She jammed the feather down her throat again, and Ellie released the rest of the contents of her stomach.
"That's it." Cordelia said. She took a glass of water from Helen and poured some into Ellie's mouth. "Spit that out, girl."
Ellie half spit and half let gravity pull the water from her mouth. "Don't make me do that again," she pleaded.
"At least she's talking," Cordelia said. "That's a good sign."
Charles hoped she was right, because he'd never seen a person look as green as Ellie did right then. He let Helen wipe her mouth with a damp cloth and then carried her back to the bed.
Helen picked up the dirty washbasin with shaking hands, and said, "I'll have someone take care of this," and ran from the room.
Charles picked up Ellie's hand, then turned to Cordelia and asked, "You don't really think she was poisoned?"
His aunt nodded emphatically. "What did she eat? Anything that you didn't?"
"No, except for ..."
"Except for what?"
"The custard, but I had a bite, too."
"Hmph. And how do you feel?"
Charles stared at her for a long moment, his hand moving to his stomach. "Not very well, actually."
"You see?"
"But it's nothing like what Ellie's been through. Just a little stabbing pain, as if I'd eaten something that had gone off. That's all."
"And you ate only one bite?"
Charles nodded, and then the blood drained from his face. "She ate nearly the entire pot," he whispered. "At least two-thirds."
"She'd probably be dead if she'd finished it," Cordelia stated. "Good thing she shared it with you."
Charles could scarcely believe the lack of emotion in her voice. "It must be food poisoning. That's the only explanation."
Cordelia shrugged. "My money is on the real thing."
He stared at her in disbelief. "That's impossible. Who would want to do something like this to her?"
"It's that young girl Claire, if you ask me," Cordelia replied. "Everyone knows what she did to the countess's hands."
"But that was an accident," Charles said, not wanting to believe his aunt's words. Claire could be mischievous, but she would never do something like this. "And Claire has made her peace with Ellie."
Cordelia shrugged. "Has she?"
As if on cue, Helen reappeared, dragging Claire, who was crying.
Charles turned his eyes to his cousin, trying very hard to keep any sense of accusation from his gaze.
"I didn't do this," Claire wailed. "I would never, ever. You know I wouldn't. I love Ellie now. I would never hurt her."
Charles wanted to believe her. He truly did, but Claire had been the cause of so much mischief. "Perhaps this is something you set in motion last week, before you and Ellie worked out your differences," he said gently. "Perhaps you forgot—"
"No!" Claire cried. "No, I didn't do this. I swear."
Helen put her arm around her daughter's shoulder. "I believe her, Charles."
Charles looked into Claire's red-rimmed eyes and realized that Helen was right. She was telling the truth and he felt like a heel for ever, even for a moment, considering otherwise. Claire might not be perfect, but she wouldn't poison anyone. He sighed. "It was probably just an accident. Perhaps Monsieur Belmont used bad milk in the custard."
"Bad milk?" Cordelia echoed. "It would have had to be well past rancid to do what it did to her."
Charles knew she had a valid point. Ellie had been violently, deathly ill. Could the convulsions that had shaken her small frame been caused by something as benign as bad milk? But what else could it be? Who would want to poison Ellie?
Helen stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Charles's arm. "Would you like me to stay with her?"
He didn't answer her for a moment, still lost in his own thoughts. "I'm sorry, what? No. No, I'll stay with her."
Helen inclined her head. "Of course. If you would like any assistance, however ..."
Charles finally refocused his eyes and gave his cousin his full attention. "I appreciate your offer, Helen. I may very well take you up on it."
"Do not hesitate to wake me up," she said. Then she took her daughter's hand and drew her toward the door. "Come along, Claire. Ellie will never be able to rest with so many people milling about."
Cordelia also strode toward the door. "I'll be back in an hour to check on her," she said. "But she looks to be over the worst of it."
Charles looked down at his now sleeping wife. She certainly looked better than she had just ten minutes ago. But that wasn't saying much; the only way she could have looked worse was if she'd started spitting up blood. Her skin was still translucent and greenish, but her breathing was even, and she didn't appear to be in any pain.
