by Bree Wolf
Frederick nodded, sitting down in the armchair next to her. A clear mind? He wondered, remembering the distant look in his mother’s eyes whenever he’d seen her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Folding her hands in her lap, she took a deep breath. “I came to speak with you about something rather important.” Her eyes met his. “And I ask you to keep an open mind and hear me out. Will you promise?”
A frown drew down his brows as Frederick felt a sense of dread settle in his stomach. Nonetheless, he nodded. “You have my word.”
“Thank you,” she said, and he could see a slight tremble in her hands as she collected her thoughts.
More than anything, Frederick wanted to bolt from the room but forced himself to remain where he was and met his mother’s eyes.
“I believe the time has come,” she paused, and he felt her eyes look all the way into his soul, “for you to choose a wife.”
Frederick blinked, for a moment unsure if he had heard her correctly. Then his eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped. “What?” Of all the things he feared she might say, this had been no-where near consideration.
An indulgent smile appeared on her face as she reached for his hand. Her eyes, however, remained as unflinching as he had ever seen them. “I apologise for speaking so bluntly. I did not mean to cause you distress; however, I believe that this issue cannot be postponed any longer.”
Staring at his mother, Frederick shook his head. “Any longer?” he echoed. “We are still in mourning. Leopold has been dead a mere six months.”
Tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, his mother nodded, reaching for a handkerchief. “Your words are true,” she admitted. “Believe me, I have considered all social ramifications, and yet, the conclusion I have come to remains the same.” She dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes.
“Social ramifications? You think my objections are based on social ramifications?”
Meeting his eyes, his mother shook his head. “I do not. I merely thought to mention that I had already considered every aspect.”
Loosening his cravat, Frederick sat back. “And what aspect is it that has you convinced it is time for me to choose a wife?”
Squeezing his hand, she smiled at him with sad eyes. “Two years ago, I was…happy,” she said, a wistful gleam lighting up her eyes. “I had a husband I loved and two wonderful sons.” Again, she squeezed his hand, and he felt a lump form in his throat. “Today, however, most of that happiness is gone, and I fear that more can be lost.”
A frown settled on Frederick’s face.
His mother cleared her throat. “Of course, there is the aspect of succession. You are now the Marquess of Elmridge, and as much as I detest reminding you of it, it is your duty to provide an heir, who upon your own…death will carry on the title.” She took a deep breath, and for the first time, Frederick thought to detect a hint of fear in her eyes. Was she worried to lose him, too?
For a moment, she closed her eyes as though steeling herself for what she was about to say. Then she met his gaze, and her own held such a pleading expression that Frederick felt his muscles tense. “We need help,” she all but whispered, and the resolve that had held her upright seemed to fall from her shoulders. Frail and exhausted, she sat before him, and once again, Frederick wondered where she found the strength to continue on. “This family is dying,” she continued. “I barely have the strength to rise in the morning,” he averted his eyes as she echoed his thoughts, “and the same holds true for Maryann. Abandoned by her family, Mathilda is running wild, still able to ignore the pain. Eventually, it will find her though, and then she will be in need of guidance and support.” His mother shook her head. “How are we to help her if we cannot even help ourselves?”
Closing his eyes, Frederick exhaled.
“And you,” his mother began, and his eyes snapped open, “you need someone, too. Do not deny it.”
“But not a wife!” Frederick exclaimed, shooting to his feet. “I need…I need…To tell you the truth, I need to get away!”
“No!” Coming toward him, she took his hands in hers, her eyes determined. “You will not leave. Do you hear me?” Frederick wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. “I don’t know what it is that blackened your soul or what it will take to bring you back, but I know that you cannot find it on a battlefield.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed.
“I know you’ve been thinking about returning,” she admitted, and his eyes opened wide. “Do not look so surprised. I am your mother. Even if I cannot understand it, I am not blind to your pain.” She took a deep breath, her small hands squeezing his as though she hoped she could bind him to his home by sheer willpower. “You need to stay and face your demons or they will eat you alive.”
