Chapter Nineteen
Dawn’s light crept across the room until it slid over Marcus’s eyes, causing him to groan and sit up slowly. He sat in his chair by the fire in the library, his sketchbook in his lap. He left the study, late in the night, when he had the idea to sketch his wife sitting in her chair, reading a book.
He tried to stretch his abused muscles and shook his head. “Getting too old for this,” he muttered, pushing himself up.
Marcus looked down at his rumpled clothing, his lack of coat and cravat, and sighed. Drawing would always turn him half wild as he chased his muse. He knew he must look frightful.
He took a staggering step towards the window to look out on the bright morning scene, disheartened to see snow piled high everywhere. His wife would not return to him early. Not in the carriage, with all the world covered in thick, white blankets.
If he could go to her, assure himself of her safety, and bring Ellen home, he would be more settled.
It took several moments of staring blankly at the landscape out his windows before Marcus sucked in a breath, hit with an idea which would satisfy his frustrations.
“Mrs. Burk,” he shouted, tearing from the library and into the entry. “Mrs. Burk!”
Sounds from below stairs, a metal clash and a loud exclamation, turned him in the right direction. Marcus made it as far as the top of the stairs before his housekeeper appeared, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Mr. Calvert? Is anything wrong?”
“Wrong?” He blinked down at her. “Not at all. But I want my horse readied at once. And send Cray up to me. I must dress quickly and be on my way.”
“Your horse?” She came up the stairs, her eyes never leaving his. “Where are you going, Mr. Calvert?”
It surprised him she needed to ask. He opened his arms in a wide, obvious gesture. “To fetch back Ellen, of course.” Then he turned and hurried away to climb the staircase to his room, determined not to waste another moment. If Cray didn’t come quickly enough, he could see to himself.
But he had barely divested himself of his waistcoat when his valet came through the door which connected the dressing room to the bedroom. “Sir, I apologize, I didn’t know you would need me so early.” The valet looked to his master’s bed and froze, eyebrows drawn together.
Marcus waived a hand toward the bed, not slept in. “Surely you noticed I never went to sleep last night.”
The servant drew himself up as though his dignity had been challenged. “Mr. Calvert, you have given me leave to retire if you do not ring for me before a certain time. I thought last night was one of those evenings. If I failed you in some way—”
“Not at all, Cray. Unless you fail to have me ready to leave, braving the snow, in a timely manner.” Marcus grinned when that got his manservant moving quickly, gathering up clothing and shaving equipment. “Don’t worry about the shave. I am seeing no one who will be concerned. I want to get underway as soon as possible.”
His valet froze and stared at him in absolute horror. “Go about unshaven? Mr. Calvert, I cannot allow that. You are to see Mrs. Calvert, are you not? She might be concerned with your appearance.”
Marcus had to concede to that point. If he must go rescue his wife, he ought not to look half wild. “Very well. But it must be quick.”
“Yes, sir.” The valet drew himself up and set to work.
In an impressively short quarter of an hour, Marcus’s butler assisted him into his great coat, beaver hat, scarves, gloves, and informed him all was made ready.
Ellen’s maid, Sarah, provided him with her mistress’s riding habit.
Marcus thanked his valet, who still hovered nearby, the butler, a footman, his housekeeper, and then his groom as he climbed onto his horse. They all watched him, from inside and out of the house, but Marcus didn’t care if they thought him mad.
In the night, drawing and redrawing his wife, Marcus came to a marvelous realization. Though his efforts did not reach the fever pitch of frenzy attained drawing Lady Selene, he recognized in his work a devotion to the subject of his sketches. Each line made, each stroke of his pencil, he made with great care and sincerity. He wanted to put Ellen onto the paper in such a way that she appeared to come off of it. He wanted her image to be real to any who looked on her.
Ellen’s portrait must convey her intelligence, her love of learning, her kindness. He wanted more than her smile and freckles rendered; he wanted her humor and compassion on the page.
The more he worked, later and later into the night, the more his heart warmed towards his wife.
Marcus, to know her so well, in such a short time, drew her with a deep affection and dedication he could not remember ever feeling before. Waking at dawn, those feelings still nestled within his heart, he must discover what they meant, and quickly, lest the determination fade with time.
And so, he decided to go after Ellen. Immediately.
Even if it scandalized the servants.
