His Bluestocking Bride_A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  “Has it been so long?” he asked with feigned surprise. “Indeed, but you ladies look as fresh and lovely as you did on that evening.”

  Ellen raised her eyes and did her best not to react to his obvious flattery. Did every young woman succumb to his words?

  Miss Verity giggled prettily behind her slice of cold ham. “When we learned you were in the neighborhood, Mr. Calvert, we knew we simply had to renew the acquaintance.”

  Miss Wright blushed but before she could say a word Marcus turned his warm smile to her. “I must admit, I thought of you both when I accepted Falkham’s invitation. This near the season, one is never sure who is in town and who lingers in the country.”

  Ellen caught the slight twinkle in his eye and had to cover her mouth with a napkin to avoid letting out a chuckle. Though the younger women were pleased by his words, Ellen did not think Marcus meant them in a complimentary way.

  “Oh, we’re always here until Christmas,” Miss Verity said, tossing her curls. “We leave after Boxing Day, no matter when Parliament opens.”

  Talk of London continued between the Miss Wrights and Marcus with Marianne occasionally chiming in. Ellen remained quiet, watching the interaction with interest. Marcus complimented the young ladies in nearly every word he said to them and offered them each his most charming smile when they spoke. The unmarried ladies, for their part, blushed prettily and fluttered their eyelashes at him.

  Ellen believed what people said of his ability to flirt. An odd sensation in her stomach discomforted her, and she found herself holding her utensils too tightly. Although she discouraged Marcus’s flirting with her, it occurred to Ellen that he could well continue the practice where other ladies were concerned.

  Perhaps Marianne realized the same thing, as she looked from Ellen to Marcus with greater frequency before trying to draw Ellen into the conversation. “Miss Bringhurst, I believe you have a sister residing near London.”

  Miss Wright took the bait before Ellen could say a word. “Oh, yes! Dear Miss Dorothea—whom we must now speak of as Mrs. Dalton. What a lovely name. Dorothea Dalton. We came out around the same time, of course, but I believe all the Bringhurst sisters have had their seasons in Bath?” Her single arched eyebrow communicated a vast deal of meaning in that question.

  “Indeed, we have,” Ellen agreed with a pleasant smile. “Though it may not be as fashionable as London, nor as large, we have always enjoyed our time there. All three of my sisters married relatively quickly, two settling near my family’s home, so my mother has always been pleased with the town.” To allude strongly to the marriage market in mixed company might be generally frowned upon, but Ellen did not enjoy being slighted for her family’s lack of clout.

  Marcus spoke next, his expression as polite and charming as it had been throughout the discussion. “The Bringhursts ought to be pleased. Their daughters are accomplished and lovely. It is no great surprise to me that they did as well in Bath as anywhere. It is likely they could have stolen the hearts of many a London gentleman had they gone there.”

  Meeting his gaze, Ellen wondered if his compliment extended towards her and could not decide one way or the other. “That is very kind of you to say, Mr. Calvert.”

  He appeared amused with her unaffected response. “It is the truth, Miss Bringhurst.”

  Marcus held her with his eyes longer than necessary, causing her heart to flutter. He spoke with more sincerity than she’d heard from him since the Wrights’ arrival. But she tucked that thought away swiftly.

  “All this talk of London,” Collin interjected suddenly, “does not sit well with me. We are to travel there soon enough, and then it will be all business and too many social engagements.” He shuddered. “If I could remain here in the country forever, I would. I find it much more pleasant.”

  Miss Wright hid a giggle behind her hand. “That is because you are married, dear Lord Falkham. We young, unmarried people must look forward to the spectacle and enjoyment. London is exciting and presents many opportunities to renew acquaintances, attend glorious balls, and possibly—” she glanced towards Marcus, “—partake in romance.”

  “I completely agree with you, sister.” Miss Verity turned her attention to Marcus as well. “Do you look forward to your time in London, Mr. Calvert? Your family hosts the most wonderful balls and concerts.”

  Marcus’s smile remained, but the light in his eyes dimmed. Ellen saw the change immediately. Could the mention of his family be an irritant because of his mother’s stipulations? Or was something else causing him to lose his cheer?

  “My mother enjoys entertaining a great deal, though possibly she does too much on occasion.” They were the first words he uttered without adding a compliment on the end of them. Ellen glanced about but saw that no one else noticed the change in his demeanor.

  Miss Verity sighed and fluttered her long, dark eyelashes in Marcus’s direction. “I am certain she longs for the day when a daughter-in-law might take over the role of hostess.”

  Ellen saw the knuckles of his right hand go white as Marcus’s hold on his fork tightened, though that perfectly amicable smile remained. “You are likely right. Of course, we all hope my brother finds it in his heart to take another bride, though we yet mourn Lady Abigail in our hearts.” His tone had dropped several degrees in warmth.

  The two young ladies looked confused and the conversations faltered for a moment.

  Ellen took it upon herself to bring levity back to the table. “Miss Verity, tell me more of that novel you mentioned. It sounds very entertaining and I would enjoy hearing about it in detail.”

