Her fingers tugged carefully on her fashionable braids to be sure they were secure as Alexander came and took away their bags. “His Lordship, my lady, asked me to escort you to the carriage.” She looked at him in the mirror as he added, “A courier arrived early this morning.”
Ellie nodded, automatically schooling her features. She knew the butler had seen her anxious eyes, heard her quick breath. “I’ll be ready within five minutes,” she said calmly.
The man nodded, discreetly sliding out of the room as Ellie tied her bonnet over her hair. For some reason, she was nervous, though she told herself there was no reason. She forced herself to walk evenly, her posture perfect, concentrating on her bearing as she left the small building and paced through the gardens toward the front gate. Ellie took a deep breath as she approached the wall. Outside of it, she could hear men shouting, horses whinnying. Her chin up, she stepped to the open iron grates, clasping her hands demurely in front of her.
A crowd of men gathered between Ellie and the carriage. Ashberry’s back was to her as he listened intently to the men before him. Behind him, Captain Finnigan sighted her and slipped unobtrusively from the group. She smiled at him, bowing before he took the hand she proffered. “My lady,” the captain murmured, his eyes twinkling. “I do hope you are feeling more rested this morning.”
Ellie managed to keep her cheeks from blushing a bright red, but could not prevent a lovely pink color from staining them. The captain’s eyes were shockingly perceptive, and despite his feeble appearance and slight limp she suspected he could still charm a woman when he wished. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “I do feel more myself this morning, Captain. Thank you for your hospitality; the cottage was absolutely divine and I shall remember your kindness fondly.”
Ashberry appeared at her side, sliding her arm onto his as the captain released her hand. “Good morning, my dear,” he said, looking at her critically. “I trust you feel refreshed?”
Ellie smiled at him, somehow calmed by his demeanor, his lack of concern. “I was just telling Captain Finnigan how much I appreciated his welcome and kind hospitality. I do hope he will find Ashberry Park as comfortable should he ever come to visit.”
“I’m sure I would, my lady,” the captain said cheerfully. “If I ever leave here, you may be sure I will make my way north to your new home.” He nodded to the carriage, his eyes on Ashberry. “My men say you will have good weather today, but you pushed it to the end. We’re expecting significant snow within a few days.”
Ashberry agreed. “We need to leave fairly soon, I’m afraid to say.”
Ellie’s eyes, concerned, turned to Ashberry. Before she could speak, the captain said his farewell. “I will bid you both good day then and will hear from you soon?”
“Of course,” Ashberry agreed. He shook the man’s hand before Finnigan kissed Ellie’s glove. “I’ll let you know exactly what day to expect Miss Shelling.”
The captain nodded to them before bidding Ellie a final farewell. “My lady,” the captain bowed graciously just as Ashberry directed her away. The pair crossed around the crowd and Ellie listened to the men exchanging their news with the courier that Ellie knew had come from Ashberry House, for she recognized him as a manservant there. A moment passed while Alexander opened the carriage door but just as Ellie began to step up, she heard a voice that made her breath stop and her face pale.
FIFTEEN
Ashberry saw her face whiten, her fingers clench against his hand. Instead of simply assisting her, he lifted her by the waist into the coach. She sank into the seat, her eyes blank, until Ashberry tugged on her hands. “Talk to me,” he said abruptly.
“That voice,” she whispered. “The man with the blue coat.”
Ashberry looked quickly over his shoulder. The man Ellie referred to was one of Finnigan’s sailors. “Yes?”
She clutched his hands suddenly, her body intent, anxious. “It wasn’t him, but I’ve never heard anyone else sound just the same, until now.” Her hands shook in his, and she looked so fragile that Ashberry’s heart nearly stopped.
“The man who attacked you—he spoke with the same accent?” he confirmed.
“Yes, but this man is too old, much older than that one,” she whispered, her hands grasping him tightly.
Ashberry gently disengaged his fingers from her fervent grip. “I need to speak to him, Ellie.” He motioned to Griffin, ready to climb onto the seat above them. “Griffin will sit with you for a few minutes. I’ll send the coach ahead and catch up on the mare.” She nodded mutely as Ashberry stepped out of the coach door, saying a few quiet words to Griffin.
