Embracing Ashberry (9 page)

The emotions roaring through Ashberry were
tightly reined before he spoke. Her honesty, her unwillingness to
permit her father to manage the new possibilities in her life—the
marquess wondered how he had been chosen to find the naive and
courageous treasure beside him. “You are perhaps too honest, Ella.
I understand now why your mother hardly allows you out of her
sight.” He sighed softly before adding, “I feel an almost
irresistible urge to force your confession, just to have the thing
done with, so that we both will know that my motives in asking for
your hand were not conditional.” He shook his head, concluding
dryly, “But of course I will not.”

Ellie nodded, changing the subject again.
“Would you tell me about Ashberry Park?” she asked directly.

The marquess took a deep breath. He was glad
she was asking about his home, his life, though he was quickly
finding that her questions were framed to encourage him to talk,
and her to remain mostly silent. Despite his suspicion that she was
doing it purposefully to turn the conversation away from her,
Ashberry felt it was a good sign that she had some interest in a
place that he intended would become her home.

He smiled at the memory of it before he
began his story. “Ashberry Park is far north, as you might guess.
During the old days, it was within easy striking distance of
Scottish rebels, and many of the old English and Scottish
traditions are still common among the peasantry. As it was, the
first marquess in the 1300s was a younger son and vassal of the
Duke of Cumbria. The titled lands were given to the marquess by the
duke in return for the defense of the border and the king bestowed
the title as a reward for the same valor service. The title has
passed in direct lineage ever since, though quite a number of the
marquises have been second and third sons. Traditionally, the
marquess and his sons, you understand, rode to defend his lands
along with his vassals, as was required by duke and king.”

He grimaced, “Their efforts were not always
successful, but somehow at least one brother always survived the
chaos.”

“Surely, my lord, such promises are not now
necessary,” Ella objected, appearing surprised. “Rebellion is
hardly a danger. Indeed, I understood Scotland to be quite
civilized these days.”

“You’re correct. There is no danger—not
since the fiasco of 1745 and the punishments that have been
instituted since. During that invasion, my grandfather and many of
the gentry from my county rode beside Carlisle while Cumbria sped
to London bringing the news to Parliament. Of course, many of the
gentry were split in their loyalties and several refused to ride
against the imposter. In fact, two even joined the rebels. Carlisle
and my grandfather were forced to retreat behind the very insecure
walls of the old Carlisle Castle while the rebels proceeded south.
Ashberry Park, the original part built nearly a hundred years ago,
was saved from desecration only because of the Scots' haste, for
which I am most grateful.”

The lord looked significantly at the girl
beside him and added, “I should add, Ella dear, though I hardly
fear a rebellion from Scotland, I do not hesitate to defend those
on my lands or in my home. You will find that I go when I am
needed, even if simply to hunt down criminals who steal chickens
and sheep from my tenants.”

Ellie looked away, staring straight ahead.
“You are being presumptuous again, my lord,” she said quietly.

“I do not believe I am,” the marquess
disagreed calmly. “I am merely confident.” The marquess slowed the
horses for a moment before deciding to circle the park once more.
The conversation was going well, and he had no intention of cutting
it short without reason.

Ellie sighed. “There was a time, my lord,
when I thought I was confident. I assumed, falsely, that nothing
could disrupt the life I had planned for myself. Papa later told me
it was a foolish supposition.” As she spoke, Ellie inclined her
head in reply to two of the great matrons of London society who sat
primly in their carriage as their coachman approached them on the
avenue. Still, the marquess noted that Ellie’s hands were trembling
in her lap, as if she was struggling to conceal a compelling
emotion. He decided to oppose convention and not pause for the
interrogation the two women expected. The early morning hour should
suffice as an excuse.

Ellie looked at him in astonishment as they
passed without stopping. “My lord?”

