His heart thrummed hopefully in his chest. He could give a wife those things. After all, she hadn’t mentioned love.
Marcus stepped forward, hopeful for the first time in weeks. “Then you would consider it?”
She blinked up at him, confusion written across her features. “Consider what?”
He wanted to kick himself. He had not actually asked her, and Ellen was under the impression he would never would. “Consider marrying me. I find that you are precisely the sort of wife I would seek.”
Ellen gaped at him, all the color leaving her cheeks. He rushed to say more before she could say no. “Unless you have your hopes set on being a spinster, as you said before. I can give you those things. Safety and security. I will be a kind and honorable husband. I will make certain you have all that you need. And I am somewhat intelligent, even if I have done a terrible job of proposing to you. You cannot really blame me for that.” He attempted to use his charm again, to tease a smile from her. “You brought up the topic, so my speech is not prepared at present. But I could say a few pretty things later if you like.”
She stared at him with such shock he couldn’t guess what else was in her thoughts. Before he attempted another word, she lowered her hands to grip the side of the wall and looked down at the stone walkway.
“The pretty things are not necessary. In fact, I would prefer if we left pretty out of this discussion entirely and focus on the plain words. You would marry me to get your inheritance?”
“I must marry,” he stated firmly. “And I would prefer my wife to be a woman of my choosing. A woman who will be a good partner in marriage and the running of an estate. Orchard Hill is not much at present, but it has a great deal of potential. If I have someone sensible running my home, I can focus on the land and income. I can make something greater of our holdings, to benefit future generations.”
Her chest rose and fell as she gulped in air, looking stricken. Pained, almost.
“Have I said something to upset you?” he asked, dropping to one knee before her in an attempt to better see her face. “Ellen? Are you unwell? I must’ve shocked you.”
“Something like that, yes,” she murmured, not meeting his gaze. “This is very sudden. I thought you would laugh about Collin and Marianne’s idea and we would part as friends. Your proposal—it is a great deal to take in. May I have time to think on it?”
He had startled her. He approached the whole matter like a complete fool. But she did not turn him down immediately. If she was as sensible as he believed, she would seriously consider the offer and accept him. Why not? He fulfilled all her stated requirements.
Hope rose within him and he had to repress a smile. “Yes. Take all the time you need, Ellen. I will not press you for an answer now. I am grateful Marianne and Collin brought us together. Meddlesome as they are.”
The corners of her lips turned up briefly. “They will never let us hear the end of this.” Though it sounded suspiciously like an agreement to his proposal, he did not press her. “Would you please go in and act as though nothing has happened? I don’t wish to discuss this with our hosts at present. I need to compose my thoughts.”
“Clearing cobwebs of my making this time.” He lifted her hand from the wall, surprised by the grip she had on the stone. He bowed over it. “Good morning, Ellen.”
“Good morning, Marcus.” She nodded but otherwise did not move. He released her and went into the house, his step light. Even if she did not accept his suit, at least the moment of uncertainty was over. He had not known how to approach the subject with her, but Ellen took the matter in hand. He blessed Marianne’s inability to keep a secret.
If Ellen said no, he would have reason to fret again. But for now, he would find some calmness of spirit in hope.
His last marriage proposal hadn’t gone well. It had nearly destroyed who he was, and certainly unmade the world and his place in it. But this was different. There was no risk here. He hadn’t given his heart away. He had been wise, practical, and as near to indifferent as one could be when proposing.
Though it had not been his intention to lay the matter before Ellen so soon, it relieved him to have it over with. He had to wait for her answer.
Chapter Six
Ablue sky was a rare sight in December, but Ellen did not take it as a good omen. She looked up at the light color, a shade for which she had no name, from the window seat in Marianne’s morning room. True to his word, Marcus hadn’t told their hosts of his unexpected proposal, and neither of them spoke in private for the rest of the day.
Marianne and Collin shared several knowing glances across the dinner table the previous evening. Ellen had tried to ignore them. The couple was as invested in the matchmaking scheme as ever.
Marianne’s topic of conversation the next morning left no doubt of that.
“What if he fell in love with you after you married?” Marianne sat with an embroidery hoop, working on handkerchiefs to give out at Christmas. “It has happened, where affection grows with time and constancy. A man who flirts as outrageously as he does is bound to have a little romance tucked away somewhere.”
“I suppose there is a chance of that.” Ellen gave her friend a weak smile and moved away from the window to perch on the edge of the plush pink sofa. “I like how you’ve set up this room.”
Marianne sighed in exasperation. “Do not change the topic under discussion.”
The room was like Marianne. All lightness in color and feel, in hues of pink and green, the delicate furnishings scattered about in a whimsical manner, and the wall adornments were pastoral scenes of peaceful milkmaids and rolling fields. It suited the woman of the house.
If such a room belonged to Ellen, how would she decorate the walls to put her mark of ownership upon it? She’d never bothered to think on it since her third season on the marriage mart, when she began to understand no house might ever be given to her.
“I am not really trying to change the topic.” She picked up her project, a pair of mittens for her oldest nephew, and went back to knitting a thumb. “Since you brought up the possibility of marrying, I have been trying to think what it would mean for me.”
