“I don’t see how she could have been. She only had one glass.” Well, and a few sips more, but not enough to count.
“What were you doing giving her brandy in the first place?” Ash asked, coming over to help himself to the decanter.
“I wasn’t trying to get her foxed, if that’s what you’re suggesting. She asked for some. I tried to dissuade her, but she said she was chilled from her tumble in the snow.” Ned shot Jack a pointed look. “I still don’t understand how she came to go flying into me. She said you pushed her.”
Jack took a glass of brandy from Ash and dropped into the seat Ellie had just vacated. “She slipped.”
Ned believed that as much as he believed the moon was made of cheese. “Right.”
Jack waved away his obvious skepticism. “I can’t understand why Ellie would reject your proposal. She’s madly in love with you.”
Ned snorted even as an odd flame flickered to life in his gut. Ellie loved him? No, the notion was absurd. “She has an odd way of showing it then.”
“Jack’s right.” Ash cradled his brandy glass and leaned against the mantel near Jack’s chair so they were both facing Ned. “Ellie’s been hopelessly in love with you since we were children. Everyone but you saw it.”
Ned looked from one to the other. They did not appear to be joking. “You’re both mad. Ellie’s a friend.” He balled up his soiled handkerchief; it would also have to go on the ash heap. “Or at least I thought she was.”
Jack snorted. “She feels far more than friendship for you, you blockhead. Why do you think she’s ignored all Mama’s choices and clung to our married brother here?” Jack grinned up at Ash. “Not that you aren’t a fine fellow, of course.”
Ash inclined his head. “Of course.” He looked back at Ned. “Jack’s right. I’ve spent hours talking to Ellie at these damn house parties, and I’ve watched how she watches you. It’s not mere friendship I’ve seen in her eyes.”
Good God, they couldn’t be right. Ellie didn’t love him ... did she?
He felt as if the room was spinning, and this time he hadn’t had too much brandy.
But no—she’d said she wouldn’t marry him even if he were the last man on earth.
“Perhaps the more important question,” Ash was saying, “is what do you feel for Ellie? Do you love her, Ned, or do you really consider her just a friend?”
Ned glared at his brother. “There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. I value Ellie’s friendship very highly indeed.” He didn’t have many friends—perhaps none besides his brothers and Ellie. He was a solitary creature, living a comfortable, but solitary existence.
Which was exactly the way he liked it. His life was orderly and well-planned—just as his next marriage would be. He wanted no unpleasant surprises. No messy emotions like love to shred his heart and destroy his peace.
“Wait a moment.” Jack shook his head. “You said you ‘suggested’ Ellie marry you. You didn’t really say that, did you?”
“Of course I did. It’s an arrangement that would work to both our benefits.” His kaleidoscope of emotions finally settled into the hot colors of anger. A hard knot tightened in his chest. “I don’t know why you both are making such a fuss about this. I want children, so I need a wife. Ellie’s not married and seemed willing this year to consider changing that state. She is twenty-six. She’s running out of time.”
Why the hell were Jack and Ash both staring goggle-eyed at him?
“Please tell me you didn’t say that to her,” Jack said, horror tingeing his voice.
“What? That I wanted children? I thought she should know that, though I suppose she could easily have inferred it.”
Jack shook his head. “No, the part about her age.”
“Of course not.” Not that he mightn’t have got to it if the conversation had progressed. Perhaps he was fortunate that it hadn’t—he’d admit Ellie might not have taken that part well. But it didn’t matter—she hadn’t taken any of it well.
“And the bit about children?” Ash looked almost as if he wanted to laugh. “Did you say that as bluntly to her as you just did to us?”
What the hell was he getting at? “I don’t know—perhaps.” Ned flushed. “But you can be certain I reassured her that I wouldn’t take advantage of my marital rights beyond the necessary task of getting her with child. I’m not a brute, you know.”
“No, you’re an ass,” Jack said, his expression twisting with disgust.
