"But I have to go to the kitchen first," she reminded him.
"The kitchen. Right. The kitchen." He shot her a sideways glance as he pulled her into the hall. "It takes a bit of the spontaneity away, don't you think?"
"Charles," she said in a warning tone.
"Very well." He switched direction and started dragging her toward the kitchen, moving even faster than he had when he'd been dragging her toward the bedroom.
"Trying to make up for lost time in advance?" she joked.
He pulled her around a corner, pinned her against a wall, and joined his mouth to hers for a brief, proprietary kiss. "You have three minutes in the kitchen," he said. "Three. That is all."
Ellie giggled and nodded, willing to allow him this dictatorial streak because it made her feel all warm inside. He released her again, and they made their way downstairs, Ellie practically having to run to keep up with him.
The kitchen was beginning to bustle with activity as Monsieur Belmont and his staff began their preparations for the day's meals. Mrs. Stubbs was off in a corner, trying to ignore the Frenchman as she supervised the three maids who were cleaning up after breakfast.
"That's my jam on the stove right over there," Ellie said to Charles, pointing to the large pot. "Mixed berry. Helen and I prepared it together, and—"
"Three minutes, Eleanor."
"Right. I just need to stir it, and then—"
"Just stir it," he said.
She walked halfway to the stove and then said, "Oh! I really should wash my hands first. I was wearing work gloves in the orangery, of course, but the mess was so foul."
Charles sighed impatiently. Really, the chit could have been done and gone by now. "Wash your hands, stir, and be done with it. There's a bucket right over on that table."
She smiled, dunked her hands into the water, and then let out a little shriek.
"What now?"
"It's freezing. Monsieur Belmont must have had ice brought up. Perhaps we will have an iced fruit for dessert this evening."
"Ellie, the jam..."
She reached out for the pot, scowling as the servants edged away from her. Clearly, they still didn't trust her in the kitchen. "Here, I'm just going to move it to this table over here, where it can cool and—"
Charles would never be quite certain what happened next. He had been watching Monsieur Belmont expertly chop an aubergine when he heard Ellie let out a cry of pain. When he looked up, the large pot of jam was falling to the ground. As he watched in helpless horror, the pot hit the ground and the lid bounced off. Purple jam flew through the air, splattering the stove, splattering the floor, and splattering Ellie.
She howled like an injured animal and collapsed upon herself, sobbing in agony. Charles felt his heart stop and he ran to her side, his boots sliding through the hot, sugary jam as he raced across the kitchen.
"Get it off me," she whimpered. "Get it off me."
Charles looked at her and saw that the boiling jam was stuck to her skin. Good God, her skin was still being burned as he stood there watching. It appeared to be exclusively on her hands and wrists. Without taking time to think, he grabbed the bucket of cold water she'd used earlier and plunged her hands into it.
She jerked against him and tried to yank her hands out. "No," she cried out. "It's too cold."
"Darling, I know it's cold," he said softly, hoping she couldn't hear the way his voice was shaking. "I have my hands in the water, too."
"It hurts. Oh, it hurts."
Charles swallowed and looked around the kitchen. Surely someone would know what to do, how to make her pain go away. It killed him to hear her whimpers, to feel the way her body shuddered. "Shhh, Ellie," he said in his most soothing voice. "Look, the jam is washing away. See?"
She looked down at her hands in the water, and Charles immediately wished he hadn't asked her to. Her skin was a bright and angry red where the jam had washed off.
"Get me more ice," he barked at no one in particular. "The water is growing too warm."
Mrs. Stubbs stepped forward even as three maids scurried to the icehouse. "My lord, I'm not certain that you have chosen the best course of action."
"The jam was still boiling hot. I had to cool it down."
"But she's shaking."
He turned to Ellie. "Does it hurt as much?"
She shook her head. "I can hardly feel anything."
Charles bit his lower lip. He wasn't at all certain as to the best way to treat a burn. "Very well. Perhaps we should get you bandaged."
He allowed her to lift her hands from the bucket, but it was only ten seconds before she was whimpering in pain again. He plunged her hands back into the water just as the maids returned with ice. "Something about the cold water eases her pain," he told Mrs. Stubbs.
