Whatever other people thought of her, there was one thing she was determined to prove to her husband. She was not a child. That was one accusation she refused to allow him to reproach her with. Not anymore. No, she would show him how sophisticated his wife could be.
So, Ella held her head high and moved down the stairs with all the outward confidence she had learned to emulate over the past weeks, even if her heart was still rushing around in a daze.
***
Oscar gave up pacing the library and reached for the brandy decanter. Just one to soothe his nerves. How he would be greeted was a question he’d tried to wrangle from his mother on learning that she’d told Ella he was here. The woman had been surprisingly tight-lipped, however, and had protested that she didn’t know.
He couldn’t tell if that was the simple truth or his mother deciding he deserved torturing a little more. Either way, his guts were in a knot and, until he’d seen how things lay between him and his wife, he didn’t anticipate that knot loosening any time soon.
One thing he did see in the near future was an interminable evening listening to some well-endowed female warbling at the top of her lungs. It was not a recipe for intimate conversation. He could hardly beg off, though. Not when he’d come to try to make things right. So, the least he could do was attend with good grace, even though he was frustrated at the very thought. Perhaps he’d be able to get a word or two with Ella alone, though, either before or after the concert.
Oscar downed the brandy in one large swallow and decided to pace the hall for a while instead. At least it would give him a change of scenery.
He’d barely made it to the centre of the grand entrance hall when movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye, and then his breath.
Good heavens.
Was that… his wife?
He realised in that moment that all his thoughts of Ella over the past weeks had recalled her mud-splattered, and with her hair all ragged from where she’d sheared it off. Why, he didn’t know, except that the sight had been engraved on his memory.
The woman before him looked as if she’d never so much as dirty the hem of her dress and would expect him to throw down his coat for her to step upon.
Her hair had grown out a little, soft curls surrounding her petite face in a cloud of gleaming mahogany locks. Diamonds glinted among her dark curls, at her ears and against her slender throat. They were matched only by the sparkle in her wide, grey eyes.
“Rothborn, this is an unexpected pleasure. You should have told us you were coming. We would have been better prepared to greet you.”
Rothborn.
Not Oscar, but his title.
An uneasy feeling bloomed in his chest, but he moved forward to greet her, hardly able to take in the sight before him. What on earth had she done to herself since he’d left? She looked….
“Goodness, Ella, you do look….”
Beautiful, glorious, astonishing….
“…different.”
Oscar cursed himself. Excellent, Rothborn. That’s the way to sweep her off her feet with your urbane charm. Well done.
One elegantly arched eyebrow raised, just a little.
Wait, what happened to the thick beetle brows she used to glower at him with?
“You look different too, Oscar,” she replied, and though she smiled there was an undercurrent to the words that he couldn’t quite decipher.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym,” he offered, wondering if she’d noticed that he was a little broader in the shoulder, perhaps, or that his coat was tighter than it ought to be.
“Ah,” she said, her voice soft, a secretive look in her eyes he couldn’t read. “That must be it.”
They fell silent as Wilkes and the footmen arrived bearing cloaks and hats, and his mother joined them.
“Is Bertie with you, Oscar?” Ella asked.
“He came back with me, but I dropped him off at your father’s. He said he’d come over tomorrow.”
She nodded her acceptance of this information, and Oscar escorted them out to the waiting carriage.
A skin-prickling air of tension accompanied the journey to the Assembly Rooms, at least for Oscar. There was still a little of the day showing in the sky, though the moon was also visible. The light in the carriage might have been growing dim, but Oscar could still make out Ella’s features well enough.
The scandal sheets had been right. She did rival her sister now. Oscar experienced a strange sensation which shivered over him and told him that she not only rivalled Pearl but surpassed her.
Pearl’s beauty came from the perfection of her features. The bluest of thickly-lashed eyes, a complexion of the sweetest English rose, and a figure that could steal a man’s breath from across the room.
Ella’s beauty was hard to pin down, like snatching at quicksilver and finding it slipping through your fingers. You thought perhaps it was one thing, only for your attention to be caught by something else.
The heart-shaped face he’d always thought elfin and mischievous was still both those things yet now carried with elegance and poise. Then there was that sparkle in her grey eyes, the slightly devilish look of amusement that promised she’d surprise you. Her hair was lustrous, and though her short locks were unusual, the temptation to run one’s fingers through them was tantalising.
He’d never taken much notice of her figure, if he was honest. Yet she’d had his full attention when she’d walked down the stairs towards him, hips swaying. She was such a little thing, he’d had no idea of the slender curves she’d been hiding. Not the full breasted, womanly shape that Pearl boasted, no, but….
His mouth seemed suddenly dry.
Ella Rothborn—his wife—was no child, and now he realised just how much of a fool he’d been.
This conclusion changed none on entering the Assembly Rooms at Newmarket.
If Oscar experienced a swell of pride at entering the elegant building with his wife upon his arm, it was short-lived. Before he could think of a reason to keep her glued to his side, she had been wrangled from his grasp and bustled off on a tide of chattering people.