Ned’s fingers tightened and his arm muscles bunched, but he took a breath and gathered his composure. He would not fling his drink in Jack’s face. There had already been too much brandy wasted in this room. “You bloody well had best take that back.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
Self-control was overrated.
The brandy hit Jack’s face a split second before Jack grabbed Ned’s shoulders. Then they were both down on the floor trying to land punches.
“Good God, stop! Have you two lost your minds?”
Ned ignored Ash; he needed to focus all his attention on Jack. His little brother was much stronger than he’d been as a boy and far more skilled. At least he was fighting fair at the moment, but Ned suspected Jack had been in more than one scuffle where, by necessity, winning—or survival—trumped obeying any rules.
Something hit his backside hard.
“What the hell?” He jerked his head up to see Ash hit Jack on the leg with the fireplace poker.
“Hey!” Jack kicked out, but Ash jumped back in time to avoid being taken down.
“Good move,” Ned said, sitting up. He and Jack both glared at Ash.
“And I’ll hit you both again,” Ash said, “if you don’t stop fighting. You’ve already broken a brandy glass and that hideous china dog that was on the occasional table.”
Jack ran his hand through his hair. His brandy-spattered cravat dangled from his neck. “Mama won’t care.”
“Perhaps not,” Ash said, “but she’ll care very much if either of you show up at dinner with a cut lip or black eye.”
Ash was correct, blast it. Ned pulled himself to his feet, wincing a little as he straightened. “Where did you learn to fight like that, Jack?”
Jack shrugged—and Ned was delighted to see him wince as well. So he had done a little damage. “Gentleman Jackson’s mostly and, er, well”—Jack stood—“I don’t always stay in the good part of Town.”
Ned frowned. “Damn it, Jack, what is the matter with you? Have you a death wish?”
Jack grinned. “Not at all.”
He wanted to shake some sense into him, but that clearly was impossible. “Will you at least be careful?”
“I’ll certainly try, Lord Worry.”
Perhaps he would just hit him again—
Ash stepped between them. “I think you’d both better retire to your rooms and make yourselves presentable,” he said. “And do avoid letting Mama see you on your way.”
“Gad, yes.” Jack grimaced. “I hate Mama’s sad, disappointed look. You know the one I mean?”
“Yes,” Ash said, ruefully. “I do—all too well.”
“Well, you do need to do something about Jess,” Jack said, “and the sooner, the better.”
Ash narrowed his eyes. “Careful, Jack. You may be a better fighter, but I’m sure I could make you feel some pain.”
“Doubtful, old man. You’ll be thirty tomorrow, remember?”
Ash grunted. “How can I forget when everyone takes it upon himself to remind me?”
Ned smiled, but he wasn’t feeling particularly amused. He headed toward the door. “I’ll see you both later, then.”
“Ned,” Ash called.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “What?”
“Far be it from me to offer any sort of advice on the handling of women—we all know how ironic that would be—but I do think you should consider exactly what Ellie means to you. If you find you love her, tell her. Don’t hide behind talk of mutually beneficial arrangements. That
’s not fair to her—or to you.”
Ned just nodded and let himself out, closing the door behind him. He looked up and down the corridor; thank God no one was in sight. Then he started up the stairs to the bedroom floor.
Did he love Ellie?
He loved her as a friend, of course, but did he love her?
Panic grabbed his throat, and his chest tightened. He couldn’t love her. He couldn’t again go through the pain he’d suffered when Cicely died. Far better to marry Miss Wharton—he was certain he didn’t love her.
He’d spend some time with Miss Wharton this evening to see if they were at all compatible. If they were, perhaps he would say something to her tomorrow. There was no point in putting it off. The sooner he married, the sooner he’d have his heir.
He just wished he felt a bit more enthusiasm at the prospect.
Chapter 18
Red is the color of love.
—Venus’s Love Notes
The Duchess of Love pulled back her bedroom curtains and squinted. The bright sun shining on the snow-covered garden and fields was beautiful but harsh. A herd of deer picked its way through drifts near the pond; a rabbit paused on a garden path. The world looked vast, cold, and quiet.