"She can't stay there forever."
"I know. Just another minute. I want to be sure."
"Would you like me to prepare a special burn pomatum for her?"
Charles nodded and returned his attention to Ellie. He held her tightly and placed his lips on her ear, whispering, "Stay close to me, darling. Let me pull the pain out of you."
She nodded.
"Take a deep breath," he instructed. As she did so, he looked back up to Mrs. Stubbs and said, "Get someone to clean this up. I don't want to see it. Throw it all away."
"No!" Ellie burst out. "Not my jam!"
"Ellie, it's just jam."
She turned her face to his, her eyes clearer than they'd been since she'd been burned. "I've been working all day on it."
Charles breathed an internal sigh of relief. If she could focus on the damned jam, maybe she could pull her mind away from the pain.
"What
is going on here?" came an awful screech.
He looked up to see his aunt Cordelia. Good God, this was all they needed. "Someone get her out of here," he muttered.
"Has she been burned? Has someone been burned? For years, I have been warning all of you about the fire."
"Will someone remove her from the kitchen?" he said more loudly.
"The fire will consume us all." Cordelia began waving her arms wildly in the air. "All of us!"
"Now!" Charles roared, and this time two footmen appeared to escort his aunt from the room. "Good God," he muttered. "The woman is completely unhinged."
"She's harmless," Ellie said shakily. "You told me so yourself."
"You stay quiet and conserve your energy," he said, his voice rough with fear.
Mrs. Stubbs stepped forward with a small bowl in her hands. "Here is the pomatum, my lord. We need to apply it to the burns and then wrap her hands in a bandage."
Charles looked at the sticky mixture dubiously. "What is in that?"
"One beaten egg and two spoonfuls of sweet oil, my lord."
"And you're certain this will work?"
"It is what my mother always used, my lord."
"Very well." Charles sat back and watched as the housekeeper gently applied the mixture to Ellie's splotchy skin, then wrapped her hands in strips of thin linen. Ellie held her neck and shoulders stiffly, and he could tell she was trying not to cry out from the pain.
God, it broke his heart to watch her like this.
A small commotion arose in the doorway, and he turned to see Judith, closely followed by Claire and Helen. "We heard noise." Helen said, breathy from having run through the house. "Aunt Cordelia was screaming."
"Aunt Cordelia is always screaming," Judith said. Then her eyes fell on Ellie and she asked, "What happened?"
"She burned her hands," Charles replied.
"How?" Claire asked, her voice oddly scratchy.
"The jam," he answered. "She—" He turned to Ellie, hoping that she might forget about some of the pain if he included her in the conversation. "How the hell
did
this happen?"
"The pot," she gasped. "It was so silly of me. I should have noticed it wasn't where I left it."
Helen stepped forward, knelt down, and placed a comforting arm around Ellie's shoulders. "What do you mean?"
Ellie turned to her new cousin. "When we set the jam to cook ... we wanted it at low heat. Remember?"
Helen nodded.
"It must have been moved closer to the firebox. I didn't notice." She stopped and swallowed down a cry of pain as Mrs. Stubbs pressed one of the bandages into place and began work on the other hand.
"Then what happened?" Helen asked.
"The handles were hot. It surprised me and I dropped the pot. When it hit the floor..." Ellie squeezed her eyes tightly, trying not to remember that awful moment when the purple liquid was everywhere, and then it was on her skin, and the burning sensation was awful, so awful.
"That's enough," Charles ordered, clearly sensing her distress. "Helen, remove Claire and Judith from the kitchen. They don't need to witness this. And see to it that a bottle of laudanum is brought to Ellie's room."
Helen nodded, took her daughters' hands, and left the room.
"I don't want laudanum," Ellie protested.
"You don't have any choice. I refuse to stand by and do nothing to ease your pain."
"But I don't want to sleep. I don't want to ..." She swallowed and looked up at him, feeling more vulnerable than she had in her entire life. "I don't want to be alone," she finally whispered.
Charles leaned down and dropped a feathery kiss on her temple. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I won't leave your side. I promise."
