Much of the wedding morning passed in a daze, with Ellie wondering alternately why the clock moved so slowly and then cursing it for turning so fast. Wendy arrived from Ashberry House to help Ellie bathe and dress, hardly disturbed at all by the raised, pink scars that Ellie had at first tried to explain.
“We all have scars, my lady,” the girl said politely, turning until Ellie sunk deeply into the bath. Ellie knew then that Ashberry had spoken to the girl and wondered anxiously what had been said.
Wendy told her without even being asked. “His Lordship, he told me you had a terrible accident not very long ago. I imagine you must have hurt an awful amount.”
Ellie nodded, keeping her head bent so that the girl wouldn’t see her eyes beginning to water. “Yes, I was ... in a lot of pain.”
The girl came back to the bath, pouring in an extra dose of the fragrant soap that Ellie so loved. “If it still hurts you, my lady, there is an apothecary at Ashberry House who can make you creams and lotions. Mrs. Jones, her name is. She made a wonderful lotion for pain in my mother’s hands.”
Ellie smiled at the girl then. “Are you from Ashberry Park?” she asked curiously.
“Yes, my lady. My father is a book printer in Carlisle and my mother is a dressmaker. Miss Shelling found me sewing for my mother and asked me to come to Ashberry Park as Miss Charlotte and Miss Caroline’s maid.”
It was from Wendy that Ellie finally heard about the house at Ashberry Park. Caroline, Charlotte and Lady Westhouse had all promised to use the time between the wedding and Ashberry’s departure for Cumbria to acquaint her with the management of the house and Ashberry’s profitable farms and horse breeding business, but Ellie was intensely interested in how things were seen by the house staff. Though Wendy was respectful and thorough in answering, she hadn’t gossiped about the staff or the family, something Ellie appreciated and noted.
Instead, she enthusiastically told Ellie some of the history of the house. “The house is built just below the ruins of the old castle on the prettiest hillside you ever saw. The village is in the valley below, and you can see the house and castle from the center square. It’s such a vision at dusk; you’ll have to ask his Lordship to show you. From the gardens, you can actually climb up a staircase that leads to a breech in the outer wall. Of course, the walls are mostly starting to fall down and there’s a rule now that no one is to go up there alone in case the unthinkable happens. His Lordship will show you it, I’m sure. He used to take Miss Caroline and Miss Charlotte and the boys for picnics and history lessons.”
She told Ellie about the magnificence of the gardens, the bathhouse in the north wing, the guest and assembly rooms in the south wing. The conservatory, she said, was “just too beautiful. I can’t imagine anything more peaceful. I hope you’ll love it dearly.”
Before Ellie was really aware, she found herself dressed in a voluminous gown of white silk sewn and embroidered with silver thread. The chill of the winter necessitated three heavy wool petticoats, bleached, below her hoops. The silk stockings were also white, as well as the translucent chemise that made the fitted whalebone around her breasts more bearable. Only her boots were not the pure white, instead a feminine dove gray. With her head uncovered, she hardly felt like a bride, for the gown was simple if one dismissed the expense of the fine fabric and the detail of the silver stitches that decorated the stiff bodice.
Only when Wendy left to find her mother did Ellie feel the first stirrings of nervousness. Twitching her fingers, she stood still, intent on Wendy’s instructions to not wrinkle the fabric but it was hard to wait patiently. She bit her lip, remembering the pleasant three room apartment she would occupy at Ashberry House in London: a pleasant sitting room, an expansive dressing and bathing room and a handsome boudoir, all newly painted and papered, the furniture freshened, the linens, carpets and window hangings replaced. Ellie had chosen the fabrics and colors after seeing the layout, still arrayed in the somber, austere lines Ashberry’s stepmother favored.
Lady Whitney breathed a sigh of pleasure when she saw her daughter. She had already been crying, and had done little yet to hide it. To her daughter, she gave a tender kiss to each cheek. “You are lovely, Ellie. So much prettier than even I used to think.” She smoothed a stray curl Wendy had purposely allowed to hang below Ellie’s ear but then let it return to its tempting position. “And I can’t believe your father chose these pearl pins for your hair. It must have been difficult for him.”
“They are perfect, Mama,” Ellie assured her.
“It’s almost time,” her mother sighed.
Ellie touched her arm gently. “I will survive, Mama,” she said seriously. “I will be afraid, but I will survive.”
Lady Whitney’s fingers were gentle as she held her daughter’s hand. “Remember, my darling Ellie, that it should not be painful after the first time, if even then for you.”
Ellie nodded. “Mama, Ashberry is a good man. He will not hurt me if he can help it.”
Lady Whitney sighed again, her brow creased in concern. “Not all men know when they are hurting their wives. If it is not painful, however, just bear it as much as possible, for it furthers the companionship between husband and wife. Husbands,” she added with a bit of edge to her voice, “especially need the comfort of the marital bed.”
Ellie understood her mother’s implication—she did not perform the duties of the marital bed joyfully with Ellie’s father and she did not expect any other civilized woman to have any other opinion of the matter.
* * * *
“Just bear it,” Ellie reminded herself hours later. At the time, the wedding had seemed so vivid to her, the brilliant flowers and beautiful gowns not even beginning to match the heartfelt fondness she wanted to believe was in Ashberry’s eyes.
Now, however, the freedom of those moments seemed so far away.
The wedding she remembered was so long ago, as if it was the memory of another girl, of another bride. The small affair had taken place at St. Stephen’s, but the rank and fame of the marquess had necessitated some allowances for pomp. A bishop had condescended to conduct the ceremony, leaving the gentle rector Ellie loved so dearly to watch from behind.
He had blessed them in his own way after the ceremony, kissing each of their cheeks and wishing them the best, and Ellie knew that the event would be the talk of St. Stephen’s parishioners for years. Both families had made generous donations to the chapel, and both bride and groom had promised to return when they came to London.
Mr. Hughes, his smile genuine, had whispered to Ellie that his prayers had been answered. The moment had warmed her nervous heart, at least for a time.
The breakfast, really a late luncheon for it didn’t start until nearly three o’clock, had been a marvelous success. Lady Westhouse had presided with an ease that amazed Ellie, but causing her to wonder if she could ever be as composed and accomplished. The match pleased the countess, or at least she had told Ellie so, though her expression was still curious whenever she looked at her nephew. He seemed not to notice but allowed Ellie to lead them through the obligations of the afternoon.
The marquess had spoken easily to politicians, London residents, distant relations of both families and the like, while Ellie had managed to smile until her mouth ached. No one seemed to mind that the bride was quiet, and everyone assumed she was just a little nervous about that new and most unfamiliar marital responsibility.
Not that it was a poor assumption, Ellie told herself. She was actually more than nervous, though over the years her doctors had clarified and explained the mechanics of the act, thus eliminating the excuse of complete ignorance. She was, because of this necessary education, perfectly terrified. The admission caused her stomach to turn slightly, until Ellie forced herself to remember that one did not have to enjoy one’s duty to do it. She had allowed Wendy to help her into the silk negligee her mother had supplied, along with a long, flowing velvet peignoir to safely cover it. The gown and robe were perfectly decent, covering her f
rom shoulders to toes, but Ellie did not see the modesty of it. She saw only that the silk clung lovingly to curves she wished desperately to conceal and that both garments were dreadfully easy to slip down and off her slender frame.
As soon as Ashberry saw her, he knew she was petrified. He had left her alone too long, he thought, regretting his decision to give her time to compose herself and recover from the affair downstairs. Instead, she stood motionless at the mirror, staring at her body but hardly seeing it. The expression on her face was so incredibly fragile that he barely noticed her garments past a first brief look. She saw him almost immediately and tensed even more as he came to stand behind her.