He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, saying a soft prayer as he did so. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 20
By noon the next day, Ellie's color was nearly back to normal, and it was clear to Charles that her bout with food poisoning would not leave her with any lingering illness. Cordelia agreed with his assessment, but she instructed Charles to feed her chunks of bread to sop up whatever poison might be lingering in her stomach.
He took Cordelia's advice to heart, and by supper-time Ellie was alert and begging him not to force her to eat any more bread.
"Not another piece," Ellie pleaded. "It turns my stomach."
"Everything will turn your stomach," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. He'd long since learned that she responded best to plain speaking.
She moaned. "Then don't make me eat."
"I must. It helps to absorb the poison."
"But it was only bad milk. Surely it doesn't linger in my stomach."
"Bad milk, bad eggs ... There is no way to know what really caused the attack." He stared at her with an odd look in his eyes. "All I know is that last night you looked like you were going to die."
Ellie fell silent. Last night she had
felt
like she was going to die. "Very well," she said quietly. "Give me another piece of bread."
Charles handed her a slice. "I think Cordelia has the right idea of this. You do seem less sluggish since you started eating the bread."
"Cordelia does seem considerably more lucid since my unfortunate bout with poison."
He regarded her thoughtfully. "I rather think Cordelia just needed someone to listen to her from time to time."
"Speaking of people who want to be listened to from time to time ..." Ellie said, nodding toward the open door to her room.
"Good evening, Ellie!" Judith said brightly. "You've slept the whole day away."
"I know. Terribly lazy of me, don't you think?"
Judith just shrugged. "I painted you a picture."
"Oh, it's lovely!" Ellie exclaimed. "It's such a beautiful ... a beautiful..." She looked to Charles who was no help at all. "Rabbit?"
"Exactly."
Ellie let out a relieved breath.
"I saw one in the garden. I thought you'd like his ears."
"I do. I love his ears. They are very pointy."
Judith's face turned serious. "Mama told me you drank some bad milk."
"Yes, it's given me a horrid stomachache, I'm afraid."
"You must always smell milk before you drink it," Judith instructed. "Always."
"I certainly will from now on." Ellie patted the little girl's hand. "I appreciate your advice."
Judith nodded. "I always give good advice."
Ellie smothered a laugh. "Come here, poppet, and give me a hug. That will be the nicest medicine I've had all day."
Judith climbed onto the bed and snuggled into El-lie's embrace. "Would you like a kiss?"
"Oh, indeed."
"It will make you better," the little girl said as she planted a loud smack on Ellie's cheek. "Maybe not right away, but it will."
Ellie stroked her hair. "I'm sure it will, poppet. I'm beginning to feel better already."
As Charles stood in the corner, silently regarding his wife and cousin, his heart swelled to overflowing. Ellie was still recovering from the worst attack of food poisoning he'd ever witnessed, and here she was, cuddling his young cousin.
She was amazing. There was no other way to describe her, and if that weren't enough, she was clearly going to make the best damned mother England had ever seen. Hell, she already made the best wife he could ever have imagined.
He felt his eyes grow suspiciously moist, and he suddenly realized that he had to tell her he loved her. And he had to do it now, this very instant. Otherwise he was certain his heart would burst. Or his blood would boil. Or maybe all his hair would fall out. All he knew was that the words "I love you" were welling up within him and he had to say them aloud. It just wasn't something he could contain within the boundaries of his heart any longer.
He wasn't sure if she returned the sentiment, although he suspected that if she didn't, she felt something at least close to love, and that would be good enough for him right now. He had plenty of time to make her love him. A lifetime, in fact.
Charles was coming to greatly appreciate the permanence of the marriage bond.
"Judith," he said abruptly. "I need to speak with Ellie right now."
Judith turned her head toward him without relinquishing her spot in Ellie's arms. "Go ahead."
"I need to speak with her
privately."
