by Morgan King
“I don’t foresee any engagement at all! You presume too much.” Ellie couldn’t help raising her voice.
The Earl looked wounded, his big blue eyes gazing at her balefully. He might as well have just been denied a slipper to chew.
“I might have been a little hasty, but you have been responding well to my courtship.” His voice was also beginning to increase in volume. The boat constantly swayed beneath them, responding to the agitation of its occupants.
“What courtship? When we have both been present at balls this season we have danced together, true, but no more than once on each occasion.” Her maid Fanny had showed more signs of interest than Ellie did, blushing in his presence and sneaking glances.
“You consented to let me row you today!” He thrust the oars sharply into the water. “What could be more intimate?”
Ellie snorted, not caring if she seemed unladylike. Given that there were several boats on the water and plenty of society on the lawns, this was hardly intimate. “If I had known you were to make such an assumption I would never have said yes. I would have rowed myself, first.”
“But you’re a lady! How could you possibly row yourself?” Lord Wyvern whined.
The complete stupidity of the man made Ellie glad she had not sugar-coated her words. “Hand me the oars, and I shall show you how a lady rows, this very instant.”
Her mother was going to be furious as soon as she heard of this,. The sound of their voices may already have drifted to shore and become gossip.
Lord Wyvern’s next words were a tad calmer. “You are overwrought. Let us have a drink. There is a bottle of elderberry wine in the basket, and two glasses.”
“If you don’t want me to row us back I suggest you do it yourself. And I do not wish for a drink.” Ellie refused to retreat from their quarrel. Her acquiescence would only lead the Earl to think himself in the right, and that she could be told what to do like a naughty child.
“No.” Lord Wyvern was not backing down either.
“No?” Ellie spoke with incredulity.
“It is bad enough your making a scene out here. It will be unforgivable if it is continued in the presence of others. I will not have my future wife behave with such impropriety.”
Ellie was flabbergasted and Lord Wyvern didn’t stop there.
“Do you think yourself so far above me? Are you waiting for a better offer? Mayhap you think your father’s position and wealth might snare you a Duke or Marquis.”
The last think Ellie wanted was to be married to someone who felt himself in a position to order her around regardless of how their situations in life compared. Lord Wyvern made her so cross. If he didn’t want her to make a scene his approach was all wrong.
“You leave me no choice.” She stood with as much dignity as she could manage given her shaky footing.
“Sit down!”
Ellie took some satisfaction from the disbelief now in the Earl’s voice. Without answering, she bent forward and gripped the sides of the boat.
“What are you doing, Lady Eleanor?”
My God, he was melodramatic! She couldn’t believe he was worried enough to use her first name.
Squashing down her nerves, Ellie lifted one leg.
“You’ll drown!”
And swung it over the side of the boat.
“It may be freezing cold, but I am not going to drown. The water will barely reach above my knees.” Ellie certainly hoped this would be the case. “And anyway I am quite a good swimmer … for a lady.” She plunged herself into the water.
It was hellish cold. The shock was the worst, but after that first gasp of breath Ellie was able to move. The water line reached mid thigh, so she would not have to swim. She found her footing and looking straight ahead, her skirts billowing all around her, made for dry land.
She distracted her mind from the unpleasant circumstances of her body with a fanciful comparison to Ophelia. Why was it that the actions of men led women to drowning their sorrows in water? That was a depressing thought. Maybe she was more like the Lady of the Lake from tales of King Arthur.
The nasal honks coming from of a gaggle of Canada geese heading in her direction spurred Ellie on. She didn’t particularly fancy being inspected by their inquisitive beaks.
And, oh God, was that a fish? She dreaded to think what else it might be. Straight ahead, keep looking straight ahead.
Not surprisingly there was a crowd of people on the bank. Ellie didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother so red-faced, and worse, there in the crowd was Lord Mendton. Well, there was no doubt that he’d noticed her now. He might even know her name. It was bound to be one of the words people were busy whispering.
As she got close to the bank, it was a little tricky to keep her footing and remain upright. The last few feet seemed to take more than a minute each to traverse. Concentrating on where she was treading and the water she was pushing her way through, Ellie started when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Here. Take my hand.”
Ellie looked up into a pair of penetrating eyes. Lord Mendton had taken off his jacket and waded into the shallows to assist her.
She placed her hand in his. Earlier it had been covered in pristine white lace, but now the fabric was soggy, and rather grimy. The moment felt pivotal, not least because he didn’t immediately let go in disgust. He stepped out of the water first, then helped to pull her up. He slipped his dry jacket around her shoulders as soon as she was on dry land.
Ellie felt sodden and rather dejected. Her feet were slowly sinking into the grass, a puddle of water accumulating around them.
“Ellie, what were you thinking?” came the panicked voice from beside her. “I have never seen such reckless behaviour! What must all these good people be thinking?”
Ellie sensed this was the start of a never-ending tirade. Even when her mother paused for breath or when they left it would not end. She suspected it would be repeated daily, possibly at hourly intervals, until the day she left home.