Her voice was clearly questioning, and the
marquess shook his head. “Call me Ashberry if you wish to be
formal, Ella, though I would prefer Shane or Stephen. I may be a
lord in public, but when we are private, I choose otherwise.” He
smiled as her astonishment turned to shock before answering her
earlier question. “I did not think it was quite the right time to
consult with Lady Jersey about your bonnet or your mother’s
afternoon tea next week.” He glanced behind him at Edward and
Charlotte, who had stopped to chat, before slowing the phaeton to a
mere crawl. “I am sure that Charlotte is making my excuses.”

“Perhaps she will be able to salvage
whatever stature you have with the
grandes dames
.”

“Charlotte is a quite competent in that
way,” he assured her. “I would like to take all the credit for her
education, but I suppose my aunt and cousin should receive most of
the due, not to mention Caroline.”

“Cousin?” Ellie inquired.

“Sarah Shelling, who was the girl’s nurse
and governess.” At Ellie’s nod, he added, “She is managing Ashberry
Park in my absence but plans to come here to London when I return.
She does not see a need to stay in Cumbria with only me and she
claims to be unable to continue being the mistress of a large
household. Here in London she’ll have the freedom to do as she
wishes, Sebastian and the girls, not to mention Aunt Lucy, will be
able to look after her.”

Ellie laughed while she considered the
second of the Trinity children. “Sebastian is independent?”

The marquess nodded. “He is 27 and my most
trusted agent. He handles a great many of my affairs here in London
and has done quite well with his own, too. I am arranging for him
to run for Parliament.” He paused for a moment and then added,
“Aunt Lucy never had children of her own—Westhouse died less than a
year after they married in a racing accident. Aunt Lucy made the
boys her heirs.” He was quiet for a moment and then mused, “My late
stepmother and Aunt Lucy are the sisters of the Duke of Shelly but
the children were never close to the Shelly clan—I suppose that was
my fault, for I never wanted to send them away to a stranger’s
hospitality and could not take them myself.”

Ellie noted the affection in the lord’s
voice and now she dared a look at him. He was older than she had
always dreamed—Sebastian was more her age—and the marquess could
hardly be compared to the classical face or body so ideal to the
women of France and Germany. The unusual color of his hair was
coupled with dark brown eyes and a craggy rugged face that had seen
a great deal of the outdoors. She knew that their drive was nearly
over as the phaeton rolled out of the park and onto the busy street
but the change in noise and pace did not disturb her as it
sometimes did. Ellie turned her head and concentrated on the horses
clopping over the brick pavement. He was handsome but not
beautiful—but more importantly, strong, reliable and trustworthy.
The combination was perhaps too tempting, the girl told
herself.

* * * *

The drives continued daily for a week,
except Sunday, when Ashberry escorted Ellie home from St. Stephens,
followed by the Whitney’s carriage. On most days the subject of
Ellie’s reluctance did not arise. Instead, she told Ashberry about
Europe—about the great buildings and music in Vienna, the golden
castles of Germany, the squalor and brilliance of Paris.

They discussed the Revolution there and
Ashberry discovered that Ellie had both an intelligent and
emotional understanding of the Terror. Both deplored the
bloodthirsty behavior, but disagreed on how much responsibility the
monarchy of France should assume for the chaos. The marquess argued
quite vehemently that Louis had not instigated the Revolution and
he was somewhat amazed when Ellie told him quite clearly and
decisively that she disagreed. Later, when he thought about it in
the privacy of his own study, he quietly decided Ellie might be
right in laying a portion of the blame on the monarch: rabid
opulence was more than offensive in the face of starvation and
desperation.

Ashberry told Ellie more about Ashberry
Park, at least about the gardens, stables, orchards and hunting
trails. She tried several times to have him describe the house
itself, but could find out no more than that it was built as three
separate buildings connected with loggias that opened in the summer
to the gardens. The main house occupied the center structure, with
a servants’ wing to the north and a conservatory, chapel and guest
suites to the south.

It wasn’t that the marquess didn’t want to
satisfy her curiosity, but he was naturally enthusiastic about the
gardens and lands and didn’t appear to even remember how the rooms
looked inside the house. It was obvious to Ellie that Ashberry felt
more at home out of doors than in, and she wondered to herself how
he had survived confined to Ashberry House in London.

