Embracing Ashberry

by Serenity Everton

  The lord looked significantly at the girl beside him and added, “I should add, Ella dear, though I hardly fear a rebellion from Scotland, I do not hesitate to defend those on my lands or in my home. You will find that I go when I am needed, even if simply to hunt down criminals who steal chickens and sheep from my tenants.”

  Ellie looked away, staring straight ahead. “You are being presumptuous again, my lord,” she said quietly.

  “I do not believe I am,” the marquess disagreed calmly. “I am merely confident.” The marquess slowed the horses for a moment before deciding to circle the park once more. The conversation was going well, and he had no intention of cutting it short without reason.

  Ellie sighed. “There was a time, my lord, when I thought I was confident. I assumed, falsely, that nothing could disrupt the life I had planned for myself. Papa later told me it was a foolish supposition.” As she spoke, Ellie inclined her head in reply to two of the great matrons of London society who sat primly in their carriage as their coachman approached them on the avenue. Still, the marquess noted that Ellie’s hands were trembling in her lap, as if she was struggling to conceal a compelling emotion. He decided to oppose convention and not pause for the interrogation the two women expected. The early morning hour should suffice as an excuse.

  Ellie looked at him in astonishment as they passed without stopping. “My lord?”

  Her voice was clearly questioning, and the marquess shook his head. “Call me Ashberry if you wish to be formal, Ella, though I would prefer Shane or Stephen. I may be a lord in public, but when we are private, I choose otherwise.” He smiled as her astonishment turned to shock before answering her earlier question. “I did not think it was quite the right time to consult with Lady Jersey about your bonnet or your mother’s afternoon tea next week.” He glanced behind him at Edward and Charlotte, who had stopped to chat, before slowing the phaeton to a mere crawl. “I am sure that Charlotte is making my excuses.”

  “Perhaps she will be able to salvage whatever stature you have with the grandes dames.”

  “Charlotte is a quite competent in that way,” he assured her. “I would like to take all the credit for her education, but I suppose my aunt and cousin should receive most of the due, not to mention Caroline.”

  “Cousin?” Ellie inquired.

  “Sarah Shelling, who was the girl’s nurse and governess.” At Ellie’s nod, he added, “She is managing Ashberry Park in my absence but plans to come here to London when I return. She does not see a need to stay in Cumbria with only me and she claims to be unable to continue being the mistress of a large household. Here in London she’ll have the freedom to do as she wishes, Sebastian and the girls, not to mention Aunt Lucy, will be able to look after her.”

  Ellie laughed while she considered the second of the Trinity children. “Sebastian is independent?”

  The marquess nodded. “He is 27 and my most trusted agent. He handles a great many of my affairs here in London and has done quite well with his own, too. I am arranging for him to run for Parliament.” He paused for a moment and then added, “Aunt Lucy never had children of her own—Westhouse died less than a year after they married in a racing accident. Aunt Lucy made the boys her heirs.” He was quiet for a moment and then mused, “My late stepmother and Aunt Lucy are the sisters of the Duke of Shelly but the children were never close to the Shelly clan—I suppose that was my fault, for I never wanted to send them away to a stranger’s hospitality and could not take them myself.”

  Ellie noted the affection in the lord’s voice and now she dared a look at him. He was older than she had always dreamed—Sebastian was more her age—and the marquess could hardly be compared to the classical face or body so ideal to the women of France and Germany. The unusual color of his hair was coupled with dark brown eyes and a craggy rugged face that had seen a great deal of the outdoors. She knew that their drive was nearly over as the phaeton rolled out of the park and onto the busy street but the change in noise and pace did not disturb her as it sometimes did. Ellie turned her head and concentrated on the horses clopping over the brick pavement. He was handsome but not beautiful—but more importantly, strong, reliable and trustworthy. The combination was perhaps too tempting, the girl told herself.