“Oh?” Marianne’s hand stopped moving, her eyebrows shot up. “Besides a life no longer dedicated to the whims of your family?”
Ellen could not help but make a tsking sound. “That is harsh, Marianne. My family hasn’t been making demands of me.”
“Not yet. I have seen what family members do to the unwed sister. I have an Aunt Polly. That is all anyone ever calls her. Not even her proper name anymore. But she is shuffled about from one of my cousins to another, back to her brother’s house, and then does the whole round again. Wherever there is sickness, Aunt Polly is called, with no regard for the fact that she is sixty years old and should have respite. If there is a death, birth, or sudden attack of nerves, Aunt Polly. She has no proper home. She is forever a guest, but one expected to earn her keep.”
Marianne looked down at her embroidery and thrust the needle through the fabric with more force than necessary. “I mean to have her come here. She need never leave again. I will give her pin money and a personal servant.”
Ellen could think of nothing to say. Finally she murmured, “Your aunt will be glad, I’m certain.”
“Indeed. But we were talking of you and how being a wife would change your future.” Marianne sniffed daintily. “I want to see you happy, Ellen. It will distress me greatly if you remain a spinster when you could be happily married.”
Ellen nodded, her eyes falling to the work in her hands. Although she had no great talent for knitting, the mittens she made were always passable. Her hands knew the work well enough for her to speak as they moved.
“I am glad to have you as a champion.” She glanced up, trying to keep her tone light as she spoke. “Being a mistress of my own home would be a vast improvement to my situation.” She looked around the room again, taking comfort in its peaceful colors and decor. “If I married, I could have a roo
m like this to myself. I could redo the cushions any number of times. Rearrange paintings. Order new drapes. I could make it to suit myself.”
“What of Marcus? You’re talking about furnishings when I would much rather hear how you would manage a husband.” Marianne’s eyes danced and her crooked smile turned devious.
Ellen shook her head and huffed with playful impatience. “Marcus likely will not mind how I furnish rooms so long as I stay within a budget. I understand that is the way of things with husbands.”
Marianne dropped her embroidery hoop in her lap with undisguised frustration. “Ellen, you have always had tender feelings for him. Dream a little. What would it be like, how would it feel, to be his bride?”
Although the warmth of a blush crept up her neck, Ellen swiftly swatted down any romantic notions forming in her mind. “As Marcus has no idea of what my feelings for him are, and it would be nothing more than a means to an end for him, I imagine I would do my best not to let my feelings run away with me. If we could begin as friends we would do well together. Many marriages of such a nature have been made with both people content in their choice.”
Delicate, lovely, proper Marianne gaped at Ellen with an open mouth, her eyes wide as saucers. “That is the most unromantic thing I have ever heard.”
Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Ellen kept at her work. “It’s practical.”
“Nonsense.”
“Perfectly sensible.”
Before Marianne could counter again, they both became aware of a sound from the front of the house. The door knocker.
“Who could that be?” Marianne muttered, putting her embroidery aside.
Ellen could not resist teasing. “Are you certain it is not another bachelor you’ve invited in an attempt to find me a husband?” She put her knitting back in her basket and pushed it beneath the sofa.
“I only invited the one,” Marianne answered saucily. “And I’m not at home to visitors today.”
The butler appeared at the doorway. “My lady, your cousins Miss Wright and Miss Verity Wright.”
Ellen suppressed a groan and could tell from the look Marianne sent her way that her friend did the same. It had not been charitable of them, but in the past they referred to the cousins as Miss Right and Miss Very Right. The two ladies, though younger than Marianne, had always been in possession of a superior manner in their mind, if not in truth.
"Send them in, Russell.”
Marianne stood with Ellen, neither saying a word.
“Oh, look,” Miss Verity, the younger of the two, said without preamble. “Cousin Marianne has redone the room.”
“My, my. Cousin Marianne, it is lovely, if not entirely fashionable. You know the new style is heavily inspired by the Greeks, I believe.” Miss Wright, aged twenty, took her seat in a chair with all the dignity of a dowager duchess.
“Yes. Our neighbor, Sir Norvall, has brought in a great deal of furniture with the Greek influence apparent. The chair legs are like Grecian columns. They are very smart.” Miss Verity took the empty space next to Ellen and smiled demurely. “He is ever so good as to share his copy of the Repository with us. It has all the latest in décor.”
“A kind neighbor indeed,” Marianne said with an indulgent smile before she rang for tea. “It is good to see you both. I hope you will take some refreshment with us. You remember Miss Bringhurst, of course?”
“Yes, of course.” Miss Wright nodded as graciously as a queen might to a lesser subject. “It is always a pleasure to see you. Will you be staying long?”
Marianne answered before Ellen could say a word. “I do hope so, as Miss Bringhurst has been my particular friend since childhood.”
Miss Verity nodded. “Yes. You two have always been close.”
Ellen believed she owed her good friendship to these two. If they had not lived nearby, and always been insufferable, Marianne might never have sought companionship with the cousin visiting the Falkhams.
“We have had word that Miss Bringhurst is not your only guest.” Miss Wright’s announcement was accompanied by a calculating look.
