Page 31 of His Bluestocking Bride

She laughed, and he joined her, pleased she’d accepted his teasing for once. His wife, lovely and sensible as she was, did not laugh nearly as much as she ought.

Ellen gestured to the shelves with one hand and held the other out for the notebook. “Shall we begin?”

He handed it back to her, careful to hold the edge, avoiding another accidental brush of fingers.

They had been at it for ten minutes when Ellen interrupted him. “I think you should read that one, Marcus.”

He paused and looked at the title again, having read it rather absently. “Treatise on the Culture of the Apple and Pear.” He pulled the book from the shelves. “Is it as thrilling as it sounds?”

She ignored his flippant remark. “I have read some of the author’s other work from the Royal Society journals. He’s a horticulturalist and I know he’s written other things about orchards and farms.”

“Sir Thomas Knight,” Marcus read from the inside page. “Interesting. He’s with the Royal Society?” It would be more than a dull memoir of a gentleman farmer, he realized.

“Yes. He must be something of an expert in the field. That is one of the books which distracted me yesterday. It was printed in 1801. I imagine there will be good advice inside.” She stood and came to his side, turning the pages while he still held the book in his hands. She smelled of honey and the apple pastry from tea. It was a sweet scent, suiting her perfectly, and reminding him of spring.

“Here,” she said, pointing down to a page and bringing him out of his embarrassing thoughts. Did other men stand around thinking such things of their wives?

Ellen was explaining the page to him. “You see where he explains his experiment? Can you imagine, ten thousand acres of farmland?”

“Intriguing.” Marcus could hardly manage more, distracted by his wife’s proximity. He looked closer at the page, ignoring Ellen as best he could, but as he began to read his eyes narrowed. “Most intriguing. You said he publishes in the science journals?”

“Yes.”

Marcus looked up at his wife with a new perspective, taking in her earnest expression and the way her eyes shone. It was not so much emotion that made her glow the way she did as it was the intelligence she held, lighting her from within. He knew she enjoyed reading, and she admitted that she did not limit her literary choices to artistic works. Ellen’s mind was more than practical, it was sharp and an instrument she employed regularly.

Closing the book, Marcus held it with one arm to his chest and bowed in his most courtly manner. “Mrs. Calvert, I owe you an apology.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Whatever for?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

“I did not at all appreciate your affinity for gathering knowledge from your reading until this moment. It is more than reading for entertainment. You read for your education. Enlightenment.”

Her cheeks colored. Though Marcus hadn’t meant to unsettle her, he could see the protests rising to her tongue before she spoke them. “I pass the time pleasantly with books. That’s all.”

“Ellen.” He spoke her name with sincerity, but when she did not look up he reached out, tentatively, and touched her chin. He carefully guided it up until their eyes met again. The touch was necessary. He had to make certain she understood him.

“Do not belittle this. Reading means something to you. This book will be helpful, I am certain, but your advice and abilities will be much more necessary to me. Will you study the subject with me? I will send to London at once for a subscription to the Royal Society’s journal and ask specifically for older issues with articles by Knight, if you think they will be useful.”

A myriad of emotions shone from her eyes, many he could not name, but he saw hope chase disbelief away. When she released a long-held breath he felt the warmth of it on his hand. He smiled and very nearly raised his thumb to stroke her cheek, thinking to reassure her, but remembered himself in time to drop his hand safely to his side.

“Thank you,” she said, her words softly whispered. “I will help in whatever way you wish.”

Her modest acceptance of his request touched his heart. Had anyone attempted to understand his wife’s love of reading before? It went beyond books and straight to her heart, of that he was certain, and he knew learning this had given him a greater insight to her than he had ever hoped to possess before.

Chapter Fourteen

Ellen sat at the lady’s desk she’d moved to the drawing room, Mrs. Burk seated next to her, going over a list of seasonal duties.

I wish we were not leaving for London, Ellen thought, shuffling the pages of her notes. There is so much to do here. And she would much rather be occupied in her own home than be a guest of Lord Calvert, Earl of Annesbury, in London. There would be naught for her to do there except attend the events her mother-in-law scheduled for her.

“What would you like done with the apple butter from last harvest, ma’am?” Mrs. Burk asked, flipping a page in her notebook. “It was not a very sweet harvest. The farmers informed us it rained too much last year and that deprived us of the richer tastes we are accustomed to.”

Had Marcus heard that theory? Did it agree with Sir Thomas’s articles? She would need to check. The memory of Marcus’s compliments, the approval in his words and expression as he told her he understood, had taken up residence in her heart and mind. Though he may never love her, Ellen treasured the recognition and appreciation given her.

To be understood was almost, she told herself, as wonderful as being loved.

To rid herself of that distracting thought, she answered hastily. “Is it possible to use the apple butter in any of cook’s recipes?”

“I will ask, ma’am.”