Rest of his life! That was past. All he had left was this desire and a vow to help her find a living man to be her husband.
Softly he said, “Of course I will stay with you, sweetheart. For as long as I can.” He put his finger to his lips as she started to speak. “Sleep now.”
She put her hand over his beneath the thick quilts.
When she closed her eyes, he leaned against the headboard to watch each breath she took as she drifted into sleep. He never had been so happy as he was when he had this chance to be with her. Nor had he ever been so utterly miserable.
Eight
“Ah, here you are!” Marian bustled into Ellen’s bedchamber, the fringe on her blue wrapper fluttering like feathers.
Although Ellen was tempted to ask where else she might be at this hour of the morning, she simply smiled. She was glad she could when the shadow of last night’s half-remembered nightmare adhered to her like the rain to the window. Rising from where she had been finishing her breakfast, she said, “You look agitated, Marian. Is something wrong?”
“Better you should ask if something important is wrong,” Corey interjected. His chuckle warmed her, and she included him in her smile. When she had opened her eyes this morning, she had discovered him sitting in the chair by the hearth, reading one of the newspapers Lord Herrold had sent out from Town. Remnants of memory teased her, but she was certain she could not have savored his caresses during the night. It could have been only a dream, a dream she cherished, knowing it would never come true.
Marian flung out her hands. “Lorenzo—Lord Wulfric is here, and I thought you would wish to see him.”
Ellen looked at Corey, who grinned at Marian’s grand announcement and, with a broad gesture, stood and bowed to her.
“Do not let me keep you from being entertained by Lorenzo,” he said.
“Ellen?”
She pulled her gaze from Corey to meet Marian’s baffled eyes. “Of course I would be delighted to see him.”
“Are you well?” Marian put the back of her hand against Ellen’s forehead. “My dear, you seem as distracted as if you are suffering from a fever.” Her eyes brightened. “Have you changed your mind about Josiah? Can it be that you are in love?”
“I do not believe love causes one to appear ill.”
“You are such an innocent. I was ill to my stomach before every outing I had with Reginald.” She tapped her chin and frowned in concentration. “Odd, I still suffer that on occasion.”
Ellen bit her lip to keep from smiling. If she were wed to that boring man, she would be ill, too.
Corey laughed, loud and hard.
Unable to halt herself, Ellen surrendered to laughter. She put her hand to her lips and glared at him, but he continued to laugh.
“That’s much better,” Marian said with the familiar expression of puzzlement. “Laughter will heal whatever is bothering you in no time.”
“I would like to think so.”
“Lorenzo is in the gold parlor. I have sent for tea and some sweetmeats for us.”
“At this hour?” She looked at her breakfast tray.
“He rode over in the rain. I thought he would wish something bracing to ease any chill he might have picked up along the sea road.”
Corey muttered, “Tea bracing? A good cheerer of flip would better serve the purpose.”
Ellen thanked Marian, who scurried out of the room after telling Ellen she would meet her in the parlor and “please do not keep Lorenzo waiting. It would not look good.” Ellen took a single glance in the glass, ignored Corey’s grin, and followed Marian. Before the door closed, she peeked back into the room.
“I would,” she said, “prefer to speak with your cousin without your interference.”
He held up his hands in mock astonishment. “I would not think of intruding on Lorenzo’s call on you. However, if you do find yourself suffering ennui, just say, ‘Corey, I miss you more than words can express,’ and I shall be by your side.”
“You flatter yourself.”
“I must when you fail to do so.”
Ellen laughed and closed the door. She turned to go to the stairs. With a gasp, she froze as she stared at Corey. “How—? No, do not bother to explain. Just stop popping in and out and startling me.”
No amusement lightened his face. “Call me if you need an excuse to escape Lorenzo, Edie. I know how tiresome he can be when he waxes poetic about his poetry.”
“I shall be fine.”
