He pointed to where a road rose from the village toward Ashberry Park. “Most of the land on this side we use for pastures for the stables, but at this time of year, all the animals are inside if they’re not being exercised. On this side of the village and to the south are the lands of the area’s gentry—we’ve just crossed onto land belonging to Sir Henry Chapman, whose house cannot be seen from the village. It’s in a little valley about a half mile away.”
Ellie nodded, moving across from him to peer more closely from the window. The carriage slowed to negotiate the hill as they descended into the glade. Old trees rose gracefully around them that would shade the village in the summer but today the sun shone down through bare limbs and onto the muddy streets. Children and women wandered with and without purpose between the buildings and Benjamin was forced to slow almost to a crawl when the carriage was recognized. People began lining the carriage’s road, clapping and shouting in greeting, until Ashberry looked at his wife and smiled.
“They are welcoming us home,” he explained unnecessarily, clearly satisfied.
More seriously, he added, “It will be more crowded, much slower, when we reach the top of the hill, I suspect.” He smiled before answering her unspoken question. “There are more cottagers than villagers, plus the house staff and the stable workers—not to mention the village men who work at Ashberry Stables.” He glanced at her, noticed her frown. “When I speak of the Stables, I am usually referring to my businesses.” He pointed about half way up the hill, before the grade steepened, where Ellie could see whispers of smoke. “The barns are there, just low enough to stay out of view. Our personal stables are closer to the house and much smaller, though it is where the business started for my grandfather.”
“I see,” Ellie nodded, noting that the road was twisting around several ancient oak trees. As they passed them, fencing began to line the road, the lime washed wood marking the pasture boundaries.
“The trees mark the edge of Ashberry Park land,” he added, “On this side. I own the village too, of course, but it is so small that it is hardly an investment—there isn’t even a church there. The villagers come up to the manor for services as they please and my chaplain conducts weddings and funerals when needed. Most of the genteel neighbors go the other direction to the church at Blackrock or come to our own chapel.”
As the carriage began to climb the hill, he stopped talking, his eyes taking in the condition of the fencing, the pasture, analyzing each bit of information. A light snow was sprinkled over the ground, but it wasn’t enough to cover the grasses beneath. “The estates steward, Jefferson, has been running the house and the stud in my absence, and Matthew has overseen the farms.”
“Mr. Matthew is the land steward?” After he nodded, Ellie asked, “I was given to understand that your cousin was in charge of the house. Is she not?”
Ashberry shrugged. “She is, of course, as much as she wishes to be. Jefferson keeps the ledgers and ensures the house stays within budget, but Sarah does most of the day-to-day management—supervising the staff, working with the cooks and housekeeper, overseeing the cleaning and refurbishing that is always going on. Jefferson keeps busy with Ashberry Stables and my other properties and investments.” He looked at her carefully. “Now that we’re home, of course, and with Sarah leaving for London soon, I’ll take over the management of the Stables again as much as I can. Jefferson will be traveling occasionally to my other estates to inspect the work there. What he does at the house, Ellie, is up to you. If you would like to keep the books yourself—”
Ellie laughed. “No, indeed,” she shook her head. “I will check them of course, but accounting is not my strong suit.” She smiled at him sweetly, “Besides, I’ll have many other things to do—looking after the staff, visiting the cottages, meeting the villagers, and visiting with the neighbors.”
“And taking care of your husband,” Ashberry murmured suggestively. “Remember what I told you in London about my bed here.” He watched her flush, couldn’t restrain himself from reaching out and touching her lip with his gloved fingers. “Yes, you’ll be spending a good amount of time in it.”
“Stephen,” she whispered, but there was no objection in it. He pulled her back beside him, unable to resist her full lips, the sound of his name falling from them. Ashberry lowered his head then and Ellie forgot all about Ashberry Park or her responsibilities there.
Two minutes later, Ashberry sat across from her.
