He’d be doing a good deed by freeing her from her unpleasant parents and giving her a home. He’d have to come back to Greycliffe from time to time, of course, but maybe by then this feeling he had for Ellie would have dulled to a manageable—a pleasant—fondness. As if he and Ellie were indeed just friends.
And maybe Ellie would have married and moved away.
He almost doubled over in pain at the thought.
“Ned,” Jack said, “have you grown roots over there? It’s your turn.”
“Right.” He stepped up to the table and took his shot, not sparing a moment’s thought on it—and then watched in horror as the cue ball barely escaped falling into the right far pocket. Damn it, he didn’t want to completely embarrass himself.
Ellie cast him a quick look of surprise—he never bungled his shots so badly. He stared back at her. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be playing this stupid game, after all. The sooner it was over the better. Then he could get back to his plans for Miss Wharton.
Ellie dropped her gaze to the billiard table, staring at it as if the location of the Holy Grail was hidden in its green baize covering.
“Perhaps you need to focus a bit more on the game,” Jack murmured as Miss Wharton got ready to take her shot.
Ned grunted. He’d been on the verge of taking Miss Wharton on a stroll in the long gallery and perhaps asking for her hand in marriage when Jack had caught him and dragged him into the billiard room. In fact now that he thought of it, each time he’d tried to have a private word with the woman, Mama or Father or one of his brothers had prevented him from doing so. That could not be just bad luck.
Apparently Miss Wharton was not much of a billiards player; she did pot the cue ball.
“Oh, dear,” she said, laughing—though the laughter was a bit strained. She couldn’t be oblivious to the tension between him and Ellie. “I’m afraid I always lose at billiards. My sisters used to fight over which one of them would be unlucky enough to have me on their team.”
“That’s quite all right, Miss Wharton,” he said. He certainly didn’t care if she was accomplished at billiards or not. He wasn’t looking for a wife to play games. He wanted children, and there was no reason to think Miss Wharton would not be able to manage that task.
Ah, but could he manage his part of the business?
Heat swept up his neck to his face, and he bent quickly to examine his cue stick. Of course he could. He might not feel any particular, ah, stirrings for her at the moment, but he was male. He should be able to rise to the occasion.
Oh, damn, what a poor choice of words.
“Indeed, Miss Wharton,” Jack said, taking his shot, “this is just a friendly game, you know. A way to pass the time until you ladies must go off to prepare for tonight’s ball.”
Ellie paled, but Miss Wharton’s face lit up. “Oh, yes. I’m so looking forward to it. Her grace said that all the local gentry as well as a number of the ton will be here.”
Ellie’s face turned even whiter, if that were possible. What was the issue? Was she concerned that her parents as well as her sisters and their husbands and everyone who knew her would be here? But they came every year; this year was no different.
“Yes, it will be an infernal crush,” Jack said, grimacing. “I confess I shall be glad when it is over.”
“Oh, Lord Jack, how can you say that?” Miss Wharton’s eyes grew wide with shock as if Jack had just uttered some blasphemy.
“Easily.” He laughed. “But I suspect most gentlemen do not enjoy balls to the degree that ladies do.” Jack looked over at Ellie. “Your turn, Ellie. See if you can win it, why don’t you? Ned here looks like he’s ready for the game to be over.”
“Oh, no, Jack,” Ned said through his teeth, “I’m having a most enjoyable time.”
Jack grinned, but Miss Wharton gave him a startled look. Ned tried to make his expression look pleasanter.
“Very well,” Ellie said, a spark of animation—or perhaps merely annoyance—in her voice at last. “I will see what I can do.”
The cue ball was in an awkward location, so Ellie had to come over to Ned’s side of the table to reach it. He backed up and would have moved away completely, but he caught Jack’s eye. Damn it, was his brother daring him to stay where he was? He would do so, then. He didn’t want Jack thinking he couldn’t bear to be close to Ellie.
