Page 11 of His Bluestocking Bride

What would it be like to belong to him? How would her life change?

She slipped beneath the coverlet and snuggled into the plush feather pillows, then toyed with the end of her braid in the semi-darkness. The biggest change for someone like her, she knew, would be running her own household instead of being at the behest of her mother or sisters. She would be free to do things her way as the mistress of an estate. It would fall to her to make certain the servants knew their jobs and fulfilled them well. She would set all the menus. Direct the gardener. Meet with the housekeeper and butler.

If they had tenants, she would go out to meet all of them. Come to know their children. Take them Christmas and Easter baskets of gifts and foodstuffs. Her duty to the community would be important. Ladies’ societies, teas, visits, charity groups, all would become part of her life.

That would be the day-to-day changes. But there would also be the possibility, the expectation and hope, of children.

Ellen allowed her thoughts to linger there, trying to picture a little boy with her dark eyes and Marcus’s curls. She found the image came to her too easily. She waved her hand in the air above her as she attempted to wipe the picture from her mind. Pulling the blanket over her head, she whispered to herself.

“Stop. It will never be.”

Her practical mind failed her and Ellen shed a tear over her fate.

Chapter Five

Miss Bringhurst has already breakfasted,” the butler informed Marcus when he asked after her the next morning.

“I see.” Marcus looked at the empty table.

“She went directly to the gardens,” the butler added, nodding to the door which led outside.

Marcus looked at the spread on the side table with momentary longing, but he thought it best to begin his course with Ellen sooner rather than later. He took a slice of toast and made his way to the hall to obtain his great coat. He could not imagine what would take a lady out into a garden when it could not possibly have anything in bloom.

He found her easily, walking through the hedgerows, her eyes unfocused as though she looked inwards more than outwards.

“Good morning, Ellen,” he greeted as he drew closer. As he suspected, she looked startled and completely unaware of her surroundings until her eyes met his. At least her pleasant expression came readily, her eyes brightening.

“Good morning, Marcus.” She looked up at the clouded sky and then back at him. “I thought I was the only one foolish enough to enjoy a walk in this weather.”

“You are,” he said without hesitation. “But I’m foolish enough to think you ought to have company.” He shivered theatrically. “I’d much prefer to be on horseback on a day like today. Staying warm with some exercise.” He stood before her and offered his arm.

Marcus continued down the path she had been walking, matching his stride to hers. Though shorter than normal for a woman, she did not take mincing steps. He admired her confident stride.

“Why do you enjoy walking in weather like this?” he asked.

“The cool air helps me clear my mind of cobwebs.”

“Have you many such sticky things in your brain box?” He paused and made a show of peering at her forehead. “I cannot imagine that to be pleasant.”

She shook her head and spoke with a trace of humor. “I think anyone with a thought worth having also has several that are not worth having. Clearing away the dust and cobwebs leaves room for better thoughts. Greater focus.”

“And you have much to think on this morning?” He kept the inquiry polite but could not keep his grin from growing larger. “What weighty matters has such an enchanting lady to consider?”

“The matters common to a spinster and therefore of no interest to you, Marcus Calvert.” She smirked at him and took another step, which made him continue in order to keep her arm.

No matter how he tried to flirt, she turned his words and compliments back on him, seemingly unaffected. He decided to try a different tact. Perhaps seriousness would beget seriousness.

“I find it difficult to consider you a spinster. Every time I look at you, I can still see the girl from the schoolroom glaring at me across the library. Do you remember the time I caught you reading that book by the revolutionary, Benjamin Franklin? I told you it couldn’t be suited to a young lady’s taste.”

“And I told you that you were correct, but it was suited to mine.” He felt her relax and saw the look in her eye change, softening the amusement. “It was a good book. I convinced Father to order a copy for our library.”

The girl had always kept a book about her person. He imagined the woman before him did the same. “You still read a great deal?”

“I try to, yes. Father contributes to our village lending library, so we often receive the books and periodicals first.” Ellen bit her bottom lip before continuing, hesitation in her voice. “I know I should not admit to it, but I enjoy reading about all sorts of things. If a book in our circulation is especially good, Father trusts my judgment and buys a copy to add to our personal library. I think having wise words and knowledge close at hand is important to a family.”

He nodded and regarded her from the corner of his eye as they walked, turning a corner around another hedge. “What are you reading presently?”

At last he had the pleasure of seeing her blush, but not from his pointed attempts to cause such a reaction. When her cheeks turned pink, her freckles stood out more. She could not have above thirty of them, but they were scattered from one cheek to the other, bridging her pert nose.