Relaxing now with the doorframe as a pillow, she waited for Jim. In her head, he’d say little during their conversation and just agree with her, so she carefully planned her monologue, reviewing it endlessly until sleep overtook her.
A wisp of cold air awakened her in the greyness of early dawn. Movement in the hall jarred her door open the slightest of cracks. Although the thick carpeting muffled his footsteps, a board creaked just opposite her room.
Fully awake, she stepped into the hall to confront him. In her rehearsal for the conversation, it took place in the drawing room, but servants would already be moving about, lighting fires, and cleaning up from last night. She needed another place where she could speak to him privately.
“Jim,” she whispered. Already past her door, he paused, turning in her direction, his expression hassled and wary. “I need to speak with you before you go.”
“We have nothing to say, Lady Ella.”
His formality slapped her and she nearly lost her nerve, but this might be her last chance with him. “Please. Five minutes is all I ask.”
He hesitated, scanning the hall in both directions.
“Five minutes,” he agreed, setting his bag on the carpet and waiting for her to speak.
“Not here. We should….” She grabbed his hand, yanking him over her threshold before he could object.
“This is your chamber.” His quick survey took in the discarded gown sprawled across the unused bed. “I can’t be here.”
“It’s just for a moment. Nowhere else will be private.”
“No,” he said, his hand on the knob, ready to retreat.
“Please.” She gripped his fingers. “Leave the door ajar. Just don’t go until I’ve said what I need to,” she pleaded.
He held the door open, a slim crack of hall visible beyond the wood. “Take a step away from me and begin.” Her fingers still dug into his. He watched their clasped hands, refusing to look at her face, until she released his fingers.
Backing away, she tried to remember everything she wanted to say, but the fear of him leaving with no possibility of reuniting stopped her words. She could only think of one thing to say, and he didn’t want to hear it. Her mouth worked, but only one phrase would form.
“I love you, Jim.”
“Ella, no.”
“I think I’ve loved you since we first met,” she insisted, “and I know I loved you when you traveled to London to attend my ball in June.”
“Stop.”
“I don’t want to be separated from you again. Ever.”
“You don’t know what—”
“I do know,” she cut in, wanting him to take her seriously. “I know what I feel. I know what you feel.”
“You can’t.”
“I saw pain on your face last night even from the other side of the room. Pain that’s beyond you and me. What was it?”
“Nothing to do with you.” He tilted his head back, blew out a breath. “Things you can’t understand.”
“I can if you let me,” she challenged him, not afraid to step closer, not afraid to push him to trust her.
“No. There is no future for us. I admit…I’ve felt…something for you, but it can’t be.”
“Because you won’t let it.”
His hands closed over her arms. “You have one man’s attention and his offer of marriage. That ought to be enough for any girl.”
“I have not accepted Lord Spencer’s proposal. I can’t when my heart’s elsewhere.” For a slim second, she thought he was wearing down. But when his sky blue eyes focused on her, determination shuttered any other emotion.
“Your five minutes is up. If Spencer isn’t the man for you, I’m sure there will be others. I must go.”
“You don’t find me desirable anymore?” Desperation to keep him with her, to drive him to a confession of love, forced her on.
“Ella, you know it’s not that.”
“You’ve said hardly a word to me since you arrived here and certainly none of them compliments.”
“I didn’t need to. Your brother arranged for three gentlemen to compliment you as much as you like.”
“And you to insult or ignore me?”
“I have not insulted you.” His voice dropped to a rumble, her jab at his honor striking home. She needed to pummel him until his fight was gone.
“You pay no attention to me and allow other men to when you admit you have feelings for me. What kind of a man does that?” Her face was inches from his clean-shaven skin, the rich scent of his aftershave sharp in her nose.
“Stop trying to twist this around. You can’t play me like you do those aristocratic dandies.”
“I forgot.” She unleashed her most sarcastic tone. “You’re from a different class. In your world, I guess it’s acceptable to behave toward women as you do. Women you supposedly care about.”
The tipping point. What remained of his self-control shattered into shards. A twist of fear tightened through her stomach. She’d released forces beyond her control, but watching the sweep of emotion crossing his face she read one clearly. He loved her, but giving in to that love was a dark and dangerous journey for him.
“This is what men in my class do with their women.” He shoved the door closed with his foot.
She expected him to sweep her off her feet in his embrace, but he didn’t. She expected him to crush her to him and kiss her ruthlessly, but he didn’t. Obviously, he hadn’t read the same novels she had. But when he turned her away from him to kiss the nape of her neck, she didn’t want anything else.
His lips coasted over her skin as he held her away from his body. The only real contact coming from one arm around her waist, which ended in his fingers flattened against her stomach. His large hand spanned her midsection, not moving, but pressing until the heat sunk through the thin fabric of her gown. Each point of contact made exquisite by the novelty of sensation.
She reached back to touch him, but he caught her hands in his free one, pressing their joined hands against his already on her stomach. Her shawl dropped between them, exposing her neck and shoulders to the slow caress of his lips, the rough texture of his tongue, the demanding brush of teeth. With only minimal contact between them, she felt surrounded, encased by him. And she wanted more. More of him. More of this.
