A Garden for Ivy (The Wednesday Club Book 3)

of friends. But as Ivy bid farewell to them, she realised she was no closer to finding some kind of solution for Prudence than she had when she walked into Davenport House.
It wasn’t, strictly speaking, her problem. And Prudence herself wasn’t a problem at all, since she was sweet, intelligent and attractive. Her shyness kept her aloof, but Ivy understood that and knew that in the right circumstances she would relax and shine like the fresh new flower she was.
The Duke had asked Ivy to watch over her and once she’d accepted, she and Prudence had become friends. Maidenbrooke himself seemed most content with the arrangement, often accompanying the two of them to some social event.
He was, Ivy told herself, doing his duty by his orphaned niece.
She tried not to pay any attention at all to his strikingly blue eyes…

Chapter One
“Your destiny awaits. You have only to be brave enough to grasp it…”
Ivy Siddington awoke, hearing the echo of that soft voice, those odd words, in her head.
Her feet were cold, and she shivered, as if she were still in the dream, but the wind had turned sharp instead of soft. Damn those dreams.
She shook her head angrily as she cursed in her mind.
This had been the most intense one she’d had in quite some time, and she’d hoped that she had at last outgrown them. It had been many years since the first, and—coming directly after the loss of her parents—she’d been told it was a way to accept the devastating shock of their deaths.
It was logical, which appealed to the growing part of her brain that dealt with such things. She found she preferred straightforward explanations, rather than suppositions or intangible concepts.
She shoved aside the urge to sit for hours, staring at the clouds or watching the fog roll in over the ocean.
She ignored the rumours that her childhood home, Siddington Castle, was haunted. Wasn’t every old building the possessor of some lost spirit? The Lord knew enough slaughter had taken place on those lands during the five centuries or so since the first stones had been laid.
If there were some spots that felt oddly chilled, even in summer, or rooms that she preferred not to enter—what of it? There were dozens of others where she could play, and read, and learn. It was a castle, after all. Rooms were not in short supply.
And now, in London, settled at Vine Place with her chaperone and longtime companion, Mrs Elvina Ashrayn, she truly believed she’d left all that silly mystical nonsense behind her.
Clenching her teeth, she turned her mind away from the dream. It was ridiculous, absurd, and probably the result of that rather excellent Stilton cheese she’d nibbled on after dinner last night. She refused to give up the cheese, but as she slid out of bed she promised herself to stay away from it in the evenings.
A tap on the door was followed by the appearance of a delicate face surrounded by a mass of soft white hair and topped with a tiny lace cap. “Good morning, sleepyhead. ‘Tis past eight and breakfast awaits.”
Ivy sighed. “I had a strange dream, Elvina. Clearly it has befuddled my wits, since I’m still sitting here like a ninny with no slippers on.”
Mrs Ashrayn laughed. “In that case, I’ll tell Henrietta to wait to dress you. Just put on your slippers and wrapper. We’ll breakfast informally in the small parlour. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are as well.” She turned, glancing back over her shoulder. “You can tell me about your dream over Cook’s fresh scones.”
“Mmm.” Ivy’s stomach rumbled in agreement. “Five minutes, no longer, I promise.”
True to her word, Ivy bundled her hair up into a knot, slid into her wrapper and knotted the belt, knowing it covered more of her than most of her evening gowns. Besides, it was just her and Elvina, with the possible exception of Malvern, the butler who had known her since she was in short skirts, so he counted as family too.
The scent of baking filled her nose as she hurried down the back stairs and she followed it to the brightly lit parlour where Elvina was pouring tea.
“Perfect timing,” she smiled. “Here. Tea is the best thing in the world for chasing away bad dreams.”
Ivy nodded, finding herself hungry for the warm scones sitting near her plate. “It wasn’t a bad dream, exactly,” she said. A restorative sip of tea was followed by a sigh of pleasure. “More strange, I suppose.”
Elvina buttered a scone. “Can you tell me about it? Anything special you recall?” She gave Ivy an encouraging glance.
“Well,” Ivy thought for a moment. “I was by a stream...I heard a woman’s voice.” She related what she remembered.
“Were you concerned? Frightened?”
“No, not at all,” Ivy shook her head. “I suppose I was more frustrated than anything else, since I didn’t get to ask any questions.”
“I can understand that. Like being given clues without knowing what mystery one is supposed to be solving.”
“Exactly,” Ivy smiled. “I read one or two books like that. I threw them away.”
Elvina chuckled. “Can’t say that I blame you, dear.” She raised her teacup and regarded Ivy over the rim. “Have you heard the voice before?”
“No,” answered Ivy. “But I do remember often having dreams of being near water. Which never bothered me, since I’m quite happy at the shore, or on a lake. And I like to swim.”
She ate her scone, recalling the times her parents had spent with her, teaching her to swim in the lake near Siddington.
“An unusual comment for a young lady, but one that is certainly sensible.”
Elvina’s practical words swept away Ivy’s wistful thoughts. “I suppose so.”
“Well, consider enjoying a ride on the Thames in a punt with an attractive young gentleman. And he accidentally