His Bluestocking Bride_A Regency Romance

by Sally Britton

  “What can I do, Ellen?” he repeated. “Please, tell me. I don’t want to see you like this, hurting.”

  She considered the question, glancing over her shoulder at the pained look in his eyes. Was he in earnest? What could she possibly say to him?

  The truth would be best, though Ellen knew she couldn’t expect to receive it in return. Not yet.

  “Someday, I would like to know what is in your heart, Marcus. I would like to understand how you truly feel, about me, about the life you live, without having to guess at your sincerity. But I know that is asking a great deal from one who protects himself as fiercely as you do.” Ellen watched his shoulders fall. “But in the meantime, perhaps you would grant your wife one small request.”

  “Anything,” he said, opening his arms in an expansive gesture, his tone eager. “Anything you ask.”

  “Don’t always be in such a hurry to cut your hair,” she said, her lips lifting in a weak smile. “I rather like it when it curls.” She turned and left, unable to stay a moment more. It was unwise to reveal too much of herself when he took pains to hide so much of his heart.

  She put her hand to her waist where her sister’s letter pressed against her and an idea which would bring relief to her exhausted spirit came into her head.

  As ill-suited to London as she was, it would be best if she took herself away from all of it. At least until she had better possession of her emotions.

  It was something to think on, at least.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marcus waited beneath the staircase for Ellen to descend. Guests would arrive soon and they were expected to stand in the entry to greet them for the first half hour of the evening. His mother already stood next to Lucas, the two of them resplendent in their formal attire.

  “You didn’t cut your hair before the party,” his mother said, tapping her fan lightly on his arm. “I thought you said you would take care of that today?”

  He reached up, his gloved hand finding one curl near his forehead. “I thought I might try something different. Cray attempted a more windblown look. Does it suit me?”

  “More than the Caesar,” Lucas said, glancing at the style with interest. “I keep thinking my own is terribly short. Why bother having hair at all?”

  Marcus chuckled. His mother took Lucas’s arm and moved closer to the door. “I hear carriages, I think,” she said. “Marcus, you had better see if your wife is having trouble?”

  Ever the obedient son, Marcus nodded and turned to the stairs, taking three steps before he looked up—and froze. Ellen, his beautiful bride, stood hesitating on the top stair.

  Ellen wore a gown of lavender, with an overlay of glittering ivory lace. The effect made it appear as though she wore a dress made of summer sky, filling with stars before the sun set. Her midnight-black hair was piled upon her head elegantly, small dark twists escaping, artfully brushing the bare skin of her neck. The only jewelry she wore was a simple silver necklace.

  Her cheeks turned pink under his gaze and she lowered her eyes, descending the stairs slowly, her ivory satin slippers peeping from beneath her gown with each step.

  Marcus watched her, his heart full to bursting, and he knew he could no longer deny his feelings. He loved her, with everything in him, and he wanted her to know. Even if she couldn’t return his feelings, if she admired him as a friend, he must tell her. He must try to win her love, whatever it took.

  “Ellen,” he said when he reached his hand out to take hers. “You are stunning tonight.”

  She hardly reacted to his words, nodding her thanks and sliding her fingers into his. The warmth of her touch, even through their gloves, moved slowly through him until every limb was affected.

  “Hurry, dears,” his mother called.

  Marcus helped his wife down the last several steps, then kept her hand clasped in his as they walked to form the reception line.

  Lucas glanced their way and grinned when he saw Ellen. “Ah, there’s my new sister. You look lovely, Mrs. Calvert. You will be the queen of the ball.”

  Marcus watched his wife’s cheeks go a brighter pink and a genuine smile curl her lips upward. “Thank you, brother.”

  Why couldn’t Marcus solicit a response like that from her?

  Because she cannot trust my compliments, he remembered. They are given too freely.

  He would remedy that this very night, he promised himself.

  The first guests arrived, and Marcus squared his shoulders. He would present his bride to everyone this evening with the pride and admiration he felt for her, and Ellen would see what was in his heart.

