“Why does Mar—Mr. Calvert need a wife? And why wouldn’t he choose one from the throngs of women in London?” Ellen realized she was clutching the blankets beneath her in a manner which would make her hands sore in a moment. She hastily let go and tucked them in her lap. “Tell me, Marianne. Or I will order a carriage and leave at first light.”
Marianne approached the bed and sat down daintily. “Collin will not like that I told you. I must ask you to not say a word to him about this.” Her face had paled and she looked stricken enough that Ellen sighed and offered her a nod of agreement. “Very well. Marcus’s mother has told him if he does not marry soon, she will not allow him to inherit Orchard Hill as long as she is living.”
Ellen’s jaw dropped. “That doesn’t sound like Lady Annesbury at all. It sounds most unfair, actually.”
Marianne waved that comment away. “She wants him settled and with grandchildren for her to spoil. She doesn’t believe he is ready to manage an estate without a woman to manage the house.”
Ellen stood, walking across the room. She took several deep breaths before facing her friend again. “Even if this is true, if he must take a wife, why would he choose me with the ballrooms of London as a hunting ground? I have heard how he flirts. It’s said that a young woman cannot consider herself truly out until she has made her curtsy to the Queen and been winked at by Marcus Calvert.”
“His reputation has run wild.” Marianne attempted a laugh but stopped when Ellen raised a hand to cover her eyes. “Ellen, reputation aside, Marcus would still be a wonderful husband. He is thoughtful, attentive, and moves about society with ease.”
“If Marcus is truly such a wonderful catch, why would he bother wasting even a second with me?" Ellen gestured to her body and threw her arms out in exasperation. “I am not important, not a diamond of the first waters, not an heiress, not titled, I have no connections, and I would be on my seventh season if my family had not decided against the wasted time.”
When Marianne gaped at her, Ellen realized she said more than she meant to say.
“They will not send you to Bath this year? But why?”
“I told you. I will remain unmarried.” Ellen crossed her arms, holding in all she wished to say on that matter. What good would it do to rail against her fate? No one would have her. No one she wanted. She was too old, too intelligent, and too poor to tempt a man to marry her.
“I cannot believe that. When you finally have a year that would be all your own.” Marianne huffed, her expression indignant. “Year after year, you had a sister either expecting, marrying, or coming out and getting engaged. You have never had a season to yourself.”
“That is the way of it in large families.” Ellen began pacing again. “What did Marcus say when you suggested me as a wife? What were his actual words?”
Marianne frowned and looked down. “He actually said that we should not want you to marry him. Because of his lack of position.”
Struck by the absurdity of the situation, Ellen stood in silence for several moments before she felt her lips slip upward into a smile.
“If positions in society were rungs on a ladder, I would be several steps below him. The poor fellow wanted to be civil in his refusal of the idea.” Ellen relaxed and came back to the bed, sadder but immensely relieved. “He will humor you and Collin, then go back to London.”
Marianne opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. She stared at Ellen for a long moment. “If that is what you wish to think, I will not dissuade you. Please, Ellen, do be polite to him while you are both guests here.”
“Of course. He is a friend and he cannot help the horrid situation you put him in. Attempting to play matchmaker.” Ellen pulled her braid over her shoulder on the pretense of tightening the ribbon at the end. “Do you have any other interesting news to share?”
When Marianne remained silent, Ellen looked up to see a different sort of smile on her friend’s face.
“There is one other thing of interest. Collin and I are to be parents. In the spring.” Her cheeks pinked, and her eyes took on a starry quality Ellen had seen before in her sisters.
Ignoring a small twinge of envy, Ellen leaned forward and embraced her friend. “Congratulations, this is wonderful news.”
The conversation remained on the impending need to set up a nursery and all the other details important to an expectant mother. Ellen listened attentively, happy for her friend, but longing for such a joy to come to her.
Whatever Marianne believed, Ellen’s chances of marrying were slim. She accepted her place in her family and in society.
At least she tried to.
By the time Marianne left to seek her rest, Ellen knew it would take time for her to settle into sleep. Though their talk ended on a pleasant note, her mind kept turning back to the idea of marrying Marcus.
What would it be like to belong to him? How would her life change?
She slipped beneath the coverlet and snuggled into the plush feather pillows, then toyed with the end of her braid in the semi-darkness. The biggest change for someone like her, she knew, would be running her own household instead of being at the behest of her mother or sisters. She would be free to do things her way as the mistress of an estate. It would fall to her to make certain the servants knew their jobs and fulfilled them well. She would set all the menus. Direct the gardener. Meet with the housekeeper and butler.
If they had tenants, she would go out to meet all of them. Come to know their children. Take them Christmas and Easter baskets of gifts and foodstuffs. Her duty to the community would be important. Ladies’ societies, teas, visits, charity groups, all would become part of her life.
That would be the day-to-day changes. But there would also be the possibility, the expectation and hope, of children.
Ellen allowed her thoughts to linger there, trying to picture a little boy with her dark eyes and Marcus’s curls. She found the image came to her too easily. She waved her hand in the air above her as she attempted to wipe the picture from her mind. Pulling the blanket over her head, she whispered to herself.