Flexing his tense muscles, Frederick tried to extract his hands from hers, but she wouldn’t yield.
“If you do not want to do it for yourself,” his mother continued, “then do it for this family. We can only remain here at Elmridge if you continue on the lineage. You need an heir, who will inherit the title and this estate. An heir, who will provide for this family.” Her eyes implored him. “Do it for us. After all, it is your duty.”
Staring at his mother, he shook his head and took a step back, pulling his hands free. “Guilt,” he snarled, a hint of disgust in his voice. “You would use guilt to bend me to your will? To keep me here?”
Her small hands balled into fists, and she drew herself up straight. As she glared at him, Frederick could tell that his words pained her, and yet, he could see uncompromising determination in her eyes. “To keep you alive? Yes!” She nodded her head vigorously. “I am your mother. I will do whatever I must to keep you safe. Even if it means protecting you from yourself.”
Knowing when a battle was lost, Frederick sighed. “I am not fit to choose a wife. In my current state of mind, I cannot court a woman. It would be hopeless.”
A hint of relief came to his mother’s eyes, and her shoulders relaxed. “If you do not want to make a choice yourself, then with your permission, I will do it for you.”
Frederick nodded, unable to believe that he was truly agreeing to his mother’s plan.
“Good. Give me a fortnight,” his mother said. “I have a young lady in mind. I will speak to her parents, and should they approve the match, I will inform you thusly.”
Again, Frederick nodded as his eyes stared into the distance, and he came to realise that his life was no longer his own. And yet, he did not feel a great sense of loss. After all, the life he was living had little value to him. Why would he not give it up in order to protect his family? He couldn’t think of a reason.
“Do not worry yourself,” his mother said, wrapping him in her small arms. “All will be well.”
Frederick doubted that very much.
Chapter Eight − An Unexpected Proposal
An icy chill once again clung to the air as April came along. Few flowers were brave enough to bloom, yet, afraid new frost would steal their crown. Huddled inside next to a roaring fire, Ellie poured tea. “Would you like a cup?”
Holding out her hand, Madeline nodded. “Yes, please. Even from the short walk inside, my fingers feel as though frozen stiff.” She shook her head, a frown of disapproval on her face. “After the temperatures rose last week, I had hoped to leave winter behind for good.” She glanced out the window. “This does not look promising.”
Wrapping her own scarred hands around the warm teacup, Ellie sighed. “A little warmth would be wonderful indeed.” After breathing in the scented steam, she took a sip, enjoying the hot liquid as it warmed her from the inside.
“Will you join me at the theatre tomorrow?” Madeline asked. “I hear the play is rumoured to be quite entertaining.”
“Entertaining?” Ellie asked, observing the gleam in her friend’s eyes. “Pray tell. Is it the play that holds your interest or rather someone in the audience?”
A deep smile spread over Madeline’s face.
“Who is it?�
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“The Earl of Townsend,” she replied. “He is rather fetching, wouldn’t you say? His family just bought a new townhouse as well as an estate down south. And after all, he is an earl.”
Smiling, Ellie shook her head, all too familiar with her friend’s peculiarities by now. “Is that important to you?”
Eyes snapping open, Madeline stared at her. “But, of course, it is. I am an earl’s daughter; therefore, I should not place my regard any lower than that.” Musing, she put a finger to her lips. “However, a marquess or a duke would still be preferable. Unfortunately, the new Marquess of Elmridge is not in Town this season.”
The breath caught in Ellie’s throat at the mention of his name. Not since that fateful night over six months ago had she laid eyes on him. However, her dreams sometimes took her back to that evening, and she once again found herself observing his every move. Disinterested, he had moved among his peers, his eyes detached, and yet, a veil of misery had hung upon him as though the world held only pain and only ever would.
