His Bluestocking Bride_A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  “Yes.”

  Marcus looked up at his wife with a new perspective, taking in her earnest expression and the way her eyes shone. It was not so much emotion that made her glow the way she did as it was the intelligence she held, lighting her from within. He knew she enjoyed reading, and she admitted that she did not limit her literary choices to artistic works. Ellen’s mind was more than practical, it was sharp and an instrument she employed regularly.

  Closing the book, Marcus held it with one arm to his chest and bowed in his most courtly manner. “Mrs. Calvert, I owe you an apology.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Whatever for?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

  “I did not at all appreciate your affinity for gathering knowledge from your reading until this moment. It is more than reading for entertainment. You read for your education. Enlightenment.”

  Her cheeks colored. Though Marcus hadn’t meant to unsettle her, he could see the protests rising to her tongue before she spoke them. “I pass the time pleasantly with books. That’s all.”

  “Ellen.” He spoke her name with sincerity, but when she did not look up he reached out, tentatively, and touched her chin. He carefully guided it up until their eyes met again. The touch was necessary. He had to make certain she understood him.

  “Do not belittle this. Reading means something to you. This book will be helpful, I am certain, but your advice and abilities will be much more necessary to me. Will you study the subject with me? I will send to London at once for a subscription to the Royal Society’s journal and ask specifically for older issues with articles by Knight, if you think they will be useful.”

  A myriad of emotions shone from her eyes, many he could not name, but he saw hope chase disbelief away. When she released a long-held breath he felt the warmth of it on his hand. He smiled and very nearly raised his thumb to stroke her cheek, thinking to reassure her, but remembered himself in time to drop his hand safely to his side.

  “Thank you,” she said, her words softly whispered. “I will help in whatever way you wish.”

  Her modest acceptance of his request touched his heart. Had anyone attempted to understand his wife’s love of reading before? It went beyond books and straight to her heart, of that he was certain, and he knew learning this had given him a greater insight to her than he had ever hoped to possess before.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ellen sat at the lady’s desk she’d moved to the drawing room, Mrs. Burk seated next to her, going over a list of seasonal duties.

  I wish we were not leaving for London, Ellen thought, shuffling the pages of her notes. There is so much to do here. And she would much rather be occupied in her own home than be a guest of Lord Calvert, Earl of Annesbury, in London. There would be naught for her to do there except attend the events her mother-in-law scheduled for her.

  “What would you like done with the apple butter from last harvest, ma’am?” Mrs. Burk asked, flipping a page in her notebook. “It was not a very sweet harvest. The farmers informed us it rained too much last year and that deprived us of the richer tastes we are accustomed to.”

  Had Marcus heard that theory? Did it agree with Sir Thomas’s articles? She would need to check. The memory of Marcus’s compliments, the approval in his words and expression as he told her he understood, had taken up residence in her heart and mind. Though he may never love her, Ellen treasured the recognition and appreciation given her.

  To be understood was almost, she told herself, as wonderful as being loved.

  To rid herself of that distracting thought, she answered hastily. “Is it possible to use the apple butter in any of cook’s recipes?”

  “I will ask, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Ellen made a note of that and was ready to end the meeting when a knock came at the door. “Enter,” she called.

  Matthews came in with a silver tray, holding the afternoon post.

  “I will leave you to your correspondence, Mrs. Calvert,” her housekeeper said after Ellen accepted two envelopes from the tray.

  Ellen nodded her thanks, seeing the topmost letter bore Marianne’s hand. The second piece of mail gave her pause. It was addressed formally. She broke the seal and unfolded the paper to reveal an invitation to a dinner party.

  “Oh dear,” she whispered to herself, reading over it carefully. It seemed the neighborhood had become aware of their presence at last.

  She came to her feet and went in search of her husband, the invitation in hand.

  But when she went out the door to begin her search, she nearly ran into him in the hall. She reached out, her hand brushing his arm to stop her forward momentum. “Marcus, pardon me.”

  He brought both his hands up to hold her forearms, steadying them both after the near collision. His deep chuckle made her heart’s tempo increase.

  “My fault, I thought I heard a step and didn’t slow my own.” He looked down at her, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement, and she tried not to admire the fading freckles across his cheeks. As much as they charmed her, she ought to avoid looking at them altogether.

  “The weather is beautiful today. The sun has melted some of the snow and there aren’t any clouds. Would you like to tour our property, Mrs. Calvert?”

  Was that the cause of his eagerness? She knew he had seen the land in the weeks before their wedding, but the weather had turned the night of their arrival, which meant Marcus had been unable to show her the grounds yet.

  “Yes, if you think it’s a good day for it,” she agreed, captured by his smile and the enthusiasm radiating from him. “I need to change.”

  “Excellent. We can meet downstairs in twenty minutes?”

  “Yes, perfect.”

  His hands on her forearms gave a gentle squeeze, almost affectionate when coupled with his teasing grin. “Dress warmly.” He released her and left, going to his own room to change.

  Ellen belatedly remembered the invitation in her hand and sighed.

  I really am too easily distracted. The problem was a thousand times more pronounced when Marcus was nearby.