“Happy birthday, my dear duchess,” Drew said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Mmm.” It was her birthday and her sons’ birthday and the last day of her party, and she was very much afraid she wouldn’t get the one gift she wanted more than any other. She’d been so hopeful, but after last evening ...
“You’re unusually pensive.” Drew nuzzled her neck. “Still worrying?”
“Yes.” She’d fretted half the night, and what little sleep she’d got had been haunted by images of Ned and Miss Wharton exchanging vows in Greycliffe’s chapel with Ellie’s papa presiding.
Drew turned her to face him. “Stop. Ned’s a grown man, Venus. He must make his own decisions.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was so comforting. “I know. I just wish he was still a little boy. Life was so much simpler then. I could solve all his problems with a hug and a kiss.”
“Not all of them. Remember the nights you spent at his bedside when he had a fever or an earache or a bad cough?”
“Yes.” She remembered all too clearly—the agony of seeing any of her sons in pain and being unable to make it go away or, worse, the terror of watching them breathe, hoping each breath would not be their last, bargaining with God to make them better.
“He married Cicely; he’ll marry Miss Wharton if he wants.” Drew hugged her a little tighter. She knew he wasn’t happy about that, either. “We’ll survive.” She felt him swallow. “I’m sure we’ll discover Miss Wharton is a lovely young woman once we get to know her better.”
She looked up at him. “Yes, of course.” She didn’t mind Miss Wharton; she just didn’t want her as a daughter-in-law. “But I thought things were going so well between Ned and Ellie, especially once Lady Juliet deserted him for Mr. Cox.”
“So did I, but apparently they weren’t.”
“Something must have happened yesterday afternoon.” She frowned, biting her lip. It was all so frustrating. “I asked Jack—I can never get anything out of Ash, you know—but even Jack looked grim and wouldn’t say a word.”
“Then we will just have to see what happens, won’t we?”
She hated to have to wait and see. She much preferred making things happen. “And what about Ellie?”
“Ellie is not your problem.” Drew paused while they both absorbed that unpleasant truth. “Although,” he said after a moment, “I don’t see why we can’t persuade the vicar and Mrs. Bowman to let us take her up to London for the Season. If Ned is to be married to Miss Wharton, Ellie might be willing to come to Town and submit to the Marriage Mart, and surely her mother will be anxious to have her broaden her marital opportunities.”
“Very true. I’ll speak to Constance as soon as everyone leaves.” Venus sighed again. “I know she was so hopeful that this year Ellie would find a suitable husband.”
Venus had been hopeful, too, but last night had been dreadful. Ellie had been wan, subdued, and back to her old habit of attaching herself to Ash; Ned had spent the entire evening determinedly—perhaps even grimly—talking to Miss Wharton.
“Perhaps Ellie will find a husband in London,” Drew said. “She’s a very pleasant woman, and I’m sure once you take charge of her wardrobe, she’ll prove to be a very attractive one as well. She has a pretty face; it’s just a little difficult to, er, appreciate her full beauty when she hides herself in oceans of fabric.”
Venus nodded. “Yes.” Then she grinned. She’d forgotten about the dress. She couldn’t do that.
“I see you have a plan,” Drew said, letting her go.
“I do.” She almost waltzed over to her dressing table and started to brush some of the tangles out of her hair. Mary always wanted to braid it before she went to bed, but Drew preferred it loose; of course she was far more interested in pleasing her husband than her maid.
She tugged on a particularly stubborn tangle. She would admit braiding had its advantages sometimes. “I told you I had Mary make Ellie a new ball gown, didn’t I?”
“Yes. And I believe you said you’d enlisted Reggie’s help in ruining the old one.”
“I did.” She turned to look at Drew; he was splashing water over his face. “Isn’t that ice cold?”
He shrugged and dried his face with a towel. “I don’t mind—it helps me wake up.” He hung the towel on the washstand and came over to lean against the bedpost. “You know, I can’t imagine Ellie was happy to have her frock destroyed.”
