Edward, for his part, remained occupied with his accounts and investing, which it appeared he could do anywhere. He set himself in an unused room behind the library, where he regularly received heavy packets of information that he read and digested, producing volumes of legal correspondence with the attentive assistance of Ellie's secretary. To Charlotte, who he quite blatantly adored, he devoted all of his free time, escorting her on short walks around the gardens and near to the walls of the Castle, so that she could tell him of her heritage. Oftentimes, he would carry her from the drawing room at night, when she would tire and look to him pleadingly.
In mid-September, all five set out together for London. Two wagons were sent ahead with footmen and Charlotte and Lady Whitney’s maids, while Griffin, Wendy, Alexander, Benjamin, and Edward’s valet and coachman went with the carriages. The night before they left, Ashberry grumbled against his wife’s breasts that all of his fantasies would be curtailed by the presence of his sister, brother-in-law, and mother-in-law, but he found quickly that both couples desired private time with their spouses. The women would change seating arrangements at each stop, and though he never felt managed, the marquess found himself either beside his wife or alone with her on a regular basis. He accepted the first with a sense of gratitude, but the second outcome satisfied them both immensely.
With the longer days of summer upon them and after rising before dawn to make an early start, it was not even mid-day when the carriages arrived at Finnigan’s Folly. They all shared a meal with the captain, who Lady Whitney declared an oddity, and continued doggedly on—reaching Mrs. Tate’s an hour after night fell. Ellie understood then that Ashberry had taken it easy on their way north and she wondered if it was her or against the weather that he had been guarding.
Late that night when he laid back in the bed, enormously satisfied, he had confessed it was both. “I was unsure of you then, you know,” he murmured. “Your physical stamina for the carriage. It was winter too—not only were the roads more muddy and difficult for the horses to move through, but the days were shorter. And I couldn’t risk getting caught in a snowstorm and having you frozen or taking ill.”
Ellie rolled over in the bed, wriggling her body against his hip and side, until his arm curled around her and his hand lightly smacked her bottom before settling on it and squeezing. Content, she told him, “Mama told me that when we get to London, she’s not coming back to Ashberry House with us. She is going to stay with Charlotte and Edward, for Charlotte’s confinement, you know. Mama said that Charlotte can’t possibly keep house and have a baby and I guess Mama would know.”
“I’d have to agree with your mother,” Ashberry murmured. “I’m not sure even Cousin Sarah found herself equipped for the twins and Ashberry Park after Elizabeth died—and she even had the help of three nurses and hadn’t been through childbirth.” He paused. “It is my understanding that Eldenwood has managed to persuade Sarah to come and stay at his house in London for the duration of Caroline’s pregnancy—he wished to relieve her of some of the tasks that Caroline will not delegate to the staff and Sarah can not only assist her, but will also prevent Caroline from overworking herself, or attempting to inspect the cellars or attics, or other such nonsense.”
Ellie considered the question before she asked it, before she sparked more painful memories for him, but eventually decided she had to know. “Your stepmother, she had a difficult labor, didn’t she?”
Ashberry paused. “Father sent Sebastian and I away from Ashberry Park, to my mother's family, when Charlotte and Caroline were born, so I haven’t been through any others, Ellie. I can’t compare,” he finally admitted. “But I thought at the time that it was the worst thing any God could have imagined to punish women. For certain, the pain Elizabeth suffered should have been enough to redeem every sin she and her children and their children ever commit.”
“She died from the fever, after?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he said, subdued by the memory. He turned to her, startling her with his directness. “You know I’ve been relieved that you haven’t conceived.”