  It was the work of a quarter of an hour to summon her maid and dress. Ellen wore her riding habit of deep green, as well as a long red coat that would do well to keep her warm on horseback. Once her hat was pinned in place, she descended the stairs in search of her husband. He was waiting by the front door, hands clasped behind his back and rocking forward and back on his heels. He looked up as she set foot on the ground floor and his boyish grin appeared.

  “You look ready to brave the cold.”

  “Indeed. And you look eager for it.” She checked her gloves again and followed him out the front door. The horses waited, held by the young groom. A mounting block had been brought to the front of the house.

  “Thank you, Banner,” Marcus said. He shot a smile in her direction. “I thought the less trudging you had to do on foot, the better.”

  “I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” she said, allowing the groom to hand her up into the saddle of a charming bay mare. “But I never trudge.” What had made her say such a silly thing? Ellen blushed and opened her mouth, ready to explain away her frivolous words, but Marcus laughed before she could.

  “No, of course you’re right. You move with more grace than any woman I’ve ever met.” As he moved his horse past her, he winked, then continued on as though nothing of consequence had been said. Which convinced her he meant it every bit as much as his considerate words from the day before.

  They rode in silence around the house to the open field, covered in snow, that separated them from the apple orchards. She could see the bare branches from the upstairs windows, reaching up to the sky, unashamed to have lost their leaves.

  As they crossed the field, their horses’ breath puffing out in clouds of steam, Ellen took in the quiet landscape. Here and there she saw evidence of animals, where tracks of rabbits and birds dotted the ground, and she could hear a winter bird singing in the distance.

  “It’s beautiful, i
sn’t it?” Marcus said, bringing her attention forward to where she saw him looking back at her. “Clean and bright. Not like London snow.”

  “Or Bath’s,” she said.

  He pulled back on his reins and waited until their horses were even to continue forward.

  “Did you like your seasons in Bath?” he asked, his eyes fixed ahead.

  “When I had them, yes.” Her eyes lingered on his profile. The angular line of his jaw would’ve looked stubborn on a more serious face, but on Marcus it added to his air of mischief. “I imagine there is more to do in London.”

  “Much more,” he answered. “Though I would rather stay here and work, I hope we will enjoy our time there.”

  That he wanted to stay at Orchard Hill too gave her a measure of ease.

  “I am certain we will.” She looked down at her hands, shifting them on the reins. “We’ve had a dinner party invitation. A Mr. and Mrs. Harrison have requested our presence at their home tomorrow evening. I think the invitation was meant to arrive sooner, but the weather has been difficult.”

  Marcus nodded, his eyes on the horizon. “I met them before the wedding. I’m afraid I don’t remember them very well from the years before my father’s death. The rest of the neighborhood likely knew of the party for some time.” He met her eyes. “Do you wish to attend?”

  “I think we had better, given we have so short a time to make a good impression before leaving for London,” she answered as evenly as she could. “Though meeting an entire party of strangers does not necessarily agree with me.”

  He chuckled. “I will be there to protect you, I promise.”

  Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Calvert.” She turned her eyes to the orchard and pointed. “Are all the apple trees the same?”

  He launched into his understanding of how the trees were laid out and Ellen listened intently, trying to ignore the way his gestures and smiles played havoc with her heart. Loving him should have made their marriage easier, giving her leave to enjoy whatever relationship they had together. But instead, Ellen tried to ignore her feelings. Marcus had made it plain, from the beginning, he would never allow himself to love again.

  But surely, her rebellious heart whispered to her head, if he knew I loved him there could be no risk of his injury. I am not like Selene.

  Unbidden, the words he’d spoken to her in Collin’s library returned to her mind. I have no intention of entering into a romantic relationship again. I have risked my heart and lost it once. I will not promise you more in marriage than a fair partnership…

  “—So, if we attempt to breed these trees, we may find we have a sturdier variety without compromising the taste.”

  Ellen’s attention came back to the present and she put on a mask of interest when Marcus looked to her, his hand gesturing to the trees around them. She had barely noticed they now rode beneath the snow-laden branches.

  “That sounds ambitious,” she said without pause. “But how many years would it be before you knew if you succeeded?”

  “Several, I’m afraid. There is nothing quick about experimenting with fruit trees.” His playful grin returned and he pointed further into the orchard. “The youngest trees producing fruit are this way. I’m told they’re tart but are perfect for apple pies.”

  “Do you enjoy apple pie, Marcus?” she asked, her heart resisting as she attempted a more playful tone. Teasing him, accepting his banter, was not protecting her heart from damage.

  “Very much. Especially Orchard Hill pies. I can remember requesting them every autumn.” He launched into a story about stealing one from a cooling tray and eating himself sick, hiding beneath the hedgerow.

  Ellen listened and laughed in the right places, but the shine had gone from the day. As soon as Marcus suggested returning to the house to warm up, she accepted the escape and barely spoke on the return trip.

  She must learn how to love him without needing to be loved in return.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ellen leaned forward in the carriage, peering out the window in search of the Harrisons’ home. This would be her first event in the neighborhood and the first time she entered society as a wife. No longer would she sit to one side, allowing the evening to flow around her, wishing she were part of it. As a married woman, her place would be different, her role more important, the restraints less cumbersome.

