Embracing Ashberry

by Serenity Everton

  Ellie was in her sitting room. Ashberry let himself into the room and simply looked at her as she reclined on the chaise. She smiled up at him and rose, garbed in the glorious golden nightwear he had given her when they married. His eyes lingered on her curves and her glow and then he said quietly, "I have so much to tell you."

  "Later," she murmured, stopping just in front of him and reaching out to unbutton his coat. "Tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow, then," he agreed, and drew her close.

  TWENTY

  Ellie laid back against the pillow and smiled a bit at the ceiling. She was still in bed, true, and the month before the birth of tiny Lady Rosalie Catherine Trinity had been stressful beyond anticipation—at least beyond Ellie's anticipation. Still, they had all survived, even Ashberry, against all expectations and predictions of dire.

  Knowing she needed to rest, Ellie peeked under the sheet at the tiny bundle resting against her side. Rosalie slept peacefully for the moment and so Ellie, too, closed her eyes. The memories of the last weeks flitted through her mind, as well as a bit of chagrin at her own actions.

  Deliberately, she forced herself to remember.

  July wasn't the most pleasant month to be kept in bed, though after a few humid, stale days, Ashberry carried Ellie to her own room while big, burly men from the stables came up to their rooms and moved the furniture. When Stephen had returned his wife to the bedchamber, the bed resided in the one place where the slightest breeze ruffled and bounced over the bed as it passed between two open windows.

  Ellie was again firmly ensconced amid the sheets, billows and coverlets. At night, Ashberry would lie beside her, draw up her voluminous gowns, and lovingly trace her curves, even to the point of massaging the tiny appendages that stretched Ellie's taut skin.

  "First babies are notoriously late," Ellie assured him a full week before they had calculated the baby would come. "You know the doctor said it will be at least two weeks."

  Ashberry frowned at the window beyond the bed. "I'm just not certain I should go."

  Ellie smiled at him gently. "Truly Stephen," she murmured, "I will be fine. You need to finish up that business with Finnigan, and if you stay here, you'll simply haunt the house all day worrying." She cupped his cheek. "Besides, you'll be back before bedtime."

  "I know," he grumbled, kissing her tenderly. "But that is more than twelve hours away."

  "You can sit with me all day tomorrow if it makes you feel better," she encouraged him. "Sarah, Mother and Caroline are all here to keep me company, and you know Wendy will look after me. If I get become utterly desperate for entertainment, I shall ask Caro to bring Andrew in for an hour or so." Andrew was eight months old now, and smiling, laughing, and entertaining his adoring female fans.

  Ashberry laughed, and the mood lightened as he bid his wife a good day.

  Ellie waited exactly an hour after he departed before she summoned Wendy. Bright-eyed and in the early stages of marriage and pregnancy, Wendy dashed into the room.

  Ellie's earlier smile had waxed into an expression of decided discomfort. "I need to wash," she told the maid briskly. "Thoroughly."

  Wendy paused, for something in Ellie's face clearly stated that had entered yet another phase in her pregnancy. "What's happened?" she asked anxiously, feeling Ellie's forehead with all the fussy skill of a new mother.

  "Not a thing," Ellie grumbled, waiting while Wendy went to deliver a quick request for hot water to the underling in the corridor. Like Ellie, Wendy was not allowed to lift, carry or otherwise endanger her unborn infant, and Ellie smiled mistily at the notion of Wendy snuggled up with a little babe at her breast. In truth, Wendy's pregnancy had turned her more into companion than maid; another maid was assuming those duties Wendy couldn't perform.

  Wendy returned to Ellie's side with a cup of tea, still looking her over carefully. With a sigh, Ellie relented. "Oh, all right," she murmured, sipping from the hot brew. "I don't think it will be two weeks like the doctor said. Indeed, I doubt it will be two days."

  Wendy stared at her in shock, mouth opening in mute astonishment.

  "I've been having small pains for a few hours now," Ellie added with a small smile. "And they haven't gone away like the ones did last month. Actually, they're getting a little stronger."

  Wendy found her voice. "But you can't—” she breathed, horrified. "What about—” And then, "I'll send someone to the Stables immediately. His lordship—”

  Ellie shook her head. "No, he's not there," she said calmly. "He left for Finnigan's Folly nearly an hour ago, Wendy."

  "We'll send someone after him then," Wendy rushed to the bell pull, but paused when Ellie struggled to sit up in bed, holding out her hand.

  "You'll do no such thing," she said firmly. Ellie cocked a brow at her. "He'll be here in plenty of time and the meetings are very important." Setting aside her teacup she added more gently, "I don't propose to do anything foolish. I just want to be clean, put on a fresh gown, and then call for Mother and Sarah."

  Wendy continued to look doubtful, so Ellie added, a little desperation to her voice, "Please don't make me anxious Wendy."

  The plea was enough to send Wendy scurrying for fresh sheets and a lovely emerald green dressing gown that Ellie loved. Grateful for Wendy's patience, she cooperated while Wendy helped her wash, freshen her hair and rub lotion into her neck, shoulders, hands, feet and legs. Finally, Wendy helped her slip the cool cotton gown over her skin and Ellie laid back against the numerous pillows that were piled behind her.