  “Have you met my wife, Mrs. Ellen Calvert? She is the most intelligent woman I know.”

  “This is my wife, Mrs. Ellen Calvert. Isn’t she stunning this evening?”

  “My bride, Ellen Calvert. Easily the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance.”

  At first, his compliments made her blush, which he counted as a victory. But after a dozen introductions had been made, Ellen stopped reacting. During a lull in the line, she leaned towards him.

  “Marcus, what are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Making sure everyone understands how special you are to me.” He grinned down at her, but the feeling of victory faded when he realized she appeared distressed.

  “Please, stop.” Ellen’s hand on his arm gripped him tighter as she spoke. “Everyone will think it strange. I don’t need such praise.”

  “What do you need, Ellen?” he asked, raising a hand to cover hers, but she withdrew at his touch and stood instead with her hands clasped before her.

  “More guests,” she said, nodding to the doors.

  Marcus couldn’t care less about the new arrivals. Taking her hand and dragging her back to the library for honest conversation would be more in harmony with his wishes. But he knew his duty. He fixed a smile upon his face and gave his attention to the new arrivals.

  He heard his wife sigh, deeply, and it made his heart ache. Ellen wasn’t happy. She wasn’t pleased with him, with society, with London. What was he to do?

  At last his mother turned to them both. “I think it’s time to go in and begin the dancing. Enough guests have arrived. But I expect Marcus to introduce you to as many people as possible, Ellen.”

  Ellen nodded once, then moved as if to enter the ballroom on her own.

  Marcus caught her elbow and she started, her surprised eyes meeting his.

  “We go in together, darling,” he reminded her, wondering where her attention had gone.

  “Of course.” She put her hand through his arm. Lucas escorted his mother inside. It would fall to Ellen to lead the first dance, and Marcus would partner her. But before they made it entirely to the dance floor, she paused and looked up at him.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said, her voice nearly lost in the sounds of the ballroom. “I have arranged to borrow a carriage from Lucas so you will have use of ours.”

  “What?” He couldn’t have heard correctly. Marcus’s heart pounded painfully against his ribs and he shook his head, not understanding. “But—”

  “I’m going to my sister, Teresa. She is expecting her child’s arrival soon and I am at last a fit companion for her.” She smiled, but the warmth of the expression did not make it into her eyes. “After, I will return to Orchard Hill for a time, but it will be good to be with family.” Ellen tugged on his arm and moved him toward the floor, where people were forming the lines for the first dance.

  Marcus wanted to shout in frustration that he didn’t understand, that they needed to discuss the matter, but instead he had to put on a mask of contentment as he joined his bride for a Scottish reel.

  Leaving? Without warning? Without consulting me? And Lucas—

  His eyes searched the crowd for his brother, whom he saw watching him. Marcus narrowed his eyes and frowned, which made Lucas raise his eyebrows and tip his head forward as if to say, I warned you and you didn’t act quickly enough.

  “Marcus,” his wife whis
pered, stepping forward to clasp his hand. “Dance.”

  He obeyed. Up and down the line they went, clasping hands with others, and all the while he could not quite meet his wife’s eyes.

  Why hadn’t she mentioned leaving before now? True, they had barely seen each other for more than a few minutes since their last conversation in the library. Ellen had stayed busy with his mother and preparations for the ball, and he had been out more than usual with Lucas. But there must have been some opportunity before now to tell him, to speak to him? Especially if she managed to arrange things with Lucas.

  The traitor, Marcus thought. The young woman currently holding his hand blanched and he realized he had been scowling down at her. He quickly resumed his pleasant demeanor.

  The dance ended, he bowed to his wife, and an instant later another gentleman asked for her hand. Ellen danced away from him.

  A hand landed on his shoulder and Marcus turned to Collin Falkham.

  “Good evening, Marcus. Sorry we missed the first dance.”

