“Do you?” Thea asked.
“Yes. As yet I am unsure who, but I have several possibilities,” she said in a steady tone, as if she was discussing what to eat for breakfast, not a man she would spend the rest of her life with.
“Do you have a list?” Thea asked, looking both intrigued and horrified.
Miss Wainwright’s laugh was like a set of tinkling bells. “But of course; don’t you?”
Ivy studied the young woman. She’d met plenty like her during her time in society. Wealthy, indulgent, and assured. They wanted to marry well and would ensure that was the case no matter what it took.
She had to admire that kind of dedication, even if she found it unsettling.
“Today we shall start our archery competition,” Lady Osborne stated in a loud voice from her seat farther down the large table, drawing all eyes.
The house party was hosted at the estate of Lord Nightingale, sixth Viscount of Seddon, by his mother, the dowager viscountess. But Ivy’s aunt said that it was at the request of her dear friend Lady Osborne. As to why Lady Osborne couldn’t hold it at her husband’s estate, Ivy had no idea.
Nightingale hall was stunning, as Miss Wainwright had declared. Old, vast, and filled with beautiful treasures and furnishings. It also had one of the most exquisite gardens she had ever seen. Ivy planned to take long walks exploring them when she was not needed by Thea.
Of course, her uncle’s estate was something similar, but she’d already explored every inch of that.
The walls of the breakfast parlor were the palest lemon, and windows allowed views of the gardens below. Servants bustled about ensuring the guests had everything they needed and refreshing the buffet.
“Oh, now this is interesting,” someone said from farther down the table. Ivy wasn’t sure who.
A hush fell over the room, and all eyes were suddenly trained on the man entering.
CHAPTER4
Ivy knew who he was because she’d met him the year she’d entered society. In fact, she’d more than met him. He’d rescued her from disaster, but she doubted he’d remember that. Last night she’d run into him, literally. Her heart had nearly stopped when she had realized it was Bramstone Nightingale, the man she owed much to.
Ivy knew he’d left England not long after that night.
“But who is he?” Thea whispered to Miss Wainwright.
“Mr. Bramstone Nightingale. He is the younger brother to Viscount Seddon,” Miss Wainwright said knowledgeably. “He has been traveling for many years, according to Mother.”
Seeing him last night had unsettled her enough that she’d decided on returning to her room. Ivy had entered through the door she’d left by and overheard him reuniting with the viscount and viscountess, his family. The entire incident had been cold and informal. After four years, they’d greeted each other like strangers.
“He’s imposing,” Thea whispered.
He was imposing, Ivy acknowledged. Tall and dark, he was dressed in gray trousers and a black jacket. His waistcoat was silver-and-black paisley, and his necktie elegant but not overstated. And devastatingly handsome.
His face looked like he’d spent days in the sun, which instantly made him stand out among the other men in the room, who were pale. But that was not the only difference. He was savagely handsome. Dark brows over stunning green eyes that were piercing in their intensity. The ridges of his cheekbones were prominent, chin blunt, and his lips were curled into a lazy smile. He was a man that drew the eye. The hand he lifted to flick back a dark lock had long elegant fingers. His hair was a little long by society’s standards, it was thick and the color of midnight. A thick silver band adorned the middle finger of his left hand with a black stone set in the middle.
To Ivy’s eyes, he had changed a great deal since she’d last seen him in society.
“Bramstone, it is about time you arrived,” his mother said in a loud voice that carried to all the guests. She then turned her cheek for him to kiss it. She didn’t, however, hug him.
“Mother,” he said, straightening. Ivy could read nothing in his expression. “Four years have done nothing to dim your beauty.”
Cool, calm, and definitely not showing the enjoyment of seeing his mother again after so many years. The other guests began talking once more to cover the awkward moment.
“Hello, Bramstone,” Lady Osborne greeted him next.
“My lady.” He bowed. The woman was terrifying, but Mr. Nightingale did not look intimidated. He bent to kiss her cheek. “How is it you have yet to age?”
Lady Osborne smiled and patted his cheek.
Known as Pansy to her intimates, she was a woman who never had a hair out of place. Thick, silver, glossy and always styled just so. Her clothes were dark, and jewelry sparkled from her fingers and neck.
