AllFreeNovel
Share Us
*
Where was she? Somewhere warm. Somewhere that was not damp and that did not smell of woodsmoke. Somewhere exceedingly comfortable, with deep feather beds. Oh, yes. She was going to be a countess. That explained it.
Ellie sat up in bed with a muffled yelp and clutched at her swimming head. That had been a dream, not real—so where was she now?
There was a bell-pull right next to the bed and she tugged on it. It would not bring Polly. She was still up in Lancashire, keeping an eye on the farm. Unless that was all part of the dream as well…
‘Good morning, Miss Lytton.’ Not Polly, but a tall, dark-haired maid in neat blue, with a crisp white apron. She was holding a tray. ‘I was just coming up to see if you were awake yet and to bring you some chocolate. Would you like breakfast in bed? Or I can lay the table over there if you would rather get up, miss.’
‘Where am I?’
‘London, Miss Lytton. The best guest bedchamber in Lord Hainford’s townhouse in Berkeley Square. No wonder you are confused, miss, after that faint. And it’s so lovely and quiet here at the back you’d never believe you were in town, would you?’
So this was real and perhaps…
Oh, no, she had not agreed to marry the man, had she?
Impossible—he would never have asked her in the first place. How embarrassing it would have been if she had said something before she’d realised it was a dream and she hadn’t been quite well.
The maid put the tray on the bedside table and went to pull back the curtains. ‘It’s a beautiful morning, Miss Lytton. There is actually a little bit of sunshine.’
‘It is not raining?’ Ellie struggled up against a mountain of pillows and blinked at the watery glow. ‘No, it isn’t.’
More unreality—although the maid seemed solid and rational, and the chocolate, such a luxury, slid over her tongue like warm velvet. But she must get up, have breakfast, confront Blake and make him give her the deeds back.
‘I will get up and wash and then have breakfast,’ she decided.
‘I’ll run the bath then, miss.’
The maid went out through what must be the dressing room door and almost immediately there was the sound of running water.
A bathroom?
She would marry the Prince Regent himself for a bathroom with hot water, Ellie thought wildly, and put a hand to her forehead. No, she wasn’t feverish.
*
She was still attempting to separate reality and memory from dreams and fantasy as she made her way downstairs to the study where they’d told her Blake awaited her.
He was alone when she entered. He stood looking out of the window, one arm bent and resting on the window frame, so that his whole lean, elegant form was silhouetted against the light. He turned when he heard the door close and came to move one of the chairs before the fireplace slightly for her.
‘How do you feel this morning, Eleanor?’
‘Much better, thank you.’ She sat, and he took the chair opposite, leaned forward, forearms on his knees, eyes focused on her face. ‘I apologise for fainting,’ she added.
‘I suppose you came tearing down here without stopping to eat properly. What was it? The Mail?’ When she merely nodded he sat back with a grunt of annoyance. ‘You have made yourself ill. Look at you.’
That was satisfactorily un-lover-like.
‘I was…upset.’
‘Yes,’ Blake said drily. ‘I gathered that. Now we must consider carefully. I had intended getting a special licence and marrying you immediately, but with you looking so unwell I think it would be best to postpone it for a few weeks, so I will just get an ordinary one. There is no need to advertise our business by having banns read—’
She made an inarticulate sound and he stopped.
‘What is it?’
‘A marriage licence?’
