Collin bowed deeply, with Reginald following suit while the women curtsied. “Welcome, Lady Calvert,” he said formally. “Please, allow me—"
“Oh, enough, Collin,” she interrupted, making a shooing motion with her hand. “Let us all get inside before we catch our death. I declare, it is much colder here than ever it was in London. Inside we can have a proper discussion.” She swept past all of them.
The welcoming party hurried inside to find the dowager countess divested of her coat and gloves.
“It is not sensible to stay out on the stoop in December. Young people of good health never understand such things. Now. Let me look at you, Miss Bringhurst.” She folded her hands before her and lifted her chin, not to be put off for even a moment.
Ellen stepped forward, her nerves making her hands shake. She dropped a curtsy and murmured her greeting softly. “I hope your journey was pleasant, Lady Calvert.”
“Of course, dear. Good weather made it acceptable.” Her ladyship tilted her head to one side, looking Ellen over head to toe. “I must say, you have blossomed into a lovely young woman. Lady Falkham, Miss Bringhurst and I have the need of your parlor.”
Marianne looked startled but nodded. “Of course. Shall I have tea sent in?”
“That will be satisfactory,” the matron said with a smart nod. “Come, Miss Bringhurst, if you will.” She gestured for Ellen to walk beside her, which Ellen hastily moved to do. Though she tried to stop trembling, her anxiety must have been evident, as the dowager reached out to touch her arm as they moved down the hallway. “Do not worry so, dear. I am merely curious, and anxious, to know who my son chose for his bride. I am not willing to go through another hour or more of niceties when you and I could be well on our way to coming to know one another.”
Ellen looked askance at the woman. “I suppose that is practical.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Lady Calvert looked amused and gestured for Ellen to sit near her on the sofa in the morning room. “Ah, look at this. Marianne has excellent taste.”
“I have always liked Marianne’s decorating,” Ellen acknowledged with a smile, her heart beating rapidly.
“I am interested to see what you will do to Orchard Hill,” the dowager said, folding her hands primly in her lap. “It is not so large as this house, but I always found it lovely and comfortable.”
Ellen tipped her head to one side, regarding the woman carefully. Did this mean the lady accepted her son’s choice? “I am afraid Mr. Calvert has not taken the time to tell me much about Orchard Hill yet.”
“Do you call him Mr. Calvert to his face?” the woman asked, eyebrows drawing together, making Ellen’s pulse jump. Would the inquisition would begin in earnest?
“He has asked me to call him Marcus,” she answered truthfully.
The woman nodded and continued. “I remember the girl you were, your hair in a braid and your parasol perpetually lost.” She sighed and shook her head, a gentle look in her eyes. “You spent many summers here.”
“Most of them,” Ellen agreed.
“Your aunt was one of my dearest friends. I don’t recall ever meeting your mother. I take it she is not present now?”
Ellen shook her head.
Lady Calvert looked carefully at her. “From what I know of your family, the Falkhams included, you are a good, dependable, honorable group. Would you say that is accurate?”
“Yes, Lady Calvert.” Ellen could attest to that much.
“And I remember you are a quiet and clever sort of person. Tell me, will you let my son run roughshod over you or will you stand firm on your decisions and convictions? Do you know your own mind?”
Ellen answered firmly. “I know my own mind, Lady Calvert, and your son has given me his word to show respect for my opinions.”
“Good.” She relaxed visibly. “I had worried he would run off and marry the first ninny who would have him. But I am pleased by his choice. I think you will do the family credit.”
Ellen stared, hardly believing what she heard. “If that was such a great concern, Lady Calvert, why make him choose a bride at all?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she worried she ought not to have spoken so freely, but the woman’s frank manner was both disarming and refreshing.
The dowager countess began laughing, but she softened the sound by reaching out and squeezing Ellen’s hand. “Dear child, you will be perfect for him. I suspect my son did act hastily, but he has sound judgment. In time, he will realize what a treasure you are.”
She released Ellen with a pat on her fingers. “I will answer your question, as you have been so good to answer mine. Marcus is a good boy, but in the years since his father passed, he has been adrift. From season to season, he flirts from one end of a ballroom to the other. Then he shuts himself away the rest of the year. I have worried for him. I believe he needs to be spurred into action and obligation. He needs a reason to truly thrive. A wife has a way of keeping a gentleman aware of his responsibilities.”
If Marcus wanted to shut himself away, that should be his right. Forcing him to marry hardly seemed the appropriate response to his problems. But Ellen bit her tongue rather than voice her thoughts.
“You are not convinced.” The shrewd woman reached out and patted Ellen’s hands. “You will see. I feel certain of it.”
A maid entered with a tea tray.
“Now, Miss Bringhurst, what plans have you for your wedding?”
Chapter Ten
Marcus arrived at the home of Henry and Margaret Ashby, brother-in-law and sister to Ellen, not long before Lucas’s coach came into the yard. The Ashbys were hosting the brothers the night before the wedding. Shortly before dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Ashby politely withdrew to see to their children, giving Marcus and Lucas time to themselves.
