Robert hadn't mentioned any of it, but perhaps that was for the best, for not everyone needed to know the sordid details.
Ellen felt an icy lump in her throat. He'd been right about one thing: she'd been soiled goods ever since.
Incapable of loving and being loved.
Incapable of experiencing a genuine marriage. This sham, this pretence in which she found herself now, was the closest to a marriage she would ever experience. It was all she deserved.
So she felt herself nod. "It's true."
Robert Mattickleft as soon as his wound was dressed. It turned out to be a mere scratch, even though it bled through the shirt and looked dramatic.
The men slapped Edmund on the shoulders and the ladies celebrated him as a hero when he felt anything but.
He felt weary and hollow.
Later, back in the room with Ellen, Edmund asked, "Why Robinson?"
Of all the things he could have asked, the only thing he was truly curious about was why she'd chosen Jacob Robinson as her stepfather.
Ellen sighed wearily. "Sit down," she said after the servants left the room.
He sat across from her, his head resting on his hands, and waited.
She leaned her head back against the armchair and closed her eyes as she collected her thoughts. Then she told him what had really happened with Mattick.
"Father died that night." Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and swallowed before continuing. "The shock of seeing his only daughter elope with a man he considered unsuitable was too much for him. I was suddenly alone in the world, barely seventeen, with a scandalous reputation that society would never forgive. I immediately became a pariah. I had no one to guide me, to protect me, to tell me what to do. A very distant cousin had inherited my father's title, and he'd made it clear that he didn't want me in the house. That I'd sullied the family name, and that he didn't want me near his wife in case my soiled reputation rubbed off on her by association. A few months earlier, my former seamstress, Jenny, had married a man who was much older than her, so I went to her. She'd always been more than just a seamstress; we'd become friends over time, and I trusted her. The Robinsons took me in when everyone else refused me."
Ellen's eyes filled with tears as she remembered the quiet embrace with which Jenny, big with child, had greeted her. She'd stayed with the Robinsons for two years. No one had known where she was, no one had cared, no one had ever asked for her or wondered where she'd gone. Miss Mary-Ellen Gordon had simply disappeared from society, and no one had bothered to find out what had happened to her.
The Robinsons had become a second family to her. Jacob had told her to consider him a second father, and she had done so. Ellen had helped with their baby after it was born, and Jacob Robinson had kept her busy with his manuscripts that needed to be copied in neat handwriting. It was the perfect job for her because it had kept her from thinking.
Then one day, Jacob had showed her an advertisement inThe Times. A seminary for young ladies in Bath was looking for teachers. Jacob had gently suggested that she apply, as she fit the requirements perfectly.
Ellen had been reluctant at first. The thought of venturing out into a cold, judgmental world had frightened her. Then she'd plucked up all her courage and got on the next mail coach to Bath.
Miss Hilversham had taken one look at her and hired her on the spot. In all the years she had worked for Miss Hilversham, she had never asked about Ellen's past. Ellen had sometimes wondered if Miss Hilversham had suspected that she'd tried to hide a scandalous past, but if she had, she'd never shown it. So it came that Ellen had found her second home in the seminary.
Having sworn off marriage and love forever, she'd thought it only natural that she should follow in Miss Hilversham's footsteps and become the next headmistress. She'd looked forward to the challenge. She sent half her earnings to the Robinsons, despite Jacob's protests that he could look after his own family, thank you very much. Jenny, however, gratefully accepted the financial support.
"Men's pride," she'd told Ellen. "But I have five mouths to feed and, brilliant as Robinson is, he is not a good accountant, and money is always tight."
It'd been so easy for Ellen to forget her past. Her new life blossomed and she'd been certain that teaching was what she would do for the rest of her life. But then, one morning, Noni stood at the door…
Ellen raised a tired hand. "You know what happened next."
Edmund had listened quietly. He lifted his head and stretched his leg.
"Your past doesn't matter to me," he said. "We all have one. You've learned of mine. You would not believe what some of Dobberham's guests have to hide, including some ladies. But what Mattick has done to you is unforgivable. He took advantage of an innocent. He knew what he was doing and what the consequences would be for you. He never intended to marry you. I'd hazard a guess you were not his only victim, either."
Ellen took his hand in hers. "I know I asked you not to duel with him. But when you did, and he lay on the ground, panting and whimpering from the scratch you'd given him, I couldn't help but feel vindicated. He deserved it and more. And for that, I want to thank you."
She leaned forward and kissed him. She had intended it to be a quick peck on the lips, but she could not tear herself away. His arms pulled her towards him, and his lips roved lazily over hers. His lips were so soft that she felt butterflies fluttering all over her body. She felt something irresistible rush through her veins, a firework of emotions followed by an aching pull, a longing ...
For what?
He lifted her and placed her on the bed. He kissed her neck, behind her ear, the tender hollow between her collarbones. His lips travelled upward again and nibbled on the lobe of her ears.
"Tell me to go," he said thickly. "Tell me to leave quickly."
