But not from Ellie’s mind.
Caroline’s words continued to echo. ‘He’s being so terribly overbearing because he loves me, you know.’ She was quite confident in the emotion, and not just Eldenwood’s but her own. Ellie had seen clearly the serenity on her face, the acceptance there, and the young matron promised herself she would put her mind to the problem as soon as Charlotte was safely delivered.
Not many more minutes passed before the physician arrived to stay and Ellie was shown to the door. She wandered through the study and conservatory, finally finding Edward, John, Ashberry and Sebastian in the morning room, where Edward was stretched out on Charlotte’s chaise, snoring. Sebastian and Ashberry, too, were dozing, both in armchairs near the fire and John was curled uncomfortably onto the window seat. Ellie sighed, moving to stand behind her husband’s chair, smiling at the exhaustion on the men’s faces. They were nearly as tired as Charlotte herself, she thought, impulsively rubbing her hands against the back of Ashberry’s neck and then sliding them around and down onto his chest. She pressed a kiss to his hair even as he shifted in the chair, his hands coming up to clasp hers.
When he pulled her around in front of him, she shook her head and shrugged, glancing at Edward. He was rumpled and the smell of brandy permeated the room. “The doctor says it is close to time,” she whispered in Ashberry’s ear, allowing him to sit her across his knees.
He nodded, laying her close against him, despite the presence of the other men. The room was dim, dark in the evening and the men had left most of the lamps unlit. Ashberry explained against her ear, the words so quiet that they would not disturb the slumbering men. “The conservatory was cold, so we moved in here when evening came. Eldenwood felt it was better than going back to the study—he went in to fetch the madeira and could still hear Charlotte but Edward nixed the drawing room—he said the chairs were too uncomfortable.”
She stayed there, resting against Ashberry’s chest, as the fire crackled and burned. The marquess’ arms slipped around her and she sighed, grateful for the embrace despite the impropriety of it before her brothers and brother-in-law. Both were quiet and Ashberry lifted his glass to her lips, smiling when she realized with relief that it was not brandy but simple wine. Ellie drank deeply for a moment before lying back against Ashberry’s shoulder. She sighed happily even as he drew her knees up against his hip and tucked her into his embrace, settling her there. With Ashberry’s body warmth nearly impossible to resist, Ellie, too, fell asleep listening to the fire sizzle in the grate.
Ashberry allowed Ellie to sleep nearly another hour before he gently woke her, not daring to keep her in his lap any longer and have the other men wake and witness her there. She shook out her skirts even as Sebastian and Edward began to stir. Her eyes unashamedly met John’s amused ones, for her brother was nothing if not a light sleeper, as she slipped away from the men’s compotation. Both Ashberry and John had brandy snifters again in their hands despite the hour and Ellie couldn’t help smiling as she slid the door latch closed behind her, whispering to a maid to bring them dinner trays. Ellie knew Ashberry’s arms had drawn back reluctantly. He, though conscious of propriety, had felt no shame in his affection for her and Ellie tucked that snippet of information into a corner of her puzzling mind.
Ellie didn’t even bother to climb the steps, for at the top Sarah and Lucy were just beginning to descend. Their smiles said that the ordeal was over and Charlotte well. Ellie drew a deep breath and waited.
When they reached the bottom, both women embraced her. “A girl,” Lucy whispered, clearly pleased. “A squalling and very healthy little girl.”
Ellie’s face broke into a smile. “Thank goodness,” she sighed gratefully and led the two women to the morning room to deliver their news.
Much later, Ashberry joined Ellie in their bed, yawning even as she rolled against him. He tucked her bottom into the crux formed by his thighs and stomach before rubbing a hand down her side and finally covering her belly with his large hand.
Ellie stilled beside him, waking abruptly even as his mouth came to rub against the skin just below her ear. The question was soft but direct. “Are you?”
She had no choice but to answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment. She stopped, holding her breath for a few seconds before correcting herself. “I can’t be certain yet.”