“True. Mayhap I should worry about Lorenzo. He will have to struggle to devise any interesting conversation to share with you. His words are few and far between.”
“Yet he speaks to me with sincerity. That can compensate for many other faults, Corey.”
Ellen rushed down the stairs before he drew her into another brangle. Why did they pull caps every time she dared to believe they might be able to enjoy their curious friendship? During breakfast, Corey had acted solicitous of her and had been charming company. Now—as soon as his cousin’s name was spoken—the acidic edge returned to his voice.
The gold sitting room was set in a front corner of the first floor. Through the branches of the trees closest to the house, views of the garden offered an ever-changing vista. Shadows chased the dim sunlight across the wood floor and up onto the gathering of chairs and settees that were the same vibrant shades as the silk on the walls.
Lord Wulfric stood when Ellen came into the room. His dark green coat was cut to add breadth to his shoulders, and the nankeen pantaloons flattered his long legs, which appeared as thin as cat-sticks in riding boots. Nothing could detract from his impressive height or from the thoughtfulness in his eyes.
“You choose a poor day to pay a call, my lord,” Ellen said as she held out her hand to him. His clothes were dry, save for the glitter of water on his boots, so she guessed he had left his greatcoat with the footman. She was surprised Marian was not in the room, then guessed Marian was tending to the refreshments.
He bowed over it. “I wished to assure myself you have recovered as completely as Marian has told me. You look rested.”
“I feel much better.” She chose a seat on the settee and was surprised when he sat beside her. “You are kind to give me a look-in, my lord.”
“Lorenzo, please.”
“Lorenzo.” She smiled. “And you must call me Ellen.”
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
Silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of the rain striking the windows. Ellen tried to think of something to say, but her mind was as empty as the cheval glass when Corey passed it.
Finally, desperate, she dared to say, “Corey told me that you enjoy reading.”
“He spoke of me during your brief conversation under the fireworks?”
“Yes,” she said, glad he had phrased his question so she might speak the truth. She was certain Corey must have mentioned his cousin while they walked out to the seawall and back to disaster.
“’Tis true,” he answered with a smile. “I enjoy an interesting book, especially on a cloudy day like today when the wind blows off the sea.”
“I would think such a day, if there were no rain, would lure you outside to enjoy the freshness.”
His smile became sad. “If I did not know better, I would think I was speaking with Corey. He was always half-mad with anxiety to experience every aroma from the sea.”
“Mayhap because he spent so much time far from it in that prison.”
“You have become well acquainted with my cousin’s life.”
“Marian speaks often of both of you.” That was no thumper either. She wondered how far she could stretch the truth before it snapped back to strike her.
Clasping his hands on his knee, he smiled. “That is no surprise. Marian never avoids the chance for a bit of scan-mag.”
“She speaks of you in friendship.”
“I know what she says.” He faced her. “And you are clearly Marian’s friend to describe her so generousl
y. Marian, who is happy only when surrounded by a crowd, cannot understand a man who can amuse himself in the serenity of his home. Corey found that difficult to understand as well.”
No, he understands very well, she wanted to tell him, but she could devise no excuse to explain how she would know that. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. How sad that these two men, who cared so deeply for each other, never had been able to bridge their differences to enjoy the friendship they could have shared. Mayhap this was another part of the tragedy, as regrettable as the chance she had lost to be enfolded in Corey’s arms.
She lowered her eyes as an unfettered yearning possessed her. What an air-dreamer she was!
“Ellen, if I have disturbed you with my comments about my late cousin, forgive me. Our manners tend to become rough here in grassville.”
“You did not disturb me.” She looked at him and smiled. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“Such a pretty picture!” Marian announced as she came into the room. She was followed by a maid carrying a tray. “You look well, Lorenzo. I hope you will excuse my delay in greeting you. I am certain Ellen played hostess well in my absence.”
Lorenzo frowned. “Marian, you shall put Ellen to the blush.”
