Page 64 of His Bluestocking Bride

“Someday, I would like to know what is in your heart, Marcus. I would like to understand how you truly feel, about me, about the life you live, without having to guess at your sincerity. But I know that is asking a great deal from one who protects himself as fiercely as you do.” Ellen watched his shoulders fall. “But in the meantime, perhaps you would grant your wife one small request.”

“Anything,” he said, opening his arms in an expansive gesture, his tone eager. “Anything you ask.”

“Don’t always be in such a hurry to cut your hair,” she said, her lips lifting in a weak smile. “I rather like it when it curls.” She turned and left, unable to stay a moment more. It was unwise to reveal too much of herself when he took pains to hide so much of his heart.

She put her hand to her waist where her sister’s letter pressed against her and an idea which would bring relief to her exhausted spirit came into her head.

As ill-suited to London as she was, it would be best if she took herself away from all of it. At least until she had better possession of her emotions.

It was something to think on, at least.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Marcus waited beneath the staircase for Ellen to descend. Guests would arrive soon and they were expected to stand in the entry to greet them for the first half hour of the evening. His mother already stood next to Lucas, the two of them resplendent in their formal attire.

“You didn’t cut your hair before the party,” his mother said, tapping her fan lightly on his arm. “I thought you said you would take care of that today?”

He reached up, his gloved hand finding one curl near his forehead. “I thought I might try something different. Cray attempted a more windblown look. Does it suit me?”

“More than the Caesar,” Lucas said, glancing at the style with interest. “I keep thinking my own is terribly short. Why bother having hair at all?”

Marcus chuckled. His mother took Lucas’s arm and moved closer to the door. “I hear carriages, I think,” she said. “Marcus, you had better see if your wife is having trouble?”

Ever the obedient son, Marcus nodded and turned to the stairs, taking three steps before he looked up—and froze. Ellen, his beautiful bride, stood hesitating on the top stair.

Ellen wore a gown of lavender, with an overlay of glittering ivory lace. The effect made it appear as though she wore a dress made of summer sky, filling with stars before the sun set. Her midnight-black hair was piled upon her head elegantly, small dark twists escaping, artfully brushing the bare skin of her neck. The only jewelry she wore was a simple silver necklace.

Her cheeks turned pink under his gaze and she lowered her eyes, descending the stairs slowly, her ivory satin slippers peeping from beneath her gown with each step.

Marcus watched her, his heart full to bursting, and he knew he could no longer deny his feelings. He loved her, with everything in him, and he wanted her to know. Even if she couldn’t return his feelings, if she admired him as a friend, he must tell her. He must try to win her love, whatever it took.

“Ellen,” he said when he reached his hand out to take hers. “You are stunning tonight.”

She hardly reacted to his words, nodding her thanks and sliding her fingers into his. The warmth of her touch, even through their gloves, moved slowly through him until every limb was affected.

“Hurry, dears,” his mother called.

Marcus helped his wife down the last several steps, then kept her hand clasped in his as they walked to form the reception line.

Lucas glanced their way and grinned when he saw Ellen. “Ah, there’s my new sister. You look lovely, Mrs. Calvert. You will be the queen of the ball.”

Marcus watched his wife’s cheeks go a brighter pink and a genuine smile curl her lips upward. “Thank you, brother.”

Why couldn’t Marcus solicit a response like that from her?

Because she cannot trust my compliments, he remembered. They are given too freely.

He would remedy that this very night, he promised himself.

The first guests arrived, and Marcus squared his shoulders. He would present his bride to everyone this evening with the pride and admiration he felt for her, and Ellen would see what was in his heart.

“Have you met my wife, Mrs. Ellen Calvert? She is the most intelligent woman I know.”

“This is my wife, Mrs. Ellen Calvert. Isn’t she stunning this evening?”

“My bride, Ellen Calvert. Easily the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance.”

At first, his compliments made her blush, which he counted as a victory. But after a dozen introductions had been made, Ellen stopped reacting. During a lull in the line, she leaned towards him.