¤
Ellen lounged in her bed, staring up at the canopy, wondering what she would do in these early morning hours. When she awoke early before marriage, she made herself useful by attending to household matters. As a married woman, she had a tray brought to her with chocolate and she would read in her room, until she judged it near the time Marcus would be awake and seeking food downstairs. But here, in a household completely new to her, she did not know what would be best.
Ellen didn’t like inconveniencing people.
She sat up and pulled the blankets to her chin, noting the room had grown chilly during the night and no one had come yet to stoke the fire in the guest chamber. She shivered and slid from the bed, picking up a shawl to wrap around her shoulders. The carpet felt cold against her feet, standing at the window, looking out on a world of white.
Her shoulders fell. What if the roads were completely covered?
Ellen wouldn’t know until she consulted with the Banners and her coachman.
She decided to dress, then she could seek out the kitchen and something warm to drink. Making inquiries of the servants would be better than besetting the Banners with questions.
She slipped into the hallway after donning her dress from the day before. Mercifully, she could do up her own stays with an effort, so she was properly attired when she realized she was not alone in the hall.
“Good morning, Mrs. Calvert,” a voice said, startling her.
Ellen looked down to see Arthur crouched beneath a hall table. “Arthur, you surprised me. Good morning. Are you supposed to be out of the nursery this early?”
The boy shook his head slowly. “Nurse is sleeping and so is Essie. But I’m awake.” He crawled from beneath the table and gave her an earnest look. “And hungry.”
“Oh dear.” She reached her hand out to him. “We cannot have that. Let’s go downstairs. I will take charge of you for now, and I’ll help you seek out some toast.”
His eyes lit up. “With jam?”
“Yes. Lots of jam.” Her heart warmed as he grinned and put his hand in hers. Children were a wonder, allowing such small things as toast and jam to light up their faces so brightly.
The servants were already awake and going about their duties, preparing food for the day, cleaning and polishing boots and flatware. There were eight of them in the kitchen, and Mr. Henry the coachman was one of them, eating a bowl of hot cereal.
“Good morning,” Ellen sang into the room, trying to put on her most confident smile.
A chorus of good mornings met her ear as the servants hastily stood.
“Please, sit down and take no thought for me. I brought Master Arthur down to see about some toast and jam. He woke with a terrible hunger.”
All eyes went to Arthur, who beamed at them without shame.
It became apparent, very quickly, just how much the staff loved the sweet child.
Mrs. Lawless, the cook, began preparing toast and sent the kitchen maid to fetch “Master Arthur’s favorite strawberry jam” from the pantry. The single footman gave Arthur the seat of honor at the head of the table and pulled out a chair for Ellen almost as an afterthought. In their bustling about to attend to the child, Ellen could lean across the table to speak to her coachman.
“Good morning, Mr. Henry. I was wondering when you thought we might attempt to return to Orchard Hill. Are the roads passable?”
He shook his head over his bowl of oats and sighed. “Not at present. The sun may help our cause as the day goes on, and other people using the road for horses, but I’ve no hope as yet. I’ll check again, after the noon hour, to see if progress has been made upon it.”
Though the news disappointed her, Ellen smiled and nodded at the man. “Thank you, Mr. Henry.” She turned her attention back to Arthur as the cook placed a plate in front of her, piled with breakfast rolls, a rasher of bacon, and jam.
“Might as well feed both of you at once,” Mrs. Lawless said with a cheery smile. “Would you like some tea or chocolate, Mrs. Calvert?”
“Chocolate, please.” The dark, bitter drink was not highly favored in society, but with a dollop of cream and sugar, Ellen quite enjoyed it.
Soon enough, Arthur was licking the crumbs from his fingers, and Ellen thought it would be best to take him back to the nursery. She rose with that intention when a sharp knock sounded on the kitchen door.
“Who could that be?” Mrs. Lawless asked. The footman went and opened the door, revealing a man in a tall hat, thick coat, with scarves wrapped about his throat. From his bearing and the clothes he wore, anyone could tell he was a gentleman of means.
From the dancing brown eyes and the tilt of his head, Ellen recognized her husband.
She forgot herself in her surprise and gasped out his name. “Marcus.”
He already looked at her, having spotted her before even setting foot in the door. He came inside, amid bows and curtsies. Ellen felt sorry for the servants, having their work interrupted by people who had no right to be in their domain.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, looking up from her chair, too stunned to move. “How did you get through?”
Everyone in the room remained still, except the footman who was wise enough to at least shut the kitchen door before enjoying the spectacle before him.