  The young woman smiled gratefully and launched into an animated description of the novel, the horrid villains, true love, and Ireland as a less than ideal setting for such a romantic tale. Only when she had warmed considerably to her topic did Ellen chance a glance at Marcus again.

  His attention appeared to be focused on the vibrant Miss Verity. But she could see his jaw working in a manner which suggested that he mulled quite a different subject in his mind. He caught her looking and his lips twitched. Marcus winked at her.

  Ellen looked away, determined not to be flirted with.

  The meal ended with Marianne proclaiming her fatigue and wish for a nap, the Wrights took their leave with an invitation for Marcus to visit soon. They added Ellen to the invitation belatedly, as she was a guest in the neighborhood as well. Ellen thanked them and excused herself while claiming fatigue as Marianne had.

  Being in a room with either of the Wrights much longer would test her patience past politeness.

  Chapter Seven

  Ellen did not go to her room, though Marianne certainly disappeared and her husband with her, but she went to the library. When Collin’s father had been alive, he made it a point to tell Ellen she could treat the books as her very own when she visited. She adored her uncle for that and spent many hours of her childhood curled up in a chair beside a window, learning of distant lands and reading of things no one would ever speak to a child about.

  She walked along one row of shelves, her finger sliding beneath the titles of books she knew as old friends, and paused when she came to a translation of an old Italian anatomy book. Her lips twitched as she recalled blushing through that one, turning pages and learning more about the human muscular structure than any lady ought to know.

  When she went home that summer, she worked up the nerve to ask her father to take her to one of the surgical theaters in London. Anyone could observe surgeries, autopsies, and the like, whether they intended to become a doctor or not. While her father pretended to consider it, her mother flew into a tirade on proper behavior and threatened to end Ellen’s ability to visit the Falkham family if that was the sort of thing encouraged in their home.

  “That is a faraway sort of smile,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

  “Marcus,” she greeted him, her voice quieter than necessary, still wrapped warmly in her childhood memories. She didn’t turn around immediately, trying to compo
se herself. Keeping her feelings in order would be difficult if he kept surprising her with his presence.

  “I was thinking of Uncle Falkham. Missing him.” Ellen turned towards him and clasped her hands before her. “Have you not disappeared to take an afternoon nap?”

  “If I did nap, I would then be up half the night. Napping is a terrible practice for anyone not of a delicate constitution.” Marcus fully entered the room, leaving the door open behind him, and came to stand near her. Looking at the bookshelves behind her, he appeared amused. “Ah, the medical section. Will you be concocting healing salves for the lot of us?”

  “I’m not terribly knowledgeable about such things. Why?” She attempted to smile, though his sudden nearness made her feel a trifle unsteady. “Have you need of a remedy?”

  Marcus appeared thoughtful for a moment and shook his head. “I suppose not. But you never know when one might be useful.”

  Ellen studied him openly, unabashedly, noting the slight curl of his hair. He kept it trimmed shorter than fashion dictated and she suspected it was because of that curl. His hair had been redder in their childhood, but now it was darker, more coppery, like a shiny new ha’penny. His eyes were brown, but a lighter shade than her own. And while he teased her about freckles, she could spot several on his Roman nose and high cheekbones. But they served to make his smiles more charming, lending a bit of boyish mischief to his handsome features.

  She did not know how she could avoid falling more deeply in love with him. Would a match between them mean disaster for her? Loving someone who may never love her in return? She could not be sure. But being the wife of a kind, handsome, intelligent man such as Marcus would be a better life for her than any other option she imagined.

  “You stare at me in such an intense manner,” he said, his tone soft. Marcus tilted his head to the side and studied her back. “Dare I ask what you make of me?”

  She shook her head. “I have known you since my childhood, Marcus Calvert. I think I may know you better than you realize. I have been puzzling over our luncheon conversation with the Misses Wright. I think I know what upset you.”

  He looked away, his smile fading. “I wasn’t upset.”

  “But you were.” Ellen did not move, though her hand nearly lifted to touch his arm, to draw him back to her. She quelled that urge swiftly. “I think you did not wish to talk of your brother to young ladies whose minds are on marriage. What I cannot decide is if it is out of some duty to protect him or a measure of envy.”

  As she spoke he grew tense, and after she waited in silence for a response he sighed and looked back at her. “Maybe it is a measure of both.”

  Ellen gestured to the wide sofa before the fireplace. “Would you care to sit down, Marcus?”

  “If you will join me.” He waited for her to take a seat before sitting on the opposite end of the furniture, a plush sofa with enough space for two people to sit comfortably.

  He spoke in the same serious tone he’d used in the garden the day before.

  “While my brother may be without a wife at present, I believe he will remarry one day and carry on the family line. He will see it as his duty.” Marcus folded his arms across his chest, his eyes on the ground before them. “I would not wish to be in his position. Sometimes, people assume as the second born I would prefer to have all that he has. But my brother and I are friends. I want him to be happy and I know he does a credit to his position.”

  “You do not envy him,” she murmured, eyes watching his profile as his brows drew together and a frown appeared where there was normally a smile.

