Embracing Ashberry Page 3

  He was so tall that he had nearly lost his head in the doorways of the Whitney house. Here, though, the high ceilings seemed built to fit him. Ellie wondered nervously if every Trinity man was as tall, but then answered her unspoken query—she had met the marquess’ younger brothers and though they were of good height, none had the stature of the eldest.

  Mentally, she sighed and put thoughts of the lord from her mind, though she and her father followed Ashberry and Ellie’s mother into the salon, leaving Charlotte and all the young men to trail behind. She was sure he was just being polite in the popular way of tonnish gentlemen, since Charlotte would soon be her sister-in-law. There was, after all, no reason for him to think of her as a fashionable eligible.

  Ellie was startled again a few minutes later when Charlotte gave the word that dinner was ready. “Edward, please take your mama in,” she requested of Ellie’s brother. Confidently, she took Lord Whitney’s arm, her own intentions clear. Before Ellie was quite ready, she found her hand placed gently on the marquess’ coat sleeve.

  He purposefully moved slowly, allowing the others to precede him and Ellie’s stomach fluttered when she saw a significant look pass between the marquess and Charlotte’s aunt, who discreetly attached herself to Ellie’s next youngest brother, John. Clearly, the marquess had gone outside the expectations of etiquette that Charlotte assumed he would follow, for the countess was the guest of the highest rank present and he should have quite properly escorted her into dinner. The realization made her stomach lurch wildly and for a moment she wondered if she ought to pull away and correct him—and knew immediately it was impossible. After all, he was a marquess and she a simple baron’s daughter, hardly his equal. Questioning him would likely only cause a scene as the inevitable set-down followed.

  Not that she could have found her voice, especially once he spoke.

  His voice was a low murmur, gentle but undeniably warm and masculine. He leaned over so that she could easily hear him. “I am honored, Miss Whitney, to have your arm.” He guided her behind the others, careful not to seem as if he was detaining her. “I hope you enjoy sharing dinner with me. I believe we are seated near one another.”

  Ellie blushed. With a blank mind and a frozen throat, she couldn’t have responded if the king himself had been beside her. Instead, she managed a brief nod of acknowledgement and concentrated on her mother’s back in front of her, passing at that moment into the dining room.

  TWO

  Ashberry saw the flush of her cheeks and ears. He was disappointed that she hadn't replied, but convinced himself he was satisfied with her inability to pretend an indifference to him was enough, at least for the moment. In fact, he chuckled to himself as he pulled out her chair. She was purposely avoiding his gaze and not just fumbling in her shyness.

  Edward sat on Ellie's left while the marquess took the seat at the head of the table. Charlotte was seated across from Ellie, making their end of the table a cozy quartet. Between the four and Ellie's parents were the other two Whitney brothers as well as Ashberry's two youngest brothers. The countess presided at the opposite end of the table in the commanding position, as Charlotte chattered easily about how they had decided on an informal seating arrangement that had little to do with rank.

  Edward listened assiduously to her innocent comments even as he leaned to his sister and murmured softly, "Are you up to this?"

  Ellie's fond glance was unmistakable. Edward had been the first one to her side, the one who had carried her into the house, the one she now trusted with every fiber of her body and soul. "Everything will be fine," she reassured him with a confidence she did not honestly feel. "But it's nice to have you here in case." Edward nodded and turned his attention to Charlotte, across the table.

  Ellie briefly turned her attention to her mother at the other end of the long dining room. To Ellie she appeared slightly worried, but her brow cleared at Ellie's encouragement.

  Ashberry was fascinated by the smile, though it had lasted barely a second and had been directed away from him. Ella Whitney smiled with her whole face, her eyes brightened, her cheeks lifted and even her teeth sparkled. He hardly noticed the food before him and had to force himself not to stare at her. Seeking a diversion from the girl, he started a conversation with Edward about the Manchester coalmines that the Whitneys owned.