  Marianne stood at his side. He looked between them both. “I need to speak with the two of you, if you please.” Without another word, he turned and walked to the corner of the room. When he reached his desired location, a place no one yet stood to gossip, he looked back and saw his friends hurrying to keep up. He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

  “What is it, Marcus?” Marianne asked, raising a hand to her heart. “Is there trouble?”

  “There’s more than trouble,” he said, his voice as low as he could make it and still be heard. “Ellen is leaving.”

  Collin turned to look at the dance floor. “She appears to be dancing with the Baron of Gattersby.”

  “I don’t think he means at this moment, my dear,” Marianne said, fixing Marcus with a curious stare. “When, Marcus? Where is she going?”

  “She said to one of her sisters. Tomorrow.” Marcus shook his head. “I didn’t know until a moment ago. But—”

  “How unexpected.” Marianne bit her bottom lip and shared a frown with her husband. “Did she say why?”

  “Some excuse about being a fit companion for her—Teresa, I think,” he said, closing his eyes. “But after that visit she intends to go back to Orchard Hill.” Marcus raised a hand and ran it through his hair, uncaring if he upset whatever it was his valet had done attempting to please Ellen. He dropped his hands at his sides helplessly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Has something happened to upset her?” Marianne asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

  “She hasn’t seemed happy in some time,” he admitted. “We’ve hardly seen each other. Mother has kept her busy and—” And I miss her.

  Collin moved slightly, better blocking Marcus from anyone near the dancing that might look to their corner. “Do you want her to go?”

  “Of course not. Not unless she takes me with her.” As his mouth closed over the last word in that sentence, Marcus’s heart cracked. He didn’t want to be left behind. Wherever Ellen went, he wished to be at her side. Why hadn’t he made certain they were together here, in London? They’d spent nearly every evening together, since their wedding, before coming here.

  The last time they’d sat together, just the two of them, they’d fallen asleep on the couch the night of their arrival.

  He’d promised himself after the snowstorm that he would stay nearer her, make certain she understood he enjoyed her company.

  It’s my fault she’s leaving, he realized. But what could he do about it?

  “Marcus?” Marianne’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Ask me to dance, Marcus. We can fix this.”

  He gave her his arm. “Dance with me, Lady Falkham?”

  She nodded, but when she took his arm she practically dragged him to the floor. “We need to discover what it is Ellen wants,” she said. “I will ask, if you wish?”

  Marcus shook his head. “I already know what she wants.” He would not say more, despite Marianne’s curious expression. They danced, all the while his heart and thoughts racing.

  ¤

  Ellen had not meant to startle Marcus with news of her departure, though she had asked Lucas to allow her to be the one to tell her husband. In truth, Teresa had no idea Ellen meant to come visit. The letter she’d received from her sister had extended an open invitation, for any time in future, but Ellen had clutched at it like a line in a storm. The post with Teresa’s letter had come the same afternoon she spoke with Marcus in the library. It seemed like a Godsend, granting her the escape from London she longed for.

  She’d gone almost immediately to Lucas, her plans half formed. Once she was gone from London, she could do as she wished. She would see her family, enjoy a brief time in their presence, and then return to Orchard Hill. There she would be happy, out from under the judgmental gaze of the ton.

  After her third dance of the evening, an hour into the ball, Ellen slipped away from the ballroom floor in search of refreshment.

  Marcus appeared at her side, as though he’d been waiting for her. She startled, then looped her hand through his arm as naturally as she could. “Marcus, I was going to get some punch.”

  “Excellent. I’ll take you.” His words were measured, his face a mask of politeness. Had he already accepted her plan? Would he not attempt to change her mind?

  Her heart shrunk and she pressed her lips together.

  “I’m coming with you tomorrow,” he said, causing her step to falter.

  “What?” Surely, he had not said—

  “I will accompany you to your sister’s home.” He made eye contact with her, his jaw remaining set and his brows furrowed.

