Ellie’s shoulders stiffened while Ashberry’s eyes narrowed. “I know what happened to your daughter, Whitney,” he replied, disgust in his voice. “I don’t know, however, what made you imagine it could be compared with a young chit discovered with a stable boy or footman.”
“For God’s sakes, man,” Whitney sighed, his entire body seeming to sink downward, “Don’t imagine you can even conceive of the ... the ignominy of that day. Let alone the suffering that has followed it.” He shook his head sadly. “It would have killed most women. Hell, it would have killed many men. But we both know that to be a bride of any gentility means to be chaste and my daughter is not.” The last four words were harsh and seemed to dwell in the room, their import the cause of Ashberry’s tightening features.
Ellie’s inchoate cry of pain seemed wrenched from her. She found the nearest surface to bury her face, not caring that it was the front of Ashberry’s coat. His arms fitted around her, naturally cradling her head between his arm and chest. “You are intelligent man, Whitney,” the marquess finally answered quietly, the surge of violence in his stomach and throat held tightly by years of self-control. “But I disagree, quite vehemently, with your ideas about the essential quality in a wife. As the marquess in the room, I am the expert on the necessary attributes in a marchioness. My wife will be a faithful gentlewoman, a compassionate and conscientious mistress of our home and she will represent honorably my name and family.”
He looked down at Ellie’s head, praying with his whole body that this moment would not be the only time he would hold her as she cried. “Your daughter is perfect for me,” he finished gently, not even bothering to glance again at her father. His fingers stroked her ear and then wiped the tears that leaked around her hidden eyes.
None of the three saw Lady Whitney stop in the doorway, having been urgently summoned by the loyal and observant Fields. She heard Ashberry’s last sentence and grasped the doorjamb, her fingers clenching at the wood. She listened as her husband made another objection.
“Ashberry,” he spoke sternly, “I’m afraid you do not know all there is to know of my daughter’s health. She cannot give you an heir. There is no future for her at Ashberry Park.”
The words infuriated his wife. She swept forward, ignoring her husband and daughter, whose tears were now sobs. “My lord,” she smiled graciously, extending her gloved hand to his free one. “I see you are discussing the arrangements for your marriage.”
Ashberry was no fool and he knew quite well which parent in this family would stand by his cause. With one hand still wrapped tenderly around Ellie’s head and shoulders, he took the lady’s hand in his free one, lifting it and kissing the back of her glove. “Good morning, Lady Whitney. In answer to your question, your husband was just sharing his concerns about Miss Whitney’s health. He seems unconvinced that I will be able to manage her care adequately.”
“I don’t see how that should be a problem,” Lady Whitney murmured, arching a brow. “It was my understanding that you discussed those concerns last week with my daughter. Is it necessary to revisit them?”
Ashberry smiled. His Ellie obviously communicated with her mother at some levels, or Lady Whitney would not have known about that first conversation. “We did. It doesn’t appear, however, that her father was aware of the original partial truth she used to try and deter me.”
Lady Whitney was wreathed in polite smiles, but her husband was now bewildered. “Ah, well, it was a futile tactic on my daughter’s part to follow Lord Whitney’s instructions when you first came to call—and as she despises failure in herself so of course she wouldn’t report it to him. You should keep in mind, though, that my husband tends to dwell on the extremes when it comes to our daughter. He worries too much over her. I trust you will want to meet with her physician before the wedding?”
The marquess inclined his head affirmatively. He knew what she was saying. Ellie had not intimated falsely—they had been warned that she might have difficulty carrying a babe, but the thing was not impossible either. He would need to be careful—he would not endanger Ellie with pregnancy if there were any risks to her. “I’m sure you will be able to provide enough details for me to retain an appropriate physician.”
Ellie had stilled beneath his head. Her mother was present and the marquess was discussing their wedding. He hadn’t fled the room. She lifted her head and stared at him, wondering.
