His Bluestocking Bride_A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  The vicar entered, signaling the start of services. Marcus looked toward her again and offered an apologetic smile, shrugging his shoulders. Ellen returned the gesture and then faced forward, determined to remain calm and collected, while her heart raced inside her chest.

  Even if she did not marry for love, and Marcus had no intention of allowing such feelings into their arrangement, Ellen could find contentment in their partnership.

  The vicar’s sermon felt like it went on much longer than usual. Yet the priest said, at the last, “And now, for the most choice of sermons, we have the blessing of witnessing the marriage vows between the Honorable Mr. Marcus Calvert and our own Miss Ellen Bringhurst. The wedding couple invites all who wish to attend to stay and bear witness.”

  Ellen rose on the arm of her father and noted that no one took the opportunity to leave. The members of their community looked on with warmth and smiles. She saw the Falkhams seated in a pew behind her, and her sisters sat in their customary places next to their husbands. She wished her mother and Dorothea might have come.

  Marcus joined her at the front of the church, gently accepting her arm from her father. Then he took the last step with her to stand before the vicar.

  Ellen tried to pay attention to each and every word as the vicar recited from the Book of Common Prayers. But she kept glancing at Marcus, standing straight and firm beside her. He looked every inch the perfect groom, from his freshly-cropped hair to his polished black shoes. He wore a suit of deepest blue with a gold vest. His snow-white cravat was tied in an elegant, cascading fashion with a sapphire stickpin holding it in place.

  At last came the vows and Ellen’s heart stuttered.

  “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will.” Marcus said those two words evenly, without reservation, promising something he told her he could never give.

  Ellen had not thought of the vows until that moment.

  She wanted to wilt where she stood. Draw back, declare it could not be so. Instead, she murmured her own promise. “I will.” But it must have been loud enough to satisfy the vicar. He did not even pause in his recitation.

  Ellen would keep her vows. She already loved Marcus, after all.

  Marcus took her hand and repeated after the minister, looking her directly in the eye as he spoke. “I, Marcus James Calvert, take thee, Ellen Bringhurst, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  Ellen’s knees went weak and her mouth dry. Could she really give herself to him, hearing such beautiful vows and knowing they were not true? How could he cherish her without love?

  She said her part without thinking on it. She repeated as she was bade, held out her hand to receive her ring, knelt and bowed her head as the minister prayed over them, giving his blessing and God’s on their union.

  The wedding ceremony went on and on, with Ellen doing her best to keep her eyes trained straight ahead. Could she fulfill her vows without love?

  Marcus must’ve sensed her wandering thoughts—he gave her arm a gentle squeeze, bringing her back enough that she glanced at him. His lips twitched slightly and his eyes met hers, amusement twinkling in them.

  How could he be amused at this, the most serious moment of her life?

  Ellen’s spine stiffened and her eyes darted back to the vicar, her whole body attuned to his every word. Here she had stood, taking the situation most seriously, losing herself in thought of how to accomplish all she promised, and he looked as though he were enjoying the whole thing as some sort of show.

  The vicar finished at last and put his final blessing upon them and presented them to the congregants as husband and wife. The music began, the people assembled raising their voices in a final hymn.

  Ellen and Marcus followed the vicar into the rectory where they signed the church register. Ellen realized it would be her last time to sign her maiden name, Ellen Bringhurst, on any document. From now on, she would be Ellen Calvert.

  Her head threatened to set the world to spinning, but Ellen tamped down on the odd sensation.

  “I thought we lost you in the middle of the sermon,” Marcus said as they stepped back into the chapel. “Your eyes looked far beyond the church. What were you thinking about?”

  Ellen eyed him for a moment before adjusting her bonnet. “I was thinking that we were both making a great deal of promises and that I must be sure to remember them all.” She pulled her cape closer about her and looked out the church doors where she could see her family and neighbors gathered, a small arbor held up by her brothers-in-law for them to walk beneath. “We should hurry. All those poor people in the cold are waiting on us.”

  He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, but she ignored him and put her hand on his arm. “My sisters shouldn’t stand in the weather overlong.”

  He made a sound of agreement and escorted her outside. Cheers erupted around them, ladies waved handkerchiefs, the arbor was hoisted upward. Ellen glanced up at Marcus to see him offering a large grin to the crowd, waving his free hand at everyone, whether he knew them or not. As though he was incredibly happy.

  Gaining his inheritance must mean a great deal to him.

  She forced her smile but kept her head ducked as they climbed into the carriage. Marcus settled in beside her, tucking a carpet around their legs after the door swung shut. “One more ordeal before we can go home,” he said cheerfully, sharing his smile with her.

  Was that all it had been to him? An ordeal? Of course. It was a necessary step to gain what he most wanted. His inheritance. “The breakfast. Yes. We need not stay long, if you wish.”

  “These are your neighbors,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I think you ought to determine the time spent with them.”

  She waved a hand dismissively, turning her attention to the window of the carriage. “It need only be enough for us to eat a little. I would like to get our journey underway as soon as possible.” The trip to Orchard Hill would take a total of twelve hours on the road, should the weather stay fine, which already necessitated a stop at a roadside inn.