She felt him nod. “You will tell me when you know?” he asked. “Despite my overreactions, despite whatever advice my sisters have given you?”
Ellie was surprised he asked the question. “I will,” she whispered.
The marquess was silent for several minutes, so quiet that Ellie wondered if he was drifting to sleep. Instead, he moved his arm to curl beneath her breasts in a comfortable position before he told her, his voice cautious. “Edward and I—we need to find out why your father is in London.”
Hardly daring to breathe, Ellie asked, “Why?” The word was soft, nearly unsaid in the room, though Ashberry heard it easily.
“Because,” he whispered patiently, “He’s hiding—from his friends, from us, from Parliament, his clubs. I need to know why.”
Ellie’s fingers pressed against his arm. “Don’t shut me out of it,” she asked, twisting around and meeting his eyes.
Ashberry nodded. “I can’t promise I won’t sometimes react without thinking, Ellie, and try to shield you from things that will hurt you. But I will try not to exclude you.” He closed his eyes and rested his chin against the top of her soft head.
The room was quiet until Ellie sleepily whispered, “I hope you are right.”
Ashberry smiled, though he had no idea what he was right about. Perhaps the baby, he mused, smiling at the thought. “About?” he prompted.
Ellie’s voice was husky with sleep even as she turned and nuzzled into the pillow. “I hope I am in love with you.”
Ashberry’s heart thudded against his chest. Sleep escaped him as he rocked Ellie back and forth in his arms, hardly believing that she was asleep until she fussily turned onto her stomach, nearly shoving her elbow into his stomach before she sighed. Holding back a laugh, he watched her snuggle down into the mattress, her fingers curling by her ear into the pillow. With a smile on his face, he lay facing up on the bed, staring at the canopy, dreaming of and for the years to come.
* * * *
Ellie chose to stay home when Edward and Ashberry made their way across town to Manley’s. Ashberry had breathed a silent sigh of relief and was grateful to the fates that he hadn’t been forced to convince her it would be unsafe. Or worse, he mused, he hadn’t needed to backtrack by ordering her to stay in the house. She still hadn’t bled, for close to 8 weeks now, and he knew that she must soon accept the truth of her condition. He had carefully masked his instinctive reactions so far, simply engineering a few arrangements outside of her sphere of vision but the notion that she might try to participate in their little outing nearly had him walking on nails when he had gone to her with his plans.
Instead, she had been remarkably sanguine when he had told her of his plans, kissing his cheek fondly in the dining room, in front of Alexander even, and whispering only that she would appreciate him not seeking out her father to do him violence.
Ashberry had promised not to the thrash the man, though he couldn’t say what Edward had planned for the erstwhile father.
The marquess and Edward slipped into Manley’s unnoticed and back into the offices of its owners, disreputable reprobate brothers Harrison and Robert Kirk. Harrison Kirk was slouched at his desk, whiskey glass in hand as he watched two of his employees tally the night’s markers thus far.
“Good night?” Ashberry asked solicitously, not bothering with greetings.
Kirk’s smile was as mercenary as any. “Most men are fools, as you know.” His eyes slid lazily to Edward. “You must be the younger Whitney.”
Edward didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “I’m not sure I appreciate the connection these days,” he growled. “Except for my grandfa
ther’s sake.”
Kirk perused his face, considering. He had years of experience now and could read men better than most. “A bit young, still, but you have a good face and I’ve heard good things of you.” He frowned. “Do your family a favor and stay out of here, would you?”
“Hardly a worry,” Edward replied, his own eyes leaving Kirk’s to note the small size of the office, the worn furniture. “I prefer other types of risk.”
Ashberry’s mouth quirked. “There aren’t many men who stay away from these hells, as Kirk well knows. The temptation is great, particularly when you are on a downturn in your regular businesses.”
Edward wasn’t interested in a lecture. His father had been providing enough of an onerable example over the previous year. “And my father?”