He was not undressed completely. He still wore his shirtsleeves but the cravat was gone, so that his shirt opened at the neck and hinted at the body underneath it. Ashberry had exchanged his formal breeches and hose for a pair of trousers, having decided that appearing in her rooms in a robe would have shocked the girl. It hadn’t mattered, though, for she was working diligently to reduce herself to that condition.
He thought to say the right thing. “You are incredibly beautiful, Ella Amelie Trinity.”
The new name was almost her undoing. “I hope you still think so tomorrow,” she managed in a whisper.
Ashberry sighed, knowing he was about to deny himself something he dearly craved. “I do not wish to force you, Ella,” he said quietly.
She laughed, but the noise was hollow. “It might be easier if you just did and got it over with,” she choked out.
Ashberry stepped back abruptly, as if someone had thrown cold water on his face. “I don’t want to just have it ‘over with’,” he enunciated clearly, a hard edge on his voice.
Ella nearly jumped at the new sound in his voice. She turned to him, her chin high but her eyes anxiously searching his face. “What do you mean?” she asked after a moment, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach.
Ashberry was grateful that she had not left the confines of her own dressing room. Had he found her in her boudoir, or worse yet in his own chamber, the mocking presence of the large, prominent beds would have been his ruin. He took a moment to calm himself before explaining slowly, “I do not want a marriage, Ella, which is cold. I want you to come to me because you trust me and desire to share a part of yourself with me that you give to no one else. I want to come to you for the same reasons. I want you to be warm and soft when I touch you, not frightened and remote.”
Ellie’s mouth opened in near shock. It didn’t sound like he wanted anything like she had ever associated with marriage, certainly not what her mother had indicated, first when she was still in the schoolroom and later, before they left for Europe, and again before the wedding.
Confused, she said the only thing that came to mind. “Mama said it would be all right, to just endure it.”
Ashberry restrained the urge to throw something, anything. Roughly, he pulled Ellie toward him, his hands immediately gentling as he drew her close enough to kiss her forehead in the familiar gesture. He had kissed her chin at the wedding, so close to her mouth that the guests had not seen anything unusual, Ellie remembered suddenly, lifting her face as he pulled back.
“That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do,” he answered softly, forcefully, holding her eyes in his own with determination. “It’s been the advice of generations of mothers, but it’s not what I want, what any man truly wants, from the bed we will share. I am convinced that those loyal and dutiful attempts by daughters everywhere to ‘endure it’ are the primary cause of the English gentleman’s tendency to accumulate mistresses. I don’t want you to bear it at all, Ella, I want us to be part of who you are, who we are together.” He paused, his voice softening even as his hands stroked down each cheek. “I want you to adore being with me, Ellie.” The last three words were nearly raw, the nickname formerly reserved for her family imbued with fierce intensity. His shoulders slumped and he turned to look around the room.
The dressing room had certainly changed since he had come in here just two weeks ago to inspect the work. The maids had removed all traces of his stepmother, for though she had been dead many years, no one had touched the marchioness’ rooms since. New paint and paper with elegant pink roses adorned the walls and a beautiful landscape painting that he knew had come from the Whitney house hung proudly over the mantelpiece. However, the room had no comfortable sitting area where he could settle her for a talk, and the fire was not burning here. “That’s not going to happen, at least not tonight,” he concluded flatly.
Ellie choked back a sob. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning away. “I ... I guess we should have talked before about, I mean ...” Her fingers gripped the velvet of her peignoir tightly and she turned aside to stand in the doorway to her boudoir.
Ashberry took a deep breath and moved to stand behind her. He loved the look of the creamy fabric as it flowed over her back and he saw for the first time the tempting curve of her bottom where the velvet hugged it in the candlelight. He kept himself from touching those intimate places only because he rested his hands on her shoulders. “It will happen, Ellie,” he said gently, using her nickname again. “Just not tonight.”
Ellie’s hands trembled. A delay in consummating the marriage would not hurt anyone, she told herself. It certainly wouldn’t hurt her. “When?” she asked in a whisper.