  While Lord Whitney was in constant consultation in the House of Lords concerning the horrors developing in France, his son was concentrating on the more mundane side of a successful family in the peerage: its finances. Ashberry had already learned a great deal from young Whitney about the intricacies of the mining industry. Like Ashberry, Edward Whitney didn't shy away from industry simply because of his promised title; if anything, the young man had seen firsthand in Europe the necessity of protecting it by underwriting the largest possible fortune.

  Tonight, however, even coal couldn't keep this girl from his thoughts, for she sat between him and the recalcitrant Edward, who did not consider the coal mining industry nearly as interesting as Ashberry's sister. The conversation died away as Edward and Charlotte went on happily about the new house Edward had purchased on Valentine Street, situated neatly between the Whitneys house in Mayfair and Ashberry House.

  Because his gaze was directed at Edward, the marquess saw Ellie bow her head for just a moment after the soup was served, breathing deeply. As she raised her head, Ashberry smiled at her. Determined to elicit a vocal response, he ignored her inability to meet his eyes. Instead, he chose a safe topic and asked a question that required more than a one-word answer. "Miss Whitney, I must admit I am looking forward to this particular wedding, even though I am quite fond of Charlotte's company. How will your family adjust to not having Edward at home?"

  Ellie blushed again. Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. Unaccustomed to the sensation of his stomach dropping into his breeches, Ashberry gripped his silver tightly. He narrowly avoided reaching out to stroke the color before him. She swallowed heavily, and attempted an answer. "W-we will miss him, of course," she began, trying not to sound rehearsed. "However, Edward is a w-wonderful brother and I will be extremely satisfied to see him happily settled. Miss Trinity is perfectly lovely and they make an excellent match, as-as you know. I know they will be happy together."

  Charlotte inclined her head, accepting the compliment prettily and Edward smiled smugly, much like a proud papa whose heir has just spoken his first words. Ashberry was incapable of a reply. Her voice was a lovable timbre when she spoke above that quiet murmur he had been treated to until now. She had almost looked at him, too, though she had chosen to meet Charlotte's eyes across the table instead. It had been a close enough thing that he had seen finally the courageous glint in her eye.

  As he had expected, the conversation turned then to the wedding. Charlotte was thrilled about the progress on her dress, and only Edward's presence kept her from describing it again in great detail. Ellie smiled, apparently happy that Charlotte could find such joy in the fine French lace Ellie's mother had brought from Paris.

  Ashberry, having found his voice, eventually contributed, "I was finally able to visit the church we spoke of, Charlotte, and I think you'll like it very much. I had Griffin schedule the ceremony with the rector just this afternoon, on the condition that Edward goes to him and arranges for the banns to be read."

  Edward's head perked up at this news. "And where did you decide?"

  Ellie thought she knew. She took a secret look at the marquess only to find his eyes squarely on her. "St. Stephen's Chapel," he said absently, "You are familiar with it, I imagine. Your mother recommended it and when I first went to visit, Miss Whitney was in the sanctuary."

  Edward's eyes sharpened. "My sister was there?" The words were a cool inquiry, but certainly not heartening.

  Ellie hastened to calm her suddenly tense sibling. "The marquess came in just as I finished my discussion with Mr. Hughes. It was early evening and since I needed to prepare for dinner, we didn't speak."

 
"Just so," the marquess agreed quietly. "The rector, as well as your father's footmen and Miss Whitney's maid were all in the sanctuary with your sister. As soon as he and Miss Whitney completed their business, Mr. Hughes came to see me. We hardly had the chance to even acknowledge each other." Ashberry omitted that he had been obliged to return to St. Stephen's the next day for the business he purported to have there—he did not wish Edward, nor even Ellie, to inquire as to the nature of that initial conversation with the rector.

  Edward calmed, but he was clearly still suspicious. "I didn't know that Mother had suggested St. Stephen's."

  "It's the perfect size," Ellie mused, smiling at Charlotte, the words suddenly coming quite naturally. "And the windows rival anything we saw in Europe. The sanctuary has arched ceilings and beautiful stonework." She paused before adding thoughtfully, "Father bought a pew there after we came back from France."