Harrison shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to have trouble covering his debts with his winnings from his peers—we haven’t had to stop him yet though my brother Robert, who works the floor, is watching him. We can’t, of course, control how he plays privately but he seems to win more than he loses.” He glanced at desk. “He’s here tonight. At last report, he was playing piquet. It’s not a game where his talents shine particularly well.”
Ashberry drawled, “And how deep is he?”
The other man smiled, a pleased smile. “I have to say, an hour ago he was only down about three thousand pounds for the night. Last week, he lost about five thousand pounds to the house.”
Edward’s eyes darkened. It wasn’t huge amounts given the overall income of the estates and related properties, but it would have been nearly impossible to hide such sums from Edward’s solicitors unless Whitney truly was paying off the house by winning it from others. After a word of advice from Eldenwood, Edward had retained a firm for the express purpose of managing his entitled interests; for the time, those interests included keeping a close eye on his father’s financial dealings.
Ashberry frowned. “I don’t suppose you have any private rooms, Kirk? Unoccupied ones?”
Kirk did, and the two men found themselves behind the doors of one. It was heavily furnished, with dark oak-paneled walls and deep red leather chairs around a well-worn table. Gas lamps gave the room a yellow glow that the dark green carpet reflected. The room was obviously meant for private games of chance, Ashberry mused as he settled into one of chairs, swallowing back the urge to cough in the stale air as Edward took the chair beside him, facing the doorway.
Whitney’s eyes were suspicious when he stepped into the room. Behind him, the door slammed shut, obviously closed by the messenger Kirk had provided. When Whitney recognized the room’s occupants, he scowled.
“What do you want?” he asked bluntly, not sitting.
Ashberry looked at the man, amazed at how much he had aged in the last year. He sighed, gesturing to the chair, the glass of port provided. Reluctantly, Whitney stepped into the room and took the seat. Even more slowly he touched the glass. His gaze shifted to Edward before he denied swiftly, “I’m not sinking you into bankruptcy, if that’s your concern.”
Edward shrugged, his focus on his father’s face. “I’m not concerned,” the son replied easily. “In fact, I know that Rose Hill did very well this year.”
“What do you want then?” The question was directed to both. Whitney’s eyes glanced at his son only for a moment before resting on Ashberry.
Ashberry shrugged. “We have news.”
Edward explained, “You have a grandchild,” he offered quietly. “A granddaughter. We named her Caroline Amelie.”
Whitney’s face gave no outward sign of interest, though Ashberry was close enough to see a brief tightening around his mouth. “I shall send the child a token of my esteem,” the baron acknowledged softly. “And your wife?”
Edward shifted, his eyes still meeting his father’s directly. “Healthy. We expect there will be more children.” He paused. “An heir, when God provides.”
Whitney inclined his head. “Is that all?”
Ashberry sighed openly. Obviously, Whitney would have to be encouraged to chat. “We know about your ex-mistress, Whitney,” he began quietly. “In fact, we spoke to her recently.” He had Whitney’s attention at that.
Edward didn’t bother to prevaricate. “What in the hell were you thinking?” he asked bluntly. “You put us all at risk—and look what happened.”
“Do you believe I wanted that son of a bitch to hurt anyone?” Whitney broke off, disgusted with his son. He cast an accusing look in Ashberry’s direction, finding the other man relaxing casually in his chair, apparently negligent in his attention. Fixing his gaze on his son-in-law, Whitney muttered, “This is all your fault, you know.”
Ashberry thought he had better intervene before Whitney's defensiveness ended the communication. In a smooth tone of voice, devoid of censure or anger, he said simply, “We came for another reason as well—I wanted to thank you for taking care of Ellie’s nemesis is such a diligent way.” Ashberry paused, letting his words sink in before adding, “I admit I would have appreciated a confidential word on the matter so I hadn’t wasted my own resources pursuing it, but it was a relief to find out that the bastard had died on a ship you put him on.”
Whitney sat back in his chair at this announcement, considering the men before him: Edward defensive, Ashberry as unperturbed as anyone he had ever seen. Whitney offered quietly, “I considered killing him outright but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Instead you found the dirtiest, unhealthiest death ship you could and deposited him on it—not a terrible idea.”
