Chapter Twelve
The journey to Orchard Hill gave Ellen time to reflect on the matters of her heart. They stayed at an inn overnight, in separate rooms joined by a small sitting area. Ellen felt no awkwardness over this, having known the plan ahead of time. Knowing that her husband did not, in fact, think of her in any way other than a friend, also gave her no expectations of consummating their marriage any time soon. Still, it was hard to sleep in a strange bed.
Thoughts of her wedding vows, and Marcus’s, kept her wondering if this had been the right thing to do. He did not love her. He professed his intention to never give his heart to another after Lady Selene’s ill treatment.
Would Ellen’s love be enough to sustain their marriage? Enough for her happiness?
The following morning dawned without any answers.
They rode in relative comfort and enjoyed easy conversations. He told her about the tenants he met, the state of their homes, and the apple orchard from which Orchard Hill took its name. She asked question after question, enjoying his eagerness on the subject.
Just shy of three o’clock in the afternoon, he leaned toward the window and gestured for her to look. She had to lean across him to do so, but Marcus helped to hold her still amid the bumps of the carriage, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.
It was the most he had touched her since she accepted his betrothal, excepting when politeness required he take her arm.
She tried to ignore the way his proximity made her feel. As a married woman, she could not let herself be undone by polite touches such as these.
Looking through the window, she saw a long lane, lined with sleeping apple trees. At the end of the lane, settled on a grassy knoll, was a red brick house. It stood three stories tall, with wide windows and a beautiful four-column porch, larger and grander than Ellen expected.
She held her breath when Marcus helped her from the carriage, directing her eyes upward to the dark slats of the roof and deep green shutters at every window. The driveway was covered in small white stones and the steps leading up to the house were made of brick.
Standing before the house, in a short line of starched aprons and somber colored suit coats, was the household staff. Butler, two footmen, gardener, and under gardener stood on one side. Then there was the housekeeper, two maids, the cook, the cook’s assistant, and one familiar face among them, standing barely behind the housekeeper.
Ellen felt her heart lift at the sight of Sarah, the maid from Marianne’s home, smiling shyly at her.
Marcus leaned closer to her. “I thought you would be pleased. She was eager to come and be of service to you.”
Ellen could not speak her thanks but cast him what she hoped was a grateful smile. He led her to the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Calvert, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Burk, a fine housekeeper if ever there was one.”
It was the first time she heard her new name. At last she’d no longer be the last Miss Bringhurst. She was forever linked to Marcus, as his wife. She had little time to dwell on the pleasant thought.
Mrs. Burk dipped a respectful curtsy. She had graying hair pulled back into a soft bun and wore a deep blue gown suitable to an upper-level servant. There were lines around her eyes and when she smiled Ellen could see the beginnings of wrinkles at her mouth.
“It is an honor to meet you, ma’am,” she said in a sweetly maternal voice.
Ellen’s confidence lifted. This woman, she hoped, would be a good partner in managing the household.
“Thank you, Mrs. Burk. I look forward to working with you. Will you please introduce the rest of the staff?”
Each person respectfully welcomed Ellen to her new home, and she did her best to remember their names and faces.
“After you are settled, we will send refreshment to your rooms,” Mrs. Burk informed Ellen after the final maid curtsied. “If that is satisfactory.”
“Yes, I think that will do.” Ellen glanced at Marcus to see him in conversation with the butler. “For now, I think we all ought to get in out of the cold.”
“A wise idea, Mrs. Calvert.” The housekeeper had a warm manner Ellen immediately liked. She allowed Ellen to lead the way back into the house, after Marcus rejoined her and gave her his arm.
Ellen imagined that entering a fairy ring could feel no less magical than the first time she stepped over the threshold into her home. Orchard Hill belonged to her in a way no other place ever had. Here, she was mistress.