  After that, the day sped by. Wendy hovered, her mother paced and worried, Caroline cheerfully came in and out. Sarah interceded when the other women threatened to overwhelm Ellie and smother her with their fretting.

  Ellie bore the increasing pain with hardly a complaint, though she knew her face was losing its color and drawing deep breaths grew more difficult. Indeed, she could hardly deny it, as her pale countenance was one of the primary reasons Wendy kept forcing more tea into Ellie. The doctor came and went—his visit a reluctant concession from Ellie to pacify her worried attendants, who knew he wouldn't be needed yet.

  Ellie had no way of knowing that Jenson had been dispatched to the Stables, his posting permanent until Ashberry returned. He delivered his message before the weary lord had even dismounted from his steed.

  The lady winced as she remembered how Ashberry had burst into the room, a purely wild and uncontrolled look on his face. Covered in dust and grime, his eyes fixed unerringly on Ellie as he strode to the bed. Ellie thanked the fates that she had been resting and not in the throes of a contraction at the time, for her smile seemed to be the only possible antidote for his temper.

  The worry eased slightly from his cheeks and forehead, though the undeniable temper in his eyes didn't fade. Quietly, Ellie asked her companions to give her a few moments alone with her husband. Ashberry opened his mouth, then closed it as he realized Ellie had recognized his reaction for what it was. He waited until the room had emptied before he let loose his complaint. "Ella Trinity, I cannot believe you didn't tell me you were already having pains this morning!" His lips thin, he blew out a long breath. "You knew I would want to know!"

  Ellie drew a long, slow breath, working past the haze of pain that was again forming through her abdomen and back. She finally said quietly, "I knew you would be home before the baby came," she murmured, "And going today would be better than three days from now."

  "Business be damned!" Ashberry roared, turning and making an angry, inadequate gesture with his hands. Ellie closed her eyes and clenched the mattress, relieved he had turned away, however unknowingly. "Ellie," he began angrily, then paused.

  Ellie opened her eyes but he continued to stare out the window, unseeing. She remained silent while he struggled with his irritation. And when he spoke her name again, it wasn't in anger but echoed with a hurt that brought tears to Ellie's eyes. "Ellie, please don't shut me out. I need to be with you right now or I'll go truly mad."

  Her voice was thin when s
he answered, for the pain was at its apex then. "Then please come hold my hand, Stephen. It hurts right now. A lot."

  And he did hold her hand, for hours. He washed and changed when the pain waned temporarily, and fed her small bites of food even later. And when the doctor came the next morning, he was still there, pale and tired and murmuring words of encouragement.

  Ellie was beginning to breathe a bit easier, and the worry had begun to leech from Ashberry's face when the doctor disposed of the afterbirth and then turned back to Ellie.

  She gasped and clutched as Ashberry's arm as blood gushed between her thighs.

  After that moment, her memory of the afternoon grayed into a fuzzy dim din of frantic exclamations, incoherent sobbing she later identified as her mother, and an insistent rough tone that she struggled to follow out of the pearly fog.

  With a sigh, Ellie opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above the bed. Ashberry had spent the last week sleeping on a daybed brought into the room and napping in her boudoir. The hemorrhage that had followed Rosalie's birth had left Ellie unconscious for nearly a full day, while Caroline and Sarah coaxed the babe to swallow sips of sugared water.

  Staunching the bleeding had required prayer, the doctor's ingenuity, and a lot of luck.

  The doctor had been reluctant to admit to a shaken Ashberry that Ellie would not have more babies. Sensitive to issues of inheritance and heirs, the doctor had been shocked by the relief on the marquess' face and his profuse gratitude.

  At the time, Ellie had been too weak to grieve. A week later, her heart ached for the loss, though the edge of pain was tempered by small Rosalie nestling against her swollen breasts. The joy in her heart when the tiny infant blinked and gurgled couldn't be completely overshadowed.

  And then there was Ashberry. Her dearest Stephen would willingly spend hours with the babe sleeping against his chest as he reclined on the bed. He had been unfailingly patient with Ellie's random tears, and had patiently refrained from returning to the scold he had read her upon his return from Finnigan's Folly.

  It was time, Ellie knew, to apologize. She knew the hurt he still carried, whether he bore that burden alone or not. Still, the words would not be easy.

  She waited until the room was dark, and Rosalie sucked contentedly at her breast. Stephen had decreed he would spend one last night on the daybed; the next day, Rosalie's nursemaid would move a cradle into the room that would reside beside Ellie and the bed, providing a safe but close location for Rosalie to nap.

  The moon was dark that night, and the candles extinguished. Still, Ellie knew he was awake. "Stephen," she murmured quietly in the inky darkness of the room.

  "What do you need?" he asked promptly.

  Ellie heard him pushing aside the covers and shook her head, then remembered. "No, no, you don't need to get up," she hurriedly assured him.

  He was quiet, but she knew he hadn't laid back against the softness yet. "What then?" he finally asked.

  “I wanted to say that I'm sorry," she whispered.

  "For what?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

  Ellie took a deep breath, but the words had to be said. "For keeping my labor from you," she returned, barely audible. "I pursued my own agenda, without considering your needs."