Her friends, he noted, comprised many of his own friends. He was greeted with a few cheery calls of “Ho, Rothborn, you here?” and, “Ah, the wanderer returns.” None of which made him feel a whit better as they all scurried off in his wife’s wake.
“Oh, poor Ella,” his mother laughed, shaking her head. “The poor girl never gets a moment’s peace anymore. She’s wanted everywhere, invited to every fashionable party. You must be so proud of her. Everyone wants to know her, Oscar, and if we attend a ball? My word, but the girl is danced off her feet. She’s all the rage, I swear. I knew she would be, once the scandal died down. She’s so funny and full of life.”
These apparently ingenious words made him narrow his eyes at his mother, but she seemed to find someone she simply had to speak to across the room and rushed off, leaving him alone. To be fair, her words were borne out as he looked over to find Ella surrounded by people. She was laughing, her face alight with amusement, and with a pang of remorse Oscar remembered a time, such a short time ago, when she had laughed that merrily for him. He’d barely had to open his mouth to make her roar with laughter at the feeblest of jokes. Could he still do that? He didn’t feel the least bit certain.
Oscar pushed his way through the throng, relieved to note there were still many people who clamoured to speak with him, at the same time as wishing them to Hades and out of his path. Ella was moving further away, arm-in-arm with a young woman he didn’t recognise.
He was thwarted once more as an elderly man who had been a friend of his father’s closed in on him and Oscar was forced to stand and make polite conversation for a few minutes. By the time he’d broken free, Ella was nowhere in sight.
Cursing, he made his way through the throng, only to swear with more vehemence as he discovered his wife at last, talking to bloody Ranleigh.
The duke towered over her, though he had ducked his he
ad to whisper in her ear. Whatever he’d said made her burst out laughing as the duke stared down at her, something that looked dangerously like affection in his eyes. Damn the bastard. How dare he look at Ella like that?
Furious now, though as much with himself as with Ranleigh, Oscar closed the distance between them.
“Rothborn?” Ranleigh said, something that might have been surprise in his tone. “I hadn’t heard you’d come home?”
Well, I have, damn you, Oscar muttered inwardly, fighting the desire to gnash his teeth. Instead, he gave Ranleigh a pleasant smile and lifted Ella’s hand, placing it firmly on his arm.
“Just today, Ranleigh,” he replied, keeping the words as placid as he could.
The electric atmosphere crackled around them. Everyone knew the rumours—that Ranleigh had been pursuing his wife in his absence—and they were all desperate to see how this would play out.
If Ella objected to his rather possessive claiming of her hand, she said nothing, though she levelled a rather curious glance in his direction, which he tried hard to ignore.
Before any less prudent words could be spoken by either party, the call went around to take their places, and Oscar led Ella into the room given aside for the concert.
The Assembly Rooms were beautiful, all pink walls and crisp white plaster moulding. Vast chandeliers glittered and illuminated the elegant building, which was one of the finest of its kind in the country, only outdone by larger towns such as Bath. The ballroom had been set aside for tonight’s concert, and chairs filled the space with an aisle down the middle.
Oscar settled Ella in her chair, irritated to find that Ranleigh sat on her other side.
Don’t rise to it, he warned himself.
The fastest way to bring an argument with Ella would be to criticise her choice of friends, particularly after the last time they’d been together. That Ranleigh had been the source of that row did not escape him, nor did his stupidity in warning Ella off, and then disappearing himself. If he’d been intent on throwing her into the man’s arms, he could not have done better.
“What are we listening to tonight?” he asked Ella, desperate to begin some kind of conversation with her.
“Haydn,” she replied.
Well, that answered that question. At least he didn’t groan out loud, though he was tempted.
“It’s dreadfully warm in here,” he tried, smiling as he took the program she passed his way and fanning himself with it.
“Angelica Giodarmo, the famous soprano, is singing tonight. That’s why it’s so packed. If you were anyone less than a duke I’d doubt they’d have let you in at all.”
He slid a glance in her direction but could find no edge to the words. Any further attempts to talk to her were over, however, as the musicians took up their positions.
With a sigh, Oscar settled back in his chair and resigned himself to an interminable evening.
Chapter 15
“Wherein plans are made.”
“So, the prodigal returns.”
Ella looked up to find Ranleigh’s dark eyes watching her husband across the room.
“He does,” she said, wondering what that meant.
Mintie had said he wanted to try again, that he was sorry for leaving, but it explained nothing. Was he going to force himself to be a proper husband to her, against his own inclinations? Would it all be a charade, just to make her feel better and kill rumours about her and Ranleigh? The thought made her feel sick.
She wished she hadn’t agreed to come to the concert tonight. If only he’d sent word ahead to let her know he was coming, she would have made an excuse.
Ella glanced across the room to see him talking with an older gentleman, smiling and full of that easy charm he wielded so well. Good Lord, but he was handsome. His hair glinted gold in the candlelight and his black coat clung to broad, powerful shoulders. She was the envy of every woman here, and yet how they’d laugh if they knew he’d never even touched her.