The floors were dark, well-polished gray stones. The entry hall stretched all the way to the back of the house, where a wide window would allow the early morning sun to light the open space. The walls were covered in soft-yellow paper with a green leaf pattern. A few objects hung upon them, paintings of landscapes. A set of stairs grew upward, slightly curving as they went, hiding the first-floor landing from view. They were bright, polished wood with a green carpet running across the middle of each step.
A table stood a short way from the door, and upon it several small portraits of people she knew must be family. She recognized a drawing of Marcus, due to the red-colored curls on the boy’s head and the brown eyes. A mirror hung over the table, giving her the opportunity to inspect her appearance. The rosy color of her cheeks surprised her, but she gave her reflection a pleasant nod. Was the delight in her eyes really so apparent?
“Come, Ellen.” Her husband extended his hand to her and Ellen turned to meet his curious stare. He guided her to the stairs. “I hope to give you a tour this evening. But what do you think so far?”
She let her hand trail along the railing as they ascended, her eyes taking in every detail around her. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said.
He nodded, but his expression didn’t change.
Ellen halted when they came to the landing and he stopped as well. “Marcus, truly. It’s such a lovely house. I am looking forward to coming to know every inch of it and making it my own, but I already feel such peace here.”
His uncertain eyes searched hers, the lines around them softening. “I’m glad. If you found it lacking, I would feel like the very worst sort of man. It isn’t as grand as my family’s other holdings.”
She shook her head and allowed some of her excitement to show, turning her widest smile up at him. “It is perfect for me, Marcus. I wouldn’t know what to do with a grand holding. But I think I will come to love this new home with all my heart.”
Marcus’s gaze never left hers and as she spoke, a light sparked within his eyes. He picked up her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it in a gesture so full of tenderness and gratitude that Ellen’s whole body felt the impact of his lips against her skin.
It took all her willpower not to yank her hand away, or worse, lean into him.
How could he? she wondered, trying to ignore the way her insides felt, as if she’d swallowed feathers that tormented her with a tickling sensation she could not escape. Ellen didn’t want him to act affectionate when they both knew, as he had taken pains to tell her, that this could not be a relationship based on emotions.
He lowered her hand and cast her another odd look. The light in his eyes dimmed and he cleared his throat, gesturing down the hallway on their right. “That way are the upstairs family rooms.” Then he pointed down the hallway to the left. “Those are the family and guest chambers. Would you like me to show you to your room?”
Ellen nodded. “Yes, please.”
Marcus went down the hall, not taking her arm or hand again, and she followed a step behind. They passed several doors before he stopped and laid his hand against one. He stared at the wood as he spoke.
“I didn’t give the staff much notice, and I wanted you to feel you could change whatever you like about the room—the whole house. But I did offer some suggestions here that I hoped would make you comfortable.”
The admission from him sounded vulnerable, but Ellen didn’t have time to puzzle that out before he’d turned the handle and pushed the door open, gesturing with one hand for her to step inside.
Ellen barely made it two steps inside before she froze, looking around her with delight. Her windows faced east, so the light coming in through the curtains was not overly bright in the waning afternoon light.
The walls were papered in soft blue, the mantel made of white stone. A vase of hothouse roses was on the mantel. But all of that, while lovely, did not capture her attention the way the bookshelves on either side of the hearth did. And before the fire, ready and waiting for her, was an armchair covered in yellow fabric with bursts of white roses. The bookshelves were half-filled, with volumes bright and new, and beautiful baubles. She approached to make a closer inspection.
She opened a small box of polished wood and found a delicate pair of lace gloves inside. A tiny clock sat on one shelf, an empty basket on another, and a tiny elephant on a taller shelf. Her fingers touched the spines of the books as she read the titles, some known to her and others new. She turned to where Marcus stood in the doorway, leaning against its frame with his arms crossed.
“It’s beautiful. Bookshelves, in my bedroom?”
“You are welcome to move them if you wish. We have a small library. But I thought you might want to keep your favorites, or your current studies, nearby.” Marcus lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“Thank you, Marcus.”