  * * * *

  The drives continued daily for a week, except Sunday, when Ashberry escorted Ellie home from St. Stephens, followed by the Whitney’s carriage. On most days the subject of Ellie’s reluctance did not arise. Instead, she told Ashberry about Europe—about the great buildings and music in Vienna, the golden castles of Germany, the squalor and brilliance of Paris.

  They discussed the Revolution there and Ashberry discovered that Ellie had both an intelligent and emotional understanding of the Terror. Both deplored the bloodthirsty behavior, but disagreed on how much responsibility the monarchy of France should assume for the chaos. The marquess argued quite vehemently that Louis had not instigated the Revolution and he was somewhat amazed when Ellie told him quite clearly and decisively that she disagreed. Later, when he thought about it in the privacy of his own study, he quietly decided Ellie might be right in laying a portion of the blame on the monarch: rabid opulence was more than offensive in the face of starvation and desperation.

  Ashberry told Ellie more about Ashberry Park, at least about the gardens, stables, orchards and hunting trails. She tried several times to have him describe the house itself, but could find out no more than that it was built as three separate buildings connected with loggias that opened in the summer to the gardens. The main house occupied the center structure, with a servants’ wing to the north and a conservatory, chapel and guest suites to the south.

  It wasn’t that the marquess didn’t want to satisfy her curiosity, but he was naturally enthusiastic about the gardens and lands and didn’t appear to even remember how the rooms looked inside the house. It was obvious to Ellie that Ashberry felt more at home out of doors than in, and she wondered to herself how he had survived confined to Ashberry House in London.

  One day, she asked him and was surprised to discover that he had a smaller estate a day’s drive north of London where he periodically fled for comfort when London, where he had been in residence since early March, had become too suffocating.

  “Ashberry Park is the family seat and is considerably larger,” he told her. “But I have always had a special fondness for Harlan Chase, for the land was part of my mother’s dowry. The house is fairly new—my father was building it for he and my mother to live in when my grandfather died. Father and my mother moved north to the Park, of course, and so the house has never really been occupied for more than a few weeks at a time. It is unfortunately too small for all of us to be in residence together comfortably—there are only six bedrooms in the main house besides my apartments and the servants’ rooms.”

  To Ellie, the explanation made sense. Ashberry, plus three brothers and two sisters, an elderly cousin, a resident tutor and a visiting aunt would require at least seven chambers, if not more. “Still, it is a wonderful little piece of countryside when I can no longer tolerate London and it is part of my estates and deserves attention.”

  “Estates?” Ellie asked.

  “Besides Ashberry Park, I have property in Yorkshire and Scotland, though I rent the houses to local gentry and just manage the farms attached to them.” He grimaced, adding, “Until I began coming to London regularly about five years ago, I could hardly fathom more than three residences and in reality, I still don’t think it is practical, though many of our kind also maintain a lodge and a house in Bath or Brighton or some other fashionable seaside town.”

  Ellie could not help feeling that his care was unusually tender for such a short acquaintance, but still she savored and remembered each touch and gentle word. Quite helplessly eager for his company, Ellie waited for Ashberry to arrive on the ninth afternoon of his courtship, wondering if he would again touch her cheek that morning with his warm hand.

  With a smile on her face, she remembered the
conversation they had two days earlier. He hadn’t been bragging about his wealth, only answering her questions. On that day, the eyebrows of the grandes dames had begun to change from questioning to approving. The marquess had not been circumspect at all, flagrantly advertising his intent during the daily drives with his proprietary attitude before the matrons, though each outing had been properly chaperoned. For the first few days, he had ignored the hostesses altogether, even choosing a morning hour for their outing, but later he had taken to escorting her later in the afternoon and stopping long enough to answer a few pointed questions with ease, sometimes even intercepting arched questions aimed specifically at Ellie.

  Unable to stop him without causing a scene, Ellie would be forced to sit through the consideration, until the eagle-eyed were no longer considering but patronizingly approving.

