“It is only for one sleigh ride,” Father pointed out.
“Yes, that’s very true, but one never knows how important one sleigh ride may be. It could mean everything—or nothing.”
“As usual, my dear duchess,” Father said, “you amaze me with your perspicacity.”
Mama laughed. “Oh, now you are teasing me, but it’s true. At any moment everything might change.” She laughed again. “And at this particular moment I suppose what you’d all like to change are your clothes—or at least brush off any cobwebs that may have had the temerity to attach themselves to your persons—and perhaps rest after all this excitement. So off with you, and we will see you in the drawing room before dinner.”
Ned watched Ellie make her way toward the stairs. Cox, the bastard, offered her his arm and she took it without once looking at Jack. And Jack actually went so far as to escort Miss Wharton.
Cox must be wrong. Ellie wasn’t in love with Jack. She was still unwed because she’d yet to find a man that suited her.
And yet that didn’t quite ring true either.
“So, Lord Edward,” Lady Juliet said, dropping her voice and leaning close as he led her out of the dungeon, “whom do you think Lord Jack will choose to ride in the sleigh with him? Miss Wharton clearly hopes it will be she, but I would have wagered my quarterly allowance against that outcome. Yet here he is escorting her now. What can it mean?”
“I have no idea.” Ned couldn’t remember ever feeling so confused. He did not care for the sensation.
Jack was wrong. Jack had to be wrong.
Ellie perched on the settee next to Miss Wharton and stared into her teacup while everyone chatted around her. They were playing charades; the women had just acted out Gulliver’s Travels and now the men were off planning their clues.
She’d seriously considered staying upstairs after the hunt in the dungeon and pleading the headache, but she knew the duchess would drag her downstairs no matter how much she protested. And she couldn’t hide forever—there were still three more days left to this horrible party.
She closed her eyes briefly. Three days. How was she going to bear it?
She clenched her jaw. Damn it, she was going to get a grip on her emotions, that’s what she was going to do. Why was she giving any credence to what Jack had said? Cicely had been perfect for Ned. Everyone knew that. If she hadn’t died in childbirth, they would have lived happily ever after.
And as for Jack guessing she loved Ned, that was only a guess. A wild, lucky guess. No one else suspected it; Mama would have told her if she’d heard the slightest breath of a rumor. Ellie swallowed a slightly hysterical giggle. Ned certainly had no notion that she loved him. And even the Duchess of Love must not know—she’d have said something if she did, or at least have worked harder to throw Ellie at Ned’s head.
She looked over at Ned’s mother, who gave her a broad, unsettling smile in return.
She dropped her gaze back to her tea. Now she was jumping at shadows. If she hadn’t had that blasted conversation with Jack, she’d just think her grace was being pleasant.
At least Ned had managed to return her red drawers. She’d found them tied in a large field handkerchief outside her door when she’d left her room for dinner. She’d put them back in the clothes press, but on a higher shelf this time.
“I love charades,” Miss Wharton confided, giving a little bounce that caused Ellie to wobble on their shared seat. “Don’t you?”
Ellie smiled. It was a relief to think of something besides herself. Miss Wharton was unfashionably loud and enthusiastic, but there were certainly worse flaws.
“I’m afraid I’m not very good at the game,” Ellie said. As she had just demonstrated; she hadn’t offered a single clue to help her team act out its title. “But you did an excellent job. I think it was your impression of a gull that caused the gentlemen to come up with the answer so quickly.”
Miss Wharton blushed. “I’m much better at acting than guessing, though.” She giggled. “How do you think Mr. Humphrey will do without being able to speak?”
Ellie laughed. “I can’t imagine.” So Miss Wharton had a sense of humor. Jack could do worse.
But he’d looked so unhappy and tense in the dungeon.
Jack might be a bit easygoing and even careless at times, at least according to Ned, and he was certainly annoying, but he had a good heart. And he was kind. And likely capable of falling in love.
If he didn’t love Miss Wharton, he shouldn’t marry her.
And if she didn’t love Mr. Cox ...