“News travels swiftly,” Marianne murmured, exchanging an amused look with Ellen. “But you are right. Lord Falkham has invited Mr. Calvert to stay with us for a time. I think my husband misses male companionship on occasion. Tell me, how is your mother?”
“Healthy as always,” Miss Verity answered, undeterred. “How is Mr. Calvert enjoying his stay?”
“As he has been with us three days, I hope he has no cause for complaint.” Marianne rose as a maid entered with the tea tray and took charge of arranging things on a table out of the way.
As Marcus had put his proposal of marriage to Ellen, she doubted he had yet to find anything in his visit to dismay him.
Miss Wright looked about slowly, her eyes taking in the room further as she spoke. “I do hope Lord Falkham does not intend to keep Mr. Calvert cloistered up with him. The neighborhood would benefit a great deal from a new face.”
Quietly and aside to Ellen, Miss Verity whispered, “Especially such a handsome face.” She giggled behind her hand and Ellen could not help smiling in return.
Marianne answered with a disinterested tone. “I am certain Mr. Calvert would be happy to receive invitations from other gentlemen. I know Uncle Wright enjoys shooting.”
“Do you still read a great deal?” Miss Verity asked Ellen when the conversation hit a lull.
In her younger days Ellen would likely have prattled on about what she had finished reading, but she knew better now. Aside from her confession to Marcus about her habits, she tried not to let people outside her immediate family know how often a book was her companion.
“A little less. Is there a book you have enjoyed of late?”
“I enjoyed Mrs. Edgeworth’s novels. Papa recently borrowed The Absentee for us. It was thrilling. You ought to read it.” Miss Verity very nearly bounced as she spoke. “It’s all about true love and how a gentleman must escape the schemes of his parents and diabolical women in Ireland. I wish it hadn’t been set so much in Ireland.” She pouted and shrugged. “It all ends happily. There is a secret inheritance.”
Having read the novel herself a few years past, Ellen could not help feeling amused that Miss Verity only saw the love story. In truth that particular book was more about the relationship between a landed gentleman and his tenants, the gentry taking responsibility and ownership of their properties, and treating people of the working class with greater respect. Mrs. Edgeworth’s point was not that love conquered all.
“I appreciate your recommendation,” Ellen said politely. She read one novel for every ten works outside of fiction. Poetry, histories, Encyclopedias, newspapers, and botanical guides were more often found in her hands than a Gothic romance.
“It is good to hear you do not read so much as you used to,” Miss Wright said with a sage smile. “Mother says if your nose is always in a book, it will damage your appearance. Men prefer young ladies who focus more on the presentable arts. Painting, drawing, music, dancing.” Her emphasis on the importance of youth in snaring a husband was not lost on anyone in the room.
“Of course,” Ellen agreed with a slight nod.
Marianne appeared to be biting the insides of her cheek in irritation but Ellen doubted the cousins noticed.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. “Ah. It is two o’clock. I asked Cook to have a light luncheon prepared for us. My dear cousins, won’t you stay and partake with us?” Marianne’s ability to remain the perfect hostess truly impressed Ellen.
The sisters agreed immediately and Marianne led everyone to the dining room. The less formal dishes and cutlery were used for the afternoon meal, with the drapes fully open to allow natural light to fill the room. The meal consisted of cuts of cold meat, bread, fruit tarts, and a dish of olives.
“It is a very simple repast,” Marianne said, motioning them to the sideboard. “I did not expect we would have more company or I would have made changes to the menu.”
Marianne stood near her and leaned close to whisper near Ellen’s ear. “The gentlemen will arrive shortly. Poor Marcus.”
Ellen bit her lip to keep from laughing and took her usual chair. No sooner did she seat herself than another door opened from the main hall, and gentlemen’s voices drifted in ahead of their owners. Both men sounded to be in good spirits.
Collin entered first, a wide grin on his face, until he saw the company gathered. He sobered immediately, cleared his throat, and bowed. “Ladies. My apologies for our late arrival. I did not know we had guests.” He moved to his wife’s side and bent to kiss her cheek, which was apparently too demonstrative for the sisters as they both blushed and looked away.
Ellen didn’t understand the strictures society placed on married people. A husband could not dance with his wife at a ball, they could not be seen to be affectionate in public, and did not even use each other’s Christian names before people outside of the family.
It struck her as sad, especially in instances like Collin and Marianne’s where the couple truly cared for one another. The whole idea of living one’s life to please other people was most unjust.
Marcus did not appear ruffled by the presence of guests and made his bows with a welcoming smile. “A pleasant surprise to see you both again, Miss Wright and Miss Verity.” He took his seat amid their polite greetings and delicate waves.
He appeared as handsome as ever and when he glanced in her direction, Ellen struggled to stay calm. It would not do to blush from no more significant a thing than eye contact. She maintained her pleasant expression and turned her attention back to her plate as swiftly as was polite.
“Mr. Calvert, it is simply divine to see you again,” Miss Wright said hastily. “It has been an age since the last time, at the Havershams’ ball in London.”
His Bluestocking Bride Page 5