“The family is still in mourning,” Ellie said, forcing her thoughts back to the present. “It has only been half a year since the late marquess’ death.”
Madeline nodded, her expression serious. “I do remember, yes. That was an awful night. Did they ever find out what happened to him?”
Ellie shrugged. “I do not believe so. I heard it rumoured that it might have been poison; however, there had been no way to prove it, much less find the one responsible.”
“Yes, I heard that, too.”
Ellie was not surprised, certain that if anyone in London knew anything noteworthy at all, it was Madeline Jeffries. Despite her age, she was usually far ahead of the game even counting the old tattletales.
“At least now, he can make a favourable match,” Madeline mused as her cheerful nature chased away any lingering thoughts of the family’s misfortune.
“I doubt that a favourable match is on his mind right now,” Ellie objected. “First, he lost his father and then his brother.” She shook her head, remembering the day she had almost lost her own little brother. “I believe it will take a long time for him to recover.”
Madeline shrugged. “Fortunately for him, men have the luxury of marrying late in life with-out fearing to be considered on the shelf too long. However, I do not believe that dwelling on one’s misfortunes is beneficial to one’s health or state of mind. He ought to find himself a wife as soon as possible and continue his line.”
Narrowing her eyes, Ellie looked at her. “Are you saying you wouldn’t mind if he asked for your hand?”
“Of course, not,” Madeline confirmed, and Ellie felt a slight stab in her heart. “However, I will not actively pursue him.” Her eyes met Ellie’s, and a deep smile came to her face.
Feeling a tug on the corners of her mouth, Ellie asked, “Why not?”
Madeline squeezed her hand. “Whether you like to admit it or not, I know you care for him. And I have no wish of seeing you in pain or risking our friendship merely to obtain a husband.” A gleam in her eyes, she chuckled. “After all, there are so many potential candidates that one hardly knows whom to choose.”
Ellie laughed. “I admit I feel for the man who will one day make you his wife.”
A devilish gleam in her eyes, Madeline leaned forward conspiratorially. “My dear, Elsbeth, do not for a second believe that I would allow a man, any man, to choose me for his bride. Quite on the contrary, it will be I who chooses.” Sitting back, she chuckled. “Isn’t this a marvellous game? If it wouldn’t inconvenience me, I’d probably stay unmarried for the rest of my life and simply collect offers.”
Smiling at her friend, Ellie shook her head. “Madeline, you are truly impossible!”
“I am who I am, my dear friend. I will not apologise for that,” she vowed solemnly before the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile. “But at least, I made you laugh.”
A knock on the door made them turn their heads before a moment later Carlson, the butler, entered the drawing room. “I beg your pardon, Miss Munford, but your parents wish to see you in your father’s study.”
“Thank you, Carlson. I will be there shortly.”
A frown appeared on Madeline’s face, and after the door had closed, she leaned forward. “Do you know what this is about?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Ellie admitted, quite puzzled herself. But whatever it was, it seemed urgent; otherwise, her parents would not have interrupted their tea.
Rising from the settee, Madeline shrugged, “Whatever it is, you can tell me tomorrow.”
“I surely will.”
After seeing her friend to the door, Ellie hastened to her father’s study. She gave a quick knock and was immediately ushered inside. Looking from her mother to her father, she found both of their faces flushed with excitement, their eyes sparkling like she had never seen them.
Smiling at them, she observed, “I suppose you have good news to share.”
Her mother nodded eagerly, and her father beamed, “Good news indeed!” He glanced at his wife, who instantly stepped forward, taking her daughter’s hands. With a delighted smile on her face, she said, “We have received an offer of marriage for you, which, of course, we instantly accepted especially considering the circumstances.”
Ellie’s smile froze on her face as she felt her mother’s disapproving eyes glide over her scars. Although, naturally, her mother had been relieved that Ellie had saved her little brother’s life, deep down, she had never been able to forgive her for tainting her beauty and ruining her prospects.
