Page 63 of His Bluestocking Bride

Though that was precisely what she wanted, Ellen shook her head. “I have a fitting for my gown. The seamstress is coming here, at your mother’s insistence.”

“I see.” His hands at his side opened and closed. He looked away. “Tomorrow?”

“Ball preparations,” she answered, her tone apologetic. “And the day after that is the ball.”

“I will at least see you there,” he said, a note of levity in his voice. “And we may dance without comment, as it is held in our honor.” Marcus raised his gaze to her, a charmingly crooked grin on his face.

Ellen wrapped her arms around her waist, holding herself together. How could he look at her like that and not know what it did to her heart? Would he ever know her feelings as well as he seemed to know her habits?

“That is something to look forward to,” she said, forcing a smile. “Will it be as much of a crush as the last ball we attended, do you think?”

He shrugged and moved closer again, bringing them to stand a foot apart. “Likely, since it is the Earl of Annesbury and his lady mother hosting. Between his title and her popularity, all of London will wish to attend.” His smile was almost apologetic. Did he know how much she dreaded being a on display?

He reached out, holding his hand palm up to her. Ellen hesitated, then put her hand in his. “You look lovely today, Ellen.” He said it simply, but with the expression she’d seen him wear dozens of times when he paid compliments to others.

“Thank you.” Her words sounded tired to her own ears.

Marcus’s brows drew down. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

What could she say to that? She withdrew her hand, folding it under her other arm again. “Not really.”

“Please, Ellen. Remember, I said no secrets between us.” Marcus’s hand curled into a fist and he dropped it to his side. He attempted a teasing smile. “That should also mean no half-truths.”

Yet how many of those had she told? And how many times had he spoken a kind word to her that could as easily have been said to a stranger? Ellen knew she was keeping plenty of secrets, locked up in her heart. Perhaps it was time to let one slip.

“Very well. There is something that bothers me, but I know addressing it will hardly do more than cause divisiveness between us.” Ellen looked down at the carpet, thinking her words through carefully.

“Tell me,” he said, and she watched his hand rise again, as if to reach out to her. At the last moment he withdrew it to run through his hair again. He chuckled. “I think I’m due for another haircut.”

Ellen sighed and turned away, finding it easier to collect her thoughts when she did not stand so near him. “I’m afraid you will think me the worst sort of person or accuse me of jealousy or—I don’t know. But since we have been engaged, and every time we have come in contact with others in our marriage, I’ve heard you offer lists of compliments to people, some half-meant. You said it’s part of what people expect from you, who you are. But the lack of sincerity, the ease with which flattery falls from your lips, is difficult for me to hear.”

There was a pause before he answered. “You don’t like that I’m kind to others?”

“I love that you’re kind to others,” Ellen said, then bit her lip when she realized she had used the word love in his presence. She was more tired than she realized. “It’s a fine quality. What I struggle with is the easy flattery. When you say such things to me, how can I believe you mean them?”

Marcus stepped nearer her but she kept her back to him, lifting her gaze to look out the window onto the busy street before the house.

“Ellen, I’ve never said a word to you without sincerity. In fact, there is more I would say—”

She closed her eyes, unwilling to hear compliments she could not trust. “Please, don’t. You are too used to the part you have assigned yourself. I have no doubt you mean well, but I’d rather not have the same words you say to every woman you encounter.” She pleaded with him, her vulnerability more apparent in her words than ever. “I have so long been just Ellen and I am unused to flattery.”

“It isn’t flattery,” he argued, stepping around her, between her and the window.

Her eyes opened, and she could feel the sting of tears building.

Marcus’s expression changed from one of entreaty to shock. “Don’t cry,” he said, reaching out to take her shoulders in his hands. “Ellen, I never meant to hurt you.” He pulled her gently forward, wrapping his arms about her.

She buried her face in his shoulder, her heart aching. He’d never embraced her like this and it undid her. Ellen’s tears could not be held back and she cried into his shoulder.

“Has it been so terrible?” he whispered into her hair, one hand stroking her back while the other supported her. “London? Me? Ellen, darling, what can I do?”

Ellen shook her head. “Nothing. I’m tired.” She gripped the front of his coat, allowing herself to stand within his arms a moment more before she pushed herself away. “Excuse me. I ought to rest.” Turning, Ellen made it a few steps before he spoke again.

“What can I do, Ellen?” he repeated. “Please, tell me. I don’t want to see you like this, hurting.”

She considered the question, glancing over her shoulder at the pained look in his eyes. Was he in earnest? What could she possibly say to him?

The truth would be best, though Ellen knew she couldn’t expect to receive it in return. Not yet.