“She is accustomed to me.” She sat across from them. She prepared to pour the tea. “Aren’t you, my dear?”
“I believe I am,” Ellen said with a smile. Offering Lorenzo the plate of sweetmeats, she went on as if they had not been interrupted, “So, you amuse yourself on such days as these with reading?”
“Reading and …” He gulped, glanced at Marian who was scowling at the tea, then said more softly, “Writing.”
“Writing? What do you write?”
“I have tried my hand at a few sonnets.”
“Like Shakespeare and Milton?”
“I prefer less sappy work.”
She smiled. He was not boring; simply he was as bashful as a lad. There was something utterly captivating about his quiet ways, which contrasted with Corey’s brash comments. “You are more daring than I, Lorenzo. I fear I have never mastered the patience needed to write within those strict parameters.”
“But that is the challenge.”
As he sat straighter, she was astonished to see once more a hint of his cousin in him. Fervor blazed from his eyes, and his hands were clenched as if he were about to come to cuffs with an invisible foe.
Ellen stiffened at the thought. Scanning the room, she saw no sign of Corey. That meant nothing, she feared. If his spirit was attached somehow to her, he might be listening in even now. No, he had agreed to let her speak to Lorenzo alone unless she chanced to call him.
“A challenge that has eluded me,” she said when she realized Lorenzo was waiting for an answer. She must keep her mind on the conversation here as lief the one she might have to have with Corey if he eavesdropped on her … again.
“Poetry?” Marian sniffed as she held out a cup to Lorenzo, then poured one for Ellen. “Lorenzo, you are wasting your brain on such pursuits.”
“How so?”
“You shall use up all your thoughts in pursuit of the perfect rhyme. Then where shall your mind be when you need it for something important?”
“Such as?”
Ellen saw the twinkle in his eyes. He was enjoying jesting with Marian, although Ellen was not sure if Marian realized he was teasing her, for Marian said with rare heat, “Lorenzo Wolfe, you are once again Lord Wulfric. It would behoove you to concentrate on the pursuits of a country gentleman.”
As Marian bent to stir more sugar into her tea, Lorenzo said lowly, “I wonder if she means the pursuits of foxes or lasses.”
Marian looked up at Ellen’s laugh. “Did I miss something important?”
“I suspect not,” Ellen answered.
Before she could add more, footsteps stormed up the stairs. Ellen looked out into the corridor, expecting Lord Herrold to appear. Instead she saw a strikingly handsome man who was as muscular as a laborer. He tossed his soaked coat at a serving lass. The girl stared at him, awestruck. Flashing her a scintillating smile, he paused to let the door frame him.
“Kenneth Pratt,” Lorenzo said quietly.
Ellen tensed. This was the man Marian had been eager for her to meet. It was wrong to take an instant dislike to someone, but one look at Kenneth Pratt was enough to make her despise him. He sauntered into the room as if Herrold Hall were his domain. No, she corrected herself, as she saw him look down his nose at the room, he acted as if he were the king in the lowest hovel of his lowest subject.
“Wolfe, good of you to call on Miss Dunbar,” he boomed as he smoothed back his blond hair from his cobalt blue eyes. “Although I must own that I had hoped to have her company—and Lady Herrold’s—to myself this morning.”
Lorenzo gulped. “If you wish to speak with Pratt alone, Ellen, I can take my leave.”
“No!” Ellen forced a smile to cover her swift answer. She did not want to spend the rest of the day explaining her lack of civility to Marian. “There are plenty of sweetmeats, and another cup can be brought. Think of what fun we shall have talking together.” She pointed to a chair on the far side of the table where the tea tray was set. Even there, she suspected, would be too close. “Please sit with us, Mr. Pratt, and tell us how your mother is doing.”
“You know Mother?” he asked as he flashed that devastating smile at Marian, who giggled like a lass still in the schoolroom.