“I know.” The words were regretful, but Ellie couldn’t pretend otherwise. “And I’m sorry you feel that way, Stephen. I want a baby.” The last words were fervent, but she didn’t look away. She met him his intense gaze staunchly. “Not because they say I might not, Stephen. I want a baby because, because ...“
“Because you were meant to be a mother, to make things, particularly children, nurture and grow. I see it in you, Ellie, I do, especially once I saw you at work at Ashberry Park. When I see you hold one of the cottagers’ infants or help one of the children find their lost kittens, I know motherhood is part of your nature.” He took a deep breath. “This has been most difficult for me; I’ve forced myself not to count the days, not to think about whether you are or aren’t, not to think about what might happen if you conceive.” His hands touched her cheek when she began to speak as he finished ruefully, “The Lord knows I certainly haven't done anything to prevent you from getting with child, and we've spent enough time doing this," he gestured to their naked bodies, "to make three of them."
"I wish it didn’t worry you so much,” she said softly, touching his chin in return.
He shrugged the shoulder that was propped up in the air. “It doesn’t, really. Mostly I think of it very late at night, when you’ve fallen asleep against me. Except tonight you’re not asleep.” Ashberry smiled at her, a gentle smile but one tinged with a strange emotion and swallowed heavily. “The simple fact is, Ellie, that I am unable to resist touching you, holding you, having you. All you do is look at me with those gorgeous emerald eyes, and I’m lost. If we make a babe together and I lose you, the responsibility is mine alone.”
Ellie’s eyes fired, and her chin set in a way that was unmistakable. “I have some part in this too, you know,” she insisted, her hand sliding between them and down until her fingers tangled in the hair around his manhood. “And don’t think I wouldn’t try to seduce you myself if you suddenly began treating me like a piece of fine porcelain.” Her fingers stroked the warm skin between his thighs. When he tensed, she whispered, “If we do create a babe together, Stephen?” she asked. “What will you do?”
Roughly, he pulled her beneath him, burying his face against her hair. “I don’t know, Ellie,” he finally whispered. “Pray, mostly. Spend all the time with you I possibly can. I understand intellectually that not all women die from having children. It’s just that ... “
He stopped, his voice dying away. Against him, pressed so possessively in his arms, Ellie’s reply was quiet. “It’s just that you lost both your mother and stepmother in childbirth.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Losing you, losing you ... I don’t know if I could survive it, Ellie. Until I met you, I blamed my father for both their deaths. If he had been able to control himself, I told myself, neither one would have died. I thought it was only righteous that he should die a slow agonizing death from alcohol, though of course, he didn’t last that long.”
“And now,” Ellie murmured, her voice warm against his ear, “You are discovering that it isn’t about self-control at all.”
Ashberry’s hands slid down her back, cupping her bottom and rubbing his lower organs against the soft hairs of her pudendum. “No, it’s mostly about my uncontrollable adoration for you. It’s about being together, cherishing each other, satiating all of our senses, burying myself so deeply inside you that I do not exist outside of you, indulging myself with your touch and taste and smell and sound, holding you close when you disintegrate in my arms.”
“You know,” Ellie sighed, “After we pleasure each other, I don’t dream. Not dreams I remember.” Her voice softened to a bare whisper, “I hardly can remember his hands on me now. You’ve replaced all my memories of it with your own hands, your own voice, your own face and body.”
Ashberry’s throat closed at her words. “I love you, Ella Amelie Trinity,” he groaned, and neither spoke again that night
. At least not in words. Still, Ellie didn’t forget what he said, this time a reaffirmation of his earlier announcement. Inside her heart, she believed him, accepted his words, clung to them even. Ashberry had spent months giving to her, adoring her, convincing her with his selfless interest in her happiness and pleasure. But she still wondered, doubted, her own feelings and so she kept silent.
At Harlan Chase the next night, Mrs. Arden was in her glory. The house was spotless and two of the chambers were occupied in addition to the marquess’ own bed. She fawned maternally over Charlotte, who had increased visibly during their month at Ashberry Park and allowed the housekeeper to be bustle her away to rest during the several hours before dinner. The meal, Ashberry told Ellie later, was probably the most elegant one that had ever been served at the house.