“I rode my horse,” he answered with a shrug, his voice muffled by his scarf. He groaned and reached up to tug the woven cloth down from his face, revealing a broad smile to match the twinkle in his eyes. “I came to fetch you home.”
The kitchen maid chose that moment to sigh in a manner that Ellen wished she could allow herself, but that sound brought her back to where she was and she hastily stood.
“We had better return Arthur to his nurse.” She scooped up the boy and hurried from the room, not daring to look over her shoulder. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire.
The maid sighed because she thought Marcus’s actions dashing and romantic. But Ellen, who knew him better, could not understand his sudden rescue, even though she felt thankful for it.
The sound of his boots behind her did nothing to ease her rapid pulse. Did he intend to follow her all the way up to the nursery?
Ellen stopped and turned, Arthur on her hip. “You ought to wait in the parlor. I will be there directly.” Her eyes took him in, his grin still in place, the freckles across his cheeks lending to his charm.
Marcus nodded, but remained standing there, looking down at her. “Whatever you wish, Ellen.”
Her heart skipped a beat. His manner of speaking her name sounded tender, though she much have imagined it. Ellen swallowed, gave him one sharp nod, and hurried to the staircase. Arthur didn’t protest being returned to the nursery, especially since he had a small breakfast to tide him over. Ellen shut the door behind him and stood in the dark hall, trying to catch her breath.
Why would Marcus go to so much trouble for her? Had he missed her?
Ellen’s heart beat at a rhythm she was not accustomed to and it made her feel light-headed.
A door opened down the hallway and Louisa stepped out, tying her robe around her waist. Her hair was still in a braid, her smile sleepy. “Ellen. I heard someone out here. I thought it was Arthur. He rises early.”
“It was the two of us,” Ellen answered, staring at her friend, wondering what she ought to say but feeling as though she needed to ask advice. “We had toast and jam in the kitchen. I ‘ve returned him to the nursery.”
Louisa chuckled and shook her head, coming further down the hall. “He’s a scamp. Thank you for seeing to him. I hope he didn’t wake you.”
Ellen shook her head. “No. Not at all. I found him when I awoke.”
“Why are you up so early?” Louisa covered a yawn with a delicate hand, raising her eyebrows in question.
Ellen shook her head. “I wanted to check on the roads. They are still impassable. But—” She bit her lip, fighting a strange desire to laugh. “But Marcus is here.”
Louisa’s mouth formed an “o” and she pulled her robe tighter, looking behind Ellen toward the stairs. “He is? But, how?”
“He rode his horse. To come for me.” Ellen couldn’t quite keep the awe from her voice and hurried to speak, trying to cover it. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. I left him in the parlor.”
“And now you’re standing up here talking to me, like a ninny.” Louisa put both hands on Ellen’s shoulders and turned her about too quickly for Ellen to protest. “Go straight back to the parlor, Mrs. Calvert, and speak with your husband. I will dress and be down shortly. A man on a rescue mission shouldn’t be kept waiting.”
Ellen allowed a laugh to slip, permitting herself to feel happy and flattered by his attention, and she hurried on her way, tossing a grin over her shoulder at her friend. Her husband cared enough for her to come across the snow-covered landscape to bring her home with him. It might be out of a sense of duty, or even some sort of lark for him, but she would appreciate the gesture for its thoughtfulness, whatever the reason.
When she entered the parlor, Marcus knelt near the fire, tending to it himself. He rose when she entered and turned to her, that grin a little smaller now but still present.
“I’ve caused a stir among the servants, I think.”
Ellen raised a hand to her stomach in a vain attempt to still the fluttering she felt inside. “I believe you have. We’d said the roads would be impossible, and there you appeared, as though summoned.”
Marcus pulled off his scarf and then began to unbutton his coat. His hat, she noticed, rested atop the mantle. He really must’ve surprised the servants. Nothing else explained why no one had seen to his comfort yet.
“Let me help.” Ellen came forward, her warm fingers making quick work of the buttons. He turned around and she caught the heavy coat after it slid from his shoulders. She looked about for a moment and decided, since it was dry, she could lay it over the back of the couch. “Your gloves?” She held her hands out and he quickly stripped himself of the leather and put them in her hands. His bare fingers brushed hers and Ellen realized how cold he truly was, though the shiver that went through her body had nothing to do with the chill.
“Please, go back to the fire. You’re frozen through.” She put her hand on his arm, gently nudging him in that direction, her eyes meeting his fully for the first time since entering the room.