  As the carriage turned onto the lane to her father’s house, Marcus leaned far enough forward to catch her eye, pulling her attention to him. She looked up into his light brown eyes, surprised by the gentle expression in them. His lips turned upward but his smile felt sincerer and less teasing.

  “I must admit, I was nervous this morning. I wondered for a time if you might not come.”

  Ellen’s lips parted in surprise and she knew not what to say.

  “You certainly could find a better husband than me, you know,” he added, tilting his head to one side as he studied her. “Though I doubt I could find a prettier bride willing to put up with me.”

  His attempt to set her at ease, his silly compliment, self-effacing as it was, gave her pause.

  “Marcus, I promised I would marry you. I always keep my promises,” she said, thinking on that twinkling look in his eye before.

  “It’s over, at any rate. Now we enjoy a meal and go on our way, home to Orchard Hill.” He spoke the name of his estate with relish. Ellen smiled in return, a small hope rekindled in her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  The journey to Orchard Hill gave Ellen time to reflect on the matters of her heart. They stayed at an inn overnight, in separate rooms joined by a small sitting area. Ellen felt no awkwardness over this, having known the plan ahead of time. Knowing that her husband did not, in fact, think of her in any way other than a friend, also gave her no expectations of consummating their marriage any time soon. Still, it was hard to sleep in a strange bed.

  Thoughts of her wedding vows, and Marcus’s, kept her wondering if this had been the right thing to do. He did not love
her. He professed his intention to never give his heart to another after Lady Selene’s ill treatment.

  Would Ellen’s love be enough to sustain their marriage? Enough for her happiness?

  The following morning dawned without any answers.

  They rode in relative comfort and enjoyed easy conversations. He told her about the tenants he met, the state of their homes, and the apple orchard from which Orchard Hill took its name. She asked question after question, enjoying his eagerness on the subject.

  Just shy of three o’clock in the afternoon, he leaned toward the window and gestured for her to look. She had to lean across him to do so, but Marcus helped to hold her still amid the bumps of the carriage, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

  It was the most he had touched her since she accepted his betrothal, excepting when politeness required he take her arm.

  She tried to ignore the way his proximity made her feel. As a married woman, she could not let herself be undone by polite touches such as these.

  Looking through the window, she saw a long lane, lined with sleeping apple trees. At the end of the lane, settled on a grassy knoll, was a red brick house. It stood three stories tall, with wide windows and a beautiful four-column porch, larger and grander than Ellen expected.

  She held her breath when Marcus helped her from the carriage, directing her eyes upward to the dark slats of the roof and deep green shutters at every window. The driveway was covered in small white stones and the steps leading up to the house were made of brick.

  Standing before the house, in a short line of starched aprons and somber colored suit coats, was the household staff. Butler, two footmen, gardener, and under gardener stood on one side. Then there was the housekeeper, two maids, the cook, the cook’s assistant, and one familiar face among them, standing barely behind the housekeeper.

  Ellen felt her heart lift at the sight of Sarah, the maid from Marianne’s home, smiling shyly at her.

  Marcus leaned closer to her. “I thought you would be pleased. She was eager to come and be of service to you.”

  Ellen could not speak her thanks but cast him what she hoped was a grateful smile. He led her to the housekeeper.

  “Mrs. Calvert, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Burk, a fine housekeeper if ever there was one.”

  It was the first time she heard her new name. At last she’d no longer be the last Miss Bringhurst. She was forever linked to Marcus, as his wife. She had little time to dwell on the pleasant thought.

  Mrs. Burk dipped a respectful curtsy. She had graying hair pulled back into a soft bun and wore a deep blue gown suitable to an upper-level servant. There were lines around her eyes and when she smiled Ellen could see the beginnings of wrinkles at her mouth.

  “It is an honor to meet you, ma’am,” she said in a sweetly maternal voice.

  Ellen’s confidence lifted. This woman, she hoped, would be a good partner in managing the household.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Burk. I look forward to working with you. Will you please introduce the rest of the staff?”

  Each person respectfully welcomed Ellen to her new home, and she did her best to remember their names and faces.

  “After you are settled, we will send refreshment to your rooms,” Mrs. Burk informed Ellen after the final maid curtsied. “If that is satisfactory.”

  “Yes, I think that will do.” Ellen glanced at Marcus to see him in conversation with the butler. “For now, I think we all ought to get in out of the cold.”

  “A wise idea, Mrs. Calvert.” The housekeeper had a warm manner Ellen immediately liked. She allowed Ellen to lead the way back into the house, after Marcus rejoined her and gave her his arm.

  Ellen imagined that entering a fairy ring could feel no less magical than the first time she stepped over the threshold into her home. Orchard Hill belonged to her in a way no other place ever had. Here, she was mistress.

  The floors were dark, well-polished gray stones. The entry hall stretched all the way to the back of the house, where a wide window would allow the early morning sun to light the open space. The walls were covered in soft-yellow paper with a green leaf pattern. A few objects hung upon them, paintings of landscapes. A set of stairs grew upward, slightly curving as they went, hiding the first-floor landing from view. They were bright, polished wood with a green carpet running across the middle of each step.