Judith snorted in a vaguely insulted manner. She climbed off the bed, turned her nose up at Charles, and said to Ellie, "I shall be in the nursery if you need me."
"I shall remember that," Ellie replied gravely.
Judith marched to the door, then turned around, ran back to Charles, and kissed him quickly on the back of his hand. "Because you're such a sourpuss," she said, "and you ought to be a sweetpuss."
He tousled her hair. "Thank you, poppet. I shall try to behave accordingly."
Judith smiled and ran from the room, carelessly letting the door slam behind her.
Ellie switched her gaze to Charles. "You look very serious."
"I am," he blurted out, his voice sounding funny to his ears. Damn, but he felt like a green boy. He didn't know why he should feel so nervous. It was clear she held him in a certain measure of affection. It was just that he'd never said, "I love you," before.
Hell, he'd never expected to lose his heart to a wife, of all people. He took a deep breath. "Ellie," he began.
"Has someone else taken ill?" she asked, her face growing concerned. "The custard—"
"No! No, it's not that. It is simply that there is something I must tell you, and"—his face grew impossibly sheepish— "and I don't quite know how to go about doing it."
Ellie chewed on her lower lip, feeling suddenly quite heartsick. She'd thought their marriage was progressing so well, and now he looked as if he were about to ask for a divorce! Which was ludicrous, of course—a man in his position would never ask for a divorce, but Ellie had a bad feeling about this all the same.
"When we wed," he began, "I held certain notions about what I wanted out of marriage."
"I know," Ellie interrupted, panic rising within her. He'd made those notions clear, and her heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. "But if you think about it, you'll realize that—"
Charles held up a hand. "Please let me finish. This is very difficult for me."
It was difficult for her, too, Ellie thought glumly, even more so since he wasn't letting her state her case.
"What I'm trying to say is... Bugger." He raked his hand through his hair. "This is more difficult than I'd anticipated."
Good, she thought. If he was going to break her heart, she didn't want it to be easy for him.
"What I'm trying to say is that I had it all wrong. I don't want a wife who ..."
"You don't want a wife?" she choked.
"No!" he practically yelled. Then he continued in a more normal tone, "I don't want a wife who will look the other way if I stray."
"You want me to
watch?"
"No, I want you to be furious."
Ellie was by now on the verge of tears. "You deliberately want to make me angry? To hurt me?"
"No. Oh, God, you've got it all wrong. I don't want to be unfaithful. I'm not
going
to be unfaithful. I just want you to love me so much that if I did—which I'm not going to—you would want to have me drawn and quartered."
Ellie just stared at him while she digested his words. "I see."
"Do you? Do you really? Because what I'm saying is that I love you, and although I very much hope you return the feeling, it's perfectly all right if you don't just yet. But I need you to tell me that I can hope, that you're coming to care for me, that—"
A choking sort of sound emerged from Ellie's throat, and she covered her face with her hands. She was shaking so hard he didn't know what to think. "Ellie?" he said urgently. "Ellie, my love, say something. Please talk to me."
"Oh, Charles," she finally managed to get out. "You're such an idiot."
He drew back, his heart and soul aching more than he ever thought possible.
"Of
course
I love you. I might as well have written the words on my forehead."
His mouth fell slightly open. "You do?"
"I do." It was hard to hear her voice, for she was speaking through laughter and tears.
"I thought you
might,
actually," he said, teasing her by adopting his favorite rakish expression. "I've never really had much trouble with women before and—"
"Oh, stop!" she said, throwing her pillow at him. "Don't ruin this perfectly perfect moment by pretending you orchestrated the entire scenario."
"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Then what should I do? I've been a rake my entire life. I'm at a bit of a loss now that I'm reformed."
"What you should do," Ellie said, feeling a smile begin at the core of her being, "is come over here to this bed and give me a big hug. The biggest you've ever given."
He closed the distance between them and sat by her side.
"And then," she continued, her smile now on her face, in her eyes, even in her hair and toes, "you should kiss me."
He leaned forward and dropped a feather-light peck on her lips. "Like this?"
