Page 46 of His Bluestocking Bride

“Your horse?” She came up the stairs, her eyes never leaving his. “Where are you going, Mr. Calvert?”

It surprised him she needed to ask. He opened his arms in a wide, obvious gesture. “To fetch back Ellen, of course.” Then he turned and hurried away to climb the staircase to his room, determined not to waste another moment. If Cray didn’t come quickly enough, he could see to himself.

But he had barely divested himself of his waistcoat when his valet came through the door which connected the dressing room to the bedroom. “Sir, I apologize, I didn’t know you would need me so early.” The valet looked to his master’s bed and froze, eyebrows drawn together.

Marcus waived a hand toward the bed, not slept in. “Surely you noticed I never went to sleep last night.”

The servant drew himself up as though his dignity had been challenged. “Mr. Calvert, you have given me leave to retire if you do not ring for me before a certain time. I thought last night was one of those evenings. If I failed you in some way—”

“Not at all, Cray. Unless you fail to have me ready to leave, braving the snow, in a timely manner.” Marcus grinned when that got his manservant moving quickly, gathering up clothing and shaving equipment. “Don’t worry about the shave. I am seeing no one who will be concerned. I want to get underway as soon as possible.”

His valet froze and stared at him in absolute horror. “Go about unshaven? Mr. Calvert, I cannot allow that. You are to see Mrs. Calvert, are you not? She might be concerned with your appearance.”

Marcus had to concede to that point. If he must go rescue his wife, he ought not to look half wild. “Very well. But it must be quick.”

“Yes, sir.” The valet drew himself up and set to work.

In an impressively short quarter of an hour, Marcus’s butler assisted him into his great coat, beaver hat, scarves, gloves, and informed him all was made ready.

Ellen’s maid, Sarah, provided him with her mistress’s riding habit.

Marcus thanked his valet, who still hovered nearby, the butler, a footman, his housekeeper, and then his groom as he climbed onto his horse. They all watched him, from inside and out of the house, but Marcus didn’t care if they thought him mad.

In the night, drawing and redrawing his wife, Marcus came to a marvelous realization. Though his efforts did not reach the fever pitch of frenzy attained drawing Lady Selene, he recognized in his work a devotion to the subject of his sketches. Each line made, each stroke of his pencil, he made with great care and sincerity. He wanted to put Ellen onto the paper in such a way that she appeared to come off of it. He wanted her image to be real to any who looked on her.

Ellen’s portrait must convey her intelligence, her love of learning, her kindness. He wanted more than her smile and freckles rendered; he wanted her humor and compassion on the page.

The more he worked, later and later into the night, the more his heart warmed towards his wife.

Marcus, to know her so well, in such a short time, drew her with a deep affection and dedication he could not remember ever feeling before. Waking at dawn, those feelings still nestled within his heart, he must discover what they meant, and quickly, lest the determination fade with time.

And so, he decided to go after Ellen. Immediately.

Even if it scandalized the servants.

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Ellen lounged in her bed, staring up at the canopy, wondering what she would do in these early morning hours. When she awoke early before marriage, she made herself useful by attending to household matters. As a married woman, she had a tray brought to her with chocolate and she would read in her room, until she judged it near the time Marcus would be awake and seeking food downstairs. But here, in a household completely new to her, she did not know what would be best.

Ellen didn’t like inconveniencing people.

She sat up and pulled the blankets to her chin, noting the room had grown chilly during the night and no one had come yet to stoke the fire in the guest chamber. She shivered and slid from the bed, picking up a shawl to wrap around her shoulders. The carpet felt cold against her feet, standing at the window, looking out on a world of white.

Her shoulders fell. What if the roads were completely covered?

Ellen wouldn’t know until she consulted with the Banners and her coachman.

She decided to dress, then she could seek out the kitchen and something warm to drink. Making inquiries of the servants would be better than besetting the Banners with questions.

She slipped into the hallway after donning her dress from the day before. Mercifully, she could do up her own stays with an effort, so she was properly attired when she realized she was not alone in the hall.

“Good morning, Mrs. Calvert,” a voice said, startling her.

Ellen looked down to see Arthur crouched beneath a hall table. “Arthur, you surprised me. Good morning. Are you supposed to be out of the nursery this early?”

The boy shook his head slowly. “Nurse is sleeping and so is Essie. But I’m awake.” He crawled from beneath the table and gave her an earnest look. “And hungry.”

“Oh dear.” She reached her hand out to him. “We cannot have that. Let’s go downstairs. I will take charge of you for now, and I’ll help you seek out some toast.”