“Jim,” she whispered, her eyes closed, absorbing every morsel of his attention.
His mouth moved around the side of her neck as he came to face her, his hands now resting on her hipbones, keeping her in place to maintain a shaft of heated space between them. When his lips finally reached hers, he captured her lower lip between his teeth, nipping and tugging until she opened for him and he took.
“Who put this damned valise in the hall?” Richard’s voice registered in her head just as she was sliding into an oblivion of need.
One second ahead of her, Jim pulled back, shooting a glance toward the closed door of her room. His eyes, darkened with desire, focused on her before a new emotion charged through the deep blue. Was it fear? Regret? Guilt? Anger? If so, at whom?
Then, he did something completely unexpected. Instead of hiding from her elder brother, Jim opened the door, exposing himself to Richard’s glare. Richard straightened to his full height, still several inches shorter than Jim. They stared at each other in a test of wills. Her brother’s mouth opened, but snapped closed. With a quick glance up and down the hall, he entered Ella’s room, closing the door behind him.
She wanted to shrink from her brother and hide under her wide four-poster bed, but she wanted to stand her ground with Jim just as much. Grasping Jim’s hand, she waited for the onslaught of Richard’s wrath.
“I might ask what you are doing in my sister’s room, Ferguson.” The deadly calm, head of the household cadence rang through Richard’s words.
“He stopped to say farewell,” Ella explained, before Jim could speak. “I’m sure you know he’s leaving this morning.”
“One usually says goodbye in the drawing room or foyer
according to custom.” Richard stooped to retrieve her shawl from the floor. As he handed it to her, his eyes didn’t miss her blush or the redness of the recently kissed flesh on her neck and shoulders. “What was the nature of this goodbye scene?”
“I am completely at fault in entering your sister’s room.” Jim stepped closer to Richard, sheltering Ella behind him. A heroic, but unnecessary movement. The poor man didn’t understand. She was in no danger from Richard, but she’d known Richard to land a solid punch on other men who had crossed the line with his sisters.
“Really?” Richard’s tone shifted to suppressed fury and righteous anger. “So why did you?”
“We had something to discuss.” Jim could have pinned the blame on her, truthfully claiming she drew him into the room, waylaid him, in fact. Others, her would-be fiancé included, would be quick to assign guilt. But Jim stood, staring Richard down and calmly waiting for his judgment. Not capitulating, but also not aggressively defiant. Her estimation of his merits rose and she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him.
“My sister has no business matters that do not concern me.” Richard’s fists bunched at his sides.
Her brother really wasn’t foolish enough to fight Jim, was he? Jim had him beat in height and weight. “Richard, please, nothing happened. No harm done.” Stepping between them, she attempted to defuse the situation, not wanting either man hurt.
“What if I had not stopped in the hall? What harm would be done to your reputation if anyone knew of the situation?” Facing her, Richard broke some of the tension with Jim.
“But no one will unless you tell them and you won’t do that.” She squashed the smile rising inside her. “That is unless you wish me to marry Mr. Ferguson.” She was surprised to find enough oxygen in the room to breathe after her companions both sucked in a sharp breath.
“That is not my desire,” Jim growled, “as I have made clear.”
The aghast expression on Richard’s face changed to calculating when he could again speak. “Let me make another point clear to both of you as this is not the first time I have interrupted an inappropriate affection between you. If you wed, if you are harboring any thoughts of a future together, understand it will be without my blessing. I shall be forced to eliminate your dowry, Ella, and withhold your inheritance until you are twenty-five as Father’s will specifies.”
While Ella poked her brother in the chest and prepared to square off with him, Jim took the opportunity to exit the room. Without saying goodbye.
Chapter Eight
September 28, 1858
Despondent, disappointed, dismal, depressed—Why must all the words begin with a “d”? I feel despondent over Jim’s departure (another “d”) and complete lack of communication since our encounter, which was delightful (I knew I could find a good “d”). But is my lack of a dowry (more “d’s”) the reason? I refuse to believe Jim would care about my money. All I want him to do is admit he cares about me. But now according to Annabelle’s letter, he’s in London. I shall be denied any opportunity to go there. Of this, I’m sure, Richard is determined.
Jim’s departure was followed almost immediately by Sophie’s, as her parents returned home from Venice sooner than expected and sent for her, making everything terribly dull. And now I’ve no one to talk to about Jim so all my thoughts must be written in my diary. I shall probably use my entire supply of ink before the end of the week.
Now to the heart of my despondency, I’ve disappointed Richard (and myself, which I’ll only admit in my dear diary) with my behavior toward Jim and Lord Spencer. Richard will probably never permit me to see Jim again. He may not let me out of the house. But who wants to go out when the dismal rain has set in trapping us inside for the past five days. Lord Spencer and the other titles left yesterday due to the lack of shooting. I don’t regret their departure, but now there’s nothing to do.
Hence, my depression.
The clock tolls for dinner—another dreadful “D.”