Had he visited his mistresses when he was in town? She assumed he had. Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as if he’d been coy about explaining the kind of marriage they would have. He was free to take lovers… as was she. He didn’t care.
If only she knew how to be alluring. Pearl seemed to manage it with such ease, but then she had a great deal more to work with. Ella sighed, dejected, and then felt Ranleigh’s hand on her arm.
“What is it?” he asked, concern in his expression. “What is making you look so sad? Are you not pleased to have him home? I thought this was what you wanted.”
She smiled and nodded. “It is, but making him want to stay at home….”
She shrugged and felt a lump rise in her throat. It had been so much easier when they’d just been friends. How she regretted that day at the races. She’d ruined what little relationship she’d had with him. At least he’d taken pleasure in her company back then.
“He’s a bloody fool if he doesn’t want to stay,” Ranleigh muttered with heat, and Ella laughed. He always made her feel better.
A thought flickered to life as she stared up at his handsome face. Ranleigh had proven himself to be a friend to her, a man she could trust. He was also a man of the world. If anyone could teach her how to get Oscar to desire her… surely he could.
“Ranleigh,” she said, her voice low as he turned back to her. “I need your help.”
He frowned a little, staring down at her. “Anything, only name it.”
“I….” Ella flushed a little, wondering how she’d ever explain what she needed, but it certainly wasn’t something she could talk about here. “I need to speak to you in confidence, in private. Is there somewhere I can meet you where we can be alone?”
A rather startled expression crossed his face, but he nodded. “Of course. I have commitments tomorrow but… the day after?”
Ella nodded and let out a breath, relieved. “Yes. Thank you.”
He laughed, smiling down at her. “Don’t thank me yet, I have no idea what you want from me. Can you ride out in the morning? There’s a folly on the rise, north of the church at Brasted.”
“Yes, I know it. I’ll come at ten.”
He stared down at her, curiosity in his eyes. “I’ll be there, but… take care, Ella. You know what people are saying about us. It won’t take much to fan the flames.”
She could see he was concerned for her, and was no doubt perplexed by her demand to be alone with him when they’d been so careful not to be. Ranleigh had been set on provoking just enough gossip to reach Oscar’s ears whilst doing nothing to hurt her reputation. That he was surprised by her demand was obvious. Ella suspected that learning her reasons for asking him would surprise him even more.
***
It was late by the time the concert ended.
His mother chatted the whole way home, telling them all about the people she’d spoken to, giving her opinion on the music, telling rather scandalous stories about the famous soprano, Angelica Giodarmo. She seemed set on filling the rather unnerving silence they’d endured on the way there, and Oscar could only be grateful for that.
He felt a little as if the carpet had been tugged from under his feet. He’d only been gone weeks, not months, and yet everything had changed.
As he stared across the carriage at his wife, her sweet profile lit by the moonlight, he realised that wasn’t entirely true. She hadn’t changed as much as he’d first believed. It was him who’d opened his eyes at last and only now was he seeing her for the first time.
Ella had been here all the time, always making him laugh, always ready to listen, yet he’d not allowed her to grow up. Oh, she’d been doing it all the same, yet in his mind he hadn’t seen her any differently than he had when she was twelve or thirteen. He hadn’t treated her any differently because Bertie hadn’t either. She was his friend’s strange and awkward little sister, funny little Bug who didn’t mind if they teased her and laughed at her, as long as they let her join in.
Their friendship had been so easy,
so natural, that he hadn’t realised its value until he’d chased it away.
There was no laughter and hero worship in her eyes now. Though he’d hardly had a chance to speak with her yet, he’d seen that much. She’d been wary. It had been caution he’d seen when she’d looked at him. Any trust she’d put in him had been badly shaken, and he didn’t know how to mend it.
He would mend it, though. He had to. It wasn’t until now, in the darkness of a carriage, opposite a woman he’d known and cared for his whole life that he realised just how desperately he’d missed her.
***
The next morning dawned fair, and Oscar rose early to ensure Ella could not escape him. As it was, he had to kick his heels until well after nine.
“Good morning,” he said, wishing he sounded a little less like an eager puppy as he sprang to his feet when she entered the breakfast room.
She looked a little surprised to see him, no doubt as he’d taken such pains to avoid her in the weeks before he’d left.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, and then cursed himself as it sounded more as if he was speaking to a guest than his wife, but he had to start somewhere.
“I did, thank you,” she replied with a polite smile, though he thought she looked rather tired and suspected it was a lie.
He sat back down at the table as she accepted a cup of tea from the footman and reached for a freshly baked bread roll, tearing it into two halves.
“I wondered if… if you would care to go riding with me this morning? It’s a lovely day.”
He noted her hesitation at answering him as she buttered the roll. “I… was going to go over to Berry Street and see how things were coming along.”
“Of course,” Oscar said, annoyed at not having suggested it himself. “Why don’t we ride over that way? We could take a picnic and eat by the river afterwards.”
She glanced up at him, and he wished he could read the expression in her eyes.
“That would be nice.” He was gifted with a smile then and Oscar felt the strangest sensation flutter in his heart.
The Corinthian Duke Page 16
