Page 4 of His Bluestocking Bride

Marcus had come to the wedding too, looking more handsome than ever before.

Forbidding herself to dwell on that thought, Ellen pulled her travelling trunk from beneath her bed, noting its worn handles with a smile. She’d had the same piece of luggage since childhood and never thought on replacing it. It held too many lovely memories.

Being a girl meant Ellen was not always a desirable playmate for Collin, but she would do when he had no other children about. Most often his freckled, red-headed friend from school, Marcus Calvert, fulfilled the role as his companion.

Ellen came to regard them both with reverent awe, following them about and trying to take part in their games. When they were feeling generous, they would put her up into a tree or attic room and she could be a distressed Maid Marian or young Queen Elizabeth, needing a robber or a knight to save her. Thankfully, they let her take a book with her to pass the time until her rescue could be arranged.

Ellen went to her wardrobe. She looked from one side of the closet to the other, noting her prettiest dresses were from her last season in Bath, when her hopes of meeting a handsome man to wed finally faded to nothing.

None of the men she met matched the picture in her heart, where she carried an image of a gentleman with coppery curls and a charming grin.

But Marcus, the second son of an earl, spent every season in London. They never crossed paths socially. Only at the home of her cousin, for a month each summer, until the year she came out.

It would be good to see her cousin and his wife. Being among friends who cared for her would go a long way to lift the melancholy that had begun to creep into her heart.

Chapter Two

Marcus Calvert, second son to the late Earl of Annesbury, could not have received his invitation to stay at Falkham Hall at a more opportune moment. Fleeing London and his meddlesome mother before the start of the season felt much like he imagined escaping prison would.

Lord Collin Falkham had sent for him immediately after receiving Marcus’s shocking news. Since the two had been friends for nearly two decades, Marcus answered the invitation at once.

Marcus had been ordered to marry by the dowager countess, his own mother, or forfeit his inheritance until her death. Given her good health and the fact that he loved her dearly, the edict did not come with any hope of a swift conclusion.

“You must marry,” she had stated in their London town home, seated in her favorite chair. Her little dog yipped in her lap. “Until you do, I will not allow you to have Orchard Hill.” Her dark red curls were twisted upward and tucked into a lace cap. He’d inherited both the curls and the hair-color from his mother and counted neither a blessing.

“But Mother,” he had said with a laugh. “I’m not yet thirty. There is no rush to marry, and I know you no longer wish to run the estate.”

The estate they spoke of came with her into marriage and had always been intended for a second son, since the eldest would inherit the title and lands of his father. Marcus expected Orchard Hill to come to him when he reached his majority, but his mother withheld it, stating he had yet to mature enough to take over management of the property.

She sniffed and tilted her head up in a most determined manner. “I know precisely how old you are. Just as I know that your brother is past thirty.”

“Lucas is the earl,” he pointed out. “He already inherited his title and property. What has age and marriage to do with estate management?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she admitted without blinking. “But if I could hold your brother’s feet to the fire and make him wed I would. To my sorrow, I’ve no power over him.”

“He’s already married once.”

Her tone softened. “I know. And his loss of Abigail was heart-breaking. But that was five years ago. He must move on and marry, he must find his happiness. I have spoken to him but he has yet to listen. Therefore, I have turned my attention to the son I am most able to manage. You cannot be alone forever, Marcus.”

Had anyone other than his mother said such a thing, Marcus would have bristled up at once. As it was, he was merely annoyed. But she knew him and she knew what he had gone through. His loss may not have been as devastating as his brother’s, but it was nearly as life-changing.

“What makes you think I will bow to your wishes, Mother?” He dropped into the chair across from her and slumped down in it, feeling a headache coming on. He resisted the urge to push his hands through his hair, trying not to show his frustration.

“You want Orchard Hill. You have always wanted it.” She waved a hand dismissively before returning it to pet her dog. “You trained under your father. You have shown an admirable interest in being a good landowner. But you have not married to provide a progeny. You have not looked for a lady to help you manage the estate. I will not let it pass into your hands until you have taken that important step. Until then you will live on nothing more than the allowance your father provided you in his will.”

Marcus sat straighter and regarded her warily. “Father provided a mere pittance. He knew I would have Orchard Hill not long after he passed. That was two years ago.”

She shrugged in a manner more suited to a Frenchwoman than an English countess. “Then you will live on that pittance until you marry, because my coffers are closed to you.” Though her terms were harsh, her tone remained soft and gentle. “I love you dearly, Marcus. I have great hopes for you. But you have done nothing, absolutely nothing, to find happiness for yourself. Since before your father passed you have moved about society, had flirtations aplenty, but not taken the matter seriously.” She put her dog on the floor and stood, brushing off her voluminous skirts.

“I wish for grandchildren. That is the selfish point of these stipulations. But I also wish for your joy, which I do not believe you can find alone. I would like you to marry before your thirtieth birthday. At which point, I will turn Orchard Hill over to you the moment the vows are said. If you do not marry, then we will revisit the situation.”

Days later, comfortably situated in his brother’s carriage as it neared the Falkham property, Marcus still did not understand her. The estate sat nearly stagnant, entirely dependent on his mother’s old steward to make decisions on the management of the property. He knew she had not visited the estate since his father’s death.

Why would she entertain an absurd notion of forcing him to wed instead of handing him the deed? The very idea was something out of one of those Gothic romances society debutantes liked to read.

He had no wish to put his heart at risk again, which would necessitate a marriage of convenience.

The carriage came to a stop, jolting him from his thoughts, and the door was swung open by a footman.