  A table stood a short way from the door, and upon it several small portraits of people she knew must be family. She recognized a drawing of Marcus, due to the red-colored curls on the boy’s head and the brown eyes. A mirror hung over the table, giving her the opportunity to inspect her appearance. The rosy color of her cheeks surprised her, but she gave her reflection a pleasant nod. Was the delight in her eyes really so apparent?

  “Come, Ellen.” Her husband extended his hand to her and Ellen turned to meet his curious stare. He guided her to the stairs. “I hope to give you a tour this evening. But what do you think so far?”

  She let her hand trail along the railing as they ascended, her eyes taking in every detail around her. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

  He nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

  Ellen halted when they came to the landing and he stopped as well. “Marcus, truly. It’s such a lovely house. I am looking forward to coming to know every inch of it and making it my own, but I already feel such peace here.”

  His uncertain eyes searched hers, the lines around them softening. “I’m glad. If you found it lacking, I would feel like the very worst sort of man. It isn’t as grand as my family’s other holdings.”

  She shook her head and allowed some of her excitement to show, turning her widest smile up at him. “It is perfect for me, Marcus. I wouldn’t know what to do with a grand holding. But I think I will come to love this new home with all my heart.”

  Marcus’s gaze never left hers and as she spoke, a light sparked within his eyes. He picked up her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it in a gesture so full of tenderness and gratitude that Ellen’s whole body felt the impact of his lips against her skin.

  It took all her willpower not to yank her hand away, or worse, lean into him.

  How could he? she wondered, trying to ignore the way her insides felt, as if she’d swallowed feathers that tormented her with a tickling sensation she could not escape. Ellen didn’t want him to act affectionate when they both knew, as he had taken pains to tell her, that this could not be a relationship based on emotions.

  He lowered her hand and cast her another odd look. The light in his eyes dimmed and he cleared his throat, gesturing down the hallway on their right. “That way are the upstairs family rooms.” Then he pointed down the hallway to the left. “Those are the family and guest chambers. Would you like me to show you to your room?”

  Ellen nodded. “Yes, please.”

  Marcus went down the hall, not taking her arm or hand again, and she followed a step behind. They passed several doors before he stopped and laid his hand against one. He stared at the wood as he spoke.

  “I didn’t give the staff much notice, and I wanted you to feel you could change whatever you like about the room—the whole house. But I did offer some suggestions here that I hoped would make you comfortable.”

  The admission from him sounded vulnerable, but Ellen didn’t have time to puzzle that out before he’d turned the handle and pushed the door open, gesturing with one hand for her to step inside.

  Ellen barely made it two steps inside before she froze, looking around her with delight. Her windows faced east, so the light coming in through the curtains was not overly bright in the waning afternoon light.

  The walls were papered in soft blue, the mantel made of white stone. A vase of hothouse roses was on the mantel. But all of that, while lovely, did not capture her attention the way the bookshelves on either side of the hearth did. And before the fire, ready and waiting for her, was an armchair covered in yellow fabric with bursts of white roses. The b
ookshelves were half-filled, with volumes bright and new, and beautiful baubles. She approached to make a closer inspection.

  She opened a small box of polished wood and found a delicate pair of lace gloves inside. A tiny clock sat on one shelf, an empty basket on another, and a tiny elephant on a taller shelf. Her fingers touched the spines of the books as she read the titles, some known to her and others new. She turned to where Marcus stood in the doorway, leaning against its frame with his arms crossed.

  “It’s beautiful. Bookshelves, in my bedroom?”

  “You are welcome to move them if you wish. We have a small library. But I thought you might want to keep your favorites, or your current studies, nearby.” Marcus lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  “Thank you, Marcus.”

  She saw her trunk already on the floor, as the footmen had brought it up directly after their welcome by the front doors.

  “I have a gift for you, too. Though it feels silly and small now.” She hurried to kneel by her trunk, unlatching it.

  “That isn’t necessary. You being here has given me Orchard Hill.”

  Ellen lifted her writing desk out of the way. “What kind of a bride would I be if I didn’t give my bridegroom a wedding gift?” she asked. She found what she searched for and lifted out a large leather portfolio and a small wooden box, then stood and approached him, keeping her eyes down.

  “I couldn’t think what you might wish for, but this reminded me of you. I know you said you don’t sketch anymore, but I thought you might wish to take up the practice again.” Ellen held the sketchbook and pencil box out to him. She darted a look up to see what he made of the gesture, her heart very nearly in her throat.

  Marcus’s expression confused her. His eyebrows were drawn together, but he wore a crooked smile. As he accepted the gifts, his fingers brushed hers, reminding her of the kiss on her hand.

  “This is very thoughtful, Ellen,” he said, his voice betraying neither pleasure nor annoyance. “Thank you.”

  Ellen’s heart fell and she released her hold on the book. He would not use it, she knew, and Ellen could not decide if she was more disappointed in her inability to please him or his refusal to use what she knew must be a very real talent.