Page 52 of Ella’s Desire

All while Brigid and Lark were nearly starving.

“We had Berkley Manor.” Brigid placed the book back on the shelf. “The land provided. And we’ve had each other, and even wonderful Jane, who has stayed on for so many years.”

“You will have far more going forward,” Bronson vowed. “With this marriage, I will become a wealthy man. I intend to use that to see your life set to rights, starting with Berkley Manor.”

It was the first time he’d said the words aloud, that he’d be wealthy once he wed Ella. That he was poor with nothing to his name now. The announcement rang hollow within him.

“Do not simply marry for fortune.” Brigid turned to him, her face relaxing into a smile. “Though I think you do not. Lady Ella has a way of lighting up the room. And your face.” Brigid reached out and took his hand with a gentle squeeze. “I hope you find happiness with your new bride.”

The sting in Bronson’s chest was back. He nodded slowly. “As do I.” He glanced out the window to find the topic of their conversation slowly walking through the garden. Her hair was unbound and blowing in a gentle breeze. Moppet darted about behind her like a loyal dog, one with a foul disposition.

“My lord.” Rafe appeared in the doorway and gave a polite bow. “Your horse is being brought around.”

Bronson backed away from the window. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Brigid inclined her head respectfully. “By all means.”

He exited the room but did not head toward the stables. Nay, he walked in the opposite direction, toward the gardens. “I will be but a moment,” he said to Rafe. “There is something I must do before our departure.”

Rafe bowed again with acknowledgment. “Aye, my lord. I’ll inform the Earl of Werrick of your slight delay.”

Bronson nodded his thanks and quickened his pace, away from the solar and Brigid and even hunting, and raced to where he knew Ella to be.

18

Ella braced her fingertips on a thick tree branch for balance and tiptoed closer to peer through a crisscrossing of twigs to where a nest lay, snug in a cradle of rough bark and leaves. Fuzzy gray bodies writhed and wriggled against one another; their protestations of hunger sharp in the spring air.

Ella held her breath, as though that might somehow keep them unaware of her presence and counted the small nest of birds. Three.

Her heart dipped low into her stomach.

Only yesterday, there had been five.

The realization made her feel even more miserable than she already did. Tears welled in her eyes.

Court.

And if she chose not to go, she would never see Bronson. What was even worse still, he appeared to be fine with such an arrangement.

She ground her teeth and returned her stare to the small nest.

Ella had been tracking the progress of the birds since she first found the eggs, noting how large the nest had become, what materials were gathered to put into it, when the first shells had begun to crack. If only counting had not been part of her inquisitive observation.

Initially there had been eight eggs, each as small as a thimble and brilliantly blue. After several days, an egg had gone missing. When the birds hatched, one had never opened. Shortly after their birth, she had found another one, cold and still below the shallow nest.

Ella sighed. Mayhap she ought to close the door on her curiosity regarding the functionality of nature. It was uncaring and cruel.

Or mayhap one day she would simply stop counting.

She glanced once more at the nest and found the new threads of color running through the uppermost portion of its walls. Bits of blue in various shades with flecks of gold showed against the natural dun.

A twig snapped and she jerked her head in that direction, her hand going for her dagger. Her gaze did not search far before landing on the handsome face of Bronson. He stood out like a beacon with his berry red cloak and bright blue doublet.

He nodded to her. “Good morrow.”

She returned the gesture and the reply.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” He spoke with a jocular confidence that rankled her.