Both took several deep breaths, after which the marquess murmured regretfully, “I am sorry, my dear. That was a delight I should have delayed until we had the privacy to savor it properly. I have discovered that I am simply too eager to have you all to myself to behave sensibly at times.”
Her blush was profuse, a bright red, as she smoothed her skirts and gloves. Still, her full, well-kissed lips were curved as the carriage climbed the final few feet of the hill and then proceeded along the long drive to the house. Ashberry stopped her just as she prepared to speak.
“We’re almost there,” he apologized gently, “And the staff will be waiting—Griffin and Alexander will see to that.” As he spoke, the carriage passed over a fortified stone and wooden bridge built above a small stream. Upstream to her right, Ellie saw several small outbuildings—all neat and clean with heavy stone construction and solid roofs. The stream still ran, but frost was edging up on it, threatening to ice it over the top.
Ashberry sat forward in anticipation and on his face Ellie saw excitement. “It’s been too long for you, hasn’t it?” she asked quietly.
His hand was already waiting on the carriage door handle. “Nine months too long,” he murmured roughly. “I cannot say I have any desire to see London any time soon.”
Ellie turned to gaze out the other window. The chapel opened beside them, an impressive addition by Ashberry’s grandparents to the sprawling and impressive house. The south wing sat proudly between the chapel and the conservatory, where windows two rooms high gleamed brightly in the sunlight.
The carriage pulled around the drive, stopping gently. Ashberry was out the door almost before Ellie could breathe, but she calmed herself for a moment before sliding across to the steps and peeking out.
Before her, Ashberry was happily greeting the onlookers. The carriage was parked at the bottom of a grand stone staircase the led up to the massive double oak doors. At that moment, however, Ellie could hardly glimpse the facade of the house. What she saw were servants crowding along the edge of the stairs, along both sides of the drive and grouping both in front and back of the carriage. Before she had quite assimilated to the horde of people, Ashberry had returned to the carriage and was reaching inside for her.
With both hands grasping her waist, he lifted her completely out of the coach without bothering to unfold the steps, swinging her feet down onto the stone drive that faced the house. Before her waited an elderly white-haired woman who peered at her fiercely from behind a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. She was nearly Ellie’s own height and stood straight and stiff, a position that Ellie well knew bespoke of years in a tightly laced corset.
She wore no jewelry but her gown was well stitched and of a fine dark green wool. All the staff stood back from her and Ellie had the impression that the world would wait until this eagle-eyed lady passed judgment on the marquess’ bride.
The lady looked impatiently at Ashberry after a moment, as if reminding him of his manners, but Ellie set her chin and ignored them both. Smiling graciously, she gave the woman a quick familial hug before kissing both her cheeks. “You must be Miss Shelling, Ashberry’s cousin. I am so delighted to meet you,” she began.
“And this, Cousin Sarah,” Ashberry interposed dryly, “Is my dear marchioness, Ella Trinity, Lady Ashberry.”
Ellie smiled again, shaking her head at her husband. “Please, call me Ellie or Ella. I’m afraid I’m quite unused to anything more formal among family.” Her eyes dared the woman to contradict her as she emphasized the final word.
S
arah Shelling’s eyes rested on Ellie just a moment longer before she spoke. When she did, everything seemed to still around them, as if all of nature, as well as the household, strained to listen. “You’ll do,” she pronounced, “Though you’re hardly more than a lass yourself. Still, I can see a bit of courage in those eyes of yours.” Her head turned and she fixed her imperious look on Ashberry. “And now, Ashberry, I am retiring. Are you going to do your duty and send me to London, or do I start walking?”
Ashberry smiled gently at the sharp tongue, kissing the cheek that held it safe. “Cousin Sarah, I accept your resignation, but I will have to delay telling you of your travel plans until we’ve at least gone inside.”
She nodded briskly, gesturing impatiently. “Get on with it, then. And remember, the entire bloody estate followed you up the drive.”