She took a sip of tea. That was different.
“Ah, here come the gentlemen,” the duchess said. “Put on your thinking caps, ladies!”
None of the men except Mr. Humphrey looked at all happy to be there, but at least no one was sporting a fresh bruise. Ellie had been a little worried. Percy had always been adept at needling Ash, and now he was at odds with Ned as well. Not to mention Ned had been giving Mr. Cox some markedly unfriendly looks in the dungeon.
Mr. Humphrey began by holding up three fingers.
“Three words,” Miss Wharton shouted, bouncing again.
Ellie juggled her tea cup; fortunately, the saucer had captured the splashes. She quickly put it down on the table by her elbow.
Mr. Humphrey nodded enthusiastically, pushed his spectacles up his nose, and then held up one finger.
“First word!”
He placed his hand on his breast.
“Waistcoat,” Miss Wharton shouted. “Shirt, cravat.”
He shook his head.
“Chest,” Ophelia ventured.
“Broad,” Lady Heldon said, snickering. “Muscular. Manly.”
Mr. Humphrey shook his head more vehemently and then began patting his chest.
“Hit,” Miss Mosely said. “And do be careful, sir. You don’t want to injure yourself.”
“Slap,” Lady Juliet tried.
“Beat,” Miss Wharton said. “Pound.”
Ellie had no guesses and was getting slightly seasick from all the bouncing. She watched Mr. Humphrey thump his chest. Could she love him?
Her stomach twisted. N-no, probably not.
If she couldn’t love Mr. Cox or Mr. Humphrey ...
She stiffened her spine. She was asking the wrong question. Of course she couldn’t love either of the men. She knew that. She wasn’t some starry-eyed young girl looking for love. No, she was a practical spinster. She wanted a comfortable, civil arrangement that would give her her own home and children.
Mr. Humphrey dropped his hands in defeat and looked to Mr. Cox who smiled and held his thumbs and index fingers together in the shape of a—
“Heart!” Miss Wharton yelled. “Beating heart. Terror.” She bounced almost to her feet. “I know. The Mysterious Warning by Mrs. Parsons. Or perhaps The Mysteries of Udolpho by Mrs. Radcliffe.”
The men gaped at her. Mr. Humphrey and Mr. Cox shook their heads in unison.
“Oh.” Miss Wharton collapsed back onto the settee. “Well, my heart almost pounded out of my chest when I read those novels.”
“I completely agree,” Miss Mosely said, touching Miss Wharton’s knee. “I haven’t read Mrs. Parsons’s book, but Udolpho kept me up all night.”
“You must try Mrs. Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest if you haven’t already,” Lady Heldon said, for once not sounding the slightest bit snide. “I quite enjoyed it.”
“And Mr. Lewis’s The Monk,” Ophelia added.
“Ladies,” the duchess said, “you may discuss your favorite books as much as you like later, but now the poor gentlemen are trying to have you guess a title, and it is not that of a horrid novel.”
“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry,” Miss Wharton said. “Please continue.”
Mr. Humphrey and Mr. Cox looked at the other men. Percy held up two fingers.
“Second word,” Miss Wharton said in a more subdued fashion.
Ellie gripped her hands tightly together. But practicality only went so fa
r. Marriage was not the same as hiring an estate manager or a butler or even sharing a house with a brother or father. No, if she wanted children, she would have to share her body.
Her stomach threatened to climb up her throat.
Could she tolerate Mr. Humphrey or Mr. Cox sufficiently to allow one of them to impregnate her? Her reaction to Mr. Cox in the dungeon had not been encouraging, and as for Mr. Humphrey—no, she couldn’t see welcoming the mole into her bed, even with her eyes tightly closed and her thoughts focused firmly on household accounts.
Percy pretended to take off his coat and roll up his sleeves. Then he rubbed his hands, grabbed an imaginary something, and made definite digging motions.
“Dig!” Miss Wharton said.
“Shovel,” Ophelia offered. “Excavate.”
“Bury,” Lady Heldon suggested. “Corpse.”
