Page 51 of His Bluestocking Bride

She glanced over her shoulder at the beautiful furnishings and the sumptuous bed. Her body positively ached. “Yes, very much. Especially that beautiful bed. I want nothing more than to crawl beneath its covers.”

She turned her attention back to him and his grin had returned, in a most crooked manner. When she realized what she said, and how it must sound, and how they both were lacking in proper attire, her face went up in a blaze of embarrassment.

“I must retire now. Excuse me. Good afternoon,” Ellen stammered before she shut the door abruptly, feeling it clip his shoulder as the handle snipped into place.

Standing perfectly still, Ellen heard him chuckle, and then his soft footfalls on the polished floors padded away. She turned and walked dazedly toward her bed and sank into the mattress, pulling the blankets over her head.

“He must think me a complete simpleton,” she muttered.

But he had been the one to break their unspoken arrangement, their adherence to complete privacy.

Of course, four days on the road together, in the same carriage, meant a great deal of that privacy from home had evaporated. But she assumed once their travels came to an end they would pick up their usual habits. For Marcus to so blatantly change the rules unnerved her.

Or, she thought with a frown, after those days together in the carriage, during which time he touched her to hand her in and out of the conveyance, he no longer thought they need worry over those barriers.

Rolling over, Ellen gave her pillow a harsh thump. “You knew what you were getting into, marrying him,” she muttered to herself.

Ellen forced herself to close her eyes, tried to make her body relax, and had achieved some measure of peace when her eyes flew open and she sat up, staring at the doorway between their rooms.

There was no lock on her side of the door. Nothing. No keyhole. No bolt. Just an intricately curved handle.

She fell back into the pillows and shook her head. While she doubted her husband would breach the doorway, the fact that he could, the fact that he was expected to by whoever arranged their rooms, made her stomach clench and her mind whirl.

Her plan for a nap before dinner was thoroughly ruined.

¤

Marcus made his way downstairs early, ready for dinner but searching out his brother. He had not had word from Lucas since the wedding and was curious what was happening in Parliament. He made his way to Lucas’s study, hardly noticing the familiar sights of the family townhome. The floors were tiled with black and white marble, paintings and family portraits hung along the walls, and vases of flowers were on every table.

He knocked on the dark oak paneled door.

“Enter,” his brother called and Marcus stepped inside. “Marcus, there you are. You avoided us rather neatly this afternoon.” Lucas came from around his desk, extending his hand to Marcus, who accepted the firm handshake. Lucas clapped him on the arm as he stepped away. “And how is Mrs. Calvert?”

“She is well, though perhaps uncertain about her first season in London.”

“Abigail was nervous the first year we married,” Lucas said with an understanding nod. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Marcus followed his brother to the desk where they each took a chair on the same side. “Did you worry after Abigail that year?” He could not imagine his brother’s late wife had been too uncomfortable. Not like Ellen. Abigail had been the eldest daughter of an earl and had been born to the lifestyle of the ton’s elite.

“For a time, I didn’t leave her side,” Lucas admitted, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “There are a different set of rules for the married women of the ton. After a few weeks, she found her footing.”

Marcus tried to imagine what his brother’s life might be like. He knew Lucas and Abigail had a love match, adoring each other from nearly the first moment they met. What would it be like to find that connection to another person and then lose them?

“I hope Ellen can find her place. She’ll not have a title to lift her in society, only connections to you and the Falkhams.”

“And to you.” Lucas raised his blond eyebrows high. “You are her most important connection. I hope you’ll not forget that.”

Marcus nodded. “I will do all I can to see to her comfort.”

“You are getting on with her?” Lucas asked, tilting his head to one side. “I have wondered, given the nature of your marriage, if you’d find a practical wife suitable after the passage of some time.”

“More so than ever,” Marcus answered. “Ellen is a godsend. She took the reins of the household and everything runs smoothly. It’s a marvel, and all the servants respect her. She’s been helping me with my education in tree-farming as well. Truly, her advice and perspective have been invaluable to me.” The pride he felt in his wife and her abilities must’ve shown on his face, and he let slip more in his expression than he meant to.

“Marcus.” Lucas leaned forward and clasped his hands together beneath his chin, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Do you have feelings beyond your obvious gratitude for your wife?”

“I admire her a great deal,” Marcus said slowly.

“I see.” Lucas raised his eyebrows higher. “And?”