The marquess grinned a light-hearted, joyous smile that Ellie had never before seen. She was still absorbing it when her husband lifted her by the waist and held her high above his head, until she could nearly sit on his shoulder. “Hear all you who can hear!” he shouted, slowly turning in a circle. “You’ve waited a long time for a new mistress. Today, I present to you my bride, Lady Ashberry!” Even amidst the myriad of emotions and the sea of faces swimming around her, Ellie heard the possessive tone in the marquess’ voice. She tucked it away for later examination, for at that moment, she simply held for dear life to Ashberry’s coat sleeves alongside her hips and thighs. Before her, liveried and non-liveried staff from the stable boys to the stewards mixed with Ashberry’s tenant farmers and their families, villagers and children. They thronged around the couple, starting a rousing cheer even as Ashberry’s last words rang out.
The celebration outside the great house continued even as Sarah Shelling and Alexander forged a path through the staff. Ashberry kept Ellie in his arms, allowing her only to slide down so that he could swing his arm below her knees and hold her against his chest. He rounded the large front staircase, heading for a sheltered entrance beneath it into the ground floor. Alexander held open the massive oak doors so that the marquess could carry his bride into the lower hall.
Ellie’s body slid against him as he lowered her to the floor, her breasts rubbing down his coat. The unexpected contact made her gasp, her eyes catching his. She saw there a glimmer of desire but knew he could hardly indulge it in the front of so many. Behind her, she could hear the staff crowding inside the door. “Later,” Ashberry promised gruffly, stepping away and turning them to face the expectant, loyal faces. With a smile to everyone, he led her to the side, where the senior servants lined up together formally, each seeming to already know just where to stand. Ellie wondered with a nervous smile if they had practiced beforehand. She would have liked to, as well.
Ashberry stepped past Alexander and Griffin. “You already know these two.” Both men had changed since their arrival from their riding clothes to more formal attire. Alexander nodded in his usual deferential manner, while Griffin bobbed his head politely. Beside them stood a plump dark-skinned woman, dressed in gray skirts and a white apron, a pristine white cap on her head.
“Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Jans, our housekeeper,” Ashberry said crisply as he squeezed the woman’s hand. The gray-haired woman curtsied as much as her aging knees would allow.
Before she spoke, Ellie gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ll suspect you will be able to teach me more than I could ever imagine about Ashberry Park?” she asked hopefully, remembering Caroline’s firm conviction that the woman was indispensable. Mrs. Jans was neat as a pin, even to her neatly pressed apron and as Caroline had told her, cheery and smiling.
The woman’s eyes lit with pleasure. “I’m a’ hopin’,” she said, her mouth curving even more widely. “When yah are rested, mah lady, I’d a love to haf a chat.”
Ellie nodded. “I’ll ask for you,” she promised. “Tomorrow.”
Ashberry smiled. “Mrs. Jans came here with Lady Elizabeth, my stepmother, and never left.”
The woman nodded earnestly. “That’s a right. Miz Elizabeth, she was a good woman.” The housekeeper drew out ‘i’, until it seemed as if she was to call the former marchioness Eliza, with the Beth tacked on as a second name. “Miz Elizabeth, she a’ bought me from a ship cap’n in London and gave me mah freedom. Afta’ tat, I said to her, I said, ‘Miz Elizabeth, I ain’t a’ leavin’ ya.’”
“And she didn’t,” Ashberry smiled, moving Ellie along until she stood before three austere gentlemen of varying ages. Ashberry introduced them all together. Jefferson, the first, was the estates steward. “When you wish to, my dear, Jefferson and Sarah will acquaint you with the household as it is right now, as we’ve discussed.” Jefferson, who had inclined his head as he smiled, seemed polite enough—a middle-aged man of pale face and owlish eyes, probably from spending too much time poring over ledgers.
“Matthew, the land steward here at the Park, knows each of the tenants,” Ashberry continued, “And can introduce you to each family if you wish, when you’ve settled in.” He left time for Ellie to greet the young man with a Yankee accent before turning her toward the third man. “And Scott, our librarian cum secretary, will act as your assistant if you need help with organization, correspondence, anything at all.” Scott bowed slightly. The lady noted with some inner amusement that the man who had earned the honor of being her amanuensis was as elderly as Captain Finnigan had been and leaned on a crutch, though his eyes were bright and twinkling behind his glasses.
