Page 44 of His Bluestocking Bride

“You wouldn’t make it very far before the storm rendered you blind, sir,” Mrs. Burk said, her tone finally more sympathetic. “It’s best you remain here, where you’re safe, and go to fetch her back as soon as the storm clears. Tomorrow afternoon the roads may be better.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” He flexed his hands and began to pace the room, shaking his head from side to side. “That’s a long time for Ellen to be trapped.”

“Sir, she’s with good company. The Banners will see to her every need and comfort.”

But that was Marcus’s job. He ought to be the one seeing to her. Why had the woman stayed gone so long? If she would’ve come home sooner, they could be readying for dinner even now, their routine uninterrupted, her safety assured. What could she have been thinking, to stay so long? It was hardly proper. Most visits to acquaintances lasted no more than half an hour. At most.

“It’s a good thing for her, Mr. Calvert,” his housekeeper, with an uncanny knack of reading his mind, stated. “This will be a fine way for her to grow close to Mrs. Banner and solidify their friendship. Even a small crisis can true friends make.”

The woman was right. Her ability to view the situation for what it was, a small crisis, a passing concern, not at all an emergency, should have calmed Marcus. He did his best to dispel his doubts through a deep breath.

“Yes, Mrs. Burk. I see what you mean. Thank you.”

“Shall I have a tray brought in for you, Mr. Calvert?” That was all. In Mrs. Burk’s mind, the matter was settled, the conversation closed, and they must return to normalcy. “Or would you prefer to eat in the dining room?”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. Should he eat when he ought to be worrying about his wife? Marcus didn’t feel equal to the task. But she stared at him, awaiting his response.

“A small tray, if you please. Thank you.”

Marcus sat down again, looking at his books on the table. He supposed he ought to occupy himself, continue his studies, make notes for the things he wished to discuss with Ellen.

The dinner tray arrived after a short time and he put his things aside long enough to attempt nibbling at the meal. His eyes were drawn to the window, where the sky looked near black, despite the heavy white snow falling thickly. He put the meal aside and decided he would get nothing done in the parlor, staring down the drive.

He took his books to the library and sat in his usual chair.

But there, his eyes kept turning to the empty seat beside him.

“Stop,” he muttered to himself. “She’s perfectly safe with the Banners.” He looked down at his book and realized he needed to turn to a fresh page before continuing his notes, but once the cream-colored blankness lay before him he stared at it for a time.

Perhaps it would be best if he sketched to pass the time until he went to bed. Such as a depiction of a new orchard he thought to plant, using the principles he was learning from his studies.

Marcus hesitated before telling himself, firmly, that he could sketch something as innocuous as a row of trees without becoming overly involved in the act.

He went to work quietly. Having avoided the practice since his unfortunate heart break at the hands of Selene, remembering well her mocking smile when he gave her the sketches he made of her likeness, Marcus hadn’t wished to ever put another drawing on paper again.

But as part of his work, it made sense.

The page was too small.

Marcus glowered at it for a moment and looked at the pencil in his hand with the realization that it was an inferior instrument.

If he was going to draw, he would do it correctly.

Marcus went to his study where he had dropped the sketchbook and pencils purchased for him by his wife. He hadn’t made use of them nor had he planned to. They were nestled in the bottom of his desk drawer, underneath a pile of old ledgers. He dug them out and opened the finely made book to the first page. He began to draw the apple trees and the rows in which he would plant them.

The exercise soothed him and occupied his mind more than his studies had. His mind on other things, he forgot, for a short time at least, that Ellen was not at home where she should be, sitting by the fire with him.

Soon his paper was filled with a well-ordered forest of apple trees neatly in a line. But something was missing from the drawing.

The trees are enough. This isn’t an artistic exercise. Planning.

But his hands lingered over the page, pencil in hand, pointed tip touching the paper. Finally, giving in to temptation, he allowed his wrist to move first, then his fingers, and another image appeared among the trees.

Even though they had not been married long, Marcus knew what her silhouette looked like. He knew how she placed her hands on either side of her hips when she stood at her ease, he knew the tilt of her head when she was amused, and he knew the set of her shoulders when she relaxed.

Ellen's form appeared on his paper, standing beneath his trees, looking into the distance.

Marcus stared at the image of his wife, looking at work he had yet to do. Without meaning to, he drew her pleased by her surroundings and his labor. Would she like his plans? Did she care, one way or another, how he went about running their estate? He felt certain she must, given the amount of time and energy she spent in her conversations with him.