  “As I have asked you to share my life and join my family, it is best I explain a few things about myself to you in order to inform your choice.” Marcus tilted his head to the side enough to look at her, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “You need say nothing. I will not press you.” Ellen folded her hands in her lap and studied the carpet.

  “There will be no secrets between us, should we marry,” he said, his voice firm. “I have seen marriages torn asunder under the secrets people keep.” He gave her one of his most charming smiles, though it appeared tired.

  Ellen’s heart rose into her throat.

  “I have always been second to my brother in birth, society, and romance. I learned long ago to be a likable person if I wanted people to pay attention to me. The truth is that people prefer the heir. They want an earl on their guest list and an earl paying court to their daughters. I have had young women introduced to me since the first time I stepped into a ballroom, usually with the sole purpose of gaining access to my brother.”

  “That must be a difficult way to live. Not knowing who cares for you and who cares for your connections. But is that not all society is? Connections?”

  “Indeed.” His smile returned briefly and he gently squeezed her hand, causing a strange tingling sensation to rush up her arm and into her chest. “It is a game that influences the lives of everyone from the Regent down to the street urchins of London. Who we know, the people we can claim as friends, changes the way we are treated and perceived by others.”

  It took a great deal of effort to remain breathing calmly, to appear as though sitting near him, speaking in such an intimate manner, did not make her mind spin and the bottom drop from her stomach. Especially knowing, as she already did, how the conversation would end.

  “After my brother married Abigail, I noticed a decline in my invitations. Certain young women no longer smiled at me across crowded rooms. I did not entirely care, but I paid attention to who still counted me a friend.”

  “That would be a difficult thing to experience,” she said, watching his expression as he nodded.

  “Then Lucas lost Abigail, and the whole family went into mourning. Lucas never looked so broken as he did in the weeks and months after her death. In many ways, he’s still broken. I’m protective of him. After a year passed, my invitations increased once more. Mothers smiled again. Young ladies flapped their fans and batted their eyelashes at me. I thought I saw through each and every one of them. I knew their plans. Their hopes.”

  “Then why encourage them?” she asked, remembering his flirtatious manner at the table that very day. “Why compliment and converse with such familiarity?”

  He turned to study her again, his eyes more amused. “Because everyone in society performs and my role is to please others by saying what they most want to hear.” He shrugged and sat straighter, at the same time moving closer to her. “I never lie. I flatter. I am amiable and courteous. Besides, I have noted that saying a kind thing to a young woman, especially one used to propping up the walls of a ballroom, can never go amiss. Every lady deserves to feel lovely at a ball.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, uncomfortable with his explanation but unable to articulate why, she let it go. “You said you thought you saw through those people.”

  “Your attention to detail does you credit. Yes.” He cleared his throat and glanced away again.

  She could not allow him to guess at her emotions, not when his own were so far from being deciphered. This man wore a mask and acted a part to please people around him.

  He didn’t need to worry. Ellen already knew she would accept his offer.

  “I mistook the motives of one woman. Lady Selene Garrington. She is the daughter of another earl. A woman I knew of but never had spoken to. She went to finishing school on the continent and traveled widely after that. The first time I met her, she didn’t seem to know my family name. She is a beautiful, sophisticated woman and I became ensnared quickly.” He abruptly came to his feet and began to pace before the couch. “I fell in love with her.”

  Ellen swallowed away the lump which formed in her throat and tightly folded her hands up again, determined to keep hold over her feelings. “I heard rumors, gossip really, about you forming a serious attachment.”

  He went to the window and stood, arms folded before him, staring out at the blue sky. “I allowed her into my family’s circle. Aft
er a season of courtship, I went to her home with the express intention of requesting her hand in marriage.”

  Though it was hard to hear, Ellen focused on Marcus’s expression, on each word he spoke, deciphering as much meaning as she could from all he said. She could read pain in his expression and regret in his tone. Did he still love Lady Selene?

  “I learned on that day that my sweetheart never entertained any idea of marriage to me. She laughed when I proposed.” Marcus’s voice grew taut with grief.

  How could his offer of love be laughed at? Her heart ached for him.

  He turned away from her again, not seeing her reaction and hiding his expression from her. From the hard lines of his posture, Ellen could imagine the discomfort he felt at revealing these details of his life.

  She wanted to stop him, to avoid hearing how a woman so unworthy had won his heart, but he continued before Ellen could say a word.

  “Lady Selene informed me that I was unworthy. She spent time with me because I amused her, and there was always the chance my brother might take notice and want her for himself.” He took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

  “This is why ladies like the Wrights upset me with casual mentions of my brother. I know they see me as a way to get to him. To women of substance and breeding, I will never be the first choice for a husband.”

  But he could ask someone as insignificant as Ellen for her hand and have at least a hope that she would accept.

  While that thought smarted, Ellen couldn’t deny it made sense. She neither had ambitions for the things society valued or any other prospects for marriage.

  If a woman of real substance and breeding didn’t wish to marry him, then she must be neither of those things. For she wished to marry him, despite knowing all she did about his thoughts on the subject.

  Ellen studied her hands in her lap, uncertain of what to say. She could not tell him how she felt. His next words solidified her resolve in that matter.