Fortunately, there was a brief respite as her mother’s outburst changed focus. “My Lord Mendton, thank you for rescuing my poor Ellie. I cannot think what can have prompted such behaviour, but we are forever in your gratitude.”
Lord Mendton looked a little taken aback at this, and well he might. She had been doing a fine job of rescuing herself, thank you very much.
“Oh my, and now you are wet, too. I do hope your boots aren’t ruined.” Ellie’s mother was really not helping the situation.
Lord Mendton looked down at his feet then up at Ellie. He opened and closed his mouth, as if he wanted to say something and didn’t know how to begin.
“Oh dear, and your hands are shaking.” At her mother’s words the Viscount quickly put his hands behind his back.
“You must get home and dry, my Lord.” Her mother continued, unconcerned with the lack of a verbal response to any of her observations
Lord Mendton seemed unable to reply to her mother and was fixated on Ellie. It was beginning to make Ellie a little self-conscious, ironic given the situation. The whole situation could hardly be more ridiculous.
What was Lord Mendton doing now?
Ellie watched, stunned, as Lord Mendton dropped to one knee. Surely not! “Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” he asked without any preamble.
Ellie stared, unable to articulate any sensible thought. Her mind didn’t have any pertinent ideas to offer as a prompt. She had just been proposed to, by the Right Honourable Viscount Mendton, in front of scores of people. He who had barely acknowledged her existence before now. It was her turn to be rendered speechless. She had no words.
Lord Mendton continued to kneel, his stance held perfectly still, no tremor to be seen. His expression was equally frozen. His eyes held anticipation helping to convey his question, and yet his brow was furrowed as if, despite whatever conviction had made him act, he was now surprised. Maybe his actions were out of character for all versions of himself, the public persona and
the man only he knew.
There was a silence as everyone nearby was held in thrall. In the distance the sound of wood cutting through water could be heard as more than one boat returned to dock.
Ellie felt the weight of attention adding to the heavy water that had soaked her clothes. She had not thought her actions would create such an immediate burden.
She was tempted to say yes. Of course she was. It would lend the situation a romantic climax, and it was the very end she had sought when chasing the man now on his knees before her.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie whispered, shaking her head. Was it even real? Did he even know her name? Something so surreal and sudden couldn’t be the basis for marriage, could it?
“Lady Eleanor?”
Oh God, did she have to give some further form of explanation.
She asked the question pressing in her mind instead, “You know my name then, who I am?” It didn’t sound as she had intended. It sounded as though she cared about her rank when really she was more interested in the transformation from him not remembering her to knowing her name and proposing.
“Of course.” Lord Mendton said swiftly, a faint colour now staining his cheeks. “I asked my sister to tell me your name as soon as I saw you again today.”
He remembered their lasting meeting then.
How sweet that he’d asked who she was as a result. Or it would be at any other time. There was still a part of Ellie that had never quite forgiven him for not previously succumbing to her charms when she so desperately wanted him to.
“I’m cold, I’m tired, I’m wet, and the last thing I want is to be somebody’s wife.” Today seemed to be the day for not censoring her thoughts.
“Eleanor!” Her mother’s voice was a shrill shriek.
Ellie hiked up her skirts and started walking for home. Leaving the scene seemed the only thing left to add to the drama. She hadn’t gone far before she realised someone was walking behind her. The faster she walked the faster they seemed to follow. Her mother, she realised, wouldn’t be able to maintain such a pace, or keep silent. She spun round.
“You can’t seriously expect to walk home in your condition,” said Lord Mendton. “You really will catch your death. Let me take you in my carriage.”
The shivers Ellie couldn’t suppress made her accept. She nodded, not daring to unclench her teeth, for fear they would rattle incessantly if parted.
Fanny was now also rushing to catch up with them. At least Ellie wouldn’t add to the fiasco by ruining her reputation and being compromised into marriage.
The jacketless Viscount helped her and Fanny into the carriage, before relaying her address to the driver and climbing aboard himself. She began to feel a little remorseful. “I fear I’m getting your seats wet.”
****
Alex did not normally concern himself with the condition of the seats in his carriages, and was not about to start now. “It is of little matter.”
What mattered was what she thought of him. Had he just completely ruined his chances?
Alex’s own surprise at finding himself proposing had not deterred him from the instinctive decision to make her his wife. He’d seen her dismissal of society’s conventions, her determined walk through the reeds, her lack of concern for her appearance, and he’d had only one thought: I want her to be mine.
Ironically her beauty became more obvious the messier she became, the dirt contriving to contrast and accent her features and personality. He was curious as to her true disposition. He had no recollection of her being anything other than a charming, polite lady, yet her actions today had revealed she could also be impetuous and feisty.
Her impulsiveness had inspired him to act too soon, and he now needed to balance his determination to have the lady across from him as his wife, with his normal cautiousness. ”May I call on you tomorrow?”
Having declared his interest so publicly it should be easier to talk to her, but he still heard the tremor in his own voice. He felt undeserving, and it affected him physically.
“I fear I will have a cold tomorrow.” She replied to his question. “And will be unable to leave my bed all day.”