Whitney shrugged. “It worked, I suppose. Still, it was the cowardly way out.” He grimaced. “I couldn’t explain it to Edward here or anyone in the family without explaining how I had found her attacker.”
“We found out anyway,” Ashberry murmured simply. “After our marriage, I was unwilling to let the matter stay completely buried.”
Edward finally cleared his throat to interject, “I still don’t understand how you kept the woman, Papa, or where your current money is coming from.” He frowned.
Whitney looked suddenly uncomfortable. It took him several minutes to decide upon his answer but after a look at Ashberry’s face, Edward waited. Finally, the baron answered slowly, “I have been very careful since you were learning your sums, Edward, to keep my two lives separate. You know I have a violent edge I cannot always control—when I felt it spilling out of me, I would come to London until I was sure I no longer endangered your mother or you children.” He cleared his throat. “The few times I was unable to escape here, your mother bore the brunt of it.”
“At home, when I was a boy, I remember,” Edward said soberly. “And more recently, in Europe.”
“Yes,” Whitney murmured. “Part of that second life was a mistress, who I understand you have met.”
“You beat her,” Ashberry said simply. “She made it clear to us that was part of the package—it was understood on both sides.”
Whitney nodded and both of his challengers saw the chagrin on his face. “When I was young, I tried boxing, hunting, even fencing. Nothing worked. As soon as I could, I found a girl who was willing and who wouldn’t complain for a pretty penny and that seemed to satisfy me.” He swallowed and finally took a gulp of the brandy, apparently seeking courage. “Your mother didn’t even find out about my predilection until after you were born, Edward. I finally confessed it to her after—after John was born. I lost control of my urges one night and—”
Edward stopped him, his face darkening. “No details, Papa,” he bit out. “Just the basic facts will do.”
The man nodded and went on, “She told me to go to London then, and she wouldn’t argue with me over those trips if she understood the reason. I realized soon after Ellie was born, though, that Flossie wasn’t ... enough. I bought a small house in Kensington and installed several girls there—working girls.” He grimaced, “It didn’t take me long to realize that they were continuing their business when I was out of town—I hired a manger for them,
so to speak, and began to collect my share of the profits from their business.”
Ashberry’s eyebrows quirked at the news. “So you own the brothel?” he murmured.
Whitney stared at the brandy again before swinging another gulp. “Yes,” he ground out. “I own it. It’s self-supporting—actually, it makes a healthy profit. I reimbursed the Rose Hill accounts for all the money I took from them when the thing began and keep this little diversion completely separate.” His eyes, bleary as he gulped down the last of the brandy, met Ashberry’s. “And I used it to pay Flossie as well. It’s made a tidy profit over the years, particularly after I stopped supporting her.” He laughed, suddenly amazed by his own fortune. “What man is as blessed as I? I have four upstanding and respectable children, two with titles, and I get to enjoy myself as much as I damn well please without endangering them.” He hauled in a deep breath. “I think I will go now—I have a pretty little Negro girl who I’m teaching about pain. She’s still a virgin and tonight, I might change that.” He stood and stumbled to the door, wrenched it open headed into the hall.
The sounds of the hell drifted into the hall as Edward and Ashberry stared after him.
* * * *
The marquess who stepped into his house in Grosvenor Square was much more sober than the marquess who had left it. He and Edward had hardly spoken after Whitney’s departure, at least not until the carriage door had closed behind them.
Edward had broken the silence. “He never could tolerate alcohol well,” he said disgustingly.
After a moment, he remembered his wife and then looked at Ashberry seriously. “As to Charlotte, Ashberry—I have never felt any desire to beat her, other than the common momentary urges I have when she acts outrageously.”
Ashberry had met his eyes just as seriously. “I know that you do not, Edward. I have seen you together and I knew before you married her that you shared a temperament with your mother—cool, decisive and without malice.” They had spoken no more on the subject.
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