  Not even his hand covering her gloved one had raised an eyebrow the day before.

  Some days Edward and Charlotte had followed them while other days Lady Whitney and Lady Westhouse paraded behind them in the countess’ fine crested driving coach. At no point had Ashberry been inappropriate in his attentions, though Ellie was sure he was aware that her hand trembled when he kissed the back of it and there was no denying that he was quite able to compliment her. He had taken to calling her ‘my dear’ without a second’s pause, though the endearment continued to make her flush. She concluded he said it purposely whenever he first greeted her, for her blushes always caused an appreciative gleam to appear in his eyes as he wrapped her pelisse about her and pinned it closed.

  Ellie was still thinking of Ashberry and his gentle manner when her father entered the drawing room. Whitney’s frown caused Ellie's stomach to tense expectantly, but his words made it turn over completely. “It’s time, Ellie. Tell him you will not suit and that the flirtation is at an end. To continue on in this vein will only infuriate him later, and cause much more speculation among society.” He sighed, “I do not wish to risk Edward’s marriage because of this nonsense.”

  Ellie’s posture was impeccable and her chin stiff as she faced her father. She knew she could not confess it to him but she had no desire to cut a connection she was beginning to cherish.

  “Why?” she asked, a surprising challenge in her voice. “He knows quite well that I have not agreed to marry him. We enjoy driving in the park together.”

  Whitney sighed, narrowing his eyes. Ellie identified the irritation growing in him, so when he continued doggedly, she was not unprepared. “Do not make this harder than it is, Ellie. I am not excited about my daughter refusing marriage to one of the most respected noblemen in England. You do not have my permission to drive in the park with Ashberry. If you wish me to communicate your regrets, I will do so and spare you the anguish.”

  Ellie tightened her jaw and mouth as she turned away, hiding her reaction from her father’s astute eyes. “No. I am perfectly capable of speaking with the marquess.”

  Whitney noted the chill in his daughter’s voice and his jaw tightened, a clear indication to anyone who knew him well. He was familiar with his daughter’s tone, for it reminded him vividly of his wife, and he was not pleased to hear it from Ellie. “You will do it when he arrives,” he said unequivocally.

  “Yes, Papa,” Ellie said softly, not moving until he turned and left the room.

  He narrowly missed Ashberry, who was being escorted in by the butler. Ellie tried not to look directly at the butler, murmuring only, “Thank you, Fields,” when Ashberry was announced. She pretended to have an intense interest in the landscape that hung between the two drawing room windows, away from the door.

  Ashberry did not tolerate her inattention and did not waste time in false pretenses. Normally now, he was greeted with a breathless smile in the hall and Ellie’s posture this afternoon was too stiff to misinterpret. He was immediately tense and strode across the room, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face to his. The tears were still forming in her eyes, though Ashberry suspected she was fighting them off. “What’s happened?” he asked softly, his hand gentling around her chin for a moment before he released her.

  Ellie stared at his chest. It was an impressive expanse, even covered in his coat. She swallowed with determination, closed her eyes and said, “My father does not want me to continue seeing you, since he has no intention of giving his permission for us to marry. He feels driving with you in the Park any longer will cause gossip and false hopes on your part. He said I might no longer go.” She stopped, swallowing with difficulty before adding in a whisper, “He instructed me to inform you that we would not suit.”

  The words began rigidly, without emotion, but her voice trembled on the word false and broke completely as she related Whitney’s withdrawal of his permission. The last whispered sentence held a note of raw reluctance that Ashberry had no difficult reading. Even when Ellie opened her eyes, she refused to meet his eyes.

  Ashberry suppressed an urge to stalk through the house and confront her father. Instead, he took a step back and used one finger to tilt her chin up so that their eyes met. “Do you wish to continue spending time in my company?”