  Ashberry was quiet for a very long time. Ellie moved Rosalie to her other side, nestling the baby's small dark curls against her shoulder as she positioned her.

  Finally, his voice vibrated in the room, the tone low and intent. "I love you, Ellie. And I'll always love you." She heard him swallow, then whisper shakily. "I hadn't said so yet, but thank you."

  "Thank you?" Ellie questioned. "Why?"

  "Thank you for Rosalie," he stated more firmly. "Thank you for giving me the chance to be a husband and father, instead of simply a brother."

  The tears formed at Elle's eyes. Emotional, she said the words Stephen had been waiting for so many months to hear. "I love you, Stephen."

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  Keep reading for a free excerpt from Broken Together by Serenity Everton.

  Excerpt from Broken Together

  Serenity Everton

  “Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together.” Sylvia Plath

  Published by Serenity Everton.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Copyright 2012 Serenity Everton (asparkle2@yahoo.com).

  LICENSE NOTES, SMASHWORDS EDITION

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, transmitted by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, etc) without the prior permission of the author, above.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This text was previously published online, with free excerpts still available online at Out of My Mind (http://fiction.kinkyfirehouse.com).

  ABOUT BROKEN TOGETHER

  Shannon and Harry’s marriage has mysteriously fallen apart in so many little moments in the months since their sons have gone away to college, and it will take hard work and a commitment by them both to rescue it and strengthen it. How do two individuals find their way forward together, when they’ve spent too long breaking themselves apart? Experience romance, anger, passion, pain, and life events with them, witness them reassess all they know and expect, and watch as they try to save their marriage and their love for each other.

  This novella is approximately 30,000 words in length, or 58 pages, and is romance. In the romance genre, the story moves forward as the relationship between the main characters develops. Sometimes progress in the relationship of the story is marked by sexual content. In this story, Harry is a dominant man. Harry & Shannon do explore erotic and disciplinary spanking as they seek to redefine their understanding of themselves and each other. If these themes offend you, do not read this book.

  THE END AND THE BEGINNING

  Shannon was still in the bed. She didn't know what she had done wrong, again, and she was through asking. She'd thrown herself at his feet too many times, only to have him dismiss her.

  It might have been simple exhaustion or some physical malady, but if he wouldn't talk to her, how could she know? It'd happened too many times in recent months for her to think nothing of it; they'd laughed and loved and enjoyed each other's comfort during the day, but when it came time for that closeness to pass through the bedroom door, he turned off the light, rolled over and developed a relationship with his pillow.

  There had been a time, even nine months earlier, when the opportunity of a quiet hour at home together would have ended in hot, wild sex. Now that the boys were away, the intimacy that had sustained them for years had fallen away.

  The truth, Shannon thought miserably, was that she wasn't attractive to him anymore. She was too old, her figure not firm enough. His desire for her, so strong for twenty years, had finally waned. Perhaps the constant barrage of pretty young things he was exposed to at work and elsewhere had finally taken its toll. She knew he saw them, had even watched his eyes follow a pretty black-haired girl's ass in the restaurant last night. She'd never look like that, never again, no matter if she did lose that twenty-five pounds or worked out seven days a week.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, she'd awoken. On her side, facing away from him, she'd tried to identify what seemed out of place. He'd been facing away from her, too — that wasn't unusual. But the noise? It had taken her two minutes to work out what it was. The man who'd spent two decades delighting in her was masturbating in the dark, in secret, clearly without wishing her to participate. How many nights now had he told her goodnight and then waited patient
ly until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed into limpness, only to humiliate her like that?

  Shannon hadn't slept after that. He'd gotten out of bed and cleaned himself up, then sighed as he climbed back into the blankets and settled down, not touching her. Definitely not touching her. She'd not slept, of course, but laid in the dark blackness as the foundation of her entire world crumbled like sand within her clenched fists.

  She wouldn't — she couldn't — try anymore. Her final attempt to reach him through romance and intimacy were over. Killing her own expectations and hopes would break her heart, but if she didn't? Well, her heart was being crushed under the weight of her disappointment and his rejection anyway.

  Silent, so as not to disturb him, she slipped from the bed and shrugged on her robe. Maybe she hadn't done everything she could have over the last few years to keep in shape. Maybe age was exacerbating ––

  Shannon stopped herself, the misery welling and the tears forming behind her eyelids. He mustn't see her cry. Not now. Not over this. Not ever again.

  The door to the bedroom closed silently behind her, leaving him to himself, snoring.

  Shannon locked herself in the downstairs bathroom and cried, large tears dripping down her cheeks until they ran down and wet the old t-shirt of his that she'd worn to bed. How could she go on sharing that bed with him, night after night? She raged inside, the anger palpable in the bright, cold light of the impersonal cell.

  Of course, she wouldn't leave him, not unless he asked her to. Such a thing was impossible, for her. But from now on, she'd be different. There would be no pathetic attempts at luring him into intimacy. She'd wear start wearing pajama shorts to bed again; clearly there was no reason for her body to welcome him without barrier. She'd stop suggesting they spend time together.