His Bluestocking Bride_A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  “And you seek such quiet places out?” she asked, her voice growing soft. Ellen liked picturing him on his own, in solitary rambles throughout the city. “We may have more in common than I thought.”

  Marcus looked down at her and she detected surprise in his expression. But the hour grew late and her eyes heavy. She closed them and rested her head on his shoulder, resisting the voice in her head that said she ought to go to bed. She did not want their conversation to end, knowing how busy the days to come would be, and realizing that when they shared their time with others he would not be this attentive.

  She had fallen asleep against his shoulder once, in the carriage, and he had not seemed to mind. Surely he wouldn’t mind her leaning upon him this once. She would rest her eyes for a moment.

  When he spoke, he matched her tone. “I believe we do have a great deal in common. I suppose that is why we have always been comfortable around each other.”

  Ellen wished he were not quite so comfortable. She wished, most ardently, that he found her interesting and invigorating. Comfortable was not the word she would use to describe her feelings for him, after all.

  He shifted, bringing her closer to him in a cozier manner, and she felt his cheek press down into her hair. Ellen hoped her hair pins were out of the way.

  She sighed and murmured, “You must show me all those places, Marcus. I want to see them.”

  His voice when he spoke remained soft, less amused and sincerer. “If you wish it.” Ellen imagined he dropped a kiss on her forehead and she could not help but smile and sigh. “Dear Ellen.” She heard no more, as she slipped at last to sleep.

  ¤

  A warm, soft body snuggled against his chest, smelling of apple blossoms and summertime. Marcus smiled and adjusted his arms, settling more closely to the delightful apparition in his arms. She sighed and shifted.

  His eyes blinked open.

  He saw rows and rows of books. Marcus looked down, at the top of a coronet of black braids and curls. His breath caught and his heart thudded to a painful stop before resuming a faster rhythm.

  Ellen lay asleep in his embrace. He was fully reclined on the library sofa and his wife rested half atop him, her hands tucked up beneath her and the skirt of her gown covering both their legs. The room was bathed in the blue-gray light of dawn, slipping through the curtains enough for him to see the curve of his wife’s cheek.

  Marcus closed his eyes, his mind searching for an explanation of the situation, and how he might wake Ellen without causing embarrassment on her part. But then she made the slightest sound in her sleep, a quiet hum, that made a tremor run through his body and convinced him not to move. He wanted to enjoy holding his wife, providing her warmth and comfort. At least for a few minutes longer.

  One of his arms rested about her shoulders, the other around her waist. Her slow, even breathing soothed him and he found his breaths were in unison with hers.

  Marcus hadn’t realized how much he ached to hold her until that moment, when having her nestled against his heart filled all the empty places in his soul. Whatever he had thought of love before, however he had imagined it in the past, was nothing compared to the peaceful joy suffusing him in the quiet of the library.

  It could not last.

  Servants would be awake soon, if they were not already, going through the house to prepare it for another day. Ellen wouldn’t want to be awoken by a servant’s entry to the room. It fell to him to break the spell, though he would’ve remained entrapped by it all the day long if he had the choice.

  “Ellen,” he whispered, the hand at her waist coming up to stroke her cheek. “Ellen, darling. It’s morning.”

  She made a noise halfway between a moan and a protest, then snuggled closer to his chest. He couldn’t help but chuckle, and at the sound her body stiffened.

  Ah, now she’s awake.

  Marcus held his breath and waited, wondering what her reaction to their situation would be. Did Ellen long for more between them, as he did? Would it please her to find him near upon waking?

  Ellen’s hand moved from between them up to his shoulder, then she spread her other palm flat against his chest, carefully pushing herself upright. Their eyes met, hers wide and disbelieving, and Marcus tried to remain relaxed. The cold air rushed to fill the space between them.

  “Good morning,” he said in a near-whisper. “How did you sleep?”