Since Ella already wore a gown appropriate for a family dinner, she went to the library to retrieve her novel. Perhaps if she read or pretended to read in the drawing room after dinner no one, particularly Lady Bedham, would pester her about her miraculous feat of chasing off three suitors at once. Thank heaven for a good supply of novels. It might be the only way to survive an autumn in the country.
With another quarter hour to dinner, she settled on the library’s window seat and opened her book. The sharp tap of raindrops and steady whistle of wind matched the mood of her novel.
The heroine stole the stable boy’s clothing and a horse to chase the hero to Portsmouth or he’d return to sea without ever knowing she loved him. She encountered washed out roads, terrible weather, and brutal treatment at inns all for the sake of love.
Not a bad idea, Ella thought, but as she was three inches taller than the stable boy, hated riding, and had no sense of direction, she’d likely end up in Liverpool not London. A pipe dream, she acknowledged, as Richard would call out the Royal Guard if she stepped off the property without permission.
Absorbed in the plight of her heroine, Ella didn’t hear the conversation begin in the adjacent drawing room until Lady Bedham’s pitch squealed above the wind, rain, and adventure.
“Threatening her dowry and inheritance? Too much, young man.” They were talking about her. Or rather Lady Bedham was criticizing her brother’s actions. But why?
“It is not too much, Lady Bedham,” Richard argued. Ella imagined him standing ramrod straight as he always did, facing the old dragon of the ton. “It is my prerogative as head of the family.”
The sharp thwack of Lady Bedham’s fan carried above the rain as it made contact with wood. “But we want her to—”
“Shush, she’ll be down soon,” her mother’s demure injunction forced the others to moderate their tones so Ella could no longer hear them from her perch. But this conversation promised to be too interesting to miss. Carefully holding her skirts off the floor and sticking to the carpeted areas, Ella crept toward the doorway and a better listening post. Years of listening at keyholes taught her the precise place to stop where the most sound would carry.
“…I admire him as well, but I want to be sure Ella knows her mind. And she has spread her attention around too much for my tastes.” Richard’s words made her wince, her brother’s censure hitting the mark. “Besides she’s young to make such a decision.”
“You underestimate her. Men always underestimate young ladies. She’ll help him gain footing in the world.”
Help who? Oh, why can’t they use names?
Richard mumbled something that may have been a curse or a response.
“But she will make him respectable.” Never before had Ella so appreciated Lady Bedham’s boisterousness. “A good woman can do that.”
“I dislike being so manipulative,” her mother spoke again, but she must have been moving because other than a “what if she” the rest was lost in the swish of fabric and creak of petticoats.
“We all agreed to this and must play our parts. Which means you,” no doubt Lady Bedham pointed her fan at Richard like a weapon, “must get her to London and quickly. No use of her collecting dust in the country when her intended is in London. You have Annabelle’s invitation. Let Ella go. Since your mother wishes to remain in the country for a time, I shall take Ella to town day after tomorrow and deposit her with Edmund and Annabelle where she’ll be perfectly safe.”
“I’m not convinced of that. Nor am I convinced that Ella won’t have a sudden change of heart and wish to marry the footman.”
“Richard,” her mother entreated.
“But I have no choice. They at least understand the plan. Furthermore I need flutter-budget out of here so Mary can rest for the remaining months until the baby comes. Ella requires too much energy from all of us.” Richard sighed long and loud. “Why must I be cursed with sisters who can’t get to the altar without a struggle?”
“Richard,” Mother remon
strated again.
“I’ll make the announcement about the trip to London at dinner tonight, but I maintain it is all folly and we’ll regret it.” A metallic click and the closeness of Richard’s voice screamed he was going to open the door into the library.
Jumping to her feet, she raced to a hidden door in the paneling and slipped through into a servant’s corridor. Although she didn’t hear any pursuit, she didn’t waste time getting up the back stairs. Safely in her room, she let the gasp she’d swallowed while listening pop out of her mouth followed by a long sigh.
Complete joy washed over her. She’d be in London in a few days. Where Jim was. The chance to see Jim was even worth traveling with Lady Bedham. She stuck her hand over her mouth to stifle the raucous laughter boiling up.
But what was the rest of it about? What parts were they playing? She and Sophie suspected a plan might be in place to get her married, but Richard’s involvement made it more than light drama. Which man was the target of the plot? Who would be revealed as the hero and who the villain?
She thought over what she had heard. No names were mentioned except hers. They’d said she’ll help him gain his footing. Footing in what. They were certainly not talking about ice skating, but was it meant to be Jim in society or Lord Spencer and his financial problem? The other clue was in, “She’ll make him respectable.” Ella only wanted that to apply to one man, but it did, in fact, apply to both.
Casting her novel aside, she flopped down on her bed, not minding the wrinkles to her skirt and damage to her hair. The underside of her canopied bed was painted with chubby cherubs in a heavenly blue sky. The color exactly matched Jim’s eyes. One of the cherubs had an exasperated expression much like the one on Jim’s face when they parted under the watchful eye of her brother. The annoyed cherub only wanted to be reunited with its mate who winged away from him, casting back an amused look. Silly cherub for playing hide-and-seek with her lover. She’d never hide from Jim if she could only convince him to seek her.
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