Embracing Ashberry (14 page)

Ellie was quiet for a moment, digesting his
earlier words. She found it easier to think, to examine, now that
she knew he would not that night press the issue between them. “How
do you know that I won’t be as nervous when we arrive at Ashberry
Park as I was tonight?” she finally asked cautiously.

“I don’t know,” Ashberry admitted, “Except
that I will spend the next twelve, no thirteen, days trying to
guarantee that you won’t be terrified of me.”

At this pronouncement, Ellie’s stomach
tightened a little. She thought she knew what he meant. “You are
going to try and seduce me.”

Ashberry’s eyebrows lifted at her shocked
words. “I have to admit, I’ve never tried the approach before, but
I think I have the general idea.” He pulled her second hand against
her first and held them between his own. “Besides, we’ll be newly
married. The staff, not to mention our families, will expect me to
be a besotted groom.”

Ellie’s mouth twisted at that. “I’m not sure
my family expects you to be besotted. My father is prepared to see
me on his doorstep tomorrow morning—if I last that long.”

Ashberry frowned. “I would want our
agreement, Ellie, to be between you and I—not between you, your
family and I.” His voice held a note of inflexibility that Ellie
didn’t dare contradict, and to her surprise, she realized she
didn’t wish to. The nature of their marital bed should not be a
subject for family discussion.

Her tongue ran along her lower lip and
Ashberry watched it in blatant fascination. “You do know that when
you do that, I am greatly tempted to kiss you.”

Ellie flushed, the pink on her cheeks clear
even in the candlelight. “I do not want to confide in my parents
about such things. But surely the staff will know if we are not—not
behaving as newlyweds do.”

“I will take care of that,” Ashberry
promised. “But it will require your cooperation.” He waited until
she nodded before continuing, “Tomorrow morning you must ask
immediately for a bath in which to soak, for you should be sore, at
least a little stiff, in the back and legs.”

Ellie smiled at this. She had much practice
with stiffness in the lower body. “I’m familiar with the aches of
that part of my body; I know I can imitate them fairly well.”

Ashberry nodded. The next would be harder
for her, and wasn’t entirely necessary, but he wished it for his
own reasons and wasn’t afraid to insist upon it. “You must never
lock the door between our chambers, Ella. To do so would indicate
that I wasn’t welcome any time I choose to visit.” She swallowed
heavily, evidently thinking of the types of things one did in one’s
own rooms. It was obvious she was slightly nervous about this
condition, but he would not help her.

Instead, he added further, “And I will
visit, both to reinforce my welcome before Wendy and my own valet
and to spend time with you. If I catch you in some state of
dishabille, it would be entirely appropriate to be shy and
embarrassed, even if Wendy is present. You are a new bride and
unused to the intimacies of affectionate marriages. But neither
must you scream and run away. Simply cover yourself as quickly as
possible and blush as much as you want.”

Ellie was blushing, but she did not object,
so he pushed the topic just a bit further. “The same goes for when
you come to my rooms, Ellie, and you need to make your presence
known there. Take a tour tomorrow after you’ve dressed and acquaint
yourself with the layout. Leave something personal every once in
awhile for Griffin to find—a peignoir over a chair near my bed or a
hairbrush beside the bed, something you may have just forgotten.
Come back and get it later or simply ask Griffin to find it for
you. Be sure he sees you there and be aware that he hides out in my
dressing room.” As he spoke, he turned her hands upward and touched
the palms gently. “I may even consider putting you in my bed one
morning for him to find, but we’ll leave that for now.”

Ellie shivered as his fingernails scraped
over the pads of her fingers. The sensations were strange, for
though she was used to the contact of their hands, he generally
touched her gently with only the pads of his fingers. Tonight, as
always, she had shivered when he had touched her, for while his
hands were warm and gentle against her cool skin, there was a
signal electricity in their touch that Ellie’s body could not
ignore. “Anything else?” she just barely managed.

“Mmmm ... one day I shall do the same to
your toes,” he teased softly, smiling openly when her cheeks
brightened from pink to red. He held her hands firmly. “Keep
blushing,” he said more gently. “I find it quite endearing and it
will make my behavior much more believable.” Ashberry didn’t bother
to explain that it would be more believable because it would be
honest on his part. He wasn’t sure that Ellie was capable of
dishonesty in her reactions to him, so her natural shy sweetness
would be the best for all observers.