  Her cheeks blazed red, but her body remained hovering there, semi-reclined. “Well. I think.” She took in a deep breath and lowered her eyes to his chest. “I can’t move.” For a moment, his heart warmed towards this admission, but her eyes darted up to his again and he saw in them a measure of distress. “I think you’re on my skirts.”

  “Oh.” He ignored his disappointment and instead swung his legs down from the sofa, careful not to snag his shoes on the hem of her gown. He sat up, his arm around her shoulders to help steady her as she did the same. Ellen sat stiffly beneath his arm, holding herself away from him. Marcus’s heart plummeted somewhere below his stomach and he released her, running his hand through his hair.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I cannot think how this happened.”

  “Quite all right.” Marcus looked to the slit between the curtains, noting the blue-gray was starting to grow more yellow. Morning was upon them. But no one would expect either of them to be up so early, after the late night. “If we go quietly, we can likely return to our chambers without anyone being the wiser.”

  Her fair skin brightened again with a blush and her eyes met his, worry straining her features. “Do you think anyone noticed?”

  Marcus stared at her, trying to decide why it would distress her so. Was it maidenly modesty? Or was she upset at anyone perceiving their connection being more than friendly? He could not be sure, but he knew what he hoped.

  “If anyone happened upon us last night, I doubt they would think a thing of it. We were both tired and it isn’t as if we need a chaperone.”

  Her eyebrows drew together and she nodded. “That’s true. I suppose we might be excused. I would hate to be the subject of gossip, though.”

  Deciding he would accept that as his answer, Marcus sighed and pushed himself up from the sofa. He held his hand out to assist Ellen to her feet as well. “The Annesbury servants are loyal. I doubt anyone outside of this house would ever hear of it.”

  She stood and tucked her arm through his. “That’s good, I suppose.” Her uncertainty with the situation did not give him any ease of thought.

  “If we hurry, no one but our personal servants will ever know we didn’t sleep in our own beds last night.” He had to force his smile and he wondered when it had become so hard to pretend a lighter mood than he felt. After years of negotiating the ton, wearing a mask of solicitude and amiability, he could now hardly summon the energy to convince his wife the whole situation was something to be laughed about.

  Marcus didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to curl back up on the sofa with Ellen, holding her in his arms, and find the peace he’d felt upon waking to find her there.

  Instead, he led Ellen from the room and through the halls. Her evening slippers made no noise on the marble floor or grand staircase, and he treaded lightly enough that his own steps were nearly silent. They saw no one as they went down the halls to the family quarters, where he stopped before her bedroom door.

  “No one will expect you up for hours yet,” he told her, looking down through the hall’s shadows into her beautiful eyes. It was harder to see her here than it had been in the library, so he may have imagined her blush. “You can take a nap if you wish.”

  She nodded and tipped her head to one side, regarding him with curiosity. “What of you? Will you go back to sleep?”

  Marcus traced the delicate lines of her jaw with his eyes, then took in the dark ringlets framing her face and the locks of hair that had escaped her elaborate coiffure in the night. Her loveliness, her soft features, drew him to stand closer. He longed to kiss
her but fought not to stare at the curve of her soft pink lips. Instead, Marcus took her hands up in both of his.

  Ellen’s breath caught and he wondered if his nearness alarmed or excited her. Would he ever have the courage to find out? If she could not love him, her rejection would wound him more deeply than a woman like Selene ever could.

  “I doubt I will be able to sleep, even if I tried, with the same peace and comfort I enjoyed before waking this morning.” Let her make of that what she would. The admission drained most of his energy and Marcus could not bear to lay any more of his heart open to her yet. He did not meet her eyes as he dropped a kiss upon her forehead, then he turned and walked the several paces to his door.

  The sound of her door opening and closing again with a soft click was all he heard, then he ducked into his bedroom and closed the door, leaning against it heavily.

