Page 15 of The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
My breath was coming faster now, imagining how such a scenario would end—with bites and moans and sweat. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t win? Perhaps you’d be the one subdued, Mr. Markham.”
“We’ll never find out unless we try,” he said, a touch mischievously.
There was a moment that consisted only of us breathing, looking at one another, both thinking the same wicked thoughts.
Then he removed his hands from my arms. “Will it make you feel better,” he asked with a sigh, “to know that the expense of the dresses will barely be noticeable in my ledger? I kept Violet clothed in all the latest and finest while we were engaged—several new purchases a month—and even that was easily affordable to me. As a widowed man without children, I have much more money than I know what to do with. So please. It will cost nothing to me and it will make me immensely happy to help you.”
I could not even conceive of a wealth so vast that the purchase of several dresses a month would seem like a drop in the ocean. I saw his point, and yet… “It is only that I don’t like to be indebted to people,” I said. “And I am already so much in your debt.”
His green eyes were dark, almost black, in the lamplight. “Then we will have to work out a way for you to pay me back.”
I liked that idea very much.
The seamstress indeed came the next day, all the way from Scarborough. She took my measurements, warning me that only two or three dresses would be done by the time the guests arrived, but that she would rush the rest of the order and hopefully get more to me next week.
“And exactly how many dresses are in the order?”
“Twenty-three,” she said without batting an eye.
I was staggered. That was double the number of dresses I’d owned in my entire life.
“Mr. Markham has picked the patterns and fabrics himself,” she continued, wrapping a tape around my waist and then scribbling on a scrap of paper. “You will be quite pleased.” If the seamstress knew of my impoverished state, she didn’t say anything, but when I shifted my feet to hide the holes in my stockings, she did mention that Mr. Markham had also thoughtfully ordered me new undergarments as well.
Later that morning, I accompanied Gareth once more to town, and when word got around the house that I had some experience gardening, I was pressed into service gathering fresh flowers and greenery to fill the guest rooms. Mr. Markham was absent—he’s gone away for business, Mrs. Brightmore had informed me curtly when I’d asked—and I felt as if the day were meaningless without him there, as if the possibility of talking to him was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality. Instead, I spent my spare time roaming the woods, swimming and daydreaming. Everywhere I walked, every place I swam, I harbored the secret wish that he would appear out of thin air as he had before.
He didn’t.
The next morning came, dawning warm and golden. I realized I’d been in the house almost a week. Such a paltry amount of time, and yet what had happened in that week. Meeting Mr. Markham, learning more about Violet, beingtouchedin such new ways…
I decided to go swimming again, partly to cool off and partly because I hoped that by recreating the other morning, I could somehow conjure Mr. Markham from thin air. It didn’t work, but I felt refreshed and content as I emerged from the pool. The morning sun had burned off the fog and the day promised to be hot, although a line of dark clouds in the distance augured rain later. I gathered my things and went back up to the house, pausing in the gardens behind it to gaze at the blooming flowers and beating butterflies.
“Miss Leavold.”
I turned, my heart pounding, both exhilarated and slightly terrified that my wish had been fulfilled. “I was just admiring your beautiful gardens.”
“I know. I was just admiring the woman admiring my gardens.” His eyes took in my wet hair, my rumpled dress, my lack of corset. “You went swimming again.”
I raised my chin, not intending on apologizing. Surely it harmed nothing to swim in such a remote pool? And surely my time and activity wasn’t beholden to anything here? It hadn’t been at home.
“Let me give you a tour,” he said, changing the subject and his tone abruptly. He clasped his hands behind his back and started walking, and I followed, unable to keep myself from noticing the way his tailored jacket highlighted his wide shoulders and narrow hips.
We walked through a low maze, past a large fountain and into a small side lawn set with a temple folly, all surrounded by a verdant circle of trees. The rainclouds had encroached faster than I had earlier guessed; a dark line of shadow bisected the lawn as the clouds rolled overhead.
“Are you going to say anything?” I asked.
He looked at me in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I believe it is traditional when giving a tour to speak a little on the subject. You might, perhaps, tell me when this folly was built or which one of your ancestors built it?”
“Are you really so fascinated with this ruin?”
No. I just want to have you all to myself. I want you to touch me again.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He sighed. “Fine. Let’s examine it closer.”
The temple was circular, green-roofed, and without walls, completely open to the world. Unlike most follies, this one had a circle of low stone benches inside, making it into a pretty retreat. I ran past Mr. Markham to mount the steps to the temple and clamber on to them, for no other reason than that I wanted to.