“When you can come to my bed,” he said quietly. “Tonight is my preference, of course, but we must consider your needs.”
Ellie’s laugh was uneven. “That’s awfully liberal,” she said carefully.
He smiled, closing his eyes to breathe in the luxurious scent of her hair. It was still piled on top of her head, but now it was a simple knot, one he could easily release. He took a moment to pull the pins away. Ellie did not resist but she stiffened quite noticeably.
“Does it bother you to have my hands in your hair?” he asked softly, smoothing the mass of curls into some sort of order and following their length to the lower middle of her back.
Ellie’s voice was choked with anxiety. “I, I can’t remember the last time anyone besides Mama and the maids saw me with my hair falling down.” Even in her sickbed, Ellie remembered, her mother had kept it fastened behind her or underneath her.
Ashberry tried to be comforting. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head and returned his hands to her shoulders. “You, Ella, are quite brave. I think if our positions were reversed, I would have run screaming into the night by now.” Two minutes passed, then three. His fingers gently rubbed her shoulders through the fabric of her robe, his fingers moving in circles near the nape of her neck. “I have a suggestion,” he offered quietly when she did not respond.
“Yes?” she questioned softly.
“From tonight until we arrive at Ashberry Park, I will not push you to consummate our marriage. But if you do not come to me before we are home, once we arrive there I will take you into my bed.”
Ellie’s shoulders did not loosen any more, but neither did she refuse. “And?”
He couldn’t help but to smile. She was quite perceptive. “In the intervening time, we will spend a great deal of time together in ways that courting couples may not but married couples may, learning about one another, adjusting to one another.” He paused before adding, “I will go at your pace as much as I am able, Ella. I will ease you into an intimacy between us one day at a time.” She nodded, finally relaxing just a single muscle in the back of her neck. Nevertheless, he noticed and smiled. “You trust me not to force you tonight?”
Ellie was quiet for a minute before she answered. “I trust you,” she whispered. In itself, that was a revelation to her, one she felt deeply and suddenly very thoroughly. She wrapped the knowledge close to her heart and sighed happily in silence. Ellie used that trust to force the next sentence from her throat. “I know you are paying me a great favor. You could even now have me and I would say naught, for our wedding gave you such rights. You are truly being generous to me and I wish ... I wish you to under
stand that I know it.”
Behind her, Ellie could not see Ashberry’s eyes close as raw feeling and need rocked through him. To have her acknowledge the totality of their marriage and to offer herself to him as such was testimony in itself to her trust. He desperately needed a few moments alone to recover and so his voice was rough with the remains of his reaction when he spoke. “Ella, I want you to take off your robe and get into bed while I go to my rooms, which are just through the door in your boudoir. I will be back in just a few moments to say goodnight.”
Reluctantly, he loosed his hands from her shoulders, reminding himself that he had tomorrow to touch them again. He noticed she waited until the door had shut behind him before she moved, but he heard her scurrying around her rooms and smiled to himself. It didn’t take him long to fetch the two gifts in his own chamber, wondering as he did if he could have made that same offer had he found her in his own room, staring at the bed he wished for them to share.
When he returned to the door that linked his bedchamber to hers, he paused, reminding himself to give her a little more time. Not that she needed it. He was sure Ellie had taken the opportunity to cover herself as protectively as possible.
As he suspected, Ellie was sitting up in the bed, the blankets drawn around her breasts and carefully arranged around her. He knew instantly that she had necessarily held court for visitors like this before, probably her brothers and father, and knew well how to protect herself from any inadvertent exposés. Moving around the bed, he closed the curtains on the far side and the end, leaving the side opened that faced the fire. Approaching the bed, he set the two boxes near the end before moving to the fire. He checked it carefully, adding another log to the back of the flames. He spoke as he stood and turned. “It should last until morning,” he offered, watching her closely.
Embracing Ashberry Page 9