“I’m glad you came,” Marcus told his elder brother. He leaned against the mantle with one elbow. “Having you present will put me at ease.” He hadn’t seen Ellen since delivering her brother to her weeks ago, and though letters had been exchanged from Orchard Hill, London, and Oak Lodge, none had been directly from her hand.
What if she’d changed her mind?
Lucas sat in an overstuffed chair, his hands dangling over the armrests. “I cannot imagine why. I believe it is tradition for brothers to be a trial to one another on occasions such as this.” He winked, though no smile accompanied the jest. “I should be saying awful things to you about marriage. But as you are forced into the arrangement, I have decided against being unnecessarily cruel.”
Marcus’s lips twitched at that and he straightened. “That does not sound at all amusing for you. I should tell you, Ellen is a very pragmatic woman. She is intelligent and enters this agreement knowing the whole of my reasons for it. I think we will be content in one another’s company.”
“Perhaps that is the best way to begin,” Lucas said, closing his eyes. “Keep the heart out of it.”
“I do believe so. There are no expectations, save what I have explained to Ellen already. Therefore, there can be no let-downs.”
“True enough.” Lucas cracked one blue-gray eye open. Lucas took after their father in appearance. Marcus inherited his mother’s brown eyes while Lucas’s were the stormy blue of their father’s. “How do you think she will get on in society?”
“I am not overly concerned. She has been raised a gentleman’s daughter, took part in Bath society, and carries herself with confidence and grace. Ellen will enter London society with a blank canvas.”
“A daunting task for those of us without artistic inclinations,” Lucas muttered, closing his eye and settling deeper into his chair. “Has she seen your sketches?”
Marcus drew himself up straighter and cast his gaze into the crackling fire. “No. I don’t make it a habit of showing them to people. Especially since I’ve given it up.”
“Then you are not entirely honest with her.” Lucas popped both eyes open and sat up. “Are you?”
Marcus shook his head. “They were the scribblings of a bored man. I
have no time for them any longer.”
“If you are certain.” Lucas shrugged and stood, stretching. He took a few steps toward his younger brother and put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Be careful, Marcus. Guard your heart but know you must be protector of hers. You are responsible for her happiness. Loving one’s wife is a good thing.”
“But you advise against it?” Marcus asked, taking in his brother’s stern face. He hardly smiled since Abigail’s death. Lucas had loved his wife from childhood and losing Abigail not long after their marriage had sunk Lucas into a hole he struggled to crawl out of again.
“Love is sweet while it lasts. But when it is taken away, there is nothing more painful than its absence. I will not advise you one way or the other, except to tell you to be kind to your wife.”
Marcus nodded and his brother squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go and moving to look out the window.
“You will go to Orchard Hill?”
“Immediately following the wedding breakfast.” Marcus came to stand next to his brother. “It is past time for things to be taken in hand. I have already visited. While I cannot say Orchard Hill has been neglected, I also cannot say that it thrives.”
“How long will you be there?”
“A few weeks. Long enough to get things settled. Then I must come to London and allow my wife to enjoy a season while we support you in Parliament. But I would much prefer to stay in the country.”
“You would disappear into the hills forever if we let you. I think that must be one of the reasons Mother wanted you wed.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “One among many. It is incredible how she believes taking a wife will cure me of all my ills.”
Lucas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Mother is always right, Marc.”
Marcus laughed for both of them. “Then I suggest you make haste to leave as soon as possible after the wedding, lest she decide you need the same treatment as I.”
Lucas remained sober in his expression, but his eyes glittered for a moment. “She has no power over me, I’m afraid. If I marry again, it will be because I wish to. The idea of another in Abigail’s place—” He stopped speaking and cleared his throat, looking away.
“I know.” Marcus would have said more, but their hosts returned with the announcement that dinner awaited them.
Marcus sensed Lucas didn’t entirely approve of his decision to wed without love. But what would Lucas have him do? Love simply hurt too much.
Chapter Eleven
The day of the wedding dawned bright. Ellen woke in her bed chambers at Oak Lodge for the last time. It had been decided that Marcus and Lucas would stay at Margaret’s home, Lady Annesbury would stay at Oak Lodge, and the Falkhams were with Teresa. Guest rooms were in short supply, but not many other family members would make the journey for a small church wedding. They would wait for a more spectacular event in London, which Marcus’s mother promised would be the talk of the season.
Ellen did not spend a moment lolling about but rang for a maid at once. The wedding would be held immediately following morning services and the final reading of the banns.
One of the upstairs maids appeared with a small tray of chocolate and muffins. The wedding breakfast would be a grand affair, but Ellen didn’t think it wise to wait to eat. She needed her wits about her. Besides, the memory of her sister Dorothea fainting from hunger and nerves the morning of her wedding had made a strong impression upon Ellen.
Marcus wanted to marry her because of her practicality. Practical brides ate something before their wedding.
After eating, Ellen allowed the maid to do her hair up in ringlets, piled elegantly atop her head. She liked the effect, though she well knew her wedding bonnet would cover most of the efforts. She stepped into her best gown, made over with some silver ribbons, and the maid helped her tie and tuck everything into place. A deep blue cape went over the ensemble. Her light blue slippers were the last thing she put on, tying the ribbons about her ankles.