  It was the longest and most natural speech Ashberry had ever heard Ellie make. He breathed deeply, urgently trying to convince himself not to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Distantly, he heard Charlotte exclaim, "That's wonderful! I was so hoping for a pretty church, you know, but I was determined not to have hopes that were too high. After all, we didn't want to wait forever at St. Paul's or St. George's. It's already October, you know, and I want the wedding to be soon—I'd rather not have to return to Cumberland for the worst of winter and delay the wedding until spring."

  Edward came up with the most important question. "So when exactly is the wedding to be?"

  Everyone looked at Ashberry. Even the boys in the middle of the table picked up the conversation and looked to the marquess. Even Ellie looked at the marquess. She remembered clearly how he had looked in the church, his frame bent into the pew. Ellie thought he was a handsome man, though not in the classical sense, and he was some years older than she was. He was quite lean but had a strong jaw that Ellie wanted to believe meant reliability and strength. His hands had been clasped together as he lounged in the pew, but here at the table they were more visible—large and muscular, though clean and well kept. Most importantly, Ellie noticed, they weren't the effeminate hands of a snobbish boor, but showed the marks of a man comfortable with using them.

  The marquess was young enough to eschew powdering his hair when not at the Court or Parliament and she could see that it was the same unusual color as his younger brothers, a deep red that almost hinted at black. Ellie could find no evidence of the hue in the countess' carefully coiffed and powdered silver curls or in Charlotte's blond ringlets, surmising that the shade was passed through Ashberry's father to his sons. The cut of his dark green coat and paler green waistcoat was stylish and clearly expensive, but without the ostentatious ornamentation or jewelry that the lords who drove in Hyde Park often wore. In the dim light, his eyes were so dark they seemed to be black but Ellie was not fooled by the candlelight. She knew them to be a deep brown.

  Ashberry's laugh rumbled through the room and abruptly Ellie caught herself, looking down at her plate. Staring at him, she told herself sternly, would only make her seem like a lovesick young girl, which she couldn't be.

  He stood, attracting the attention of the countess at the head of the table. His aunt stared at him, a little shocked. "I've been asked," he explained, nodding reassuringly to his aunt, "To provide the exact date of the wedding. You see, just this afternoon I made an arrangement probably better left to the women at the table. I sent my man to reserve St. Stephen's for the ceremony."

  He looked around the table. His two youngest brothers, Spencer and Sidney, were looking at him with something close to hero worship. Edward's brothers, Richard and John, appeared much more self-contained, though respectful. Edward was expectant. Whitney and his wife were clearly interested in the announcement. Charlotte appeared anxious. Ella ... With Ella he just couldn't tell. Her eyes were on him, for sure. He could only hope she liked what she saw.

  After a few moments of suspenseful silence, he relented. "One month," he finally provided. "One month from this morning." His eyes rested squarely on Lady Whitney. "On the first day we discussed, the twenty-fourth of November."

  Approving murmurs came from around the table. Charlotte sighed happily. Edward grinned easily, clearly relieved. Ellie looked away to her mother at the other end of the table, meeting her mother's eyes and nodding slightly. Ashberry felt significant disappointment as he reluctantly acknowledged a previously unknown emotion: jealousy.

  He wanted the twenty-fourth of November to be his wedding date, not his sister's.

  The frustration he was beginning to feel heightened again when the women left the dining room. Ashberry forced himself to relax through the obligatory round of port. It wouldn't do for him to be too eager for the drawing room when the only female of interest there to him would quite obviously be Ella Whitney. However, he certainly didn't discourage Edward, who was anxious to rejoin Charlotte.

  The men lasted for a half of an hour before they succumbed to what Ashberry's father had often called the 'irresistible potency of an enticing drawing room.' Even then, the young men all chose to retreat further to the billiards room instead of joining the ladies. Edward insinuated himself between Charlotte and his mother, who were busily discussing menus for the wedding breakfast. Not be distracted even by her beloved, Edward was reduced to choosing between turbot and turtle. Whitney wisely chose a chair close to the fireplace and beside the countess, who was pouring Ellie a cup of tea. Ashberry refused when she offered him a cup, and seeing that there was no way to draw a chair near to Ellie circumspectly, chose to lean against the mantel behind her as he sipped the brew.