  “No, thank you.” Ellen stepped away from him, to the punch bowl, where she quickly went about serving herself. Why would he attempt such a thing? Was he acting out of a sense of duty? He certainly didn’t look happy about the decision.

  “Ellen,” he said, stepping closer. “I wish to be with you.”

  She could not bear it. Not now. Ellen as much needed an escape from him, from the feelings continually pressing upon her heart, as she needed it from London.

  “I will be well enough without you,” she said, her words coming out more harshly than she intended. Ellen forced herself to meet his eyes. “A maid and groom will accompany me and all will be well.” Her hand shook as she lifted her cup to her lips.

  “But Ellen,” he said, leaning closer. She couldn’t help but see the expression in his eyes, a look of contrition, of gentleness. Pity? “Ellen, I have to tell you why—”

  “For my protection, I know,” she said quickly, desperately cutting him off. She couldn’t bare more pretty words, more flattery. Her emotions were already in a delicate state.

  Marcus reached for her free hand, taking it in both his own. “I care for you, Ellen. More than care. I—”

  Her fingers slipped and the cup fell, but as they both hurried to catch it the liquid inside splashed out, soaking Ellen’s gloves. Thankfully, it missed her dress entirely and the cup stayed in Marcus’s hands.

  Marcus’s eyes widened and he hastily put the cup on the table. “Ellen, I’m sorry—”

  Ellen shook her head, stepping back. “It’s only my gloves. I’ll go change them. Excuse me.” She wished she could stay in her room the rest of the night. She’d no wish to come back, to listen to his words, his flattery, whatever it was he was attempting to do.

  More than care?

  She couldn’t even think on it. His offer to attend her on her journey was a kind gesture, nothing more. Her husband was a good man; he wouldn’t want her to leave London on her own.

  Ellen didn’t look back when she left the room, and she pasted a smile on her face. If anyone made eye contact with her, Ellen nodded politely and hurried on her way, leaving no room for anyone to speak to her.

  The hall was filled with people conversing, likely trying to escape the heat of the ballroom, but she ignored them and went to the staircase. Lucas stood near, and when she met his eyes he opened his mouth as if to
speak, but Ellen shook her head and hurried past.

  Changing her gloves, she decided, would take the better part of half an hour as she attempted to collect herself.

  Ellen’s chambers remained dark except for what little glow came from the fire. No one expected her to be back in her room and Sarah was assisting with the ball below stairs. Knowing she would leave in the morning with barely any time to pack, Ellen had no wish to return to the ball.

  Her mind needed settling and the best way to do that would be to focus on another task. Packing for a few minutes would perfectly fulfill that need.

  Stripping off her damp gloves, Ellen laid them on the table. She moved to the mirror to adjust the pins in her hair but paused. In the reflection of the mirror, she saw the door adjoining her room to Marcus’s stood ajar, a soft light pouring from within. Ellen looked through the doorway and realized someone must have left a lamp lit in his room.

  Her task would be easier with light, she told herself. At the threshold of her husband’s room she hesitated, looking inside a domain unknown to her, but then she stepped inside.

  Marcus was downstairs and he would not begrudge her the light.

  Going further in, Ellen soon found the source of the glow at a desk near the window. She went to it and reached for the lamp. She stopped when her eyes fell upon the very sketchbook, leather-bound and of the finest material, she had given to her husband as a wedding gift.

  Without meaning to, she put her hand down upon it and remembered the day she’d made the purchase, full of hope and longing, wanting nothing more than to belong to Marcus, to care for him. He’d very nearly scoffed at her gift, she’d seen it in his eyes.

  Why was it here? In London?

  The ribbons meant to tie it closed were loose, and wrinkled, as though they’d been tied and untied many times. Had he used it? Though he claimed to no longer draw, had something inspired him to renew the habit? It came from Orchard Hill with him, which must mean something.

  Ellen’s hand stayed on the cover, sliding slowly to the corner, her fingers itching to open it and see what her husband had laid down on the blank pages. Was he as good an artist as she remembered?