Page 24 of His Bluestocking Bride

Upon opening the small book, where she recorded the words of philosophers and ideas from men of science, her gaze fell upon a quote recorded but two months previous, from Shakespeare.

She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known…

When first she read the words, she thought them beautiful and worthy of remembrance, a clever witticism on the state of one in love. Circumstances had changed since then. The words delved into her heart and soul, removing her ability to form a sentence of her own.

Ellen closed the book and put it back into the writing desk. “See to it this is placed in the carriage to go with me to Orchard Hill,” she directed the maid, laying her hand flat on the wood.

She took one last look at herself in the glass and went out the door, determined not to be nervous. Servants moved about, between their staircase and the room for Lady Calvert. She found her brother in the entryway, seated on a covered bench, reading.

He glanced up when he saw her and stood, a wide smile on his face. “Happy wedding day, Ellen. I did not think you would be ready early. Isn’t a bride supposed to take a great deal of time before a mirror?”

Ellen hesitated before answering, still shaken by the words she read. “Do you think I ought to do something more to my appearance?” She bit her lip and looked down to adjust the fingers of her gloves. “I thought I looked well.”

“Ellen,” Reginald said softly, reaching out to still her hands. “Ellie.”

Her gaze darted up to see him smiling at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “You have not called me that since you were a boy,” she murmured, looking into his deep brown eyes.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and dropped his chin. “I may not call you that again, either, now that you join the ranks of esteemed married ladies.”

She laughed and squeezed his hands. “Call me whatever you wish, Reggie. For I will not hesitate to use any number of pet names before your wife someday.”

He chuckled and stepped back, taking her in. “Back to your question. I believe you look beautiful and I am surprised it did not take you long to achieve it. You have always been pretty.”

“You are a sweet brother,” she answered. “But you and father are the only men who have ever bothered to pay such a compliment.”

“Which I have never understood.” Reginald sat down and gave the bench a pat so she would join him. “I hope you hear such things every day from now on. Marcus must think you good looking to go through all the trouble of marrying you.” Though he said it lightly, a sparkle in his eye, Ellen wondered how he could tease about such a thing. Perhaps it was a moment of youthful dreaming on his part.

She gave his hand a pat and then leaned back against the wall, careful of her bonnet.

He looked up the staircase. “How much longer do you think our esteemed guest will be?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. But our carriage should be at the door soon. Where is Father?”

“Here,” said a voice as their father appeared from around the corner, coming from his study. “I have been looking through the library and wondering which books I ought to send to Orchard Hill. Most of the new additions have come from your recommendations. It hardly seems fair that you are leaving those behind.”

He came and stood before her, looking her up and down, then nodded smartly. “You make a charming bride, Ellen.” He held his arms out and she stood to enter his embrace. “My girl. You know, I thought I would keep you here to read to me in my old age and debate the finer points of politics and poetry.” He released her slowly and looked down with a stern expression, though Ellen thought his eyes looked suspiciously bright. “Calvert should be grateful to have you, and if he is not, you remind him of your estimable qualities.”

Ellen could laugh at that, feeling her eyes moisten. “Which qualities are those, Papa?”

“Your kindness, consideration, intelligence, and gentility all lend themselves well to whatever you put your mind to.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss on her cheek.

A rustle on the stairs brought their attention to Lady Annesbury, descending with grace. “Gracious, I hope I have not kept you,” she said. “I did not know everyone would be ready this early.”

“Not at all, Lady Annesbury,” her father said with a brief bow. “Have you sent for your carriage?”

“Yes, it ought to be ready.”

A footman appeared at that moment, confirming both carriages were outside the front door.

“Then we had better be off,” Lady Annesbury announced, pulling her cloak around her. “Ellen, I must say, your wedding attire is perfectly suited to you.” She reached out and squeezed Ellen’s arm gently, nothing artificial in her smile. “I think Marcus will be pleased. You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” Ellen took in a deep breath and gave her father her arm. “It’s time.”

Her father led them out the front door to the waiting carriages. Normally, even in cooler weather, they walked the short distance to church to save the trouble of keeping the horses standing during services. But her father would not countenance such a thing on her wedding day. They arrived in good time, with hardly a moment to speak on more than the weather. They went in to the family pew and Ellen looked around for her bridegroom.

Marcus stood along the opposite wall of the church, engaged in conversation with her sister Margaret. The moment she saw him, his hair shining copper in the morning light, his posture sure and his charming grin in place, her heart picked up speed. He looked up and saw her, his eyes sweeping her form briefly before he sent her a gentle smile. Margaret touched his arm, pulling his attention back to whatever she was saying.

The vicar entered, signaling the start of services. Marcus looked toward her again and offered an apologetic smile, shrugging his shoulders. Ellen returned the gesture and then faced forward, determined to remain calm and collected, while her heart raced inside her chest.