Bedding Lord Ned (29 page)

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Authors: Sally MacKenzie

BOOK: Bedding Lord Ned
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Ash stepped between them. “I think you'd both better retire to your rooms and make yourselves presentable,” he said. “And do avoid letting Mama see you on your way.”
“Gad, yes.” Jack grimaced. “I hate Mama's sad, disappointed look. You know the one I mean?”
“Yes,” Ash said, ruefully. “I do—all too well.”
“Well, you do need to do something about Jess,” Jack said, “and the sooner, the better.”
Ash narrowed his eyes. “Careful, Jack. You may be a better fighter, but I'm sure I could make you feel some pain.”
“Doubtful, old man. You'll be thirty tomorrow, remember?”
Ash grunted. “How can I forget when everyone takes it upon himself to remind me?”
Ned smiled, but he wasn't feeling particularly amused. He headed toward the door. “I'll see you both later, then.”
“Ned,” Ash called.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “What?”
“Far be it from me to offer any sort of advice on the handling of women—we all know how ironic that would be—but I do think you should consider exactly what Ellie means to you. If you find you love her, tell her. Don't hide behind talk of mutually beneficial arrangements. That's not fair to her—or to you.”
Ned just nodded and let himself out, closing the door behind him. He looked up and down the corridor; thank God no one was in sight. Then he started up the stairs to the bedroom floor.
Did he love Ellie?
He loved her as a friend, of course, but did he
love
her?
Panic grabbed his throat, and his chest tightened. He couldn't love her. He couldn't again go through the pain he'd suffered when Cicely died. Far better to marry Miss Wharton—he was certain he didn't love her.
He'd spend some time with Miss Wharton this evening to see if they were at all compatible. If they were, perhaps he would say something to her tomorrow. There was no point in putting it off. The sooner he married, the sooner he'd have his heir.
He just wished he felt a bit more enthusiasm at the prospect.
Chapter 18
Red is the color of love.
—Venus's Love Notes
 
