Page 17 of His Bluestocking Bride

The two young ladies looked confused and the conversations faltered for a moment.

Ellen took it upon herself to bring levity back to the table. “Miss Verity, tell me more of that novel you mentioned. It sounds very entertaining and I would enjoy hearing about it in detail.”

The young woman smiled gratefully and launched into an animated description of the novel, the horrid villains, true love, and Ireland as a less than ideal setting for such a romantic tale. Only when she had warmed considerably to her topic did Ellen chance a glance at Marcus again.

His attention appeared to be focused on the vibrant Miss Verity. But she could see his jaw working in a manner which suggested that he mulled quite a different subject in his mind. He caught her looking and his lips twitched. Marcus winked at her.

Ellen looked away, determined not to be flirted with.

The meal ended with Marianne proclaiming her fatigue and wish for a nap, the Wrights took their leave with an invitation for Marcus to visit soon. They added Ellen to the invitation belatedly, as she was a guest in the neighborhood as well. Ellen thanked them and excused herself while claiming fatigue as Marianne had.

Being in a room with either of the Wrights much longer would test her patience past politeness.

Chapter Seven

Ellen did not go to her room, though Marianne certainly disappeared and her husband with her, but she went to the library. When Collin’s father had been alive, he made it a point to tell Ellen she could treat the books as her very own when she visited. She adored her uncle for that and spent many hours of her childhood curled up in a chair beside a window, learning of distant lands and reading of things no one would ever speak to a child about.

She walked along one row of shelves, her finger sliding beneath the titles of books she knew as old friends, and paused when she came to a translation of an old Italian anatomy book. Her lips twitched as she recalled blushing through that one, turning pages and learning more about the human muscular structure than any lady ought to know.

When she went home that summer, she worked up the nerve to ask her father to take her to one of the surgical theaters in London. Anyone could observe surgeries, autopsies, and the like, whether they intended to become a doctor or not. While her father pretended to consider it, her mother flew into a tirade on proper behavior and threatened to end Ellen’s ability to visit the Falkham family if that was the sort of thing encouraged in their home.

“That is a faraway sort of smile,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

“Marcus,” she greeted him, her voice quieter than necessary, still wrapped warmly in her childhood memories. She didn’t turn around immediately, trying to compose herself. Keeping her feelings in order would be difficult if he kept surprising her with his presence.

“I was thinking of Uncle Falkham. Missing him.” Ellen turned towards him and clasped her hands before her. “Have you not disappeared to take an afternoon nap?”

“If I did nap, I would then be up half the night. Napping is a terrible practice for anyone not of a delicate constitution.” Marcus fully entered the room, leaving the door open behind him, and came to stand near her. Looking at the bookshelves behind her, he appeared amused. “Ah, the medical section. Will you be concocting healing salves for the lot of us?”

“I’m not terribly knowledgeable about such things. Why?” She attempted to smile, though his sudden nearness made her feel a trifle unsteady. “Have you need of a remedy?”

Marcus appeared thoughtful for a moment and shook his head. “I suppose not. But you never know when one might be useful.”

Ellen studied him openly, unabashedly, noting the slight curl of his hair. He kept it trimmed shorter than fashion dictated and she suspected it was because of that curl. His hair had been redder in their childhood, but now it was darker, more coppery, like a shiny new ha’penny. His eyes were brown, but a lighter shade than her own. And while he teased her about freckles, she could spot several on his Roman nose and high cheekbones. But they served to make his smiles more charming, lending a bit of boyish mischief to his handsome features.

She did not know how she could avoid falling more deeply in love with him. Would a match between them mean disaster for her? Loving someone who may never love her in return? She could not be sure. But being the wife of a kind, handsome, intelligent man such as Marcus would be a better life for her than any other option she imagined.

“You stare at me in such an intense manner,” he said, his tone soft. Marcus tilted his head to the side and studied her back. “Dare I ask what you make of me?”

She shook her head. “I have known you since my childhood, Marcus Calvert. I think I may know you better than you realize. I have been puzzling over our luncheon conversation with the Misses Wright. I think I know what upset you.”

He looked away, his smile fading. “I wasn’t upset.”

“But you were.” Ellen did not move, though her hand nearly lifted to touch his arm, to draw him back to her. She quelled that urge swiftly. “I think you did not wish to talk of your brother to young ladies whose minds are on marriage. What I cannot decide is if it is out of some duty to protect him or a measure of envy.”

As she spoke he grew tense, and after she waited in silence for a response he sighed and looked back at her. “Maybe it is a measure of both.”

Ellen gestured to the wide sofa before the fireplace. “Would you care to sit down, Marcus?”

“If you will join me.” He waited for her to take a seat before sitting on the opposite end of the furniture, a plush sofa with enough space for two people to sit comfortably.

He spoke in the same serious tone he’d used in the garden the day before.

“While my brother may be without a wife at present, I believe he will remarry one day and carry on the family line. He will see it as his duty.” Marcus folded his arms across his chest, his eyes on the ground before them. “I would not wish to be in his position. Sometimes, people assume as the second born I would prefer to have all that he has. But my brother and I are friends. I want him to be happy and I know he does a credit to his position.”

“You do not envy him,” she murmured, eyes watching his profile as his brows drew together and a frown appeared where there was normally a smile.

“As I have asked you to share my life and join my family, it is best I explain a few things about myself to you in order to inform your choice.” Marcus tilted his head to the side enough to look at her, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes.