"Very well, but if I must wait three days I shall demand something in return."
She narrowed her eyes. "It isn't very gentlemanly to agree to a bargain and then attach further terms."
"I believe that is exactly what you did as pertains to the consummation of our marriage."
Her face colored. "Very well. What precisely is this boon you demand?"
"It is most benign, I assure you. Merely an afternoon in your company. After all, we are courting, aren't we?"
"I suppose one could call it—"
"Tomorrow," he interrupted. "I shall pick you up promptly at one o'clock."
Ellie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
A few minutes later a carriage was brought around, and Charles watched as a footman helped her up. He leaned on his cane, absently flexing his ankle. The bloody injury had better heal quickly; it looked as if he might have to chase his wife around the house.
He stood on the front steps for several minutes after the carriage disappeared from view, watching as the sun hung on the horizon and painted the sky.
Her hair,
he suddenly thought. Eleanor's hair was the exact color of the sun at his favorite time of day.
His heart filled with unexpected joy, and he smiled.
Chapter 4
By the time Ellie arrived home that evening, she was a bundle of nerves. It was one thing to agree to this crazy scheme of marriage to Billington. It was quite another to calmly face her stern and domineering father and inform him of her plans.
As her luck would have it, Mrs. Foxglove had returned, presumably to tell the reverend what an evil, ungrateful daughter he had. Ellie waited patiently throughout Mrs. F.'s tirade until she boomed, "Your daughter"—here she stabbed a stubby finger in Ellie's direction—"will have to mend her ways. I don't know how I will be able to live in peace with her in
my
house, but—"
"You won't have to," Ellie interrupted.
Mrs. Foxglove's head swung around, her eyes blinking furiously. "I beg your pardon."
"You won't have to live with me," Ellie repeated. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."
"And where do you think you're going?" Mr. Lyndon demanded.
"I'm getting married."
That was certainly a conversation stopper.
Ellie filled the silence with: "In three days. I am getting married in three days."
Mrs. Foxglove recovered her normally extensive powers of speech and said, "Don't be ridiculous. I happen to know you have no suitors."
Ellie allowed herself a small smile. "I fear you are incorrect."
Mr. Lyndon cut in with, "Would you care to tell us the name of this suitor?"
"I'm surprised you didn't notice his carriage when I arrived home this evening. He is the Earl of Billington."
"Billington?" the reverend repeated in disbelief.
"Billington?" Mrs. Foxglove screeched, clearly unable to decide whether she should be delighted by her imminent connection to the aristocracy, or furious with Ellie for having the audacity to perform such a coup on her own.
"Billington," Ellie said firmly. "I believe we will suit very nicely. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have to pack."
She made it halfway to her room before she heard her father call out her name. When she turned around, she saw him brush off Mrs. Foxglove's grasping hand and make his way to her side.
"Eleanor," he said. His face was pale, and the creases around his eyes were deeper than usual.
"Yes, Papa?"
"I—I know I made a terrible muck of things with your sister. I would—" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I would be honored if you would allow me to perform the ceremony on Thursday."
Ellie found herself blinking back tears. Her father was proud, and such an admission and request could only be wrenched from deep within his heart. "I don't know what the earl has planned, but I would be honored if you would perform the ceremony." She placed her hand on her father's. "It would mean a great deal to me."
The reverend nodded, and Ellie noticed that there were tears in his eyes. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a small peck on the cheek. It had been a long time since she had done that. Too long, she realized, and vowed that she would somehow make her marriage work. When she had a family of her own, her children would not be afraid to tell their parents what they felt. She just hoped that Billington thought the same way.
* * *
Charles soon realized that he had forgotten to ask Ellie for her address, but it wasn't difficult to find the residence of Bellfield's vicar. He knocked on the door promptly at one o'clock and was surprised when the door was opened not by Ellie, not by her father, but by a plump, dark-haired woman who immediately squealed, "You must be the
earrrrrrrrrrrl."
"I suppose I must."
"I cannot tell you how
honored
and
delighted
we are to have you join our humble little family."
Charles looked about, wondering if he was at the wrong cottage. This creature couldn't possibly be related to Ellie. The woman reached for his arm, but he was saved by a sound coming from across the room that could only be described as a barely suppressed groan.
Ellie. Thank God.
"Mrs. Foxglove," she said, her voice laced with irritation. She quickly made her way across the room.