“I know,” Ophelia said. “‘The Grave’ by Robert Blair.”
Lady Heldon frowned at her friend. “That’s only two words, Ophelia.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! So it is.”
Ellie bit her lip. She might be able to adjust to Mr. Cox. At least he was attractive, and if the duchess was correct, many other women had accepted his intimate advances. Perhaps marital relations were like riding a horse—a skill one became better at with practice. She enjoyed riding. She didn’t have to love the horse. It was a stimulating physical activity, that was all. And if Mr. Cox had had plenty of practice, he was likely very good at performing the deed.
In time she might be able to manage marital congress with equanimity. She might even hope for a little friendship and some respect. She would be the mother of the man’s children, after all.
She studied Mr. Cox, who clearly didn’t realize he was being observed. His eyes were on Lady Juliet, his expression tight with longing.
Did it matter if the man she married was deeply in love with another woman if that other woman had chosen someone else to wed? It wasn’t as if Ellie had her heart to give either. As long as they were honest with each other so neither was living with false hope, it shouldn’t make a difference.
It shouldn’t, but somehow it did.
Ash had pretended to misplace a variety of objects, so the women finally decided the last word was “lost.” Jack was now trying once more to get them to guess the first word. He put his hands over his heart, looked at Ellie, and made the most ridiculous, besotted face she’d ever seen.
She’d been striving not to look at Ned, but she couldn’t keep her gaze from sliding over to meet his. He must find Jack’s expression terribly funny.
He didn’t. He was glaring at his brother and then he glared at her. What in the world was the matter?
She looked back at Jack. He waggled his brows at Ned and then looked infatuated again.
“Love,” Ellie said. “Oh. It’s Shakespeare’s ‘Love’s Labor’s Lost,’ isn’t it?”
Jack staggered theatrically to a nearby chair and collapsed into it. “Yes. I thought you’d never guess it.”
“Well done, Miss Bowman.” Miss Wharton clapped her on the back and almost spilled the tea Ellie had been unwise enough to pick up again. “And well acted, Lord Jack—and all the gentlemen, of course. Shall we play again?”
“I think I’ve exhausted my meager acting talents, Miss Wharton,” Jack said.
“As have I.” Ash looked at his mother. “What do you have planned for us tomorrow?”
The duchess smiled. “Mrs. Dalton—and her prognosticating joints—believes the storm is subsiding, so I think we should be able to go skating and perhaps”—the duchess turned her attention to Ellie—“sledding.”
Lovely. Ellie felt Ned’s eyes boring into the back of her head, but she refused to turn and look at him. “Splendid. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go upstairs.”
Chapter 9
Men like to be in control.
—Venus’s Love Notes
“I think Humphrey should be compelled to play charades more often,” Drew said, loosening his cravat. He’d dispensed with his valet, just as Venus had told her maid she could retire for the night. “He is much more entertaining mute.”
“He is, isn’t he, poor man.” Venus sat down at her dressing table and plucked the pins from her hair.
“You promise me he won’t wed Ellie?” Drew was joking, of course, but she could hear a faint note of worry in his voice. “I’d hate not to see her regularly, but I have to consider my hearing—and my sanity.” He pulled his shirt over his head, and Venus sighed. He did have a most impressive chest and pair of shoulders.
She picked up her hairbrush. “It’s impossible to promise anything when one ventures into the realm of the heart, but I think it highly unlikely that Mr. Humphrey and Ellie will make a match of it. She seems much more interested in Mr. Cox.”
Drew grunted and came over to take the brush from her. “At least Cox isn’t such a thundering jaw-me-dead.” He pulled the bristles through her hair. She loved the feel of his hands and the long, firm strokes of the brush. “Though I formed the definite impression his interests lie elsewhere.”
“They do.” The muscles in Drew’s arms and chest flexed as he moved. She could watch him forever. “He’s madly in love with Lady Juliet. He asked for her hand a few months ago, but that stiff-rumped father of hers refused. Rumor is he gave Mr. Cox no hope.”