“There is one final thing,” he said
reluctantly, setting her hands aside. “I am going to cut my finger
a little and you must take the blood and dab it on the back of your
nightgown and on the sheets beneath your hips.” Ellie nodded, her
expression quickly sobering. He supposed she was aware of the
common assumption that virginal brides bled on their wedding
night.

He stood, obviously to find a knife, before
she stopped him. “Ashberry?”

“Yes?”

“My mother provided me with some blood from
the kitchens.”

The ridiculousness of the ancient practice
shook him for a moment. “Whatever for?” he asked blankly. “To
confuse me?”

Ellie shook her head. “No, of course not.
She was concerned. I suppose she didn’t want any of your staff to
think it strange—she is accustomed to hiding it, you know.”

“He broke your ... maidenhead?” Ashberry
finally managed, his back still to her.

The admission was harder than she thought,
but only because he misunderstood. “No,” she whispered on a dry
sob. “The first doctor, the one in Cornwall, did. He said it had to
be done, to examine me. Inside.”

Ashberry’s gut clenched at the humiliation
his wife had endured even after that first day. He had taken Lady
Whitney’s offer and discussed Ellie’s health in detail with her
physician, who was of the opinion that nothing was wrong with the
girl that a little country air and good diet wouldn’t solve. “I
don’t see why she wouldn’t conceive,” he had told the marquess,
“But it’s difficult to know if she’ll be able to sustain a
pregnancy—for sure she’ll be sent to bed quite early. There’s just
no way for us to know if he weakened her womb.” The doctor had
paused before reluctantly admitting, “I am not convinced it would
be the best thing for Miss Whitney, and neither Lady Whitney nor
her husband were willing to subject their daughter to the
additional pain it would cause her, but I could examine the inside
of her womb more carefully. However, I couldn’t guarantee it
wouldn’t cause more problems than she already has.”

The marquess had rejected the notion without
even a second’s thought, relieved when the physician had also
relaxed. Clearly, the ability to do the thing did not outweigh the
man’s consideration of his patient.

Ashberry’s jaw clenched at the memory of the
doctor’s words as the agony in Ellie’s voice washed over him but he
could say nothing to ease her pain. Instead, he quickly found a rag
and the vial, which she had placed in the drawer beside her
bed.

“I’ll leave in just a minute Ella,” he said
gently, “So that you can do this in private. I just don’t want you
to use too much.”

She laughed at that. “What a panic that
would cause.”

The marquess actually smiled in return as he
broke the wax and poured just a tiny bit on the clean bit of linen.
“Throw this rag deep into the fire, Ella, when you’ve finished, and
make sure it burns. I will take care of the vial.” At Ella’s nod,
the marquess retrieved his book from where he had laid it beside
the bed before whispering, “Goodnight Ella.”

“Goodnight,” she returned quietly, her eyes
squarely on him until the door closed between them.

* * * *

Ashberry slept little, despite the bottle of
bourbon he consumed in front of his own lonely fire. It wasn’t the
way at all he wished to spend his wedding night, but he reminded
himself repeatedly that his lifetime with Ellie was more important
than just that one night. Which would have been a disaster, he
inwardly lectured, cursing a little at the bleary-eyed man in the
mirror the next morning.

Griffin didn’t seem to find anything amiss.
“Good morning, my lord,” he said cheerfully when the marquess
stumbled into the dressing room. The marquess suffered through his
toilet: a quick bath and shave, followed by Griffin’s attendance
while he dressed. He refused to sit for the interminable time it
took to tie the cravat, just looping it over enough to close his
shirt and declaring it would do for the day. “I certainly don’t
expect company today,” he told the valet, “And I doubt Lady
Ashberry will mind.”

Griffin’s eyes peaked a little at the
mention of the marchioness. “I trust she is well?” he asked slyly,
as if it would then not be apparent that they had spent the morning
together.

Ashberry lied. “She is quite well,” he
answered and then added, “I am going to check on her and then go to
breakfast.”