  It was an advantageous position for him. Ellie did not speak much, but he could watch the smooth silk of her hair as her head followed the conversations. He could see the tranquil curve of her arms and the nape of her neck, and her skin as it glowed in the candlelight. Ashberry struggled simply to keep his hands away from the brilliance of her hair, for he ached to feel its softness in his fingers. Away from the light of the room, he was thankful that neither his aunt nor the girl's father could discern the expressions on his face, for his mind's desires would have been clear to both. His inexplicable reactions to Ella Whitney still amazed and troubled him and he used the long minutes in the drawing room not to quell them, but to channel them down more productive avenues.

  By the time the family moved to leave, he had determined that he needed to touch her again or get drunk. Maybe both. He trailed Lady Whitney and Ellie indiscreetly into the front hall and edged up behind the girl as the boys all said farewell to Charlotte and the countess.

  Ellie knew Ashberry was behind her. It was an odd sensation, something that she hadn't expected but was certain she identified correctly. Though he had been positioned at her back, she knew his eyes had rested often on her. She stiffened, more from surprise at her own knowledge than from fear. It was something of a shock when his hand slid across her shoulders as he circled her, ending up before her.

  "Miss Whitney," he said politely, his eyes finally catching her shocked orbs. He hoped they had all the meaning in them that he intended but he allowed himself a second hint. He captured her hand in his, his thumb pressing into the palm as he lifted it to his lips. The fine gloves on both of them did not prevent the heat of his hands from seeping through to hers.

  Ellie trembled, her eyes widening with instinctive understanding.

  With a slight smile, he brought her glove to his lips, smiling as he did so. "I did so enjoy having you as a dinner companion, Miss Whitney," he murmured, his voice low, the words for her ears alone. "And I look forward to seeing your lovely countenance again, soon."

  Ellie could not have replied even if she could have thought up words, but Ashberry did not seem to expect a response. Just as he released her hand from a reassuringly gentle squeeze, Edward appeared from nowhere, Ellie's pelisse in hand. With his eyes on his sister, her cheeks reddened tellingly, Edward protectively drew the wool around her shoulders, his warning to Ashberry clear by bot
h manner and eyes. With a raise of his brows, Ashberry acquiesced after a moment, stepping back and offering his farewells to the younger Whitney boys.

  Ashberry was slightly surprised that Edward would rally instinctively to his sister's side, especially with Charlotte across the foyer and the opponent quite capable of separating Edward from the young man's fiancée. Still, he knew he would not be deterred by the boy's sibling loyalty. He simply needed to find another way to encounter Ella Whitney, preferably with fewer of their respective siblings present. Preferably with none of their respective siblings present, he corrected himself.

  With his focus still on Ellie and Edward, Ashberry didn't see Lord Whitney behind him, the baron's body stiff with concern, his eyes focused intently on Ashberry's hands even as they settled to his sides.

  Edward guided Ellie out the door. She was shaking from the intent she had seen on Ashberry's face and her brother was openly angry. "What in the hell does he think he's playing at?" he said to his father.

  Whitney helped Ellie up into the carriage before frowning at his son. He, too, had felt the girl trembling. "We'll discuss it, at home," he promised, warning his son not to discuss the matter in front of the girl.

  Inside the carriage, Ellie recovered quickly. "Edward is being silly," she said quietly to her mother. "The marquess didn't do anything improper, unless kissing my hand is now considered inappropriate. How could he know not to treat me as he would any other lady?" She sighed a little, remembering the interest in the marquess' face, savoring it a little. "It was really very nice of him, you know, to think of me at all." In truth, Ellie knew, she had not been shaking from in fear but from a much different and unfamiliar emotion, one she knew instinctively she could only examine and identify when she was alone.

  Lady Whitney said nothing at first, but simply tucked a warm blanket around the two for their short ride home. As her husband and sons piled close inside the carriage, she finally whispered softly to her daughter, "You should be treated as any other lady, Ella Whitney. Even when your father tells you differently, remember that you are."