The man immediately jumped up into the carriage, sitting calmly across from Ellie. The door closed behind him and Ellie watched fretfully as Ashberry moved away, saddling the horse and detaching it from the carriage before Benjamin whipped the horses forward. He turned away almost immediately, calling Finnigan back from the man’s slow retreat before Ellie lost sight of him.
“He’ll come as soon as he can, my lady,” the older man with her said quietly. Ellie looked at him, startled, then remembered where she was. She had never heard the tone in the valet’s voice quite so sedate. “His lordship, he is a very good man. He will want to come back to your side as soon as he can.”
“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes finally clearing. Ellie clenched her hands in her lap. “I, I will be fine.” She cleared her throat, struggling to return to a sense of normalcy. She remembered suddenly Griffin’s valse in the music room, Ashberry’s story of him. “Will you be glad to return to Ashberry Park, Mr. Griffin, or do you prefer London?”
The valet kept his eyes on her, carefully assessing. Ellie was unused to such direct consideration by servants, but found that she didn’t mind the caution from Griffin. The man was a long retainer of Ashberry’s family and perfectly comfortable in his role, where he was accustomed to an unusual degree of respect from other staff and especially Ashberry and his family. The older man was gentle as he answered, “London was my home for many long years, my lady, and I will always consider returning there a sentimental homecoming.”
He coughed a bit. “However, Ashberry Park has many redeeming qualities. I have much less to do there, for his lordship rarely needs my assistance to dress for work in the stables or for dinner en famille and there is an efficient staff to relieve me of even more burdens. Ashberry Park is nearly like retirement for me most days, unless his lordship suddenly changes dramatically now that you’ve married.”
He paused for a moment and smiled encouragingly. “The household, they will be quite excited to meet you. His lordship has had them prepare for you, of course, and your maid and the footmen will have arrived by now to relay to them personally how wonderful a mistress you will be.” He looked away from her for a moment, weighing his words. “We were all quite relieved, you know, when the marquess announced he would marry you. Not only did we want him to marry for his own sake, but all of Ashberry Park will be relieved to finally have a mistress again.”
Ellie’s voice was curious now. “Why do you say that?” she inquired, honestly distracted from her husband’s absence and its reason.
The reply was tactful, though Ellie understood what he left unsaid as well. “His lordship’s father, he lost both of his wives in childbirth. The old lord, he was a good man before Lady Elizabeth died, but after the fever took her, the poor man just gave up, drank himself to death. And then his lordship, after his stepmother died, he swore he wouldn’t marry either, or if he did, he wouldn’t murder the woman by childbirth.” He cleared his throat. “Not that he blames his brothers, of course, but for many years he laid the fault with his father.”
Stomach churning, Ellie forced herself not to clench at the words. She remembered the marquess’ response that first day in the park, his silence and eventually his acceptance of the doubts about her fertility. She had thought at the time that he had been deciding whether he could accept the risk of an infertile wife—now she wondered if her news hadn�
�t made him more determined to marry her. “Are you saying that the staff believes Ashberry,” she asked quietly, “Didn’t marry me expecting an heir?”
Griffin looked uncomfortable for a moment as he framed his response. “We know he did not,” the valet finally said quietly. “We can tell he married you for a better reason and all of Ashberry Park will celebrate it, for he does not conceal that he cares for you deeply. It is on his face when he is around you—when I first saw it, I could hardly believe it myself.” The smile on his face was satisfied, content. “If I may say so, it is better that they all know. Both of you will be automatically afforded more privacy by all of us belowstairs. All the maids will think it most romantic that he made a love match and will not cast covetous eyes toward him. The villagers will guess that you have influence with the marquess and respect you more for it—perhaps even seek you out to act on their behalf more than they would otherwise.”