Except he couldn’t bear it. Ellie had to almost drape herself over the table to get the proper angle on her shot; her dress—her ugly, dark gray, shapeless, hideous dress—pulled tight as she leaned over farther, outlining her lovely, rounded, perfect arse. She was well within arm’s reach. He could—
He could not.
At least Ellie’s body blocked Jack’s view of Ned’s nether regions. He hoped.
He’d suspect she was torturing him on purpose, except he was quite sure she had no idea the effect she had on him. She wasn’t a Lady Heldon. And, to be fair, he hadn’t fully realized it himself until just now. He shifted position and focused instead on Ellie’s glossy, brown hair—
That wasn’t helping.
He forced his eyes up to contemplate the fifth duke, glowering down from the opposite wall. The man had gone through three wives and sired twelve daughters—and not a single son. The duchy had gone to a nephew that family lore said the old duke detested. No wonder the fellow looked so angry.
“Good job, Ellie!” Jack said.
“Yes, Miss Bowman, that was a wonderful shot.” Miss Wharton clapped enthusiastically, seeming genuinely excited at Ellie’s skill.
Ellie, glowing with pleasure, looked at him—and her face fell. Damn.
“Well done, Ellie,” he said awkwardly. He was very conscious of Jack glaring at him. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings.
“Yes, well, now that the game is over, I believe I’ll go upstairs.” Ellie ignored Ned to smile at Jack and Miss Wharton. “There was a problem with the ball gown I brought from home, and the duchess kindly had her maid make up a new one. I haven’t seen it yet—I suppose there may still be some adjustments that need to be made.”
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, and Miss Wharton startled. “Oh, look at the time! I’ll go up with you, Miss Bowman, if I may.” She linked arms with Ellie; he could tell Ellie was a bit taken aback by the gesture, but she managed to return Miss Wharton’s smile nonetheless.
“Perhaps you can tell me what to expect,” Miss Wharton said, “since you’ve been to these balls before.” She laughed. “I’m sure they must seem completely dull to you, but I confess I’m beyond excited.”
“Oh, I don’t find them dull at all,” Ellie said as she and Miss Wharton left the billiards room.
“You know you were watching Ellie and not Miss Wharton,” Jack said as soon as the women had departed.
“Just now?” Ned tried to snort convincingly. “I was watching them both.”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted skeptically. “If you say so. But I meant during the game.”
Ned had been very carefully not looking at Ellie—well, except when he’d been looking at her inappropriately. “You are imagining things.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You are.” He knew he was lying, but if he said it enough, perhaps it would become true. His feelings were merely a physical response, evidence that his relevant parts still functioned, and he should have no difficulty performing with Miss Wharton.
Unfortunately, his most relevant part cringed at the thought.
A deep frown creased Jack’s brow; there wasn’t the slightest glint of humor in his expression. “You aren’t really going to ask Miss Wharton to marry you, are you, Ned?”
There was no reason to be evasive. “Yes, I am. I decided this morning.”
Jack’s reaction was not encouraging—his face hardened and he stared at Ned as if he were trying to decide what species of lunatic he belonged to.
He had no obligation to explain himself, but the words insisted on coming out. “It makes perfect sense. I need a wife;
she needs a husband.”
“But you love Ellie!”
“I—” He wanted to say he didn’t, but he was afraid that would be a lie.
“And she loves you.”
Now he was on much firmer ground. “I assure you she does not. Didn’t I tell you last night that she turned me down?”
Jack snorted and rolled his eyes at the same time. “Of course she did. If your ‘proposal’ was anything like you described, she probably thought you were intent on hiring a housekeeper—or, worse, purchasing a brood mare.”
Surely it hadn’t been that bad? “You don’t know. You weren’t there.”
“True. So tell me this: Did you at any point tell her that you loved her?”
There was that damn word again, opening up the terrifying abyss. Ned swallowed and tried to speak calmly. “No.”
“Then tell her.”
“No.”
Jack gripped Ned’s shoulder and shook him a little. “You have to.”
