Page 12 of His Bluestocking Bride

“I am reading nothing of consequence.”

“Is it scandalous?” he asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

She didn’t look shocked by his question. “Only a little silly to admit. I am reading a children’s book. I find it interesting to see what sorts of things are written for children. It is a collection of Shakespeare’s plays. They are told in a narrative style instead of a script for the stage. There are beautiful illustrations.”

He could not resist a teasing grin. “The child who read Franklin’s autobiography reads children’s books as a woman grown. Your tastes are varied and not limited by your age or sex, I see.”

“They are not.” She smiled, her blush gone. “Although you’ve hit upon the reason that my mother despairs of me most. I am something of a bluestocking.” A note of apology hung on that word. Bluestockings, in his mind, were not pretty ladies who read interesting books, or conversed with such ease.

“I think that term need not be negative when applied correctly.” He gave her gloved hand a pat with his own, his tone only half-serious. “You are not planning on writing a stack of religious tracts and socially demanding poetry, are you?”

Ellen smirked. “Not at the moment, no. I have no desire to lead the life of Hannah More, nor the social standing to do so. I am content to read and learn, and share what I learn with those willing to hear it. I do not presume to know how to tell others to go about their lives.”

“Nor do you go about in a mob cap or black skirts, with spectacles perched on your nose, telling us all how superior your knowledge is. That is my idea of a bluestocking of the severest form.”

“Marcus,” she said slowly, “you have given me a wonderful idea. I think I shall share your picture of an enlightened woman with my mother. If she knew I had not sunk to that level she might be more at ease with me as I am now.”

“If you like, I could send her the description myself, and illustrate it as well,” he offered, grinning.

“Do you still draw?”

He faltered in his step and they both halted because of it. “Draw?”

“Yes. I remember you used to have a sketchbook you brought places with you. There was that picnic for all the children.” Her eyebrows drew together in thought. “You were with the older set, but you sat in a tree with a sketchbook instead of pretending to flirt with the girls your age.”

“They didn’t want to flirt with me,” he murmured, looking at her with interest. Ellen’s attention to detail impressed him. He could have sworn no one ever saw him with that book in hand. “They wanted to flirt with Lucas, the future earl. Whenever he was in company, I could never hold any attention.”

“I doubt that. I recall you being sought after frequently. But you didn’t answer my question.” She fixed her dark eyes on him, determined. “Do you still draw?”

He cleared his throat. “On rare occasions, when there is nothing better to do.”

“Oh.” She looked away, with an air of disappointment.

“It’s hardly a masculine pursuit,” he said, needing to explain himself. “When ladies speak of accomplishments, they always mention drawing. Men talk of sport.”

He looked up at the sky and at their surroundings. “Have we cleared enough cobwebs? Shall we turn back?”

“Yes, I think so.” She turned and he took her arm again as they retraced their steps to the open air of the gardens nearer the house. They moved through the hedgerows in silence and he tried to remember the qualities he thought important in a wife.

Practical. Sensible. Not given to romantic notions. Intelligent. Respectable. Willing to marry him and be a credit to his family.

He realized the list, which he thought impossible to fulfill, now felt entirely too short in requirements. The woman on his arm, from what little he knew, fulfilled each of them perfectly. Except the last. He did not know if she would be willing to marry. Ellen’s thoughts on herself put her squarely on the shelf. Perhaps she liked it there.

As the house came into view again, Ellen stopped walking. “There is something I feel I must tell you, Marcus. Though it causes me some embarrassment to discuss it.” Her eyes lowered to the ground as she spoke and the blush returned. Her freckles made her seem much younger than she was.

“If you feel you must then you must. I can promise you I’ll be a complete gentleman and listen attentively.” His attempt at levity was met with a quick glance from her.

“Thank you. I appreciate your word on that.” Her eyes darted away again before she took a deep breath, fortifying herself. “Yesterday evening, Marianne came to speak with me. She revealed her purpose in inviting the two of us to visit.”

Her blush darkened but she pressed on. “I’m incredibly sorry that my cousin and his wife put you up to—to paying your addresses to me, or even entertaining such a thought. I know this is an difficult situation and I wanted to release you from whatever promises you made to them.”

Marcus stared at her through her speech, his amusement doused as though he’d fallen through a frozen pond. He felt the heat creeping up his neck and knew his ears must be blazing red. She knew. She knew what he had been about. When she halted in her speech, she met his gaze, and he saw something he did not expect.

Though Ellen Bringhurst put on a brave face, her eyes were sad.

Marcus reached out and took both her hands in his. “Ellen. There is nothing awkward about this. Please put your mind at ease, or your face will burn up completely.”

She pulled her hands away. “I’m sorry. But it’s humiliating to know that my dearest friend and my cousin would try such an underhanded scheme. Thinking if they threw us together something would come of it.” She looked toward the house. “They acted out of concern for my well-being and for your inheritance. They worry for us both.”