Ah, Mrs. Foxglove. This must be the reverend's dreaded fiancee.
"Here comes my darling daughter now," Mrs. Foxglove said, turning toward Ellie with open arms.
Ellie dodged the older lady with an artful sidestep. "Mrs. Foxglove is my future stepmother," she said pointedly. "She spends a great deal of time here."
Charles bit back a smile, thinking that Ellie was going to grind her teeth to powder if she kept glowering at Mrs. Foxglove that way.
Mrs. Foxglove turned to Charles and said, "Dear Eleanor's mother passed on many years ago. I am delighted to be as a mother to her."
Charles looked at Ellie. She looked ready to spit.
"My curricle is waiting just outside," he said softly. "I thought we might make a picnic in the meadow. Perhaps we should—"
"I have a miniature of my mother," Ellie said, looking at Mrs. Foxglove even though her words were ostensibly directed at Charles. "In case you'd like to see what she looked like."
"That would be lovely," he replied. "And then perhaps we should be on our way."
"You must wait for the reverend," Mrs. Foxglove said as Ellie crossed the room and took a small painting off of a shelf. "He will be most sore if he misses you."
Charles was actually rather surprised that Mr. Lyndon had not been present. Lord knew if
he
had a daughter planning to marry at the drop of a hat, he'd want to have a look at the potential groom.
Charles allowed himself a small, private smile at the thought of having a daughter. Parenthood seemed such a foreign thing.
"My father will be here when we return," Ellie said. She turned to Charles and added, "He is out visiting parishioners. He is often detained."
Mrs. Foxglove looked as if she wanted to say something, but she was stopped by Ellie, who brushed rudely by her, holding out a miniature painting. "This is my mother," she told Charles.
He took the small piece from her hands and regarded the raven-haired woman in the portrait. "She was beautiful," he said, his voice quiet.
"Yes, she was."
"She was quite dark."
"Yes, my sister Victoria resembles her. This"—Ellie touched a piece of red-gold hair that had escaped her neat chignon—"was quite a surprise, I'm sure."
Charles leaned down to kiss her hand. "A most delightful surprise."
"Yes," Mrs. Foxglove said loudly, clearly not enjoying being ignored, "we have never known what to do with Eleanor's hair."
"I know exactly what to do with it," Charles murmured, so softly that only Ellie could hear him. She immediately colored beet red.
Charles grinned and said, "We'd best be off. Mrs. Foxglove, it was a pleasure."
"But you only just—"
"Eleanor, shall we?" He grasped her hand and pulled her through the doorway. As soon as they were out of Mrs. Foxglove's earshot he let out a light laugh and said, "The closest of escapes. 1 thought she would never let us go."
Ellie turned to him, hands fiercely on her hips. "Why did you say that?"
"What, that comment about your hair? I do so love to tease you. Were you embarrassed?"
"Of course not. I've grown surprisedly used to your rakish statements in the three days I've known you."
"Then what is the problem?"
"You made me blush," she ground out.
"I thought you were used to my rakish statements, as you so delicately put it."
"I am. But that doesn't mean I won't blush."
Charles blinked and looked to her left, as if he were speaking to an imaginary companion. "I say, is she speaking English? I vow I have completely lost hold of this conversation."
"Did you hear what she said about my hair?" Ellie demanded. " 'We have never known what to do,' she said. As if she has had a place in my life for years. As if I would let her have a place."
"Yes ... ?" Charles prompted.
"I wanted to skewer her with a stare, flay her with a frown, impale her with a—I say,
what
are you doing?"
Charles would have answered her, but he was laughing so hard he was doubled over.
"The blush quite ruined the effect," she muttered. "How was I to give her the cut direct when my cheeks were the color of poppies? Now she'll never know how furious I am with her."
"Oh, I'd say she knows," Charles gasped, still laughing at Ellie's attempt at righteous indignation.
"I'm not certain I approve of your making light of my deplorable situation."
"You're not
certain?
It seems rather clear to me." He reached out and playfully brushed his index finger against the corner of her mouth. "That's a rather telling frown."
Ellie didn't know what to say, and she
hated
not knowing what to say, so she just crossed her arms and made a sound like, "Hmmmph."
He let out a dramatic sigh. "Are you going to be in a disagreeable mood all afternoon? Because if you are, I happen to have brought along the
Times
for our picnic, and I can certainly read it while you stare at the countryside and meditate upon the fifty different ways you'd like to do your future stepmother in."