Ashberry couldn’t help himself, even though her parents were right before him. He pressed his lips to the top of her forehead, tasting the fruity fragrance he already adored. His hands cupped her cheeks and he lifted her face to look in her eyes. “You are going to be my wife,” he promised, his eyes firmly on hers.
Lord Whitney was irate but he knew he could not express his frustration in the way he preferred. His voice was stiff as he interrupted any reply Ellie would have given. “I will not permit the match, Ashberry,” he promised, his voice harsh, “Despite what Lady Whitney and my own daughter appear to have engineered here.”
Ashberry did not look at the man. He was too intent on Ellie’s face, her eyes wide and with what he thought might be hope. His mouth curved into a smile at her astonishment, even as he answered, “Whitney, don’t turn this into a scandal that will disgrace you. I am going to marry your daughter, with or without your consent. She is of age so I do not need your permission and I certainly have no need of her money. I could carry her out of your house right now and take her to any of the bishops and she would be my wife before nightfall. Within two days time, I would guarantee that everyone in London would know that you refused to stand by your daughter—as I am a marquess and the marriage obviously a good one for a baron’s daughter not even presented at Court, they would assume you did not consent to the match because you were in hock and couldn’t settle a guinea on her. They might think things even worse.”
He cleared his throat, eyes still on Ellie’s wide ones, his voice calm and reasonable even as he described his alternative. “The attention to Edward and Charlotte would be nearly unmanageable. Edward, and perhaps even his brothers, would be forced to distance themselves from you and Lady Whitney and stand by your daughter and I to salvage your family’s reputation.” He cupped Ellie’s face in his hands and his mouth tightened, “Or you can do the honorable thing by her and give your daughter a wedding that all of England will celebrate as the romance of the year.”
Whitney knew he was defeated. He had no doubt that the marquess was earnest in his threat. If Ashberry carried it out, as he very well could, Whitney would lose face at Westminster, not to mention in the society pages and even his clubs. He shuddered inwardly to think of the impact it would have but he resolved suddenly that someday Ashberry would feel his revenge. Some time, some how, if for no other reason than forcing the match on him against his will.
His face grim, he nodded to his wife, his words short. “If that’s the way it’s to be, my lady, you will manage this fiasco—and when she comes running home to us, you will be responsible for cleaning up the shambles she leaves behind.” He left without a word, and without a second look at his daughter.
Lady Whitney drew a deep breath. “Ashberry, you will be my favorite son-in-law,” she promised.
The marquess smiled, once again drawing Ellie against his side and tracing one ear with his index finger. “My good lady, I will be your only son-in-law.”
FIVE
Ellie’s wedding day dawned clear and bright. She sighed as she stood at her window, staring into the garden. “They say,” she told the maid, “That it is a good omen to have rain on your wedding day.”
The maid harrumphed. “Sounds like an excellent way to ruin your pretty gown, miss,” she answered quietly before straightening the bed. Ellie turned and looked around the chamber.
It was a comfortable room, but didn’t seem like her home anymore. All of her personal things had already been packed and moved to Ashberry House and those that were left seemed unimportant now, childish even. Her mother’s maid wo
uld pack them and send them to her in the coming days.
Ellie wondered idly if she’d even bother to unpack them but reminded herself it would be silly to do so. Ashberry wished to leave for Cumbria on the tenth day of their marriage, so they would arrive at Ashberry Park during the second week in January. Four days of carriage travel over roads that were rougher the further north they traveled, with three nights along the road.
Ellie smiled, for the first would be at Harlan Chase, the estate closest to London, and the following two nights in places where, he claimed, she would have the best room in the house. His eyes twinkled as he told her, “I will not subject my new bride, or even a servant, to the vagaries of tavern houses, Ella. I know you must have slept in a few on the Continent, but we will stay in more respectable establishments where I have permanent arrangements with the owners.”