“She wasn’t particularly, but I think even she recognized the world is a better place without that hideous gown.”
Drew’s eyebrow flew up. “It can’t have been that bad.”
“It was. It was the yellow dress—you must remember it.”
He frowned. “Wasn’t her dress last year yellow?”
“Yes, that’s the dress. She wore it last year and the year before last and the year before that. I think it might be the only ball gown she’s ever owned, and it always made her look like a faded lemon with aphids crawling all over.”
“Oh, right, now I remember.” Drew grimaced. “It was rather round and fussy.”
Round and fussy hardly began to describe that cloth nightmare. All of Ellie’s dresses were horrendous, but that ball gown had taken ugly to new heights. “Constance could never understand why Ellie insisted on buying the fabric to begin with, and then why she persuaded the dressmaker to add all those ribbons and flounces—adding insult to injury, Constance always said.”
“Hmm.” Drew frowned thoughtfully. “Either Ellie has terrible fashion sense or the dress was a kind of public hair shirt.”
“Perhaps, but what could Ellie be doing penance for? She’s lived a quiet, exemplary life as far as I can tell.” Venus wrinkled her nose. “Whenever I had to look at that dress, I felt as if I was doing penance.”
“So does she like the new gown better?”
Venus stood and almost skipped over to give Drew a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, she hasn’t seen it yet. Mary and I agreed that we shouldn’t give it to her until the very last minute, otherwise we’re afraid she’d find a way to subvert our efforts—wear another dress or find some hideous fichu or shawl to drape around it or ... or something.”
He laughed, cupping her face and brushing her lips with his. “This should be interesting.”
“Yes.” She was going to be hopeful. Surely Ned wouldn’t do anything stupid like offer marriage to Miss Wharton before the ball, and once he saw Ellie in her new dress ...
“I think this might be a wonderful birthday after all.”
Ned scowled at the billiard table as Ellie got ready to take her shot. Jack, with his bloody warped sense of humor, had insisted Ellie and Ned form one team while Jack and Miss Wharton fo
rmed the other. They’d been playing for what seemed like forever. It was torture.
Ned had yet to exchange one word with Ellie. They’d carefully stepped around each other, averting their gazes so as not to make eye contact. But he’d studied her when her attention was elsewhere.
She looked horrible, blast it. She was pale and drawn and had dark circles under her eyes. He’d wager she hadn’t slept much last night.
Well, neither had he. He’d tossed and turned until his covers were in a complete knot, but at least he’d come to a decision. He was going to ask Miss Wharton to marry him. Ellie had made it clear she didn’t want him, and, well, he didn’t want her either. He felt too much for her. Love, he supposed it was love, but whatever it was, it terrified him. He’d loved Cicely, but this was worse. If he got Ellie with child and she died, he’d die, too.
But none of that mattered. Ellie didn’t love him. She’d made that very, very clear. All through the night he’d kept hearing her words, seeing her expression when she’d told him she wouldn’t marry him. And then he’d wake up with a jerk, head pounding, stomach churning.
God, it hurt.
But it was for the best. He’d finally reached that conclusion around dawn. He would marry Miss Wharton. He was a little concerned she might feel he was rushing his fences, but there was no point in putting it off. If she accepted him, they could make all the arrangements now, and he wouldn’t have to go up to London.
He’d be doing a good deed by freeing her from her unpleasant parents and giving her a home. He’d have to come back to Greycliffe from time to time, of course, but maybe by then this feeling he had for Ellie would have dulled to a manageable—a pleasant—fondness. As if he and Ellie were indeed just friends.
And maybe Ellie would have married and moved away.
He almost doubled over in pain at the thought.
“Ned,” Jack said, “have you grown roots over there? It’s your turn.”
“Right.” He stepped up to the table and took his shot, not sparing a moment’s thought on it—and then watched in horror as the cue ball barely escaped falling into the right far pocket. Damn it, he didn’t want to completely embarrass himself.
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