure that was what he felt for her. At first, he had thought it an infatuation, a longing for the company of someone like-minded, and he had mourned the loss of her. Lately, being her friend seemed to be enough, although if he were honest, when she was not at the same entertainment as himself, he felt a degree of disappointment that seemed out of all proportion. As if she held his happiness in her smile. As if she held his heart in the palm of her hand.
The realization gave him a nasty shock. Maybe he and “poor Daphne” made a good pair after all!
Just then, Adelina called to Daphne to join her and mediate on some point of fashion. Ivo looked about for Harold, hoping for a distraction from his thoughts, but his cousin was in serious discussion with the viscount and the prince. Harold would have to learn about horses if he was to hold his own there. Maybe there was an equine instruction manual at his publishing house? The Dowager Duchess of Grantham’s head was nodding as she sat in the most comfortable chair in the room, not quite snoring but almost.
And Olivia?
She had tucked herself away at the piano, although she was not playing. Could she play? Ivo knew if he was falling in love with her, then he should stay away, but as was often the case with self-destructive behavior, the tug of his feelings was too strong. Besides, what had Miss Fenwick just said? If I treat him as if he were any other casual acquaintance, it will become the truth. He would have a word or two with Olivia, and then leave her be. Surely there could be no harm in that? A polite word, that was all.
If he could do that and walk away, then he could continue to be her friend without hurt to himself, or to her. Ivo took a breath, set his shoulders, and strolled toward the piano.