“Stop. It will never be.”
Her practical mind failed her and Ellen shed a tear over her fate.
Chapter Five
Miss Bringhurst has already breakfasted,” the butler informed Marcus when he asked after her the next morning.
“I see.” Marcus looked at the empty table.
“She went directly to the gardens,” the butler added, nodding to the door which led outside.
Marcus looked at the spread on the side table with momentary longing, but he thought it best to begin his course with Ellen sooner rather than later. He took a slice of toast and made his way to the hall to obtain his great coat. He could not imagine what would take a lady out into a garden when it could not possibly have anything in bloom.
He found her easily, walking through the hedgerows, her eyes unfocused as though she looked inwards more than outwards.
“Good morning, Ellen,” he greeted as he drew closer. As he suspected, she looked startled and completely unaware of her surroundings until her eyes met his. At least her pleasant expression came readily, her eyes brightening.
“Good morning, Marcus.” She looked up at the clouded sky and then back at him. “I thought I was the only one foolish enough to enjoy a walk in this weather.”
“You are,” he said without hesitation. “But I’m foolish enough to think you ought to have company.” He shivered theatrically. “I’d much prefer to be on horseback on a day like today. Staying warm with some exercise.” He stood before her and offered his arm.
Marcus continued down the path she had been walking, matching his stride to hers. Though shorter than normal for a woman, she did not take mincing steps. He admired her confident stride.
“Why do you enjoy walking in weather like this?” he asked.
“The cool air helps me clear my mind of cobwebs.”
“Have you many such sticky things in your brain box?” He paused and made a
show of peering at her forehead. “I cannot imagine that to be pleasant.”
She shook her head and spoke with a trace of humor. “I think anyone with a thought worth having also has several that are not worth having. Clearing away the dust and cobwebs leaves room for better thoughts. Greater focus.”
“And you have much to think on this morning?” He kept the inquiry polite but could not keep his grin from growing larger. “What weighty matters has such an enchanting lady to consider?”
“The matters common to a spinster and therefore of no interest to you, Marcus Calvert.” She smirked at him and took another step, which made him continue in order to keep her arm.
No matter how he tried to flirt, she turned his words and compliments back on him, seemingly unaffected. He decided to try a different tact. Perhaps seriousness would beget seriousness.
“I find it difficult to consider you a spinster. Every time I look at you, I can still see the girl from the schoolroom glaring at me across the library. Do you remember the time I caught you reading that book by the revolutionary, Benjamin Franklin? I told you it couldn’t be suited to a young lady’s taste.”
“And I told you that you were correct, but it was suited to mine.” He felt her relax and saw the look in her eye change, softening the amusement. “It was a good book. I convinced Father to order a copy for our library.”
The girl had always kept a book about her person. He imagined the woman before him did the same. “You still read a great deal?”
“I try to, yes. Father contributes to our village lending library, so we often receive the books and periodicals first.” Ellen bit her bottom lip before continuing, hesitation in her voice. “I know I should not admit to it, but I enjoy reading about all sorts of things. If a book in our circulation is especially good, Father trusts my judgment and buys a copy to add to our personal library. I think having wise words and knowledge close at hand is important to a family.”
He nodded and regarded her from the corner of his eye as they walked, turning a corner around another hedge. “What are you reading presently?”
At last he had the pleasure of seeing her blush, but not from his pointed attempts to cause such a reaction. When her cheeks turned pink, her freckles stood out more. She could not have above thirty of them, but they were scattered from one cheek to the other, bridging her pert nose.
“I am reading nothing of consequence.”
“Is it scandalous?” he asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
She didn’t look shocked by his question. “Only a little silly to admit. I am reading a children’s book. I find it interesting to see what sorts of things are written for children. It is a collection of Shakespeare’s plays. They are told in a narrative style instead of a script for the stage. There are beautiful illustrations.”
He could not resist a teasing grin. “The child who read Franklin’s autobiography reads children’s books as a woman grown. Your tastes are varied and not limited by your age or sex, I see.”
“They are not.” She smiled, her blush gone. “Although you’ve hit upon the reason that my mother despairs of me most. I am something of a bluestocking.” A note of apology hung on that word. Bluestockings, in his mind, were not pretty ladies who read interesting books, or conversed with such ease.
“I think that term need not be negative when applied correctly.” He gave her gloved hand a pat with his own, his tone only half-serious. “You are not planning on writing a stack of religious tracts and socially demanding poetry, are you?”
Ellen smirked. “Not at the moment, no. I have no desire to lead the life of Hannah More, nor the social standing to do so. I am content to read and learn, and share what I learn with those willing to hear it. I do not presume to know how to tell others to go about their lives.”
“Nor do you go about in a mob cap or black skirts, with spectacles perched on your nose, telling us all how superior your knowledge is. That is my idea of a bluestocking of the severest form.”
“Marcus,” she said slowly, “you have given me a wonderful idea. I think I shall share your picture of an enlightened woman with my mother. If she knew I had not sunk to that level she might be more at ease with me as I am now.”
