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“I am sorry, Simon. I—I do not know how to do this. Marriage, I mean.” She closed her eyes, looking down at her hands and picking at her fingernails. “I am nervous.”
“There is no need to worry,” he replied, his anger giving way to disappointment. He turned and stormed to the sitting area, settling on the settee before he said something he would regret. He would have to ask the butler that a more comfortable couch be moved into the room.
Preferably one that allowed him to stretch out without his heels falling over the edge. He huffed as he shook out the blanket and spread it over his legs. When he pulled it up to his neck, the end of the blanket crept up to rest right above his ankles.
He exhaled, sitting up to tuck the blanket around his feet and settled back down. The blanket only covered his chest up to his armpits, but he was not about to get up and go in search of another.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the crackle of the fire. He should have held his tongue instead of losing patience with Ellen, but he had been angry that she was doing everything in her power to build walls between them, physical and unseen.
He shifted on the settee, and it creaked under his weight. He had dared to hope when she had agreed to have a glass of champagne and at least sit with him for a while, but he should have known it would not be so easy to gain her trust. He would never tell her this but winning her over would likely be like taming a horse that had been abused.
He had been around several animals who had been mistreated, and it took patience and kindness to win them over in the end. While he felt Ellen was overreacting when it came to his childish pranks, he was not going to get anywhere with her by pushing her or lashing out in anger.
He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to get comfortable. He had been so wrong about Lady Ellen. Throughout the summer, he had fashioned a charming portrait in his mind of their reunion, thinking that he would eventually be able to mend his bridges and move forward. It would take much more work than he could have ever imagined.
Chapter 13
The sound of gentle rain pattering against the window panes awoke Ellen the following day. She snuggled deeper into the coverlet, wishing she could sleep for a little while longer. Soon, her maid would come in and help her dress for the day. And her mother would scold her if she stayed abed too late.
Her eyes popped open. Mama was not there anymore. She was a married woman, sleeping in a strange house with her husband—
She sat bolt upright, the bed creaking with her sudden movements. She looked over to the sitting area and was surprised to see that Simon had stayed true to his word. He had not come over to the bed but was still curled up on the settee, quite uncomfortably, she assumed.
Guilt washed over her. Not only had she taken his name yesterday, but she had driven him out of his bed. She bit her lower lip. She rose slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. Moving the coverlet off her legs, she swung her feet to the floor and padded over to the sitting area.
Simon was fast asleep, with one arm propped up over his head. He had taken off his shirt in the middle of the night, and she could trace the muscles in his arms and over his chest with her eyes. She stood there for a moment, watching him as he slept. He was not so frightening when he was asleep.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and a smile spread over his face. “Do you often watch people while they are sleeping? I find it quite unnerving,” he said.
Ellen gasped and took several steps back. She realised that she had forgotten to put on her dressing gown, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She hurried over to the bed, snatched up the dressing gown, and turned around as she put it on. When it was securely tied, she turned around once more. Simon was laughing softly.
“What are you doing up so early, Ellen?” he asked, his tone still tinged with sleepiness. “I thought married women stayed in bed until noon.”
“In my limited observations, I would say it is more like eight,” she said. She inched toward the settee where he had risen to a sitting position and pulled on his shirt. Embarrassed, she looked away until he had pulled it over his shoulders and back. “Were you awake the whole time?”
“I heard you get out of bed, but I thought you had gone behind the screen until I felt your eyes boring into me,” he said dryly. She came around the settee and stood at the end, her eyes narrowed. He winced as he stood, stretching his lower back. Her anger immediately cooled.
“It must have been uncomfortable for you to be on that tiny settee,” she offered.
He eyed her with suspicion. “Yes, it was. I think I shall have a couple of the footmen bring in a more practical couch this afternoon.” He rubbed his neck and winced again. “That settee is for sitting, not lying on.” He looked back at it with disdain. “But no matter. I believe breakfast is in order. Do you like coffee?” he asked and stepped over to the mantel to pull a cord. A moment later, his valet appeared.
“Ahh, Gregson. There you are. Will you have breakfast sent up? And plenty of coffee, if you please.” Simon nodded to his valet as he walked out, and they were once again alone. She felt more uncomfortable now than she had the previous evening. What was she to say to him? She had no idea of his interests or who he had become in the last ten years.
“Come and sit down. I promise I will be a gentleman.”
He picked up the blanket and began to fold it, but as he wrestled with it, he wrapped it around his hands in a wad and tossed it toward the bed. Ellen could not help but smile at this. Guilt washed over her again. She could tell that she had hurt his pride by building her makeshift wall the night before.
She did not know what to say to make amends, and so instead, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “Are all men so incompetent when it comes to tidying a home?”
He flashed her a good-natured smile.
“I suppose so. Unfortunately, we are not brought up in the art of homemaking. I recall you and your sisters were introduced to it from a very young age, as I assume most young women are. Did you not have a set of dolls that you played with when we were very young? You were always ordering them about and sending them to bed without supper and the like. What had they done to deserve such treatment?” he asked.
Ellen felt the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Oh, some mild infraction or another, I suppose. I do not exactly remember.”
She finally came around the settee and sat beside him, sure to keep her posture correct, with her hands folded demurely in her lap. Her mother had pounded it into her brain that she was to sit up straight at all times and never take up too much space when one sat with someone else on a settee. “I am surprised you remember such things as you would have been very young.”