The party left for London the next day, arriving by early afternoon. Only after Ashberry settled into the rhythm of London and Ashberry House did he begin to sift through the pages of notes delivered by his solicitor. It was slow work that occupied his spare time, and most of the information he had already gleaned from his conversations with Ellie and Lady Whitney.
At times, he considered tossing the entire affair into the dustbin, at least until he read a note written by Riley about a woman the man had met.
It was the first week of October when he summoned the underbutler without explanation. Ashberry questioned him carefully and closely before sinking into his chair, his face drawn with concern. “She’s still in London?” he asked.
“After Whitney stopped supporting her, it didn’t seem as if she had much choice, I s’pose. She’s working at one of the houses now,” Riley confirmed. “Not the type of place you’d want to find yourself, if I might say so, my lord.”
Ashberry pictured how Ellie’s face, not to mention his sisters’ and aunt’s, would contort if anyone ever heard even the rumor of it. “I doubt I’d be allowed in anyway,” he mused. “By what you’ve said, I’m sure the owners are aware of my ... disinterest.” Ashberry had never had more than a single mistress used simply for physical relief, and he had ended that affair even before the dinner party of Charlotte’s that had precipitated his marriage to Ellie. For the life of him, Ashberry couldn’t even remember what the lady had looked like. London knew he had not frequented the brothels or been a womanizer when he was single—to pretend he wished to now would be simply unbelievable.
For several minutes he considered not pursuing the lead, not digging more deeply into matters long ended that might raise painful questions with no answers. However, the notion that Ellie’s attacker had not been the anonymous face of a transient and the attack not a mistake of fate was intolerable. If Lord Whitney had somehow known Ellie’s attacker and not pursued the man to the ends of the earth, Ashberry reasoned, then Whitney had either had a very good, or a very appalling, reason. Ashberry’s need to know, his guttural instinct to pursue Ellie’s nemesis and exact punishment, overruled his instinctive caution.
He sighed, “I hate to bring this up to Edward and disillusion him even more, but I don’t see any alternative—I’m not comfortable just assuming this connection is only a minor coincidence.”
Riley nodded, “I will try to arrange a meeting, my lord, between you and the lady.”
“And Edward,” Ashberry frowned. “I hardly wish to relate the tale later, or try to convince him to believe me.” To involve Lady Whitney or his own beloved marchioness was unfathomable but Ashberry knew that he could not meet with Riley’s prize alone.
After dispatching the servant to seek out Edward and then finding the man was not at home, Ashberry wandered the house a bit before asking Alexander where he might find his wife.
“At Lady Eldenwood’s, my lord,” the man answered calmly. “She’s been going regularly since we came to Town, mostly in the afternoons when you’re out.” At Ashberry’s expression, he added, “Shall I send the carriage back to retrieve her?”
“No,” Ashberry shook his head, the look of purgatory in his face. “I should go and visit with my sister, too. It won’t be long now.”
The earl’s house was not far, and Ashberry found himself shown to Caroline’s sitting room before hardly any time had passed. In addition to his wife and Caroline, Ashberry greeted his Aunt Lucy and sister Charlotte, cousin Sarah and Lady Whitney. The women welcomed him into their circle as he drew a chair between Ellie and Caroline, and after a few moments of teasingly attempting to engage him to join them in their sewing, the women allowed him to state his business. “I was thinking,” he glanced at his sisters, “That your confinements are rapidly approaching.” He watched both girls smile as Ellie touched his arm reassuringly.
Caroline corrected his misapprehension, her smile rueful. “Mine, brother dear,” she told him, “Has already begun. Eldenwood forbade me to leave the house yesterday unless he himself was at my side.” She frowned, “And he didn’t seem too eager about permitting it then. I had to threaten to set the house afire to convince him to take me for a walk in the gardens.” She humphed a bit before elaborating. “The doctor said about a week, you know, and Eldenwood is getting a bit anxious about it all.”
