Page 33 of His Bluestocking Bride

“Much more,” he answered. “Though I would rather stay here and work, I hope we will enjoy our time there.”

That he wanted to stay at Orchard Hill too gave her a measure of ease.

“I am certain we will.” She looked down at her hands, shifting them on the reins. “We’ve had a dinner party invitation. A Mr. and Mrs. Harrison have requested our presence at their home tomorrow evening. I think the invitation was meant to arrive sooner, but the weather has been difficult.”

Marcus nodded, his eyes on the horizon. “I met them before the wedding. I’m afraid I don’t remember them very well from the years before my father’s death. The rest of the neighborhood likely knew of the party for some time.” He met her eyes. “Do you wish to attend?”

“I think we had better, given we have so short a time to make a good impression before leaving for London,” she answered as evenly as she could. “Though meeting an entire party of strangers does not necessarily agree with me.”

He chuckled. “I will be there to protect you, I promise.”

Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Calvert.” She turned her eyes to the orchard and pointed. “Are all the apple trees the same?”

He launched into his understanding of how the trees were laid out and Ellen listened intently, trying to ignore the way his gestures and smiles played havoc with her heart. Loving him should have made their marriage easier, giving her leave to enjoy whatever relationship they had together. But instead, Ellen tried to ignore her feelings. Marcus had made it plain, from the beginning, he would never allow himself to love again.

But surely, her rebellious heart whispered to her head, if he knew I loved him there could be no risk of his injury. I am not like Selene.

Unbidden, the words he’d spoken to her in Collin’s library returned to her mind. I have no intention of entering into a romantic relationship again. I have risked my heart and lost it once. I will not promise you more in marriage than a fair partnership…

“—So, if we attempt to breed these trees, we may find we have a sturdier variety without compromising the taste.”

Ellen’s attention came back to the present and she put on a mask of interest when Marcus looked to her, his hand gesturing to the trees around them. She had barely noticed they now rode beneath the snow-laden branches.

“That sounds ambitious,” she said without pause. “But how many years would it be before you knew if you succeeded?”

“Several, I’m afraid. There is nothing quick about experimenting with fruit trees.” His playful grin returned and he pointed further into the orchard. “The youngest trees producing fruit are this way. I’m told they’re tart but are perfect for apple pies.”

“Do you enjoy apple pie, Marcus?” she asked, her heart resisting as she attempted a more playful tone. Teasing him, accepting his banter, was not protecting her heart from damage.

“Very much. Especially Orchard Hill pies. I can remember requesting them every autumn.” He launched into a story about stealing one from a cooling tray and eating himself sick, hiding beneath the hedgerow.

Ellen listened and laughed in the right places, but the shine had gone from the day. As soon as Marcus suggested returning to the house to warm up, she accepted the escape and barely spoke on the return trip.

She must learn how to love him without needing to be loved in return.

Chapter Fifteen

Ellen leaned forward in the carriage, peering out the window in search of the Harrisons’ home. This would be her first event in the neighborhood and the first time she entered society as a wife. No longer would she sit to one side, allowing the evening to flow around her, wishing she were part of it. As a married woman, her place would be different, her role more important, the restraints less cumbersome.

Why then did her stomach roll and twist when she wanted to feel nothing more than happy anticipation?

Her husband chuckled and she turned to see him watching her, leaned up against the other side of the coach. Though it was dark, the lanterns on the outside of their equipage gave barely enough light for them to see each other.

He looked handsome in his dark blue coat and buff breeches. His cravat was elegantly tied, his silver stickpin in place, and a vest of deep blue peeked out above his coat buttons.

“Excited?” he asked her, a teasing smile on his face.

“Very.” That was the correct answer, anyway. “I have had no visitors and I cannot contain my impatience in meeting the rest of the neighborhood. It will be good to have friends nearby.”

A grin appeared on his face. “I am not enough company for you, am I?”

She tipped her chin up smugly and shook her head. “Of course not. Women require women. It is a fact. And as you have taken me far from my sisters, I am forced to find others to come drink our tea, eat our cakes, embroider cushions, and do all manner of feminine things with me.”

He sat up straighter and fixed her with a mock-serious expression. “What about discussing books? You cannot take that from me. I enjoy our discussions.”

Her heart skipped a beat at this admission. She enjoyed those moments, too, sitting before a fire in their library, book in hand. He always asked her opinion on what she read and of late they had taken turns reading aloud from a novel by Charles Maturin, an Irishman. They laughed and discussed some of the passages with real interest, as Mr. Maturin made a study of society through his fiction.

“If books are ever brought up in my company, I will pretend illiteracy,” she promised him as seriously as she could. She earned a laugh for her teasing. The carriage slowed and stopped, causing her to turn back to the window. “Oh, you distracted me so I didn’t get to see the prospect of the house.”