His expression softened and he half-bowed to her. “As my lady wishes.” He took a step back before he turned and held his hands toward the cheery blaze. “But we shouldn’t stay long. The horse is being walked by the stable boy. If you will gather your things, we might be on our way. I brought your riding habit.” He nodded to a bundle on the sofa she hadn’t noticed before. “To make it easier.”
“Oh.” Ellen took the bundle up in her arms. “Marcus,” she said, looking up into his handsome face. His wide grin faded, turning into a gentle smile. “Thank you.”
He bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on hers. “You are always most welcome, Ellen.”
She dropped a curtsy and then whirled to hurry from the room. She went back to her guest quarters and began to undress down to her under garments. A light rap on the door gave her pause, but a maid had arrived to help her into her riding habit.
With her day clothing bundled up and her warm riding habit upon her person, Ellen hurried back down to the parlor. Marcus stood where she had left him, speaking in low tones with the Banners. They all looked up when she entered, each smiling.
“This is quite the rescue for you, Mrs. Calvert,” Banner said in a teasing tone. “If I wasn’t aware of Calvert’s impatient nature, I’d be offended. It’s not as though we are brigands holding you captive, after all.”
Ellen’s eyes turned to her husband and her heart lightened. “No, but as he’s saved me from many a brigand, dragon, and wicked king, I’m afraid all he knows is how to rescue me.”
Marcus’s eyes brightened, and she knew he was remembering their time as children, too. Tucked up in attics, under hedges, in trees, while she played the fair maiden in need of rescue.
“It was all excellent practice for this moment,” he said, with more sincerity in his voice than she expected. “Are you ready? If we hurry, we could be back in time for breakfast.”
“And there’s the Marcus Calvert I know. Always looking out for his next meal.” Banner clapped Marcus on the shoulder.
“I’m glad you could come, Ellen.” Louisa came forward and embraced Ellen as warmly as any of her sisters ever had. Then she said, in a voice meant only for Ellen to hear, “He cares for you more than you think, my friend.”
Ellen returned the embrace but said nothing.
“Thank you for keeping her safe,” Marcus said, bowing to their hosts.
In minutes, they were at the back of the house and Marcus brought Ellen to his horse. With no mounting block in sight, Marcus put his hands on her waist and lifted Ellen into the saddle. She blushed and quickly adjusted her seat so he could swing up behind her.
The coachman had been instructed to wait until the road was passable. This meant that once Ellen and Marcus turned out of the Banners’ lane, they were alone in a world of white.
Ellen reveled in the feeling of his arms around her, even if it was just to keep control of the horse. He had never held her before. Never embraced her. To be so near him that should she wish it she could turn and press a kiss to his cheek—
She swiftly pulled that thought back and stiffened in the saddle. Realizing she had let her thoughts carry her into a realm of fantasy, when she needed to stay firmly in reality, dimmed her enjoyment of the situation considerably.
Marcus must’ve noticed the shift in her body, if not in her mood. “I hope I didn’t ruin things for you, coming as I did.” He spoke in a tone that matched their surroundings, his words calm and soft.
She matched his manner of speaking, not wanting to disturb the silence around them. “No, it’s a relief to be going home. The Banners are wonderful hosts, but I’d far rather be in front of my own hearth at night.”
Did she imagine it, or did he lean closer to her?
“I missed our reading together last night.”
The admission made her heart stutter and stumble as it picked up speed. Had he really? His next words caused still greater confusion within her.
“And I worried after you for some time.”
Ellen felt his warm breath on the back of her neck when he spoke. His arms around her shifted, the one at her back adjusting to hold her closer to his chest. She bit her lip and turned to see his expression.
Marcus saw her look and smiled. He winked at her. “Uphill here.”
Oh. He was making certain she was secure as they tilted back, the horse climbing a small embankment to leave the road for an open, snow-covered field. When they evened out again, she leaned away, determined to put the distance between them before he could. If she initiated the move it would be less painful than him withdrawing.
For a long time, they were both silent, but when she caught sight of a line of apple trees she recognized, Ellen relaxed.
“Nearly there,” he said, as though he’d read her mind. Then he added, with hesitation, “After you have rested we might read what we missed last evening?”
Ellen closed her eyes, imagining she heard the same hope in his voice she felt in her heart. All she wanted, all she needed to be happy, was to be near him. Even though it hurt, at times, to know he would never care for her as she cared for him.
“That would be lovely,” she answered at last.
They said nothing more until they arrived home at Orchard Hill.