Feisty and quick-witted then. He was clearly going to have to put considerable effort into winning her hand. His title would certainly not do it for him. “Perhaps I can send my doctor, or some other form of comfort for you.”
“I fear the only thing that could make me feel better would be an ice.”
“Then let me escort you to Gunter’s. Maybe an outing would help you leave your sick bed.”
“I’m not sure I could manage such a trip. It is just such a shame there are none to be had at our house.”
Alex tried to think what else he might suggest. His country seat had an ice house, most estates owned by members of the ton did, but here in town it was less common. Ellie’s father did not keep one it seemed and neither did he. “The last ice I had from Gunter’s melted before I had even eaten half of it. And the weather was not so hot as it is today.”
Yes, there had to be some way to get one from somewhere closer. He didn’t think any of his close acquaintances had an ice house in London, but he could investigate.
“If only a man of your resources...” Her words trailed off. She was definitely challenging him.
The maid’s head was snapping back and forth between the two of them, mouth open wide.
“I hope I would be well received if I were to manage to deliver you an ice. What is your favourite flavour?” Pretend confidence. That’s the way to go.
A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Basil, I think.”
Now she was definitely having fun at his expense. “Well then, I shall only call when I can bring you an ice for your comfort.”
As his carriage drew up outside her family’s residence he opened the door before the coachman could alight, and offered her his hand to assist her down.
“Thank you,” she said, barely glancing at him as she made for the front door. Just before entering she turned back and called out. “I hope I shan’t have to wait ‘til winter for you to call.”
Chapter Three
Ellie was not ill the next day. She felt extraordinarily lively, in fact. The house teemed with visitors, ladies and gentleman both, calling to enquire after her health and being invited to tea upon finding her receiving. Everyone seemed to want to know whether she was now engaged to Lord Mendton or if she was hoping to reconcile with Lord Wyvern. To the former question she responded that she had not yet revoked her refusal. To the latter she said that she had not yet had opportunity to apologise, but would of course be doing so when next their paths crossed.
The two noticeable absences throughout the morning were the two Lords whom everyone had most hoped for a sight of. It was not until twenty to four—when Ellie thought there could be no more guests and really the roomful she had should have been leaving—that the butler Forsythe knocked on the drawing room door and brought over the card of Lord Mendton.
Ellie smiled as she read the front side, engraved with his name, and her smile grew wider when she turned the card over and read I believe you requested an ice.
“Is My Lord in the hallway, Forsythe?” Ellie asked wondering if he held a glass of flavoured ice in his hand and, if so, whether it still counted as ice or if it were all liquid.
“No, my Lady. I believe he is waiting outside.” Then although his facial expression stayed the same his tone of voice suggested he did not quite believe what he was about to say. “He has brought a horse and cart with him.”
“A carriage?” asked Ellie, a suspicion inching into her mind.
“No, a horse and cart, my Lady.”
By this point the rest of the room was clearly listening to their conversation. All other talk had ceased; all gazes were cast their way. Not wanting to be embarrassed Ellie thought she had better enquire further. “Is there anything on the cart?”
“Well, it looks to be laden with slabs of ice, my Lady.”
Ellie’s smile
widened into a huge grin. “I believe Lord Mendton has brought me a gift. Please send him in, Forsythe.”
The man himself appeared moments later and swept a bow so low his hair nearly brushed the floor. Upon rising, he said to Ellie, “I believe my Lady requested an ice,” and then to the room as a whole, “I have a variety of flavours to offer, most notably basil.” There were gasps and delighted twitters before he continued. “Ice blocks from my estate in Kent were fetched early this morning, and the ices themselves were collected direct from Gunter’s as soon as they opened, so you can be assured of their quality.”
“Let us have Forsythe bring them at once,” Ellie cried delightedly. “Basil is my favourite.”
****
Alex declined an ice. His stomach was decidedly queasy and had been ever since he’d arrived at the house. He really should have had breakfast, but he’d been too busy and too awash with anticipation to feel hunger. It was odd that the sensation did not seem to be dissipating, since everything had gone to plan. Surely he had done enough to merit a dance at a ball, enough to have roused her interest.
The pull he felt could not all be one-sided. He’d have tumbled back before now if there was not a counter weight on her side. The tug of war was fine, as long as he could reel her in, and soon. He was getting desperate to have an excuse to touch her. He’d have been writing poetry if he thought the verse would be any good.
Alex watched as the ladies nibbled on the ices. He had purchased plenty of tall glasses and long spoons, so they could eat with ease. Every so often one of them would glance his way and he’d smile. They didn’t seem to know what to say to him, but talked quietly amongst themselves instead. He heard odd murmurs. “Surely she will ... how could she turn down ... count herself lucky ... two titled gentlemen ... her parents will say....”
He turned to the lady they discussed, having been granted a seat next to her. “I am so glad you have not taken ill. Am I to assume you will be attending functions this evening?” Alex hoped his sister would know where she would most likely be, but it would not hurt to secure the information from the lady in question.