She shook her head. "That was much too tame, and you forgot to hug me first."
He gathered her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. "If I could hold you like this forever, I would," he whispered.
"Tighter."
He chuckled. "Your stomach... I don't want to—"
"My stomach feels remarkably restored," she sighed. "It must be the power of love."
"Do you really think so?" he asked, chuckling.
She made a face. "That was the most maudlin thing I've ever said, wasn't it?"
"I probably haven't known you long enough to make that judgment, but given your rather plainspoken nature, I would venture to agree."
"Well, I don't care. I meant it." She threw her arms around him and held tight. "I don't know how it happened, because I never expected to fall in love with you, but I did, and if it makes my stomach feel better, then so be it."
In her arms Charles shook with laughter.
"Is love supposed to be this much fun?" Ellie asked.
"I doubt it, but I don't plan to complain."
"I thought I was supposed to feel tortured and agonized and all that rot."
He took her face between his hands and gazed at her seriously. "Since you became my wife, you've been seriously burned, suffered a massive case of food-poisoning, and I won't even begin to list Claire's many transgressions against you. I should think you've paid your dues in the realm of torture and agony."
"Well, I did feel agonized and tortured for a moment or two," she admitted.
"Really? When was that?"
"When I realized I loved you."
"The notion was that unpalatable?" he teased.
She looked down at her hands. "I remembered that awful list you wrote before we married, about how you wanted a wife who would look the other way when you strayed."
He groaned. "I was insane. No, I wasn't insane. I was merely stupid. And I just didn't know
you."
"All I could think about was how I could never be the passive, accepting wife you wanted, and how much it would hurt if you were unfaithful." She shook her head. "I could swear I could
hear
my heart breaking."
"That will never happen," he assured her. Then his expression grew suspicious. "Wait just one second. Why did this give you only a moment or two of agony? I should think the prospect of my being unfaithful would be worth at least a full day of heartbreak."
Ellie laughed. "I was only agonized until I remembered who I was. You see, I've always been able to get what I want if I work hard enough for it. So I decided to work hard for you."
Her words were something less than poetry, but Charles's heart sang nonetheless.
"Oh Oh Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I even made a list."
"Trying to beat me at my own game, were you?"
"Trying to
win
you at your own game. It's in the top drawer of my writing desk. Go fetch it so I may read it to you."
Charles bounded off the bed, oddly touched that she had adopted his habit of making lists. "Shall I read it to myself, or do you want to read it aloud?" he asked.
"Oh, I can—" Her expression froze, and she turned quite red. "Actually, you can read it if you like. To yourself."
He found the list and returned to her side. This was going to be interesting if she'd put something on it so racy that she was embarrassed to read it aloud. He looked down at her neat handwriting and carefully numbered sentences and then decided to torture her. He handed her the list and said, "I really think you ought to read it yourself. After all, it's your debut list."
She turned even redder, which he hadn't thought possible but found very entertaining nonetheless. "Very well," she muttered, snatching the paper from his hands. "But you may not laugh at me."
"I don't make promises I cannot keep."
"Fiend."
Charles leaned back against the pillows, resting his head in his hands, his elbows bent out to the side. "Do begin."
Ellie cleared her throat. "Ahem. This list is titled: 'How To Make Charles Realize He Loves Me.' "
"Amazingly enough, the dolt managed to figure it out all on his own."
"Yes," Ellie said, "the dolt did."
He stifled a smile. "I won't interrupt again."
"I thought you said you don't make promises you cannot keep."
"I shall
try
not to interrupt again," he amended.
She shot him a disbelieving look, then read,
"
'Number One: Impress him with my financial acumen.' "
"I've been impressed with that all along."
" 'Number Two: Demonstrate how capably I can run the household.'"
He scratched his head. "Much as I appreciate the more practical aspects of your personality, these aren't very romantic suggestions."
"I was still warming to the task," she explained. "It took a bit of time to get into the true spirit of the endeavor. Now then, 'Number Three: Have Mrs. Smithson send over more silk lingerie."