One day, she asked him and was surprised to
discover that he had a smaller estate a day’s drive north of London
where he periodically fled for comfort when London, where he had
been in residence since early March, had become too
suffocating.

“Ashberry Park is the family seat and is
considerably larger,” he told her. “But I have always had a special
fondness for Harlan Chase, for the land was part of my mother’s
dowry. The house is fairly new—my father was building it for he and
my mother to live in when my grandfather died. Father and my mother
moved north to the Park, of course, and so the house has never
really been occupied for more than a few weeks at a time. It is
unfortunately too small for all of us to be in residence together
comfortably—there are only six bedrooms in the main house besides
my apartments and the servants’ rooms.”

To Ellie, the explanation made sense.
Ashberry, plus three brothers and two sisters, an elderly cousin, a
resident tutor and a visiting aunt would require at least seven
chambers, if not more. “Still, it is a wonderful little piece of
countryside when I can no longer tolerate London and it is part of
my estates and deserves attention.”

“Estates?” Ellie asked.

“Besides Ashberry Park, I have property in
Yorkshire and Scotland, though I rent the houses to local gentry
and just manage the farms attached to them.” He grimaced, adding,
“Until I began coming to London regularly about five years ago, I
could hardly fathom more than three residences and in reality, I
still don’t think it is practical, though many of our kind also
maintain a lodge and a house in Bath or Brighton or some other
fashionable seaside town.”

Ellie could not help feeling that his care
was unusually tender for such a short acquaintance, but still she
savored and remembered each touch and gentle word. Quite helplessly
eager for his company, Ellie waited for Ashberry to arrive on the
ninth afternoon of his courtship, wondering if he would again touch
her cheek that morning with his warm hand.

With a smile on her face, she remembered the
conversation they had two days earlier. He hadn’t been bragging
about his wealth, only answering her questions. On that day, the
eyebrows of the grandes dames had begun to change from questioning
to approving. The marquess had not been circumspect at all,
flagrantly advertising his intent during the daily drives with his
proprietary attitude before the matrons, though each outing had
been properly chaperoned. For the first few days, he had ignored
the hostesses altogether, even choosing a morning hour for their
outing, but later he had taken to escorting her later in the
afternoon and stopping long enough to answer a few pointed
questions with ease, sometimes even intercepting arched questions
aimed specifically at Ellie.

Unable to stop him without causing a scene,
Ellie would be forced to sit through the consideration, until the
eagle-eyed were no longer considering but patronizingly
approving.

Not even his hand covering her gloved one
had raised an eyebrow the day before.

Some days Edward and Charlotte had followed
them while other days Lady Whitney and Lady Westhouse paraded
behind them in the countess’ fine crested driving coach. At no
point had Ashberry been inappropriate in his attentions, though
Ellie was sure he was aware that her hand trembled when he kissed
the back of it and there was no denying that he was quite able to
compliment her. He had taken to calling her ‘my dear’ without a
second’s pause, though the endearment continued to make her flush.
She concluded he said it purposely whenever he first greeted her,
for her blushes always caused an appreciative gleam to appear in
his eyes as he wrapped her pelisse about her and pinned it
closed.

Ellie was still thinking of Ashberry and his
gentle manner when her father entered the drawing room. Whitney’s
frown caused Ellie's stomach to tense expectantly, but his words
made it turn over completely. “It’s time, Ellie. Tell him you will
not suit and that the flirtation is at an end. To continue on in
this vein will only infuriate him later, and cause much more
speculation among society.” He sighed, “I do not wish to risk
Edward’s marriage because of this nonsense.”

Ellie’s posture was impeccable and her chin
stiff as she faced her father. She knew she could not confess it to
him but she had no desire to cut a connection she was beginning to
cherish.

“Why?” she asked, a surprising challenge in
her voice. “He knows quite well that I have not agreed to marry
him. We enjoy driving in the park together.”