  Despite his weariness of spirit, Marcus knew he would not sleep. His eyes darted to the door connecting his bedchamber to his wife’s and he shook his head. He went to the wardrobe and dug through it until he found his riding clothes. Without calling his valet, something he knew he would have to explain to Cray later, Marcus undressed and dressed himself with haste.

  A bruising ride through the park was exactly what he needed to face the world at large and, as his wife had once told him, to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Accompanying his wife through the town lifted Marcus’s spirits considerably. Ellen’s curiosity of nearly everything to do with London had him remembering lessons in history, deportment, and geography. Though Ellen expressed her desire to take everything in as quickly as possible, their tour was confined to the shops on his mother’s orders. Ellen was to find a suitable ballgown for that very evening and commission another one with haste.

  “She cannot appear in ballgowns from last season. From Bath’s last season,” his mother had proclaimed in horror upon seeing Ellen’s wardrobe.

  Marcus visited several seamstresses with his wife, until they found a woman whose French accent was better than the others’ and who took one look at Ellen and announced she already had the perfect dress.

  “It will take a little altering. Another client commissioned it, of course, but now finds she cannot be seen in blue. Imagine, giving up a dress so exquisite on a whim.” The seamstress sniffed disdainfully and raised her shoulders in a way that nearly convinced Marcus she had come from France.

  “Come with me, Mrs. Calvert.” She took Ellen by the hand and led her into a back room for a fitting, and when Ellen looked back at him with a helpless smile he shrugged and waved.

  Marcus sauntered around the front of the shop, looking at some of the fashion plates left on tables to tempt customers, but then his eyes strayed up to the window and he looked out on the street.

  Lady Selene, now Lady Castleton, stood on the walk and stared up at him. She tipped her head to the side, a slow, feline smile changing her features from lovely to exquisite. No one in England knew how to play up their features to such perfection as she did.

  He waited to feel pain at the sight of her, for his heart to leap, or any of the old reactions to come. Instead, he relief washed over him.

  She held no power over him any longer.

  With that knowledge to fortify him, Marcus went out the door and directly to her.

  “My, my. Marcus Calvert,” she said, holding her hand out to him in greeting. He took it and bowed, in as slight a manner as he could without giving offense.

  “Lady Castleton.”

  “Oh, dear man, we are old friends. Surely you will still call me Selene?” She lowered her lashes, falsely demure.

  Marcus smirked, realizing she was trying to play the game with him. But he had already won. “That was years ago, my lady, and I feel I do not know you so well as I thought. But it’s of no consequence. We will not be seeing each other again. I wished to say goodbye.”

  She blinked up at him, confusion momentarily clouding her crystal blue eyes, but she pushed her bottom lip forward in a pout he had once found adorable. What had been wrong with him? The juvenile behavior did nothing to recommend her anymore.

  “But, Mr. Calvert. Marcus. How could you say that? We are both in London. It is the season. And I wished to invite you to the theater with me this week.”

  “That will be impossible,” he said firmly. “I intend to go to the theater next week, with my wife, but we already have a full schedule until then.” He couldn’t help grinning when she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I have missed you,” she stated, the look in her eyes bolder. “Surely you know what you meant to me. My marriage is without warmth of feeling or kindness of spirit. I merely thought you, someone who cared for me, might offer some comfort.”

  Her meaning hit him squarely between the eyes and he took a step back. “My lady, you are most mistaken in the nature of our relationship in past or the present. I must also say that there will be no future conversation between us. Good bye.” He tipped his hat to her, then turned and fled back into the dress shop.

  Ellen stood at the front of the shop when he entered, her brows furrowed in a deep frown. “Who was that?” she asked, glancing back to the window where he saw Selene’s figure marching rapidly down the street. “You made her upset.”

  Marcus shook his head. “It’s no one of consequence. Someone I used to know.” He looked around the shop, not seeing its keeper anywhere. “What of the dress? Will it suit you?”

  “I believe so. They will make a few small alterations and deliver it this afternoon,” she answered slowly, regarding him with a quizzical frown. “Are you well, Marcus?”