  Why then did her stomach roll and twist when she wanted to feel nothing more than happy anticipation?

  Her husband chuckled and she turned to see him watching her, leaned up against the other side of the coach. Though it was dark, the lanterns on the outside of their equipage gave barely enough light for them to see each other.

  He looked handsome in his dark blue coat and buff breeches. His cravat was elegantly tied, his silver stickpin in place, and a vest of deep blue peeked out above his coat buttons.

  “Excited?” he asked her, a teasing smile on his face.

  “Very.” That was the correct answer, anyway. “I have had no visitors and I cannot contain my impatience in meeting the rest of the neighborhood. It will be good to have friends nearby.”

  A grin appeared on his face. “I am not enough company for you, am I?”

  She tipped her chin up smugly and shook her head. “Of course not. Women require women. It is a fact. And as you have taken me far from my sisters, I am forced to find others to come drink our tea, eat our cakes, embroider cushions, and do all manner of feminine things with me.”

  He sat up straighter and fixed her with a mock-serious expression. “What about discussing books? You cannot take that from me. I enjoy our discussions.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at this admission. She enjoyed those moments, too, sitting before a fire in their library, book in hand. He always asked her opinion on what she read and of late they had taken turns reading aloud from a novel by Charles Maturin, an Irishman. They laughed and discussed some of the passages with real interest, as Mr. Maturin made a study of society through his fiction.

  “If books are ever brought up in my company, I will pretend illiteracy,” she promised him as seriously as she could. She earned a laugh for her teasing. The carriage slowed and stopped, causing her to turn back to the window. “Oh, you distracted me so I didn’t get to see the prospect of the house.”

  He moved to whisper into her ear, causing a shiver of delight to run down her spine. “It was my wicked plan all along. I have deprived you of your window-peering.”

  A footman opened the door and Marcus stepped out before offering his hand to assist her. Once her slippered foot touched the gravel, he tucked her hand through his arm. “Step carefully. There is ice enough in hidden places.”

  Once inside, he removed her wrap and handed it to a waiting servant. They were shown to a conservatory, where other guests mingled. It was not an overly large party, but they did not immediately see the hosts. Marcus took it upon himself to begin making introductions.

  “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Yardly, allow me to present my wife to you. Mrs. Calvert, Mr. and Mrs. Yardly reside on the west side of our village, with their children.”

  The older couple bowed and nodded. Ellen offered them a friendly smile. She noticed that while Mr. Yardly seemed all politeness, his wife’s expression was less than welcoming.

  “Is your charming daughter present tonight?” Marcus asked, his tone cheerful. “I should like to introduce Miss Yardly to my wife. They are near in age.”

  “Are they?” Mrs. Yardly asked, raising two gray eyebrows. “Dear me. I had not realized. I thought you were closer in age to your husband, Mrs. Calvert.” Now her smile appeared, all coldness.

  Ellen, surprised by the slight, recovered quickly. “Not quite, though I was in danger of spinsterhood when Mr. Calvert showed such generosity in saving me from that fate. Is your daughter very young?”

  Marcus did not seem engaged in the conversation, peering around the room. Perhaps he had missed the veiled insult all together.

  Mr. Yardly, after
looking askance at his wife, answered her question. “She is about twenty-four.”

  “Then younger, but not by a great deal. I look forward to meeting her, since my husband finds her to be charming.” She dipped a slight curtsy and gently pulled Marcus to the side. “We must first meet the hosts, I think.”

  “Quite right,” Mr. Yardly answered.

  “Ah, I see them.” Marcus led her across the room. “Or Mrs. Harrison, anyway.” He brought her straight to a woman dressed in green, with golden hair piled atop her head and a peacock fan in her hand. She looked a few years older than Ellen, which gave her reason to hope this woman would be friendlier than the last.

  Marcus made the introductions to the hostess, who smiled politely. “We were all aflutter when we learned of your marriage, Mr. Calvert.” She closed her fan and gave him a playful tap on the arm, her bright blue eyes alight with humor. “We have been waiting so long for you to take possession of Orchard Hill, but we hardly expected a wife to come with you. I think you have disappointed a great many of our young ladies.”

  Ellen’s surprise at being so cut from the comments must have shown, for the lady of the house turned toward her. “I mean no offense, of course. I am sure you are lovely. But we have several young ladies who had anticipated Mr. Calvert’s company. He is quite the favorite among them, you know.”

  “They will find new favorites soon enough,” Marcus said, his usual amiable smile in place.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Harrison murmured, then glanced to one side. “Ah, here is Miss Emma Patterson. You must meet her, Mrs. Calvert.” She beckoned to a doe-eyed young woman with raven black hair. “Miss Emma is a delightful musician. Maybe she will favor us with a piece later this evening.”

  “If the company wishes it,” the young woman answered, then turned her attention to Ellen. “Do you play, Mrs. Calvert?”

  “A little,” she answered, her stomach tightening uneasily. She wouldn’t be expected to play before so many strangers, surely. The program for the evening was likely set. “Mostly for my own amusement. Who is your favorite composer?”