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Chapter Three
Ivy
“I do not see why I must be here, brother,” Ivy complained. “You are the Baron of Elix, Castor. I am not.”
“No, but you are part of my household,” he replied. “And as such, it is important we present a united family front as we express our condolences. It is a matter of politics, Sister.”
They rode side by side on horseback, and Ivy sighed as she rolled her eyes. Her brother Castor was a calculating and ambitious man. Ivy knew that better than anybody. Elix was once a large barony, but their father’s taste for wine, women, and for gambling had frittered it down to almost nothing anymore. There was a time when it had nearly rivaled York in its grandiosity. But now, it was a shell of what it had once been.
Ivy was content in Elix, though. She wanted for nothing, and there was still more than enough land to ride her horses through the countryside. What it lacked in size, she thought it made up for in beauty ten times over. She loved Elix and was happy there. Yes, their father’s proclivities and vices had whittled down what their barony had once been. But for her part, she would be happy there from now until the end of time.
Castor, though, was obsessed with returning their barony back to what he called its “former glory.” Whatever that meant. It was not as if Elix was a center of art, culture, or science. Nor was it a barony coveted by many in London. Elix never had been nor ever would be sought out for political alliances or their favor. It was a large farming barony that, at one time, rivaled York - in terms of size. That was all it was - Elix’s lone claim to fame is that it once had nearly as much acreage as the Crown’s jewel in the north.
But Castor, ever since they were children, had talked ceaselessly about restoring Elix’s glory and forging it into something new, something grand, and something not even our forefathers had ever envisioned, let alone achieved. Castor often traveled to London, though Ivy knew he was widely viewed as a fringe hanger-on by many in Court. Ivy believed she was held in more esteem by members of the Court than her brother.
Castor, though, never passed up an opportunity to curry favor with the other nobles or attempt to ingratiate himself. Which was how Ivy found herself on the dry, dusty road to York. They had received word a couple of days ago that an attempt on the Duke’s life had been made, and his life hung by a precarious thread. Castor had seemed unusually energized by the news, and he had hastily put together an entourage to make the trip to York. They traveled under the pretense of expressing their sympathy and condolences, but Ivy saw it for what it was - yet another attempt to ingratiate himself to a powerful Lord.
“Surely you, my soft-hearted sister, cannot object to looking in on a fallen ally and friend. To standing united with them,” Castor pressed. “We should offer our services to help track down whoever committed this fiendish act.”
“A friend? When has the Duke ever counted you among his friends?” Ivy laughed.
Castor glowered at her. “As a member of my household, you are expected to do your part to honor the Duke and help his household in this time of crisis.”
“I am expected to participate in a system I am not permitted to take part in,” she mused, ignoring his obviously prepared remarks. “Yes, that sounds perfectly fair.”
“Do not be sour,” Castor said. “It is unbecoming.”
“Then how should I be, Brother?”
“Gracious. Courteous,” he replied. “You should show yourself to be a proper lady and an upstanding member of my household.”
“It is our household,” she rolled her eyes.
“Oh, is it?” Castor asked. “Have they changed the laws to allow women to inherit title? Because last I checked, after father died, I became the new Baron of Elix.”
Ivy feigned a yawn and effected a look of absolute boredom, which she knew got beneath her brother’s skin. His biggest flaw was that he desired to be taken seriously so badly, he was often boorish. Castor often seemed to her like a man standing in the middle of an open field shouting at the clouds in the sky.
“The Duke has one living heir - his daughter Gillian,” she shot back. “And she stands to inherit title and land.”
“Bollocks,” he snipped, casting a strange look at her.
She knew she was poking the bear by continuing to argue, but ever since they were children, she sometimes enjoyed getting under his skin. Especially at times when he was taking himself too seriously. She thought of it as her attempt to keep him humble.
“And unless her brother returns from exile - which he will not unless he desires to have his head off his shoulders - Gillian will be the heir to York,” she said.
“A woman cannot inherit title,” he said. “And her husband, that filthy, jumped-up Scot the Duke raised to baron cannot inherit either.”
“Col, I believe his name is, could inherit,” Ivy told him. “It would not be the first time a Scotsman was made an English noble - and vice versa. You really should have spent more time learning your history lessons, Brother.”
“Rubbish,” he said. “It will never be allowed to happen.”
Ivy shrugged. “Well then, Gillian has a claim as the last living heir of House Hamilton,” Ivy corrected him. “And lest you believe otherwise, there is precedent of women inheriting land and titles.”
“Also rubbish,” Castor said.
“Why are we even talking about this, Castor?” she asked. “It all seems quite premature, and frankly ghoulish, because the Duke still lives.”
“You brought it up,” he noted with a shrug.