And when they finally gave her the laudanum and put her into bed, he settled down into a chair at her bedside. He watched her face as she fell into slumber, and then he sat in silence until sleep claimed him as well.
Chapter 16
When Charles awoke several hours later, Ellie was thankfully still asleep. The laudanum he had given her would surely wear off soon, however, so he poured another dose for when she woke up. He wasn't certain how long the burns would remain painful, but he was damned if he was going to let her suffer needlessly. He didn't think he could bear another minute of listening to her trying to suppress her whimpers of pain.
Quite simply, it tore his heart in two.
Charles covered his mouth to silence a yawn as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the bedroom. He hated late autumn, when the days were short and the sun set early. He longed for the warmth of summer, or even the crisp air of spring, and wondered what Ellie looked like in the summer when the sun stayed high in the sky well into night. Would the light hit her hair differently? Would it look redder? Or perhaps blonder? Or would she look exactly the same, only warmer to the touch?
At that thought, he leaned down and smoothed a lock of hair off her forehead, careful to avoid accidentally brushing against her bandaged hands. He was about to repeat the motion when a soft knock sounded at the door. Charles rose and crossed the room, wincing at the clicking noise his boots made when he stepped off of the carpet and onto the floor. He glanced over at Ellie and breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw she was still sleeping soundly.
He opened the door to reveal Claire, who was standing in the hallway, biting her lip and wringing her hands. Her eyes were puffy and so red that he could see their irritation even in the dim candlelight of the windowless corridor.
"Charles," she blurted out, her voice sounding overly loud. "I have to—"
He raised his finger to his lips and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door carefully behind him. Then, much to Claire's obvious befuddlement, he sat down.
"What are you doing?"
"Removing my boots. I haven't the patience to locate my valet for assistance."
"Oh." She looked down at him, clearly confused as to how to proceed. Charles may have been Claire's cousin, but he was also a belted earl, and one didn't often look
down
upon an earl.
"You wished to speak with me?" he said, grasping the heel of his left boot.
"Er, yes. I did. Well, actually, it is Ellie with whom I need to speak." Claire swallowed convulsively. The reflex seemed to shake her entire body. "Is she awake?"
"No, thank God, and I plan to give her another dose of laudanum the minute she awakens."
"I see. She must be in terrible pain."
"Yes, she is. Her skin has blistered, and she will most likely bear scars for the rest of her life."
Claire flinched. "I-I burned myself once. Just with a candle, but it hurt terribly. Ellie never even cried out. At least not that I heard. She must be very strong."
Charles paused in his efforts to remove his right boot. "Yes," he said softly, "she is. More so than I ever imagined."
Claire was silent for a long moment, and then she said, "May I speak with her when she wakes up? I know you want to give her more laudanum, but it will take a few minutes for it to take effect, and—"
"Claire," he interrupted, "can it not wait until morning?"
She swallowed again. "No. It truly cannot."
His eyes locked onto her face and stayed there even as he rose to his feet. "Is there something you feel you should tell me?" he asked in a low voice.
She shook her head. "Ellie. I need to speak with Ellie."
"Very well. I will see if she is up to a visit. But if she is not, you will have to wait until morning. No arguments."
Claire blinked and nodded as Charles put his hand on the doorknob and turned.
* * *
Ellie opened her eyes and then shut them again, hoping that would stem the dizzy sensation that overtook her the instant she blinked herself awake. It didn't help, however, so she opened her eyes again and looked for her husband.
"Charles?"
No answer.
Ellie felt an unfamiliar disappointment settle in her throat. He had said he wouldn't leave her side. It was the only thing that had kept her calm as she'd fallen asleep. Then she heard the door creak, and she looked up to see him silhouetted in the doorway.
"Charles." She had meant to whisper, but her words came out more like a croak.
He rushed to her side. "You're awake."
She nodded. "I'm thirsty."
"Of course." He turned and said over his shoulder, "Claire, ring for tea."
Ellie craned her neck as best as she was able to look behind him. She hadn't realized Claire was also in the room. It was surprising, that. Claire had never shown any interest in her well-being before.