“I can’t, damn it.” Ned threw off Jack’s hold. Bloody panic burst in his chest where his heart should be. “Don’t you understand? I loved once—I can’t do it again. I can’t bear it; I can’t face that pain one more time.”
“Ned.” Jack’s eyes were so full of compassion it hurt to look at them, so Ned looked away. “I know I can’t really understand. I know that, but I do believe this: You need Ellie—”
“I don’t.” He couldn’t.
“—and she needs you.”
“No.” He wouldn’t listen. Jack had to be wrong.
“At least give her the chance to tell you in so many words that she doesn’t love you.” Jack’s voice grew soft. “I’ve called you Lord Worry for years, but I never thought to call you Lord Coward.”
Ned felt as if he’d taken a flush hit to his stomach. “Damn you, Jack, you can go straight to hell.”
Ellie looked out her bedroom window. If she squinted, she could just make out the smoke snaking up from the vicarage chimney. Tonight her family would come to the ball, and tomorrow the duke and duchess would send her home in one of their carriages. She’d pack away her good dresses until next year.
But next year Ned would be married, perhaps to Miss Wharton.
She swallowed. Miss Wharton seemed nice enough. She might make Ned happy. She—
Oh, God. Ellie bit her lip and pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window, but the tears came anyway. She could be Ned’s wife. If only she’d said yes in the library yesterday—one word, three little letters—she’d be betrothed right now. The duchess would be pleased; her sisters would be happy—and likely relieved they no longer had to worry about supporting their spinster sister; and Mama ... Mama would be ecstatic. The duke might very well announce the engagement at the birthday ball, and all the neighbors would congratulate her. And this time next year she might be increasing or perhaps already have a baby to cradle in her arms.
What did it matter that Ned didn’t love her? As he’d said, they were old friends. That was more than she had with any other man she might consider marrying—certainly more than she had with Mr. Cox or Mr. Humphrey, not that either of those gentlemen was interested in wedding her any longer. They had both found their matches.
When she’d decided she wanted children even more than she wanted Ned, she’d faced the fact that she likely was giving up all hope of a love match. She’d come to expect exactly what Ned was offering—a sensible, polite bargain. Ned would be kind to her and would love their children. He’d be an attentive, good father. Why the hell hadn’t she said yes?
Because she loved him so much she literally ached with it. She’d thought she’d ached for children—this was much, much worse. It was as if a knife had been plunged in her heart and twisted.
Could she bear to live the kind of bloodless existence he described? With another man—yes. But with Ned?
No. It would kill her.
She sighed and pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket. Perhaps she’d been foolish to think she could manage this kind of arrangement at all. She blew her nose. She should resign herself to being a maiden aunt. An eccentric maiden aunt, perhaps. That could be amusing.
The shadows were getting longer; it must be late. She glanced up at the clock. Oh, dear, Mary should be in at any moment with her new dress; she didn’t want her to see she’d been crying. That would provoke all kinds of unpleasant comments.
She poured water in the washbasin and splashed it on her face. She’d meant to apologize to Ned this afternoon for throwing her brandy at him. That had been very rude of her. But she’d barely been able to look at him during that dreadful billiards game—and he’d barely been able to tolerate her presence.
She would apologize this evening at dinner or at the ball. She didn’t want them to part on such bad terms.
Damn, she was going to cry again.
She dunked her face in the washbasin just as someone knocked on her door.
“Yes? Come in.” She grabbed a towel and peered around it as the door swung open, and her grace entered, followed by Mary with her arms full of—God, no!—red fabric.
“Did you think we’d forgotten you, Ellie?” her grace said, beginning to shut the door as Mary laid her burden on the bed. “We—oh, excuse me, Reggie. I almost caught your tail. You’d be very angry about that, wouldn’t you?”
Reggie slipped into the room, padded across the floor, and leapt up onto the bed.
“Stay away from Miss Ellie’s dress, sir.” Mary made shooing motions with her hands. “This one’s not for you.”