Her mother’s last missive returned to her thoughts. Dorothea had yet to deliver.
Write down everything about this day and keep your thoughts close. A woman’s wedding is a precious treasure to hold onto for the rest of her life.
Though nothing of great consequence had occurred yet, Ellen went to her writing desk and found her commonplace book. Normally, she recorded philosophical thoughts or notes on her studies. Today, it would have to do as a sort of diary, too.
Upon opening the small book, where she recorded the words of philosophers and ideas from men of science, her gaze fell upon a quote recorded but two months previous, from Shakespeare.
She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known…
When first she read the words, she thought them beautiful and worthy of remembrance, a clever witticism on the state of one in love. Circumstances had changed since then. The words delved into her heart and soul, removing her ability to form a sentence of her own.
Ellen closed the book and put it back into the writing desk. “See to it this is placed in the carriage to go with me to Orchard Hill,” she directed the maid, laying her hand flat on the wood.
She took one last look at herself in the glass and went out the door, determined not to be nervous. Servants moved about, between their staircase and the room for Lady Calvert. She found her brother in the entryway, seated on a covered bench, reading.
He glanced up when he saw her and stood, a wide smile on his face. “Happy wedding day, Ellen. I did not think you would be ready early. Isn’t a bride supposed to take a great deal of time before a mirror?”
Ellen hesitated before answering, still shaken by the words she read. “Do you think I ought to do something more to my appearance?” She bit her lip and looked down to adjust the fingers of her gloves. “I thought I looked well.”
“Ellen,” Reginald said softly, reaching out to still her hands. “Ellie.”
Her gaze darted up to see him smiling at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “You have not called me that since you were a boy,” she murmured, looking into his deep brown eyes.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and dropped his chin. “I may not call you that again, either, now that you join the ranks of esteemed married ladies.”
She laughed and squeezed his hands. “Call me whatever you wish, Reggie. For I will not hesitate to use any number of pet names before your wife someday.”
He chuckled and stepped back, taking her in. “Back to your question. I believe you look beautiful and I am surprised it did not take you long to achieve it. You have always been pretty.”
“You are a sweet brother,” she answered. “But you and father are the only men who have ever bothered to pay such a compliment.”
“Which I have never understood.” Reginald sat down and gave the bench a pat so she would join him. “I hope you hear such things every day from now on. Marcus must think you good looking to go through all the trouble of marrying you.” Though he said it lightly, a sparkle in his eye, Ellen wondered how he could tease about such a thing. Perhaps it was a moment of youthful dreaming on his part.
She gave his hand a pat and then leaned back against the wall, careful of her bonnet.
He looked up the staircase. “How much longer do you think our esteemed guest will be?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. But our carriage should be at the door soon. Where is Father?”
“Here,” said a voice as their father appeared from around the corner, coming from his study. “I have been looking through the library and wondering which books I ought to send to Orchard Hill. Most of the new additions have come from your recommendations. It hardly seems fair that you are leaving those behind.”
He came and stood before her, looking her up and down, then nodded smartly. “You make a charming bride, Ellen.” He held his arms out and she stood to enter his embrace. “My girl. You know, I thought I would keep you here to read to me in my old age and
debate the finer points of politics and poetry.” He released her slowly and looked down with a stern expression, though Ellen thought his eyes looked suspiciously bright. “Calvert should be grateful to have you, and if he is not, you remind him of your estimable qualities.”
Ellen could laugh at that, feeling her eyes moisten. “Which qualities are those, Papa?”
“Your kindness, consideration, intelligence, and gentility all lend themselves well to whatever you put your mind to.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss on her cheek.
A rustle on the stairs brought their attention to Lady Annesbury, descending with grace. “Gracious, I hope I have not kept you,” she said. “I did not know everyone would be ready this early.”
“Not at all, Lady Annesbury,” her father said with a brief bow. “Have you sent for your carriage?”
“Yes, it ought to be ready.”
A footman appeared at that moment, confirming both carriages were outside the front door.
“Then we had better be off,” Lady Annesbury announced, pulling her cloak around her. “Ellen, I must say, your wedding attire is perfectly suited to you.” She reached out and squeezed Ellen’s arm gently, nothing artificial in her smile. “I think Marcus will be pleased. You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” Ellen took in a deep breath and gave her father her arm. “It’s time.”
Her father led them out the front door to the waiting carriages. Normally, even in cooler weather, they walked the short distance to church to save the trouble of keeping the horses standing during services. But her father would not countenance such a thing on her wedding day. They arrived in good time, with hardly a moment to speak on more than the weather. They went in to the family pew and Ellen looked around for her bridegroom.
Marcus stood along the opposite wall of the church, engaged in conversation with her sister Margaret. The moment she saw him, his hair shining copper in the morning light, his posture sure and his charming grin in place, her heart picked up speed. He looked up and saw her, his eyes sweeping her form briefly before he sent her a gentle smile. Margaret touched his arm, pulling his attention back to whatever she was saying.
His Bluestocking Bride: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 3) Page 8