The young lady, her emotions completely spent by the shock of the previous hour, her new intimacy with the marquess and the fatigue of traveling, couldn’t reply, but Griffin didn’t seem to expect one. He gazed out the window in the back of the carriage, past Ellie’s head, obviously watching for the marquess. Ellie focused on breathing evenly, wondering if Griffin was as informed as he thought. She knew Ashberry cared for her, deeply, and was resolutely committed to protecting her, but love?
It was a nebulous emotion at best when thought to exist between a man and a woman, making one both vulnerable and foolish in the eyes of society. Automatically, she recalled her mother’s words on the subject, for the woman had dismissed amorous love as subjective, only understood by the person who felt it, easily open to interpretation, and misinterpretation.
Men, Lady Whitney believed, could easily transfer their love from one woman to another as beauty and lust dictated. Women, too, often erred in claiming love when in fact they felt gratitude, physical attraction or affection. Ellie had seen the emotion explored in detail in theatres in France and Austria, and though she accepted that such explorations were in fact entertainment, it was also true that many of the truths of life were represented on the stage.
Ellie wondered what Griffin thought of as love—affectionate companionship and undoubtedly passion, she finally decided, calming herself. It wasn’t, after all, an uncommon understanding, especially for men. He couldn’t think that love was what Ellie considered it, the definition ingrained her by Mr. Hughes: an enduring, cherishing, selfless and sacrificing commitment to another, man, woman or child. The gentle man had explained her mother’s behavior to Ellie in terms of love; the love of a mother for her child was the easiest to identify and accept, though he believed that a man and wife could love each other wholeheartedly, if the marriage was truly as marriage was meant to be.
Biting back a sigh, Ellie dismissed the idea that Ashberry loved her in that all-consuming and giving way. After all, he had been married to her for barely two weeks. Love, as Ellie thought of it, would certainly need years to form and coalesce within both of them.
Instinctively, Ellie knew that when she loved, as she loved her brothers and mother, and even her father, she was open to desperate hurt, aching emptiness, shocking grief. Her father had proved it to her not so many days ago and she suspected that if she came to love her husband, any betrayal from Ashberry would be a hundred times worse.
Her compelling urge to self-preservation could be damning but the alternative was unthinkable, terrible enough to destroy her forever.
Ellie could not help but remember that her parents’ marriage, seemingly successful for so long, had just dissolved before her very eyes. She wondered how long it would be before Ashberry’s lust expired, and whether they would have anything left when it did. Ellie refused to think of her own body, its own needs, of whether her desire would ever expire. Even more steadfastly, Ellie refused to consider whether she loved her husband, refused to examine if what she felt was simple gratitude or if she already had given herself without reservation to the man that had promised to honor and keep her for life.
Before many minutes passed, Griffin straightened, peering sharply behind them. “Here he comes, my lady,” he murmured, rapping above him on the carriage. Ellie waited while Benjamin pulled the coach to a stop. The switch was made quickly, with Ashberry climbing inside the carriage and Griffin mounting the mare. Ellie watched as Alexander took the second one and also mounted.
“I’m sending them ahead to the Park,” Ashberry explained as he settled himself on the seat beside Ellie.
He drew the blankets over them and drew her close to him. “I have a desire to see home and be out of this carriage, despite your distracting company, and I sense you would not be averse to arriving as soon as possible. Benjamin will be pushing the horses faster, Ellie dear, and I’m afraid the ride might become quite rough.”
Ellie nodded, her eyes turned toward him as she waited. She knew he would understand, and he did.
“I asked him where he was from, he told me. A rough part of world, my dear, in the French part of the Americas.” Ellie laid her head on his shoulder while his fingers entwined with hers under the blankets. “There’s not much I could do other than that—it’s not like he’s the only one running around.” He sighed, stretching his feet across the carriage and bracing them on the facing seat before he added, “But I will let Edward know of your small discovery, as well as my own men. It was my understanding that they never found the man?”
“No,” she whispered. “Never.” She cleared her throat. “Of course, Papa was concerned about telling everyone why they were searching. He said the man was a thief, I think, which I can’t imagine inspired any desperate concern. Besides, no one else in the vicinity of Rose Hill was attacked after me.”