Reggie merely yawned and settled himself on the coverlet a handbreadth from the red—the very, very red—cloth. At least her drawers were still safely stuffed under the mattress. Ellie had checked on them again when she’d got back to her room.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming with Mary,” the duchess said, “but I couldn’t wait to see you in your new gown.”
Ellie finished drying her face and put the towel down on the washstand. “It’s very red.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Her grace beamed at her. “Now let’s get that frock off you, shall we, so you can try it on.”
“I-I don’t think I should wear red.” The last time—the only time—she’d done so, her mother had sent her directly back to her room. Good God, if she wore this dress, her family would see it, and Mama, at least, would immediately think of Ned’s and Cicely’s betrothal ball.
“Don’t be silly. It will look lovely on you, won’t it, Mary?”
“Aye, as we’ll see in a pig’s whisker if ye’ll stop stalling, Miss Ellie.” Mary approached her with a look that clearly said she’d not stand for any nonsense.
“Very well.” What choice did she have? Her old gown had gone off to the rag heap. She let Mary help her out of her dress and into the new ball gown with as much good grace as she could muster.
“Oh, Ellie!” Her grace clasped her hands in front of her chest delightedly. “You look so beautiful!”
“I-I do?” She was afraid to look in the mirror, but she didn’t need the glass to tell her that rather more—far more—of her person was exposed than she was used to. The dress’s bodice hugged her breasts and left a scandalous amount of her neck and arms uncovered. It was really too bad she’d not managed to pack her Norwich shawl. “Do you have a fichu I can borrow?”
The duchess’s smile turned to a scowl. “Definitely not! You are not going to hide yourself under yards of fabric any longer, miss. Now come here and look at yourself.”
“Aye.” Mary gave her a little nudge. “Go on, do. Looking won’t kill ye.”
Ellie was not so certain. She stepped reluctantly over to the mirror and forced her eyes to focus ...
She watched her jaw drop. She did look, if not beautiful, then very pretty. This red dress was much finer than the one she’d made years ago—Mary was a far more accomplished needlewoman and the silk was of considerably higher quality. The cloth fell in shimmering folds from her bodice to her slippers, skimming her
hips and swirling around her feet when she moved. And the color ... Somehow the red made her skin—her vast expanse of exposed skin—glow.
Her face glowed, too. “Oh! Thank you, your grace—and you, too, Mary. The dress is lovely.”
Mary snorted. “I’m thinking it’s the woman in the dress that’s lovely, Miss Ellie.”
“Very true, Mary,” the duchess said. “Now sit down, Ellie, so Mary can fix your hair.”
Ellie did as ordered—she was almost in a trance, she was so bemused at her new appearance—and Mary made short work of pinning up her hair to show off her shoulders and neck even more.
“And now the pearls,” her grace said.
“Pearls? What do you—oh!”
The duchess fastened a necklace around Ellie’s neck.
“I can’t wear these.” Ellie lightly touched the perfect strand of milky pearls.
“Of course you can.” Ned’s mother patted Ellie’s shoulder. “You know I’ve always thought of you as a daughter.”
“But ...” Ellie sniffed.
“Now don’t go crying,” she said. “We can’t have your eyes matching your dress, can we? Come, stand up and let me look at you one more time.”
Ellie got to her feet; the duchess shook her head slowly as if in wonder. “Who would have thought ...” She grinned. “I’ll wager all the men at tonight’s ball, my sons included, won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”
Ellie smiled back. If only Ned ... but it was too late for that.
“Yer grace, we’d best be getting ye ready,” Mary said then.
“Oh, dear, yes. Look at the time! Just give Ellie the gloves, Mary, and we’ll be on our way.” The duchess almost skipped to the door. “I can hardly wait to see everyone’s reaction when you come downstairs, Ellie!”
Mary handed Ellie a pair of long, white kid gloves and then followed her grace out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Ellie’s eyes went back to the mirror. She moved her right arm—and the woman in the mirror’s arm moved, too. She touched her face, the pearls at her neck—and the other woman did the same. As unbelievable as it seemed, it must be her reflection.
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