Griffin turned away but Ashberry was not
deceived. He knew the man was smiling, even as he replied, “I will
be sure Cook is expecting you.”

Ashberry paused, delivering his parting shot
just before stepping through the doorway. “There is very valuable
book in my chamber. Please take it down to my study. Her ladyship
gave it to me as a gift just last evening. Oh, and Griffin, I left
two new handkerchiefs that Lady Ashberry embroidered for me on her
bedside table, I’ll ask Wendy to deliver them to you.” Behind him,
he knew Griffin would be nearly gleeful, for the man had been
hinting for years that he should marry. The engagement had sent the
man into near euphoria and this morning news was sure to filter
through the staff quite quickly. Though he knew Griffin would say
nothing aloud, there was nothing more certain than the valet’s
patent smugness to deliver the news Ashberry wished to convey.

Ellie wasn’t in her chamber, though he noted
the two treasured pieces of embroidery remained, neatly folded so
that the crest was not creased. The curtains on the bed were drawn
back and the fire well extinguished so he proceeded quite
confidently to the dressing room door. Only once he was there did
he hesitate, remembering suddenly his instructions that Ellie was
to bathe in the morning, but there was no helping it now that he
had made his plans known. He dared not knock, so with a false calm
he opened the door and faced the room.

His bride gasped even as she slid down into
the water, as deeply as the bath would allow her. His eyes took in
the scene almost worshipfully and his mouth opened as if to speak,
but nothing seemed to come out.

Wendy smiled breezily, as if he was
expected, but Ashberry hardly noticed. He couldn’t take his eyes
from Ellie’s bare shoulders or the tops of her breasts through the
water, but he did manage to speak after a fraught moment of
silence. The voice was strange to everyone in the room as he asked,
“Wendy, could you find the kerchiefs her ladyship embroidered for
me and be sure that Griffin gets them?”

Wendy took the question to be a dismissal,
for she answered, “Immediately, my lord,” before slipping past him
and into the boudoir, the door latching quietly behind her.

Ashberry dared not step closer. He did not
want to destroy the shreds of composure he had spent the night
before rebuilding and he could hardly stand the thought of any more
panic entering the embarrassed face before him. “I won’t come any
closer, for both our sakes,” he said finally, still not turning his
eyes away.

“I, I didn’t expect you quite so early,”
Ellie managed, her voice shaky.

“I didn’t expect to find you already up,” he
answered, his eyes moving up from the bathwater to her chin and
then to the hair piled above her head. “I should dearly love to
brush that someday.”

Ellie could hardly keep her hands still at
her sides. She knew he could not see much below the water line, for
he was standing several feet away, but he was clearly fascinated by
the picture she presented. The urge to cover her body was almost
overwhelming but she knew it would only draw attention to her
state. “I’m sure Wendy would be relieved to not have the
responsibility.”

Reluctantly, he opened one of the doors that
led from the dressing room to the sitting room. “Wendy will be gone
an appropriate amount of time, long enough to give me time to enjoy
my lovely bride’s bath. Be sure you’re washed when she gets
back—she’ll expect me to have performed that heavenly task.”

Before Ellie could answer, he was gone. She
knew he would go out through her sitting room and down the stairs.
Still, several minutes passed before she heard the outer door close
and Ellie supposed he was simply trying to establish the additional
time together. Almost compulsively, she washed herself, anxious to
be out of the water and dressed before any further incidents
occurred. Not that he would come back, she told herself. His
discomfiture had been perceptible even to Wendy. No doubt she was
reporting her news with delight even now, the bloodstained negligee
as evidence.

Ellie sighed, reminding herself to be
grateful for Ashberry’s thoughtfulness and forbearance. In a house
this size, a wedding night fiasco could easily be misconstrued into
a lack of respect from the staff, making it virtually impossible to
establish herself as its mistress.

The new marchioness donned her husband’s
necklace before she descended the stairs. Wendy had exclaimed when
she saw it, complimenting her mistress on its beauty. “It belonged
to his lordship’s mother,” Ellie told her. “And we must take great
care with it. I should hate to be the one to lose or break it.”
Wendy had fastened it carefully behind her neck, agreeing
quickly.