“I should have sent word, but …”
“Something cool to drink?” he asked when the silence thickened between them.
“Yes.”
“Lemonade?”
“Yes.” She wanted to add something more, but she was as tongue-tangled as the first few times they had spoken.
While he went to give the orders to his servants, Ellen slid her shawl from her shoulders and sat on the window bench. She stared out the window. Night sounds slipped through the glass, and she could see bats flitting about, chasing insects. The distant hoot of an owl warned of the end of a field mouse’s life.
Tears filled her eyes. A chapter of her own life would soon be closing if all went as Marian suggested. How could doing what was right feel so wrong?
Mayhap because she was unsure if this was right. No, she was certain this was right. Furthermore, it was the sole alternative remaining if she wished to garner even a smidgen of happiness for the rest of her days.
Lorenzo was pulling on a navy velvet coat as he returned. “More appropriate, don’t you think?” he asked with a smile.
“You did not need to change when I have intruded without so much as an invitation.”
He pointed at the window seat. “May I?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Mayhap he would hear her disquiet and ask her to explain. How could she tell him that she was willing to marry him solely because she wished to give his cousin a chance to escape from her life, although not from her heart? How could she hurt Lorenzo, too? He was a friend, and she enjoyed speaking to him of his poetry, but she could never love him as she loved his cousin. This was such a complicated bumble-bath.
“Ellen, I would hope you feel welcome enough at Wolfe Abbey to run tame through it anytime.”
“You have always been a good host.”
He clasped her hands in his, and she blinked back tears. This simple warmth was what she longed to share with Corey. His hands would be much firmer than Lorenzo’s long fingers. Easily his hands would swallow hers, surrounding her in his flesh.
Lorenzo said, drawing her eyes back to the ones in his thin face, “Tell me why you are here tonight when you should be enjoying the music at Pratt’s.”
“I went there.”
“But you left so early.”
She smiled. “You are such a good host, Lorenzo, but not all your neighbors are as solicitous of their guests’ feelings as you are.”
He chuckled. “Was Kenneth that tiresome this evening?”
“He was persistent.”
“That you knew before you went there.”
“What I did not know was that arrogant block assumed I would be ecstatic at the chance to be his wife.”
“So you told him …”
“I would not marry him.” She drew her hands away when they trembled in his. It was going to be more difficult to speak these goose’s gazettes than she had feared. Lorenzo deserved better. Mayhap she should simply tell him the truth and let him decide if he wished to help Corey.
A shiver cut across her shoulders as she recalled Fenton’s words. The truth could consign her to an asylum. There would be no escape for her or for Corey until her death. Mayhap not even then.
“You were right to tell him that,” Lorenzo said. “He should not have presumed that you would marry him.”
“I hope you don’t think me overly presumptuous to call here unbidden tonight.”
Again he took her hands. He folded them together between his and raised them toward his lips. She stiffened as she wondered what his kiss would be like. Instead of pressing them to his lips, he looked over them and said, “I cannot help but believe fate drew us together, Ellen.”
“You may be right.”
“I know I am not the wisest of men nor the most handsome, but my affection for you is genuine.” He knelt beside her. “I ask you to consider sharing my name and my life.”
Tears filled her eyes. In her heart, she could hear the echo of a deeper voice. Corey should have been speaking those words to her in breathless expectation. Corey should have been touching her with eager anticipation. Corey should have been gazing at her with unfettered desire. Corey should …
She swallowed the ball of tears searing her throat. This was all wrong, but what else could she do? Corey needed to be freed from his purgatory. If she loved him, there was only one answer she could give Lorenzo.
“Yes,” she whispered, “I will marry you.”
Fifteen
The night wind played off the sea, tossing the waves high and scouring the land with salt. It seized the carriage door and pulled it out of Ellen’s hands as she stepped down on the driveway before Herrold Hall.
“Be ye all right, miss?”
She flinched at the voice, then smiled. For a moment, the coachee had sounded like Fenton. She was glad she had not encountered the strange man at Wolfe Abbey, but a confrontation waited her within the Hall that she was not ready to face.
How could she tell Corey that he had succeeded in doing as he vowed? If not for him, she would not be marrying his cousin. Guilt stabbed at her. Lorenzo sincerely loved her. He deserved better than a woman who was marrying him simply because the man she loved was dead. As he had given her a chaste kiss on the cheek when she left Wolfe Abbey, she had to acknowledge the cost of granting Corey his freedom from the limbo where he was now.
Ellen hurried into the house, for a soft rain was beginning to fall. As she shrugged off her shawl and was walking toward the stairs, she heard her name called in a furious voice. She took a deep breath, then turned to see Marian striding toward her.
“Where have you been?” demanded Marian. “We have been half-mad with anxiety for you.”
“I left a message at the Pratts’ that I was leaving.”
“But where have you been?”
Ellen hesitated, glancing around the oak walls of the foyer. “I cannot tell you now.”
“Why?”
“Corey should hear first.”
Marian pressed her hands over her mouth but squeaked, “You have become betrothed!”
“Marian, please. Corey should know first. He—”
Grabbing Ellen’s hands, Marian laughed. “How wondrous! Best of all, you shall be only a short drive from me when you wed Kenneth.”