  Ellie’s hands shook from the struggle inside her. She knew she could not disobey her father but she could not lie to Ashberry either. He had awakened something inside her she could not yet name and she knew instinctively Ashberry’s attention had forever changed her. “I want to,” she finally admitted, “But I cannot—”

  “I do not ask you to be insubordinate, Ella,” Ashberry assured her. “But I certainly want to continue our time together as well.” His voice dry, he corrected himself, “Actually, I’d rather prefer to significantly increase the time we spend together.”

  When she didn’t respond, he asked quietly, “Does it upset you that your father does not wish me to address you?”

  Ellie’s chin squared in an expression that Ashberry knew immediately was resolve. “It should be my decision,” she declared.

  Ashberry almost smiled at her comment. She hadn’t declared an undying love, but he knew immediately he was about to face her father just as soon as he extracted enough information from Ellie to use in the conversation. “I'll assume you mean it upsets you that he has made his decision without considering your own wishes, which means that you have not yet refused me. So why does your father find me unacceptable as a son-in-law?”

  Ellie’s eyes closed in pain and she turned away. She walked to the window and stared out into the street for a moment before whispering, “It is not you who is unacceptable, my lord. I am the one he cannot countenance.”

  She clasped her hands together tightly, biting her bottom lip. Outside, a footman waited by Ashberry’s empty phaeton, but no sign of Charlotte or the Trinity carriage was visible. Ellie knew her father had likely ordered it put away and that in all likelihood Charlotte and Edward were grateful for a few moments alone, as yet unaware of her distress. Not that Edward could have helped her this time, Ellie told herself sternly. Some situations had to be managed on one’s own. Ashberry moved to stand by her side, leaning against the wall. It was at once a negligent and elegant pose, but Ellie was not deceived. He was intensely focused on her. She struggled to find the words.

  “I, I was attacked, in our gardens in Cornwall, my lord. He had a knife. There are ... horrid scars on me, even inside me, that will never go away.” Ellie turned her head away. “You do not want me as a wife Ashberry, however much I desire otherwise. I am not beautiful, not enchanting. At least not in the way a wife should be. Not, not when one knows what I—I truly look like.”

  She swallowed a sob and tried to forget all the compliments he had paid over the past week. She had begun to believe that Ashberry really did find her an attractive companion but Ellie had long ago concluded no man could look past the ugly red marks that crossed her middle and her father's words had reminded her of the futility. She hurt inside now almost as much as that first awful week.

  Ellie’s shoulders dropped. Emotional exhaustion and turmoil were beginning to tir
e the inner piece of her soul that continued to dream and buttress her outward composure. Over the last few months, with the help of her mother, Mr. Hughes and more recently an unknowing Ashberry, Ellie had begun to feed its yearnings with a picture of what might have been. Today, though, the hopelessness was again rising inside her, insatiable in its demand for misery.

  Defeated, she began to move away, at least until Ashberry’s hand stopped her simply by draping itself over her shoulders and grasping the far one firmly. “Don’t make it harder, please,” she whispered. “Let me go.”

  “Never,” Ashberry said roughly. He was still reeling from her inadvertent confession. She desired that he would want her as his wife. It implied at least some degree of affection.

  Ellie had no time to digest or question his response. The drawing room doors swung open, revealing Lord Whitney, his frame tense and his face furious. Neither one bothered to hide their emotions: Ellie’s tears were starting to roll over her cheeks and Ashberry’s arm was wrapped comfortingly around the girl. “What is going on?” Whitney nearly roared, an accusing glare directed toward his daughter.

  Ashberry stared in astonishment at the man. He didn’t hesitate, but clasped Ellie even closer beside him before he replied. “You might want to know that your daughter is doing her best to an obedient daughter,” Ashberry answered for them both. “However, it hasn’t discouraged me in the least.”

  Whitney’s eyes flashed as he focused on Ellie’s tears. “She cannot marry you, Ashberry. She has been compromised,” he ground out.