She wouldn’t come back to this house after the wedding. The breakfast, the public affair, would be small but still too large for the Whitney house. Ashberry House, led by a trio of hostesses—Lady Whitney, the Countess Westhouse and the Countess Eldenwood, who was Charlotte’s twin sister Caroline—organized the event. Ellie gave a brief word of thanks for Caroline, who had begged her new husband to emerge from their honeymoon in Ireland when she had heard the news. They returned to London just in time to celebrate her twin’s wedding and then help arrange her eldest brother’s.
Both sisters were thrilled at the announcement. Charlotte rushed to the Whitney house nearly squealing in her glee, the Gazette still in hand. Ellie was amused to learn that Ashberry had neglected to tell his family of the engagement, leaving them to discover the news two mornings after the scene in the Whitney drawing room.
“We were all eating breakfast together,” Charlotte confessed, “And I nearly spilled my plate.” Her excitement transparent, Charlotte added, “That devil of a brother, he looked at me as if I had lost my head and said, ‘Charlotte dear, are you well?’” Her frown turned then to Edward, who immediately held up his hands in contrition. He claimed to be under the formidable threat of the marquess. Charlotte, of course, gave no quarter and Ellie watched, smiling, as Charlotte forced him to abjectly apologize.
Caroline’s congratulations were more sedate and delivered by special courier a week later from Ireland—Ashberry rushed the news off on a vessel headed for Ireland the very day of their engagement—but the new countess proved to be as warm and supportive as her sister. Charlotte was vivacious and charming—destined to be a mistress of society—when her sister was elegant but much quieter and extremely organized.
Dressed alike, one could hardly tell the difference between them but their personalities swung in opposite directions. Caroline, between her obligations to her new husband and home in London, had also calmly taken control of the chaos at Ashberry House, delegating the final details and arrangements of Charlotte’s wedding and breakfast to Lady Westhouse and sharing the burden of Ellie’s own wedding celebration with Lady Whitney.
Lady Westhouse, too, was surprised by the news but the marquess spared her the surprise of reading it in the papers. Instead, he arrived at her townhouse nearly at dawn that morning, insisting on seeing her before her staff brought her the morning news. Both she and Sebastian were pleased by the engagement and Ashberry was relieved to find his brother did not resent the possibility that the title might be lost to him.
Ashberry explained to Ellie and her mother that he confided the story of an ‘illness’ to the countess, as it was the one that was also confided to Charlotte by Lady Whitney some weeks earlier, in order to explain Ellie’s previous isolation from the colorful whirl of London. The courtship between the two stirred questions that erupted into a conflagration of curious callers at the announcement. The attention prevented the couple from spending any periods of time together since the engagement, though Ellie smiled as she remembered his words on a terse note, delivered the day following their engagement with a beautiful hothouse rose in full bloom.
“The announcement will be in the Gazette and Court Circular tomorrow morning. I have a great deal of work to do at Westminster before our wedding and return home, but I shall do my best to see you at least once every day. My apologies for my neglect over the coming seven weeks and for my impatience yesterday.”
She kept the note, folding it away like a piece of fine silk. Of course, he often repeated the gentle caress he initially called ‘impatience’. The kiss on her forehead was comforting to her, and when she told him so, he closed his eyes, drew her close and rested his lips against her brow, his breath and lips warm against her skin.
* * * *
Edward and Charlotte married first, at the end of November. Ashberry walked his sister into the church, unashamed at the tears pooling in his eyes as he left her to Edward’s care. The next day, he presented Ellie with her own betrothal ring, a beautifully wrought piece of gold featuring an exquisite pear-shaped diamond with two deep green emeralds on each side.
“The emeralds remind me of your eyes,” he whispered, holding the back of her head and kissing each temple. Her hands trembled, as they always did, when his fingers touched her, but as he slipped the ring onto her finger both smiled. Ashberry tenderly brushed each perfect nail with his thumb.