“What?” Ellie gasped, feeling the blood pulsing in her veins. “A proposal? But…?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” her father chimed in as her mother took her hand and led her to the two armchairs under the bay windows. “We expected you to be relieved. After all, no woman in her right mind would want to live the life of a pitiable spinster.”
Although Ellie had resigned herself to her fate long ago, she had never quite thought of it in that way. Staring at her parents, she came to realise that in their eyes, at least, she was worthless as long as she remained unmarried.
“You’ve accepted the proposal?” she asked, feeling her hands begin to tremble. Although she had never sought a love match, Ellie had fancied herself in luck when Lord Haston had openly displayed his feelings for her. However, that dream had ended in a nightmare, and after losing the man she had come to love, Ellie wasn’t sure if she could settle for less. Especially now that all people ever saw when they looked at her were the scars that, according to them, defined her. Could she bear to live with a husband who looked at her the same way?
“Certainly,” her father said, his brows raised at her in surprise. “We were quite hopeful during Lord Haston’s courtship. However, after it quite understandably ended, we feared there never would be another.” He clasped his hands together, eyes beaming at his wife, who nodded in agreement, her own eyes shining with pride as well.
Ellie shook her head, trying to focus her thoughts instead of allowing panic to overtake her. “Another?” she asked, feeling confused. “But there has not been another courtship. For the life of me, I don’t even know who you’re speaking of.”
Once more taking her hands, her mother smiled at her. “It is the Marquess of Elmridge.”
Again, Ellie’s blood froze in her veins, and she stared open-mouthed at her mother. After a small eternity, she swallowed, feeling her heart slowly resume its rhythm. “The Marquess of Elmridge,” she mumbled, certain she had strayed into a dream. “Are you certain?”
Her mother nodded. “I know it might be considered a little improper of him to ask for your hand so soon after his brother’s passing, but,” again, a delighted smile drew up the corners of her mouth, “he is a marquess. How could we refuse? His family has even more prestige than Lord Has-ton’s. However did you manage to draw his attention?”
“I didn’t,” Ellie croaked, feeling overwhelmed. “I haven’t even spoken to him si
nce…” Not since that hot summer day more than twelve years ago. “Why would he ask for my hand?”
Her father laughed. “While some people believe a curse was put on their family, I cannot help but think that we are among the few fortunate ones. After the Duke of Kensington so unexpectedly and for no good reason asked for Rosabel’s hand, now it is the Marquess of Elmridge, who desires to make you his wife.”
“And for no good reason,” Ellie echoed.
“Exactly,” her father beamed, caught up in the excitement. “Everything is falling into place. Fortune smiles on us.”
Ellie swallowed. “Does he…does he not mind my scars?” Slowly, lifting her eyes off her lap, she looked at her parents, afraid of the answer she might receive.
Her mother shrugged. “Since he asked for your hand, I suppose he does not.”
Remembering the night of the Midnight Ball, Ellie shook her head. There had been a moment, only a split second, when he had looked in her direction, but Ellie was certain that their eyes had met. And yet, she had not seen even the faintest glimmer of recognition in them. He did not remember her. “Did he not give a reason when he spoke to you, Father?” she asked, wishing to understand.
Her father shook his head. “I only ever spoke to his mother. After his brother’s passing, business detained him at Elmridge, and so she delivered his proposal.”
“I see,” Ellie mumbled, finally understanding the reason behind all of it. Rick had never asked for her hand. His mother had chosen her−for whatever reason−and he had merely agreed. It was a matchmaking scheme between their parents, and the tiny hope that her heart had harboured since learning of the proposal withered away. He did not want her. He probably didn’t even know what she looked like. Would he be appalled when he saw her?
Ellie shivered at the thought. Why had his mother chosen her? What did she have to offer that no other woman could?
“I thought you would be delighted,” her mother stated, a frown drawing down her brows. “Didn’t you always wish for an advantageous match?”