  “Yes. Very.” He smiled and offered his arm to her. “Would you like to go home by way of the book shops?”

  Her eyes brightened and Marcus knew he had hit upon the right topic to inspire a change of subject. He had no need to speak of or to Lady Castleton ever again. Whatever the spell she had placed him under, it had been successfully broken by the woman at his side. Ellen’s was the only smile that would ever have power over him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ellen stood next to Lady Annesbury, her eyes taking in the crowded ballroom. “This is the most people I have ever seen in a room together,” Ellen said, barely loud enough for her mother-in-law to hear.

  Lady Annesbury, who insisted Ellen call her Mother, chuckled and waved her fan in a languid manner. “Dear child, you have seen nothing yet. This ball had a very select guest list. Never you fear. In time you will be at ease in these circumstances.”

  Though Ellen appreciated her mother-in-law’s advice, she did not see it coming to fruition any time soon. They had arrived at this, her first ball in London, half an hour previous and still Ellen couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with anyone. She’d been introduced to several lords and ladies by Lady Annesbury, but she doubted she would remember their names.

  Bath society, which had once seemed more than adequate to her, she saw as a pale shadow compared to what London could offer.

  She also missed Marcus’s company. Lucas had taken him off to speak to a lord-something-or-other about the French war. Ellen would much rather have gone with them and listened in on the political conversation than attempt to make an impact on the social circle of Lady Annesbury.

  As if her morose thoughts had summoned him, Lucas appeared at her side. “If it isn’t my new sister. How goes it, Ellen?” he asked, bending to speak directly in her ear.

  Ellen narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not even attempt banter with me, brother. You took my husband away with you and have yet to return him.” She had found herself comfortable with her brother-in-law nearly at once. He had come and spent weeks at her cousin’s home in their childhood, after all, and had teased her mercilessly back then.

  “I do apologize for borrowing him for so long,” he said. His eyebrows lowering, Lucas assumed an expression of contrition. “It could not be helped. I needed a second opinion and I trust his.”


  “And did you lose him?” she asked, making a show of looking about them. “You ought not to be so careless with your brother. Especially now that you have me to answer to.”

  Lucas chuckled and then offered her half a bow. “I apologize, Mrs. Calvert. My brother was snatched out of my care by a very insistent baron who wished to have a word with him. Lord Falkham.”

  “The Falkhams are here?” Ellen asked, her eyes widening with excitement. “Why didn’t you say so straight away? Where are they?”

  “On the other side of the room.”

  “Ellen,” her mother-in-law said, “you may go and greet them, but I do have others I wish to introduce you to.” She gentled the command with a smile, but a command it remained. Ellen nodded her understanding.

  “Mother,” Lucas said, straightening to his full height. “Come now. It’s Ellen’s first London ball. It’s a time for dancing, not introductions to all our stuffy friends.” Lady Annesbury huffed, but Ellen saw a twinkle of humor in her eye.

  “Very well, very well. Go see your friends, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Ellen said, trying to keep from smiling. She dropped a curtsy before taking Lucas’s arm. But rather than lead her around the crowded dance floor, he walked directly to it.

  “Will you dance with me, Ellen?” He tilted his head to one side and offered her the barest smile. “You haven’t danced yet. I would like to be the first.”

  “Very well.” Ellen sighed as though put out. “But you cannot distract me after that.”

  He nodded, pursing his lips most seriously, and took her out on the floor to join the next set, a reel. Ellen relaxed, especially when she realized she and her brother-in-law would start the set by merely standing and staring at one another until their turn to move came.

  “How are you enjoying London?” he asked from his side of the line.

  “It’s big and loud, and terribly crowded,” she answered, lifting her eyebrows. “But besides all of that, I like it tolerably well.”

  Lucas seemed to bite the insides of his cheek at that and it took him a moment to answer. “Your head is not turned by the dazzling dresses or sparkling wealth?”