Ellie’s father was adjusting to the fact that she would marry, though he and her mother still weren’t speaking. He had told her two days earlier in a resigned tone that when she needed to leave Ashberry, she could go to Rose Hill in Cornwall or return to the London house. In a voice just as dispassionate, he informed her that Edward would continue managing her trust, with her allowance delivered quarterly. Ellie swallowed heavily and nodded, accepting finally that her father could not see past society’s mores and his own prejudices to welcome his daughter as she was.
“I will write to you, Papa,” she promised, “And tell you how we manage.” Together they entered the Whitney library to sign the marriage settlements that, as promised, he left to Lady Whitney and the family’s solicitor. Ellie signed her name with only a slight shake to the pen. Ashberry’s eyes met hers, unwaveringly, while Ellie’s father signed his name alongside the large, bold penmanship of the marquess.
Later, Ashberry held her hand on his arm and assured her that he would provide for all her desires—he had not been bluffing during that painful encounter with her father. “Your dowry, Ellie,” he had told her tenderly, “And its income, you do not need. Spend as you please and send your bills to me—save your allowance, or advise your brother to invest it, for our sons and daughters.” At her surprised look, his voice had deepened even further. “I wish more than anything to care for you,” he had murmured, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. “Providing for you myself is simply the most material way of doing so.”
Ashberry had kept his word about seeing her each day, though some days he did not see her until dusk. They did drive in the park occasionally, typically on Saturdays, and he now stopped to allow Ellie to discuss her upcoming nuptials with the few society matrons who remained in London.
More often, he would arrive at Ashberry House as evening came, where he was admitted to the drawing room to sit and chat with Ellie or discuss wedding arrangements with her mother and his aunt before the dinner hour. Occasionally, he would be permitted to draw her out of doors through the frozen garden and sit with her in the conservatory, affording them a few minutes of private conservation though both knew they were never truly out of sight of the staff.
The conversations varied, from the political to mundane preparations for their new life. Upon hearing that Ellie did not have her own maid, Ashberry hired one for his new wife, a young woman named Wendy who had served Caroline before her wedding. She was already installed at Ashberry House, having never left after Caroline married but helping instead to prepare the new marchioness’ apartment.
Murmurs of war against France were already being heard at Westminster and both young lady and lord read the stories of French refugees published in the London papers. “What would we fight
for?” Ellie asked one day, her voice morose at the devastation of the life she remembered in France.
“I don’t know,” the marquess answered honestly, his heart aching for her pain. “The nobility has been forced to flee for only their lives, as what they knew of rank and privilege are gone.” He had sighed and squeezed her hand before adding, “War will not restore the lives lost or the wealth destroyed. No matter what happens in France now, though, English electoral reform is dead in Parliament for the foreseeable future. I’ve no pressing reason to come back when the new sessions begin.” He looked at her with a smile. “We’ll be able to extend our honeymoon until September, I hope, and then for a month or two each year before the hunting begins.”
They had even discussed her father and mother. “They don’t speak,” she told him. “At least not in front of any of us. He believes she interfered in what should have been his domain and that her interference will end up hurting me more later. She says he was determined to make me into a lonely and bitter old woman.” Ellie had shaken her head. “No one except Edward seems to think I could have made a decision on my own.”
Ashberry’s lips had tightened, for he regretted his part in the dispute. “I would that I could soothe this pain for you, Ella.” He had covered her hand in his, squeezing her thumb between his thumb and index finger. “But your parents managed through the last three years—I hope they will manage this as well, in their own time.” They had circled the conservatory in companionable silence for a moment before he added thoughtfully, “As to the other, I am quite sure you could have made a decision—in fact, it seems to me that you did.”
Ellie had smiled inside, for in truth she had never been asked directly to be the marquess’ bride. She knew, though, that she had not refused and the marquess had intuitively understood that her silence during the tense scene with her parents had been acquiescence to his plans. She wondered if she would have gone had he actually taken her from the Whitney house that day. When she admitted to herself that the answer was yes, she nodded in agreement, knowing even as she did that Ashberry was hiding the smile that would have naturally appeared on his face.
Embracing Ashberry Page 8