“A pleasure, Mr. Scott,” she smiled. “I’m sure I shall be calling on you soon.”
“Of course, my lady,” the man returned, watching as Ashberry drew her away. The marquess led her to the stairs and began to climb them before Ellie’s hand on his arm stopped him. She turned back to the staff, swallowing deeply and ignoring Ashberry’s questioning eyes.
They waited expectantly, unusually quiet to Ashberry’s memory, until Ellie’s voice addressed them. It rang out confidently, sweetly, in the hall and the marquess could barely contain his surprise. She seemed so self-assured that he nearly stopped to check he had the right Ellie beside him. “I am very grateful for your warm welcome,” she announced, even as Ashberry regained enough of his senses to step away. He, too, wished to see her face. Her eyes focused behind him on the men and women gathered there. “His lordship told me that he is encouraging you to celebrate our marriage with an afternoon free of household duties, especially with winter setting in again soon, and I imagine many of you are eager to begin your time away as soon as possible.” She delivered a brilliant smile that radiated into the room, warming it. “I’m quite excited to meet each and every one of you over the next few days and I’m sure, with the help of each of you, that we shall adjust to one another easily. Have a wonderful afternoon!”
It was later, much later, when Ashberry made his way to the sitting room they shared at Ashberry Park. The suite was large, luxurious in size and amenities. To enter, one had to pass through a single sitting room, but lord and lady each had a dressing room, bedchamber, and an additional room for storing all variety of things. He smiled as he saw dinner waiting for them, and locked the door that shut them away from the rest of the world.
Returning to doorway opening into his chamber, he beckoned to Ellie. “Come here,” he said gently. “We’re alone.”
Despite the smoothness of the words, she had no illusions. He was not asking. Her gut tightened and her chin trembled. “Like this?” she asked, wrapping his shirt more closely around her.
“Just like that,” he confirmed, eyeing her closely. Her legs stretched out in silken smoothness, her tousled hair framed her face. He knew he could reach underneath the linen of his shirt and find the lush skin of her bottom or the fragrance of her breasts. She stepped nimbly to the chairs, arranged with a table between them by the fire. Her toes, toes he had kissed until her back arched and her hands had clutched at him, curled into the carpet as she sat in one of the chairs.
Ashberry joined her, shaking his
head as she fingered the ties that would close the top of the garment. “No,” he said simply as he served them both. He had indulged himself shamelessly in her body over the last few hours, pressing her to the edge of sensation and then pulling back, anxious to have her and yet even more determined to wring as many moans and screams from her as possible. After he had finally spun her into orgasm and taken her body as completely as possible, burying his staff so deeply inside her that he had pulsed against the edge of her womb, she had slept the slumber of the exhausted.
To his surprise, he had discovered that her exhausted, satiated form asleep in his bed was nearly as endearing as her body arched and shuddering in the midst of her climax.
“Why,” she asked quietly as she laid her hands in her lap, “Do I so easily obey you, especially in things like this?” She bit her lip, glancing at the door. “Suppose Wendy or Griffin come in?”
“They won’t,” he smiled, pouring her a glass of wine. “I locked the door.” The expression on his face as she took the glass made Ellie catch her breath. “As to the first question, I believe the answer is just as simple, Ellie.”
Ellie trembled, for the look on his face was so tender, so unlike the emotionless aristocrat she had believed him to be at their first introduction. Now, his eyes changed when he looked at her, his lips changed when he spoke to her, and when they were alone, every emotion from passion to laughter danced on his face. She watched him move lazily, garbed only in a pair of trousers, as he ate the simple fare on his plate. “Eat your meal, Ellie,” he said softly, when she seemed content to stare at him.
Embracing Ashberry Page 26