Ellie's jaw dropped, but she snapped it back into place in time to retort, "I've at least eighty methods in mind, thank you very much, and I shouldn't mind if you read at all, as long as
I
get the financial pages." She allowed herself a small smile.
Charles chuckled as he offered her his arm. "Actually, I was planning to check some of my investments, but I wouldn't be averse to sharing with you."
Ellie thought about how close they would have to sit in order to read the paper together on the picnic blanket. "I bet you wouldn't," she muttered. Then she felt rather stupid, because such a comment implied that he wanted to seduce her, and she was fairly certain that women were more or less interchangeable in Charles's mind. Oh, he was going to marry her, that was true, but Ellie had a sinking suspicion that she had been chosen because she was convenient. After all, he himself had told her that he had barely a fortnight to find a bride.
He seemed to enjoy kissing her, but he'd probably enjoy kissing any woman, save for Mrs. Foxglove. And he had clearly spelled out to her the main reason why he wanted to consummate the marriage. What was that he'd said? A man in his position must beget an heir.
"You look rather serious," Charles commented, causing her to look up at him and blink several times.
She coughed and touched her head in a reflexive manner. "Oh, dear!" she suddenly burst out. "I've forgotten my bonnet."
"Leave it," Charles instructed.
"I cannot go out without one."
"No one will see you. We are only going to the meadow."
"But—"
"But what?"
She let out an irritated exhale. "I shall freckle."
"That doesn't bother me," he said with a shrug.
"It bothers
me!"
"Don't worry. They'll be on your own face, so you won't have to see them."
Ellie gaped at him, astounded by his illogic.
"The simple fact is," he continued, "that I like to see your hair."
"But it's—"
"Red," he finished for her. "I know. I wish you'd cease persisting in calling it that common color when it's really so much more than that."
"Really, my lord, it's only hair."
"Is it?" he murmured.
Ellie rolled her eyes, deciding that it must be time for a change of subject. Something, perhaps, that obeyed ordinary rules of logic. "How does your ankle fare? I noticed you are no longer using the cane."
"Very well. I've still a bit of pain, and I do find myself limping, but I don't appear to be any worse for having fallen out of a tree."
She pursed her lips waspishly. "You shouldn't climb trees on a stomach full of whiskey."
"Sounding like a wife already," Charles murmured, helping her up into the curricle.
"One must practice, mustn't one?" she returned, determined not to let him get the last word, even if her own last words were less than inspired.
"I suppose." He looked down his nose and pretended to inspect his ankle, then hopped up into the curricle. "No, the fall doesn't seem to have done any permanent damage. Although," he added wickedly, "the rest of me is quite black and blue from my altercation yesterday."
"Altercation?" Ellie's lips parted in concerned surprise. "What happened? Are you quite all right?"
He shrugged and sighed in mock resignation as he snapped the reins and set the horses in motion. "I was tackled to the carpet by a wet, red-haired virago."
"Oh." She swallowed uncomfortably and looked out the side, watching as the village of Bellfield rolled by. "I beg your pardon. I was not myself."
"Really? I'd say you were precisely yourself."
"I beg your pardon."
He smiled. "Have you noticed that you always say, 'I beg your pardon' when you don't know what to say?"
Ellie stopped herself a split second before she said, "I beg your pardon." again.
"You're not usually at a loss for words, are you?" He didn't give her time to reply before he said, "It's rather fun befuddling you."
"You don't befuddle me."
"No?" he murmured, touching his finger to the corner of her mouth. "Then why are your lips quivering as if you have something you desperately wish to say, only you don't know how to say it?"
"I know exactly what I want to say, you fiendish little snake."
"I stand corrected," he said with an amused laugh. "Evidently you are in complete command of your rather extensive vocabulary."
"Why must everything be such a game to you?"
"Why shouldn't it be?" he countered.
"Because ... because ..." Ellie's words trailed off when she realized that she didn't have a ready answer.
"Because why?" he prodded.
"Because marriage is a serious thing," she said in a rush. "Very serious."
His answer was swift, and his voice was low. "Believe me, no one knows that as well as I do. Were you to back out of this marriage, I'd be left with a pile of stones and no capital to keep it up."
"Wycombe Abbey deserves a more gracious moniker than 'pile of stones,' " Ellie said automatically. She'd always held a deep admiration for good architecture, and the abbey was one of the more beautiful buildings in the district.