When Ellie looked back to Charles, he was holding a porcelain cup to her lips. "In the meantime," he said, "if you want to moisten your throat, I have a bit of tepid tea here. I've already drunk from it, but it is better than nothing."
Ellie nodded and took a sip, wondering why, after so many kisses, it seemed so intimate to drink from his teacup.
"How are your hands?" he asked.
"They are quite painful," she said honestly, "but not as terribly as before."
"That is the laudanum. It can have very powerful effects."
"I have never used it before."
He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "And I pray you never will again."
Ellie sipped at her tea, trying, unsuccessfully, not to relive the jam accident in her mind. She kept seeing the pot as it dropped to the ground and remembering that one horrific moment when she knew with absolute certainty that she was going to be burned and realized that there was nothing she could do to prevent it. And then, when her hands were in the bucket of icy water, and she could feel everyone's eyes upon her—oh, it was horrible, just horrible. She hated making a spectacle of herself, hated doing anything foolish. It didn't much matter that the accident had been just that—an accident—and it wasn't her fault. She couldn't bear the pity in everyone's eyes. Even Judith had—
"Oh, God," she blurted out, practically choking on her tea. "Judith. Is she all right?"
Charles looked confused. "She wasn't in the kitchen when you dropped the pot, Ellie."
"I know, I know. But she saw me when I—Oh, you must know what I mean. She saw me when I was crying and whimpering and in so much pain, and it must have confused her terribly. I hate to think how she must feel."
Charles placed a gentle finger on her lips. "Shhh. You're going to exhaust yourself if you keep talking at such speeds."
"But Judith—"
This time he actually grasped her lips and held them together. "Judith is fine. Helen has already explained to her what happened. She was very upset but is taking it in her usual, six-year-old stride."
"I should like to speak with her."
"You can do that tomorrow. I believe she is having supper with her nanny just now and plans to spend the rest of the evening working on her watercolors. She said she wanted to paint you a special picture to inspire you through your recovery."
For a moment Ellie felt so content she didn't even feel the pain in her hands. "That is the sweetest thing," she murmured.
"In the meantime," Charles said, "Claire has asked to speak with you. I told her she may do so only if you feel up to it."
"Of course," Ellie murmured. It was very odd that Claire, who had never bothered to hide her resentment of Ellie, should want to comfort her while she recuperated. But Ellie was still hopeful that they might have a more friendly and familial relationship, so she moved her head a little to the side, made eye contact with her, and said, "Good evening, Claire."
Claire dropped into a bob of a curtsy and said, "I do hope you're feeling improved."
"I am beginning to," Ellie replied. "I expect it will take some time. It is lovely to have people to keep me company, however. It keeps my mind off of my hands."
Ellie wasn't positive, but she rather thought Claire paled when she mentioned her hands. There was a long and awkward silence, and then finally Claire gulped loudly, turned to Charles, and said, "Could I have a private moment with Ellie?"
"I really don't think—"
''Please."
Ellie was startled to hear a touch of desperation in Claire's voice, and she turned to Charles and said, "It will be all right. I'm not sleepy."
"But I had planned to give you more laudanum."
"The laudanum can wait five minutes."
"I won't have you suffering any more pain than is necessary—"
"I will be fine, Charles. I would like a few more moments of lucidity in any case. Perhaps you could go out to the staircase and await the tea."
"Very well." He left the room, but he didn't look happy about it.
Ellie turned back to Claire with a weary smile. "He can be very stubborn, can't he?"
"Yes." Claire chewed on her lower lip and looked away. "And so can I, I'm afraid."
Ellie watched the younger girl closely. Claire was clearly agitated and upset. Ellie desperately wanted to comfort her, but she wasn't certain that her overtures would be welcomed. After all, Claire had made her antagonism clear over the past few weeks. Finally Ellie simply patted the empty side of the bed and said, "Would you like to sit here beside me? I should enjoy the company."
Claire hesitated, then took a few steps and sat down. She didn't say anything for at least a minute, just sat there plucking at the blankets. Ellie finally broke the silence by saying, "Claire?"
The girl was jolted out of her thoughts, looked up, and said, "I haven't been very kind to you since you arrived."