She saw her trunk already on the floor, as the footmen had brought it up directly after their welcome by the front doors.
“I have a gift for you, too. Though it feels silly and small now.” She hurried to kneel by her trunk, unlatching it.
“That isn’t necessary. You being here has given me Orchard Hill.”
Ellen lifted her writing desk out of the way. “What kind of a bride would I be if I didn’t give my bridegroom a wedding gift?” she asked. She found what she searched for and lifted out a large leather portfolio and a small wooden box, then stood and approached him, keeping her eyes down.
“I couldn’t think what you might wish for, but this reminded me of you. I know you said you don’t sketch anymore, but I thought you might wish to take up the practice again.” Ellen held the sketchbook and pencil box out to him. She darted a look up to see what he made of the gesture, her heart very nearly in her throat.
Marcus’s expression confused her. His eyebrows were drawn together, but he wore a crooked smile. As he accepted the gifts, his fingers brushed hers, reminding her of the kiss on her hand.
“This is very thoughtful, Ellen,” he said, his voice betraying neither pleasure nor annoyance. “Thank you.”
Ellen’s heart fell and she released her hold on the book. He would not use it, she knew, and Ellen could not decide if she was more disappointed in her inability to please him or his refusal to use what she knew must be a very real talent.
“I remember your sketches,” she said, lowering her eyes to his cravat. “They were beautiful, when we were children.”
“Thank you.” He tucked the book beneath his arm and kept the pencil case in his hands. “I’m going to freshen up. My room is next to yours, that way.” He nodded down the hall. “If you need anything, there is a bell-pull next to the bed and Sarah should be waiting in your dressing room.”
“Dressing room?”
He pointed over her shoulder to a door near one of the bookshelves. She hadn’t noticed it before.
“Oh. Thank you.”
Marcus nodded again and pulled the door shut as he left.
Ellen stepped forward and leaned against the door, taking in her perfect bedroom again.
“Stop trying, Ellen,” she whispered to herself. “Be the woman he wants you to be. Useful. Sensible.”
It was hardly sensible for a newlywed woman to cry. Ellen forced herself to square her shoulders and went in search of Sarah to restore her appearance.
This home is mine, Ellen reminded herself, taking in the room with one sweeping glance. And I will be happy here.
¤
Marcus waited for Ellen in the upstairs drawing room, thinking over their recent interactions. Their wedding vows still weighed on his heart. Why had he never paid attention to that list of promises made before God and man? He had attended several weddings, but since the words were never said by him he had not given them enough notice.
Wilt thou love her.
When had that been written? What did it mean? Romantic love had been a chance thing until the last few decades. His parents had been part of an arranged marriage, and they got on well enough. Had they made the same promises of love when they barely knew each other?
Then there was Ellen’s declaration after the service. I always keep my promises.
Did she mean their wedding promises?
Marcus shook away the thoughts as best he could, pacing from the irritating crackle of the logs in the fire to the window and back again. Their promises hadn’t bothered him until he arrived at the house with her. That was when it struck him, holding her hand to help her down from the carriage, that their vows sealed them together for good or ill for the rest of their lives.
He looked at Orchard Hill with new eyes. Was it enough to present to a bride? It was not even so large as the home she had been brought up in. Oak Lodge was statelier than his inherited home.
As brother to an earl, it would be his duty to remain part of society without ever holding title or rank, to reflect well on Lucas and the family. But he would have none of their wealth or importance.
He could not even give his wife love, though he’d promised it in the church the day before.
Then he watched Ellen’s reaction when she saw their home.
Ellen’s lovely face had born an expression that nearly took his breath away. Her eyes shone with a joy that returned his pride to him. The house did not disappoint her. She retained that look of near-awe when they walked inside, an energy radiating from her that nearly put his fears to rest.
The house pleased her, he thought with a measure of comfort.
His addition to her room, the bookcases, delighted her.