“If you like, I could send her the description myself, and illustrate it as well,” he offered, grinning.
“Do you still draw?”
He faltered in his step and they both halted because of it. “Draw?”
“Yes. I remember you used to have a sketchbook you brought places with you. There was that picnic for all the children.” Her eyebrows drew together in thought. “You were with the older set, but you sat in a tree with a sketchbook instead of pretending to flirt with the girls your age.”
“They didn’t want to flirt with me,” he murmured, looking at her with interest. Ellen’s attention to detail impressed him. He could have sworn no one ever saw him with that book in hand. “They wanted to flirt with Lucas, the future earl. Whenever he was in company, I could never hold any attention.”
“I doubt that. I recall you being sought after frequently. But you didn’t answer my question.” She fixed her dark eyes on him, determined. “Do you still draw?”
He cleared his throat. “On rare occasions, when there is nothing better to do.”
“Oh.” She looked away, with an air of disappointment.
“It’s hardly a masculine pursuit,” he said, needing to explain himself. “When ladies speak of accomplishments, they always mention drawing. Men talk of sport.”
He looked up at the sky and at their surroundings. “Have we cleared enough cobwebs? Shall we turn back?”
“Yes, I think so.” She turned and he took her arm again as they retraced their steps to the open air of the gardens nearer the house. They moved through the hedgerows in silence and he tried to remember the qualities he thought important in a wife.
Practical. Sensible. Not given to romantic notions. Intelligent. Respectable. Willing to marry him and be a credit to his family.
He realized the list, which he thought impossible to fulfill, now felt entirely too short in requirements. The woman on his arm, from what little he knew, fulfilled each of them perfectly. Except the last. He did not know if she would be willing to marry. Ellen’s thoughts on herself put her squarely on the shelf. Perhaps she liked it there.
As the house came into view again, Ellen stopped walking. “There is something I feel I must tell you, Marcus. Though it causes me some embarrassment to discuss it.” Her eyes lowered to the ground as she spoke and the blush returned. Her freckles made her seem much younger than she was.
“If you feel you must then you must. I can promise you I’ll be a complete gentleman and listen attentively.” His attempt at levity was met with a quick glance from her.
“Thank you. I appreciate your word on that.” Her eyes darted away again before she took a deep breath, fortifying herself. “Yesterday evening, Marianne came to speak with me. She revealed her purpose in inviting the two of us to visit.”
Her blush darkened but she pressed on. “I’m incredibly sorry that my cousin and his wife put you up to—to paying your addresses to me, or even entertaining such a thought. I know this is an difficult situation and I wanted to release you from whatever promises you made to them.”
Marcus stared at her through her speech, his amusement doused as though he’d fallen through a frozen pond. He felt the heat creeping up his neck and knew his ears must be blazing red. She knew. She knew what he had been about. When she halted in her speech, she met his gaze, and he saw something he did not expect.
Though Ellen Bringhurst put on a brave face, her eyes were sad.
Marcus reached out and took both her hands in his. “Ellen. There is nothing awkward about this. Please put your mind at ease, or your face will burn up completely.”
She pulled her hands away. “I’m sorry. But it’s humiliating to know that my dearest friend and my cousin would try such an underhanded scheme. Thinking if they threw us
together something would come of it.” She looked toward the house. “They acted out of concern for my well-being and for your inheritance. They worry for us both.”
“You know about my mother’s stipulations?” he asked, studying her profile. The red was receding and Ellen began to look more stoic. She nodded to answer his question. “Yet you think that I am out here, walking about in this abysmal cold, because my friend and his wife put me up to it?”
Ellen shrugged and adjusted her cloak, pulling it more tightly around her. “Yes. I think you made them a promise and you are now fulfilling it.”
Marcus reached for her hand, which she relinquished to him with a curious expression. He pulled her to a low retaining wall with naught but fallow earth inside it and gestured for her to sit. Once she did so, her eyes still on him, he ran a hand through his hair and looked up to the sky, hoping for some guidance.
“I promised Collin and Marianne nothing. They asked nothing. They presented the idea to me, informed me of their thoughts on the matter, and left it at that. I had no reservations about considering you as a bride, except that you might want better than such as I am.” He tried to make light of those words and even managed a grin after he said them. “I have been told in clear terms that the second son of an earl, with one small country estate, is not the best catch.”
A snort surprised him, coming from her slight frame. “If the requirements for a good marriage were that a man must have a title and vast tracts of land, where would any of us be? I fail to see how your wealth or title matter so much as whether or not you can support a family and will treat those under your care with fairness.”
She spoke with sincerity, her tone almost wistful.
“Those are the things that matter to you in a husband? Fairness? Basic provision?”
“Oh.” She smiled in a self-depreciating way. “I suppose I made my list as any schoolgirl does. But I know what matters most. Safety and relative comfort. Kindness. Intelligence is something I must add, as it would be dreadful to be stuck with a lack wit.”
His Bluestocking Bride Page 4