Ellie wasn't certain how best to respond to that so she remained silent.
Claire cleared her throat, as if sumrnoning the courage to continue. When she finally began speaking, the words fell from her lips a mile a minute. "The fire in the kitchen was my fault," she burst out. "I moved the rack. I didn't intend for there to be a fire. I just wanted to burn the toast so you wouldn't appear so bloody smart, and I ruined your stew as well, and I've been poisoning your garden, and ... and—" Her voice broke, and she looked away.
"And what, Claire?" Ellie prodded softly, knowing what was coming, yet needing to hear it from Claire's lips. More to the point, she rather thought Claire needed to speak the words herself.
"I moved the pot of jam to the hot spot on the cooking surface," she whispered. "I never thought anyone would be hurt. Please believe that. I only wanted to burn the jam. That's all. Just the jam."
Ellie swallowed uncomfortably. Claire looked so miserable, so unhappy, and so damned sorry that Ellie wanted to comfort her, even though she'd been the cause of so much pain. Ellie coughed and said, "I'm still a bit thirsty. Could you ..."
She didn't have to finish the sentence, for Claire was already picking up the cup of tepid tea and holding it to Ellie's lips. Ellie took a grateful sip, and then another. The laudanum had made her throat terribly dry. Finally she looked back up at Claire, and asked simply, "Why?"
"I can't say. Please just know I'm sorry." Claire's mouth was quivering, and her eyes were filling with tears at an alarming rate. "I know that I've behaved terribly, and I'll never do anything like this again. I promise."
"Claire," Ellie said, keeping her voice gentle but firm. "I am willing to accept your apology, because I do believe that it is sincere, but you cannot expect me to do so without a reason."
Claire squeezed her eyes shut. "I didn't want people to like you. I didn't want you to like it here. I just wanted you to go away."
"But why?"
"I can't say," she sobbed. "I just can't."
"Claire, you must tell me."
"I can't. It's too embarrassing."
"Nothing is ever as awful as one thinks," Ellie said gently.
The younger girl covered her face with her hands and mumbled, "Will you promise not to tell Charles?"
"Claire, he is my husband. We have vowed to—"
"You must promise!"
The girl looked on the verge of hysteria. Eilie rather doubted that whatever secret she was keeping was as terrible as she thought, but she remembered what it felt like to be fourteen, so she said, "Very well, Claire. I give you my vow."
Claire looked away before she said, "I wanted him to wait for me."
Ellie closed her eyes. She'd never dreamed that Claire had been harboring a secret
tendre
for Charles.
"I've always wanted to marry him," Claire whispered. "He's my hero. He saved us six years ago, you know. Poor Mama was pregnant with Judith, and the creditors had taken everything away. Charles barely even knew us, but he paid my father's debts and took us in. And he never made us feel like poor relations."
"Oh, Claire."
"He wouldn't have had to wait much longer."
"But what was the use of trying to scare me away? We were already married."
"I heard you arguing. I know you haven't..." Claire turned beet red. "I can't say it, but I know that the marriage could be annulled."
"Oh, Claire," Ellie sighed, too concerned about the present situation to feel embarrassed that Claire knew that her marriage had never been consummated. "He couldn't have waited for you in any case. You must know about his father's will."
"Yes, but he could have annulled the marriage and—"
"No," Ellie interrupted, "he can't.
We
can't. If he does, he loses the money forever. Charles had to marry before his thirtieth birthday, and the marriage could not be dissolved."
"I didn't know," Claire said quietly.
Ellie sighed. What a muck. Then she realized what she'd just said and opened her eyes very wide. "Oh dear," she said, "Charles's birthday. Did I miss it?" He had said he had
how
many days before his birthday when they met? Fifteen? Seventeen? Ellie pinpointed the day he'd proposed in her mental calendar and began to count forward.
"His birthday is in two days' time," Claire said.
As if on cue, a firm knock sounded at the door. "That will be Charles," both women said in unison.
Then Claire added, "No one else knocks nearly as loud."
"Come in," Ellie called out. Then she turned to Claire and urgently whispered, "You're going to have to tell him. You don't have to tell him why, but you're going to have to tell him you did it."