“Not Mr. Pratt.”
“Not—?” She gulped. “Then who, Ellen?”
“I should tell—”
“Who?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. To own the truth, she did not want to speak the words that would knell the death of her dreams of giving her heart to Corey. Looking at Marian, she said, “Let us talk in your rooms where we can have privacy.”
“Not from—”
Ellen gasped, “Marian, don’t even say it!”
Marian stared at her a long moment, then nodded. In silence, they went up the stairs. Ellen waited for her friend to say something, but Marian was oddly reticent until they entered her private chambers.
“Who?” asked Marian as soon as she had closed the door.
“Lorenzo Wolfe asked me to be his wife, and I said yes.”
“You agreed to marry him?”
Ellen frowned. “What is wrong with Lorenzo? He is a nice man. He is—”
“Boring and only the custodian of Wolfe Abbey. He has that grand title, but little else.” Marian covered her face with her hands and cried, “How could you agree to marry him?”
Down the hall, Corey looked up from the book he was reading as he heard Marian’s screech. He smiled and shook his head. Had another hapless mouse entered her bedchamber or mayhap one of Reggie’s pups? He could imagine nothing else that would set her to squealing at this hour.
He was about to return to his book, as he waited with what scanty patience he possessed for Edie to return, when he heard her soft voice answering Marian. Putting the book on the table by his chair, he rose. He frowned as he heard the sharp sound of Marian’s answer, then Edie trying to soothe her.
Curiosity taunted hi
m. He was about to go to Marian’s room to determine what was happening when he heard a door slam. Angry footfalls came toward Edie’s room, then stamped past.
The door opened slowly, and he said nothing as Edie entered. She dropped her shawl on the chair closest to the door. When her abigail Sullivan came to help her get ready for bed, Corey hesitated. He wanted to know what had caused Marian’s cross words, but he had told Edie he would respect her privacy.
Which proved he was the greatest widgeon of them all.
As he wandered through the gardens later—he was not sure how much later, because time had become unimportant to him—Corey heard her call to him. He willed himself to go to her rooms. In amazement, he realized he remained in the gardens. He tried again, but again he stayed where he was.
Something was wrong … very, very wrong. As he saw the lights go out in her room, he sat on a hummock under a tree. He raised his hand to prop his chin on his fist. Astonishment filled him anew. The light that had surrounded him was only a flicker. Could it be like a candle he was burning out? That he had but a short time left before he went on to whatever?
Something was wrong, so terribly wrong he could not guess what it might be.
The word of a possible match between Lord Wulfric and Miss Ellen Dunbar raced through the shire as if on a winged mount. Although neither Lorenzo nor Ellen had caught sight of any of his servants listening at latches, someone must have overheard the conversation in the book room. By the time the sun had reached its apex the next day, callers were appearing at the door of Herrold Hall, eager to satisfy their curiosity about the rumors of a most unexpected match.
Corey sat on the sill of the largest window in Marian’s parlor and watched as Marian welcomed each guest wearing a triumphant, but slightly baffled smile. He shook his head in amazement. This match must have been the cause of her distress last night, but now she acted as if she should take full credit for arranging it. Marian Herrold would never change.
He could understand everyone’s amazement. A match between Edie and Lorenzo? It seemed too ludicrous even to consider. She was a vibrant, beguiling woman, and his cousin was … dull. Corey could think of no other, more flattering description. As soon as he had a chance to speak with her, he intended to discover if she had devised this as a ploy to keep Kenneth Pratt away. He could conceive of no other reason why she would wish to pretend to agree to buckle herself to his cousin.
If only he had been able to speak with her last night, then he might be able to enjoy this much more. He had to give Edie credit. This was an inspired idea, and it would tweak Pratt’s nose in the grandest style to think he had lost Edie to timorous Lorenzo.
“Yes, I knew it from the moment I first saw them together,” Marian said to a dowager who had been driven more than ten miles to bring her felicitations. “I believe it is a match made in heaven.”
“Close, but not quite,” Corey mumbled.
A low murmur swept through the room, and he looked toward the door. He could not keep from smiling as he feasted on the sight of Edie. In her simple white muslin gown with its short sleeves ruffled to complement the ruching at the modest neckline, she could have been an angel.
She seemed overmastered by the reception of Marian’s score of guests. When he saw her glancing about the room, he knew she was searching for him. He was not tempted to materialize enough so she could see him. The questions he needed to ask her were not for now. She could not answer him when she was surrounded by the callers.
It would be better if he took himself off to another place in the house and waited for a chance to speak with her alone. Then he would learn the truth he dreaded hearing.
Ellen flinched when her eyes caught a flash near the huge window at the far side of the room. Her hope that Corey would appear came to naught. His absence unsettled her more than she had guessed, but some sense that had no name told her he was still nearby. For now, that must be enough.
“Thank you, Mrs. Henning,” she said to the dowager who was smiling so broadly Ellen would have thought the betrothal was all Mrs. Henning’s idea. “I am pleased as well.”
“Where is she?”