Ashberry released her hand, putting his arm around her instead. She lay close against him, absorbing his body heat, while he thought. The man had said he was from New Orleans, a French port in North America, famous for the furs and other goods that came down the Mississippi River. For the moment, there was nothing else that Ashberry could do except comfort his wife and inform her family.
His resignation to his inability to pursue the matter reminded him of the other issue they faced.
Ellie remembered at the same time. “How is my mother?”
He kissed her hair, debating how much to tell her. He and Edward had succeeded in quelling a search by the London police, using their influence with City and Court officials to convince those in power that it was in Lady’s Whitney’s best interest not to be found. Edward had assured them that the matter was a domestic one and that the baroness had not fled to a lover or to the Continent.
“Edward has retained a solicitor to act in her interest. He is petitioning the baron for a separation,” he finally murmured. “And Richard is leaving for Cambridge tomorrow morning. Fields and John both report that your father has stopped raging but is quite moody. He had your mother’s portrait removed from the library and told Fields to burn it. John had it delivered to Edward’s house instead. Fields does not feel that your mother would be safe if she came back—apparently your father has begun attending a shooting gallery to improve his aim with a pistol.”
Ellie drew a sharp breath, clearly horrified. “Dueling?” she whispered.
“With whom?” the marquess shrugged. “He cannot challenge his own sons and I am not close by, and would simply issue an apology and be done with the thing if it was his intention. Edward feels it best that your mother keep out of sight until the separation is formalized and your father returns to Rose Hill.”
“What if he doesn’t agree?” she asked worriedly. “I can’t imagine he’ll want to support her, you know. He was always very critical of women who lived apart from their husbands—perhaps he knew Mama wasn’t happy and thought to discourage her, but he can’t be made to agree to a separation contract, or even abide by it.”
“Yes, he can,” Ashberry disagreed soberly. “Your brothers and I can, and will, force him to acknowledge that the
separation is in his best interest if we must,” he sighed, “Though it would be easier on everyone if he agrees willingly.” Ashberry didn’t add that a separation agreement would negate any attempt the baron might make later to sue his wife for divorce in order to humiliate her. He could hardly claim abandonment if a legal separation was on record.
His wife nodded, resting her nose in the crux of his shoulder. “Thank you, Stephen,” she whispered. “I can’t believe how much trouble you accepted when you married me. I, I have trouble fathoming what is happening to my family.”
Ashberry’s hands settled on her, stroking her back and neck. “Edward has taken most of the brunt,” he answered softly. “And I would hardly turn my back on your mother and brothers, since our marriage seems to have precipitated this crisis.” He kissed her braids, exposed now that her bonnet had been set to the side.
Silence settled between them, Ellie’s mind still dwelling against her will on Griffin’s words instead of her mother, Ashberry still puzzling over Whitney’s irrational behavior. An hour passed, then two, as the carriage rumbled north. The couple shared a picnic luncheon beside a warm fire with Benjamin in a tiny, charming valley beside a small, gurgling stream where the horses refreshed themselves. Afterward, Ashberry threw water on the remains of the warmth and helped his wife back into their carriage.
Ellie and Ashberry both read, their enforced time together easy. Ashberry’s arm remained tucked protectively around her waist as he held her when the coach jerked and bounced. His hand occasionally squeezed her hip or the side of a breast but for the most part he resisted his temptation to fluster her again. He knew, more than Ellie herself, what awaited her at Ashberry Park.
When they were about half an hour from the property, he took the book from her hands, hushing her gently as he laid it aside. “Not much longer,” he murmured, pointing out the glass. Off to the right, below them but still in the distance, a pretty village was tucked in a dell amidst the barren fields. Beyond it, the land rose slowly until it became a hill covered with tall, proud trees that rose in the distance. Ellie could just see a tower rising from the fog at the top of the hill. “The village is Ashwood,” he told her, “The estate borders up to the village edge and we’ll take the hill there up to the house. The castle is above that, and the cottages and most of the farmland and Park is still further to the east, out of sight, and north to the old border with Scotland.”
Embracing Ashberry Page 25