 
The Duchess of Love pulled back her bedroom curtains and squinted. The bright sun shining on the snow-covered garden and fields was beautiful but harsh. A herd of deer picked its way through drifts near the pond; a rabbit paused on a garden path. The world looked vast, cold, and quiet.
“Happy birthday, my dear duchess,” Drew said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Mmm.” It was her birthday and her sons' birthday and the last day of her party, and she was very much afraid she wouldn't get the one gift she wanted more than any other. She'd been so hopeful, but after last evening ...
“You're unusually pensive.” Drew nuzzled her neck. “Still worrying?”
“Yes.” She'd fretted half the night, and what little sleep she'd got had been haunted by images of Ned and Miss Wharton exchanging vows in Greycliffe's chapel with Ellie's papa presiding.
Drew turned her to face him. “Stop. Ned's a grown man, Venus. He must make his own decisions.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was so comforting. “I know. I just wish he was still a little boy. Life was so much simpler then. I could solve all his problems with a hug and a kiss.”
“Not all of them. Remember the nights you spent at his bedside when he had a fever or an earache or a bad cough?”
“Yes.” She remembered all too clearly—the agony of seeing any of her sons in pain and being unable to make it go away or, worse, the terror of watching them breathe, hoping each breath would not be their last, bargaining with God to make them better.
“He married Cicely; he'll marry Miss Wharton if he wants.” Drew hugged her a little tighter. She knew he wasn't happy about that, either. “We'll survive.” She felt him swallow. “I'm sure we'll discover Miss Wharton is a lovely young woman once we get to know her better.”
She looked up at him. “Yes, of course.” She didn't mind Miss Wharton; she just didn't want her as a daughter-in-law. “But I thought things were going so well between Ned and Ellie, especially once Lady Juliet deserted him for Mr. Cox.”
“So did I, but apparently they weren't.”
“Something must have happened yesterday afternoon.” She frowned, biting her lip. It was all so frustrating. “I asked Jack—I can never get anything out of Ash, you know—but even Jack looked grim and wouldn't say a word.”
“Then we will just have to see what happens, won't we?”
She hated to have to wait and see. She much preferred making things happen. “And what about Ellie?”
“Ellie is not your problem.” Drew paused while they both absorbed that unpleasant truth. “Although,” he said after a moment, “I don't see why we can't persuade the vicar and Mrs. Bowman to let us take her up to London for the Season. If Ned is to be married to Miss Wharton, Ellie might be willing to come to Town and submit to the Marriage Mart, and surely her mother will be anxious to have her broaden her marital opportunities.”
“Very true. I'll speak to Constance as soon as everyone leaves.” Venus sighed again. “I know she was so hopeful that this year Ellie would find a suitable husband.”
Venus had been hopeful, too, but last night had been dreadful. Ellie had been wan, subdued, and back to her old habit of attaching herself to Ash; Ned had spent the entire evening determinedly—perhaps even grimly—talking to Miss Wharton.
“Perhaps Ellie will find a husband in London,” Drew said. “She's a very pleasant woman, and I'm sure once you take charge of her wardrobe, she'll prove to be a very attractive one as well. She has a pretty face; it's just a little difficult to, er, appreciate her full beauty when she hides herself in oceans of fabric.”
Venus nodded. “Yes.” Then she grinned. She'd forgotten about the dress. She couldn't do that.
“I see you have a plan,” Drew said, letting her go.
“I do.” She almost waltzed over to her dressing table and started to brush some of the tangles out of her hair. Mary always wanted to braid it before she went to bed, but Drew preferred it loose; of course she was far more interested in pleasing her husband than her maid.
She tugged on a particularly stubborn tangle. She would admit braiding had its advantages sometimes. “I told you I had Mary make Ellie a new ball gown, didn't I?”
“Yes. And I believe you said you'd enlisted Reggie's help in ruining the old one.”
“I did.” She turned to look at Drew; he was splashing water over his face. “Isn't that ice cold?”
He shrugged and dried his face with a towel. “I don't mind—it helps me wake up.” He hung the towel on the washstand and came over to lean against the bedpost. “You know, I can't imagine Ellie was happy to have her frock destroyed.”
“She wasn't particularly, but I think even she recognized the world is a better place without that hideous gown.”
Drew's eyebrow flew up. “It can't have been that bad.”
“It was. It was the yellow dress—you must remember it.”
He frowned. “Wasn't her dress last year yellow?”
“Yes, that's the dress. She wore it last year and the year before last and the year before that. I think it might be the only ball gown she's ever owned, and it always made her look like a faded lemon with aphids crawling all over.”
“Oh, right, now I remember.” Drew grimaced. “It
was
rather round and fussy.”
Round and fussy hardly began to describe that cloth nightmare. All of Ellie's dresses were horrendous, but that ball gown had taken ugly to new heights. “Constance could never understand why Ellie insisted on buying the fabric to begin with, and then why she persuaded the dressmaker to add all those ribbons and flounces—adding insult to injury, Constance always said.”
“Hmm.” Drew frowned thoughtfully. “Either Ellie has terrible fashion sense or the dress was a kind of public hair shirt.”
“Perhaps, but what could Ellie be doing penance for? She's lived a quiet, exemplary life as far as I can tell.” Venus wrinkled her nose. “Whenever I had to look at that dress, I felt as if
I
was doing penance.”
“So does she like the new gown better?”
Venus stood and almost skipped over to give Drew a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, she hasn't seen it yet. Mary and I agreed that we shouldn't give it to her until the very last minute, otherwise we're afraid she'd find a way to subvert our efforts—wear another dress or find some hideous fichu or shawl to drape around it or ... or something.”
He laughed, cupping her face and brushing her lips with his. “This should be interesting.”
“Yes.” She was going to be hopeful. Surely Ned wouldn't do anything stupid like offer marriage to Miss Wharton before the ball, and once he saw Ellie in her new dress ...
“I think this might be a wonderful birthday after all.”
 