Her sister frowned. “Don’t let him order you around, Caroline,” Charlotte incited, “If you want to go out for a walk and breathe a bit of fresh air, just go. What can he do anyway? The earl would never hurt you. You’ll be stuck in the house, or at the best very close to it, for an interminable amount of time after the baby is born anyway.”
Ashberry scowled, a look of displeasure that astonished Ellie. “She will not, Charlotte,” he decreed in a voice that Ellie thought his ancestors might have used to quell an entire army, “Disobey her husband. And you will not encourage her.” His eyes fixed on Edward’s wife, the expression and voice of a tyrant a revelation to his wife. “And if you try such a thing yourself when the time comes, I will personally supervise Edward when he shackles you to your bed.”
Caroline reached across her brother and patted Ellie’s hand. “Ellie, dear, you’d best prepare yourself. Ashberry will be unbearable when it’s your turn.”
Ellie had the sense to keep her mouth closed. Ashberry answered for her, a militant glare in his eyes that spoke more than words ever could convey. “I will do what is best for Ellie when that day arrives, no matter how much any of you object.” His eyes fixed on Lady Whitney as he spoke, and the woman nodded. The marchioness sighed inwardly—if anyone was shackled to a bed, it was likely to be Ellie, with her own mother guarding the chains.
It was Lady Westhouse who calmed him, her words quiet. “Ashberry, dear, Caroline and Charlotte will not endanger themselves or their infants. You must allow Lady Whitney, Sarah and I to watch over them for you.” Her gaze was gentle. “I promise I shall inform the appropriate husband promptly if I hear even a hint of rebellion from them. Now, tell us why you have come so unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon.”
Ashberry did not admit the truth of the matter—he had needed to see his wife safe and ensconced in a scene of familial domesticity like the one before him. His stomach and heart had already stiffened in justified outrage at the suspicions Riley’s news had planted in his mind. The marquess could not speak of it yet, not to the women before him, the dearest treasures in his life. Especially not to Ellie, whose happiness, he feared, would be destroyed forever if his worst-case scenarios turned out to be true. Instead, he said lightly, “I thought I might find young Whitney here with Charlotte, but of course, he is not.”
Charlotte answered the question sweetly, transparently confident in her husband’s whereabouts. “He left this morning to visit the captain of a ship docked at Portsmouth. I expect he’ll return late this afternoon.” Her smile played around her mouth. “He was most pleased by the profits the man returned from his last passage to Boston.”
“As were Ashberry and I,” Ellie murmured.
“And I,” Lady Westhouse announced, a smile to her lips. Ashberry, looking at her in surprise, silently asked for clarification. “I have hired the y
oung man to manage some of my money, with Sebastian’s encouragement. He has quite a nice portfolio with the lot of us contributing, and of course, his man of affairs is excellent at the intricacies of the legal contracts involved in it all.”
“Yes,” Ashberry supplied, a smile on his lips. “As you well know, Aunt Lucy, since Edward retained Waring for the job.”
Caroline was surprised. “Doesn’t he already work with you?”
The conversation focused then on business concerns, and Ashberry was surprised to find the ladies quite well informed about their husbands’ businesses, and even better informed about their own. Even Eldenwood, it turned out, had invested a significant amount of money in Edward’s ventures. And Sarah had convinced her nephew, the duke of Shelling, to trust a portion of Sarah’s long-protected but unused inheritance in Edward's hands. It seemed, he told Ellie later as he escorted her home, that Ashberry and his siblings’ families were beginning to forge a formidable alliance.
SEVENTEEN
When they arrived in Grosvenor Square, Ashberry’s hand at her back surprised Ellie. Instead of turning them to his study or the library, he guided her up the stairs. In response to her questioning look, he allowed his eyes to wander over her form freely, sparking her blood.
She did not object as he turned them toward his sitting room and then into his own chamber, where the bed they shared each night waited in elegant dignity.
Embracing Ashberry Page 28