Ellen spun about at the shout. Her eyes widened when Mr. Pratt stormed across the room like a hurricane, leaving a jumble of shocked women in his wake. He was dressed in riding clothes, which, as always, were cut to flatter his muscular build. His face was creased with a fierce frown.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pratt,” she said, not letting him daunt her.
“What are these loud ones I have been hearing?” he demanded.
Marian inched forward to say, “Kenneth, my dear boy, you should sit and talk more quietly with us. There is no need to shout.”
“There isn’t?” he bellowed. He jabbed a finger in Ellen’s direction. “My fiancée is rumored to be marrying another man.”
“I am not your fiancée,” Ellen replied with quiet dignity.
“I asked you to marry me last night.”
“You assumed, as you should recall, that I would marry you.” She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them still. If she flung them about and released the frustration within her, it would solve nothing. “You never asked me, Mr. Pratt.”
“A technicality. You know you would prefer me to Wolfe.”
“Then ’tis odd, isn’t it, that I agreed to wed him?”
Mr. Pratt sputtered something, too angry to make sense. He slammed his fist into a table, making several of the figurines dance wildly. “Then you leave me no recourse. I shall take up this matter with Wolfe directly.”
“How?” she asked, caution warning her not to infuriate him more.
“If he wants you, let him prove it.”
“He did,” Marian averred stoutly, “by asking Ellen to be his bride.”
Mr. Pratt’s lip curled. “I was thinking more about a battle of honor.”
All the women gasped as if in a chorus. Mrs. Henning put her hand to her forehead and collapsed back against the cushions of the settee.
Ellen glared at Mr. Pratt before rushing to call for sal volatile to bring the old woman back to her senses. She ignored Mr. Pratt’s continuing petulance as she watched the footman put the horrible salts beneath Mrs. Henning’s nose. The old woman awoke with a gurgling gasp.
“Marian,” Ellen asked softly, “will you watch over Mrs. Henning while I acquaint Mr. Pratt with the absurdity of his suggestion?”
“Absurd?” Mr. Pratt stared at her in disbelief.
“Go home,” she said as she faced him. “I have suffered too many of your childish tantrums. I pity the poor woman who finds herself in such need for money that she will wed you.” He started to retort, but she went on, “Go home.”
“I shall—”
“Nonsense!” Marian was recovering her composure. “Kenneth, you shall do nothing, save listen to Ellen. Your mother should be calling within the hour. Think how she will feel when she discovers you have been acting like this.” A sly edge entered her voice. “You would not want her to suggest to your late father’s barristers that you are too childish to handle your father’s money, would you?”
“Lady Herrold, I—”
Again she cut him off, wagging her finger at him as if he were no more than a child. “Heed this for your own good. That money will come to you when you are wed … and when your mother deems you adult enough to handle it.”
Ellen stared at Marian. That small fact Marian had failed to mention previously. She wondered what else Marian had not told her. Not that it mattered now, for she had no intentions of speaking with this lout again.
Mr. Pratt opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He strode out of the room. A dozen voices spoke at once, but Ellen listened to none of them as she slipped out another door.
She hurried down the dark corridor and out into the summer sunshine. Mayhap its warmth would burn away the ice around her heart. As it scorched her hair, she realized she had neither a parasol nor a bonnet. She did not care if she was seared as red as a soldier’s c
oat. She needed time to gather her thoughts.
Her breath strained against her side when she stopped by a low, undulating stone wall. She sat on the stile steps and stared at her dusty slippers.
“So dreary?”
Ellen looked up in shock and saw Lord Herrold’s smile. “Where are the dogs?” she blurted before she could halt herself. She never had seen him without one or more in tow.
He pointed across the field on the far side of the lane. Straining her ears and eyes, she could pick out the distant forms of the pack and heard their yelps.
“I hired a huntsman to complete their training,” he said as he sat beside her. Pulling a pipe from beneath his black coat that was sprigged with twigs and leaves, he lit it. Smoke encircled his head before drifting away on the breeze. He balanced his pipe in his hand as he gazed across the rolling hills. “I know many think I am an air-dreamer, concentrating only on developing a fine line of hunting dogs.”
“I—”
His chuckle interrupted her. “You do not need to demur, Ellen. We both know the truth of what is said when folks believe I’m not listening. Mayhap they are right. I spent the first two decades of my life doing exactly as everyone expected, and I was miserable. For the past ten years, I have done as I wished, and I am happy.”
“Then you are a lucky man.”
“No, I am a fool.”
She stared at him in shock. “To do as you wish?”
“No, to have let the canons of society rule me for so long.” He smiled. “Fortunately, Marian clings to them fervently, so we are not ostracized. As lief, I am considered an eccentric block. Not a bad arrangement in retrospect.” Without a pause, he said, “I hear you have agreed to wed Lorenzo Wolfe.”
“He has asked me, and I told him yes.”
“Is it what you really want?”
“It is a good match.”
His smile returned. “That sounds like Marian and all those purveyors of the canons of propriety. I would like to hear what you think. Is it what you really want?”
Ellen faltered on her answer. Lord Herrold was correct. She had dismissed him as a moonling without a thought, save of his dogs, in his head. She would not make that mistake again.
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