A familiar warmth spread low in her belly. Other parts of her were beginning to clamor for Drew’s touch.
He snorted. “I’m not surprised. Extley’s always been a hard-hearted, granite-headed beef-wit. But Lady Juliet is of age. If she wants Cox, she can just take him.” He gave her hair one last long brush. “It looks to me as if she means to marry Ned.” He frowned at Venus in the mirror. “Isn’t that why you invited the girl?”
“No.”
Drew moved his hands to her shoulders, his thumbs massaging the tight spot at the base of her neck. She closed her eyes and dropped her head forward. Mmm. She felt as if she were melting—in more ways than one.
“I invited her so she could realize that she does want Mr. Cox—that she wants him far more than she wishes to please her father or even to live her fairytale notion of what her future should be.” She lifted her head to meet Drew’s eyes. “Have you noticed the way she looks at him when he’s looking at someone else? There is a definite current between them.”
Drew grunted. “Yes, but she doesn’t seem to realize it—nor does our dunderheaded second son. What if Ned asks her to wed and she agrees?” He lifted his hands and stepped back. “It seems to me you are playing with fire.”
Venus shrugged and stood. “I only give people opportunities; whether they take them is out of my control.” Though she would admit to herself that she was worried. She wanted Ned to be happy, and she was almost certain he would not be happy with Lady Juliet. She sighed. “It is too bad arranged marriages went out of vogue.”
Drew pulled her into his arms. “And whom would you arrange for Ned?”
“You know.” Venus looped her hands around his neck. “The same woman you would.”
Drew rubbed his hands up and down her back, and she wanted to purr like Sir Reginald. “I wish Ned had married her the first time.”
“As do I.” Venus would only say that to Drew in the privacy of their room where she could be sure no one would overhear. “I loved Cicely—you know I welcomed her into the family just as you did—but I did wish Ned had chosen Ellie. I hope Cicely never guessed.”
“I’m sure she didn’t.”
“She was sweet and she needed Ned, but Ellie will challenge him, if he has the sense to marry her. I think he does love her, he just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Drew’s nimble fingers loosened the fastenings on her dress. “Well at least she’s not clinging to Ash this year.”
“I told her people had noticed.” Venus rested her cheek against his chest. She could hear the steady, comforting beat of his heart. “And I think she’s different; I think she’s decided she’s going to marry
even if she can’t have Ned.”
Drew pulled back and frowned at her. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No. I wish I’d known beforehand, but I hope I’ve made her choices unappealing enough that she won’t do something silly.”
“Hmph. Humphrey is certainly unappealing, but Cox is a different matter.”
“Yes, I know. But he does love Lady Juliet, and I think Ellie sees that.”
Drew laughed. “You seem to have filled this party with young people who have very little idea of their true desires.”
“Which is so true of most young people.” Venus smiled up at him. “But not us. I knew as soon as I met you that I wanted you.”
His lips slid into a grin. “I’m not sure that is completely true. I remember you being very angry with me.”
She shrugged. “That was only on the surface. Deep down in my heart I knew I loved you.” She sighed. “What have I done wrong, Drew? Why don’t our sons have the same certainty about love?”
He kissed her forehead. “Perhaps the problem is their lustful male, er, minds keep them from recognizing what is in their hearts.”
“But you were male and lustful and you knew.”
“My dear duchess, your tense is incorrect. I am male and lustful.” He brushed her lips with his and then pushed her dress down so it puddled around her feet. “However, I had the benefit of falling in love with a brilliant matchmaker who reads hearts as easily as most people read The Times.”
“I wish I could read hearts so easily.” She stepped free of her dress. “Tell me this, since you’re an expert in lust: how are we to help Ned recognize he loves Ellie?”
He kissed her jaw. “It might help if she didn’t hide herself in those dreadful dresses. We lustful men love our ladies’ minds and spirits, but we very much admire their bodies, too.” He nuzzled the sensitive place under her ear while his fingers worked the ties on her stays loose. “Perhaps Reggie should steal her entire wardrobe.”
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