“I had the opportunity to meet her the night of the fireworks,” Ellen said when she realized Marian was too overmastered by Mr. Pratt’s good looks to assume her place as hostess. “She seems to be a sensitive woman. She must have been much distressed by the evening.”
When she heard an impolite snort, Ellen did not have to look over her shoulder. She had been sure Corey would appear as soon as word spread through the Hall that Kenneth Pratt was calling. In fact, she was surprised it had taken Corey so long to arrive. He had vowed not to intrude on Lorenzo’s call, but Mr. Pratt’s arrival made it a completely different situation.
Mr. Pratt seized a finely made chair and pulled it within inches of where she sat on the settee. “My mother was not exaggerating when she said you were the prettiest thing to enter this shire in a long time.”
“Thank you. You are kind.”
“True, but ’tis easy to be kind when I speak the truth.”
Corey sat on the arm of the settee, and Ellen pulled back before she could touch him. Seeing Mr. Pratt’s eyes narrow at what he saw as an insult, she wished just one other person could see Corey. Then she would not always be caught—sometimes quite literally—in the middle.
“So are you well?” the blond man asked.
“I am better.”
“Then you have no excuse not to allow me to escort you to the dance we are hosting Saturday next.”
Marian recovered enough to regain her voice. “A dance? What a wonderful surprise!”
“I spoke to you of it,” Mr. Pratt said, “only last week.”
She waved aside his words as irrelevant. “Then you said only it was a possibility, and now you are asking Ellen to go with you. Isn’t that wonderful, Ellen?”
Corey leaned forward as he interjected, “Marian, you always have had a peculiar sense of wonderful.”
Ellen began, “I—”
“You need not express your gratitude.” Mr. Pratt started to reach for Ellen’s hand, but paused, astonishment on his face. Shaking his fingers, he frowned.
No humor lightened Corey’s face as he growled, “Pratt, you need not express a word for us to know you are a pompous calf-head. If you will say the word, Edie, I shall give the boor such an embrace that he shall be shivering for days.”
“Cold in here, isn’t it?” Mr. Pratt asked.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Ellen said. “I—”
“Blasted draughty house.” He turned to Marian. “I have told your husband on more than one occasion he should find a place farther from the sea. We live inland where these cold w
inds are blocked by the hills.” Not giving Marian a chance to answer, he looked at Ellen. “Much wisdom in that, don’t you agree?”
“I—”
Ellen gritted her teeth when Mr. Pratt interrupted for a third time. The man was insufferable!
“Of course, I suppose you are accustomed to such draughts. I understand you were raised in that intolerably uncivilized land to the north.” He started to move closer to her, then seemed to think better of it. Only Ellen saw Corey’s hand waft the air again in front of Mr. Pratt’s classically aristocratic nose. “Although I must own, if all the ladies of Scotland are as lovely and demure as you, Miss Dunbar—May I call you Ellen?”
“I would as lief you did not,” she replied, amazed at this man. She had never met anyone who was so arrogantly rude. To think she would agree to him using such an intimacy as her given name on their blessedly short acquaintance was absurd.
As if she had not spoken, he continued, “Ellen, you are a tribute to your birthland. If only England had more gracious ladies like you, what a wondrous place this would be. Mayhap we should investigate the idea of sending some of our young beaux to that country and seeking out others like you. Not that any of them could compare to you. How distressed our Englishwomen must have been to meet you and think there were others in that distant land!”
“Scotland is part of Great Britain,” Lorenzo said with quiet dignity, “and is not a long ride from where we are sitting right now.”
“Wolfe, are you still here?” He started to laugh, then swallowed the sound with a gulp when Ellen frowned. “I mean, you are so quiet one would think you were nothing more than a statue.”
“How,” Corey asked in that tone which warned her he was contemplating mischief, “can a soul get a word in when you, Pratt, are airing your vocabulary endlessly?”
Ellen was tempted to agree, but Lorenzo spoke before she could.
“Kenneth, your opinions are always a source of amazement to me.”
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