And suddenly, without warning, Marcus wondered if he pleased her. Yes, she made the choice to wed him, but would she ever look at him with such unabashed joy as she did at so simple a thing as shelving?
That isn’t what I want. Theirs was a practical arrangement. Nothing more.
A soft knock preceded her entrance. Marcus turned to face the door as Ellen stepped in, no longer in her travelling clothes, but wearing a dress of deep blue. Her bonnet was gone, replaced with a bandeau to tame her black hair. When his stare met hers, Ellen’s cheeks pinked and she wasn’t smiling.
Possibly she was upset by his reaction to her gift. He’d put the sketchbook in the study’s desk, with no intention of using it, though touched by her thoughtful gesture.
“It is nearly dinner time,” she said, not stepping fully inside.
Marcus beckoned her forward. “Then we should begin our tour here. It will not take long, I’m afraid.”
“It might,” she said, coming three steps inside. “I may wish to take in every detail, you know, as I am to be mistress.” She sniffed and raised her nose in the air, giving him a narrow-eyed look that surprised a laugh out of him.
Relieved, he responded with honesty. “You are mistress here, Ellen. From the moment you agreed to marry me. This is your domain.” He dropped his shoulders and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck while he looked around them. “This is the drawing room. When I was growing up, it was where the family always sat together before and after mealtimes.”
“It’s lovely.” He watched as Ellen took it in, looking from one side of the room to the other. “Though very lavender.”
“I believe it is my mother’s favorite color.”
Her lips quirked upward at that. “Mine is blue.”
“Then we will have it done over in blue.”
If his quick statement surprised her, she didn’t let it show. “The windows face west?”
“Yes.” He glanced around and then came forward, waving to the hall. “Would you like to see the rest of the first floor? Then the ground floor, and the second floor after dinner?”
“Yes, please.” She stepped through the door into the passage and looked both directions. “How many bedrooms are there?”
“Four, on this floor, then two smaller rooms adjoining the nursery upstairs.” Her cheeks flushed and it took him a moment to realize why. Then he felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. He cleared his throat and stepped into the hall. “But they are all modest rooms. There is one dressing room, between your bedchamber and mine.”
He showed her each of the public rooms and she looked about with interest, asking the occasional question about portraits or what the views from the windows were like. The sun had set shortly after their arrival, preventing him from showing her the grounds. He took her to the ground floor, showing her his study adjacent their small but comfortable library. Marcus could tell his wife would’ve lingered in that room for the rest of the evening, but he showed her a larger sitting room, the dining room, and the conservatory.
Though tempted more than once to take her hand, as that would be a natural way to guide her through the halls, Marcus was careful not to touch his wife. Her reaction to his kiss on the back of her hand, when all he’d meant to do was show how pleased he was she liked the house, stayed with him. She had not seemed to care for the familiarity of his touch.
The butler, Matthews, found them in the hall staring at a painting of a mountain neither could guess the location of.
“How could you not know where this is meant to be?” Ellen asked, hands clasped behind her as she studied the rocky ridges.
“I only spent a few weeks here every year,” he said in his defense. “Mostly as a boy. Why would a boy ask about a painting when there are trees to climb and streams to play in?”
“I shall write to your mother and inform her of your complete lack of knowledge. Shameful.” The pronouncement was made with a grave tone, but when she looked over her shoulder, Ellen’s eyes held a teasing glint.
“Mr. Calvert, Mrs. Calvert,” Matthews said. “Dinner is served.”
“Ah. Thank you. Shall we, Mrs. Calvert?” He offered his arm and she took it after bobbing a curtsy, completely unnecessary and amusing.
“I would be honored, Mr. Calvert.” She threaded her arm through his and Marcus’s heart gave an odd sort of twist that he nearly found pleasant. Maybe not all touches would be abhorrent to her. Maybe she was nervous, or shy.
He led Ellen to the dining room with greater confidence.