 
Ned scowled at the billiard table as Ellie got ready to take her shot. Jack, with his bloody warped sense of humor, had insisted Ellie and Ned form one team while Jack and Miss Wharton formed the other. They'd been playing for what seemed like forever. It was torture.
Ned had yet to exchange one word with Ellie. They'd carefully stepped around each other, averting their gazes so as not to make eye contact. But he'd studied her when her attention was elsewhere.
She looked horrible, blast it. She was pale and drawn and had dark circles under her eyes. He'd wager she hadn't slept much last night.
Well, neither had he. He'd tossed and turned until his covers were in a complete knot, but at least he'd come to a decision. He was going to ask Miss Wharton to marry him. Ellie had made it clear
she
didn't want him, and, well, he didn't want her either. He felt too much for her. Love, he supposed it was love, but whatever it was, it terrified him. He'd loved Cicely, but this was worse. If he got Ellie with child and she died, he'd die, too.
But none of that mattered. Ellie didn't love him. She'd made that very, very clear. All through the night he'd kept hearing her words, seeing her expression when she'd told him she wouldn't marry him. And then he'd wake up with a jerk, head pounding, stomach churning.
God, it hurt.
But it was for the best. He'd finally reached that conclusion around dawn. He would marry Miss Wharton. He was a little concerned she might feel he was rushing his fences, but there was no point in putting it off. If she accepted him, they could make all the arrangements now, and he wouldn't have to go up to London.
He'd be doing a good deed by freeing her from her unpleasant parents and giving her a home. He'd have to come back to Greycliffe from time to time, of course, but maybe by then this feeling he had for Ellie would have dulled to a manageable—a pleasant—fondness. As if he and Ellie were indeed just friends.
And maybe Ellie would have married and moved away.
He almost doubled over in pain at the thought.
“Ned,” Jack said, “have you grown roots over there? It's your turn.”
“Right.” He stepped up to the table and took his shot, not sparing a moment's thought on it—and then watched in horror as the cue ball barely escaped falling into the right far pocket. Damn it, he didn't want to completely embarrass himself.
Ellie cast him a quick look of surprise—he never bungled his shots so badly. He stared back at her. It wasn't as if he
wanted
to be playing this stupid game, after all. The sooner it was over the better. Then he could get back to his plans for Miss Wharton.
Ellie dropped her gaze to the billiard table, staring at it as if the location of the Holy Grail was hidden in its green baize covering.
“Perhaps you need to focus a bit more on the game,” Jack murmured as Miss Wharton got ready to take her shot.
Ned grunted. He'd been on the verge of taking Miss Wharton on a stroll in the long gallery and perhaps asking for her hand in marriage when Jack had caught him and dragged him into the billiard room. In fact now that he thought of it, each time he'd tried to have a private word with the woman, Mama or Father or one of his brothers had prevented him from doing so. That could not be just bad luck.
Apparently Miss Wharton was not much of a billiards player; she
did
pot the cue ball.
“Oh, dear,” she said, laughing—though the laughter was a bit strained. She couldn't be oblivious to the tension between him and Ellie. “I'm afraid I always lose at billiards. My sisters used to fight over which one of them would be unlucky enough to have me on their team.”
“That's quite all right, Miss Wharton,” he said. He certainly didn't care if she was accomplished at billiards or not. He wasn't looking for a wife to play games. He wanted children, and there was no reason to think Miss Wharton would not be able to manage that task.
Ah, but could
he
manage his part of the business?
Heat swept up his neck to his face, and he bent quickly to examine his cue stick. Of course he could. He might not feel any particular, ah, stirrings for her at the moment, but he was male. He should be able to rise to the occasion.
Oh, damn, what a poor choice of words.
“Indeed, Miss Wharton,” Jack said, taking his shot, “this is just a friendly game, you know. A way to pass the time until you ladies must go off to prepare for tonight's ball.”
Ellie paled, but Miss Wharton's face lit up. “Oh, yes. I'm
so
looking forward to it. Her grace said that all the local gentry as well as a number of the
ton
will be here.”
Ellie's face turned even whiter, if that were possible. What was the issue? Was she concerned that her parents as well as her sisters and their husbands and everyone who knew her would be here? But they came every year; this year was no different.
“Yes, it will be an infernal crush,” Jack said, grimacing. “I confess I shall be glad when it is over.”
“Oh, Lord Jack, how can you say that?” Miss Wharton's eyes grew wide with shock as if Jack had just uttered some blasphemy.
“Easily.” He laughed. “But I suspect most gentlemen do not enjoy balls to the degree that ladies do.” Jack looked over at Ellie. “Your turn, Ellie. See if you can win it, why don't you? Ned here looks like he's ready for the game to be over.”
“Oh, no, Jack,” Ned said through his teeth, “I'm having a most enjoyable time.”
Jack grinned, but Miss Wharton gave him a startled look. Ned tried to make his expression look pleasanter.

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