Page 27 of His Bluestocking Bride

“Yes, I think that will do.” Ellen glanced at Marcus to see him in conversation with the butler. “For now, I think we all ought to get in out of the cold.”

“A wise idea, Mrs. Calvert.” The housekeeper had a warm manner Ellen immediately liked. She allowed Ellen to lead the way back into the house, after Marcus rejoined her and gave her his arm.

Ellen imagined that entering a fairy ring could feel no less magical than the first time she stepped over the threshold into her home. Orchard Hill belonged to her in a way no other place ever had. Here, she was mistress.

The floors were dark, well-polished gray stones. The entry hall stretched all the way to the back of the house, where a wide window would allow the early morning sun to light the open space. The walls were covered in soft-yellow paper with a green leaf pattern. A few objects hung upon them, paintings of landscapes. A set of stairs grew upward, slightly curving as they went, hiding the first-floor landing from view. They were bright, polished wood with a green carpet running across the middle of each step.

A table stood a short way from the door, and upon it several small portraits of people she knew must be family. She recognized a drawing of Marcus, due to the red-colored curls on the boy’s head and the brown eyes. A mirror hung over the table, giving her the opportunity to inspect her appearance. The rosy color of her cheeks surprised her, but she gave her reflection a pleasant nod. Was the delight in her eyes really so apparent?

“Come, Ellen.” Her husband extended his hand to her and Ellen turned to meet his curious stare. He guided her to the stairs. “I hope to give you a tour this evening. But what do you think so far?”

She let her hand trail along the railing as they ascended, her eyes taking in every detail around her. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

He nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

Ellen halted when they came to the landing and he stopped as well. “Marcus, truly. It’s such a lovely house. I am looking forward to coming to know every inch of it and making it my own, but I already feel such peace here.”

His uncertain eyes searched hers, the lines around them softening. “I’m glad. If you found it lacking, I would feel like the very worst sort of man. It isn’t as grand as my family’s other holdings.”

She shook her head and allowed some of her excitement to show, turning her widest smile up at him. “It is perfect for me, Marcus. I wouldn’t know what to do with a grand holding. But I think I will come to love this new home with all my heart.”

Marcus’s gaze never left hers and as she spoke, a light sparked within his eyes. He picked up her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it in a gesture so full of tenderness and gratitude that Ellen’s whole body felt the impact of his lips against her skin.

It took all her willpower not to yank her hand away, or worse, lean into him.

How could he? she wondered, trying to ignore the way her insides felt, as if she’d swallowed feathers that tormented her with a tickling sensation she could not escape. Ellen didn’t want him to act affectionate when they both knew, as he had taken pains to tell her, that this could not be a relationship based on emotions.

He lowered her hand and cast her another odd look. The light in his eyes dimmed and he cleared his throat, gesturing down the hallway on their right. “That way are the upstairs family rooms.” Then he pointed down the hallway to the left. “Those are the family and guest chambers. Would you like me to show you to your room?”

Ellen nodded. “Yes, please.”

Marcus went down the hall, not taking her arm or hand again, and she followed a step behind. They passed several doors before he stopped and laid his hand against one. He stared at the wood as he spoke.

“I didn’t give the staff much notice, and I wanted you to feel you could change whatever you like about the room—the whole house. But I did offer some suggestions here that I hoped would make you comfortable.”

The admission from him sounded vulnerable, but Ellen didn’t have time to puzzle that out before he’d turned the handle and pushed the door open, gesturing with one hand for her to step inside.

Ellen barely made it two steps inside before she froze, looking around her with delight. Her windows faced east, so the light coming in through the curtains was not overly bright in the waning afternoon light.

The walls were papered in soft blue, the mantel made of white stone. A vase of hothouse roses was on the mantel. But all of that, while lovely, did not capture her attention the way the bookshelves on either side of the hearth did. And before the fire, ready and waiting for her, was an armchair covered in yellow fabric with bursts of white roses. The bookshelves were half-filled, with volumes bright and new, and beautiful baubles. She approached to make a closer inspection.

She opened a small box of polished wood and found a delicate pair of lace gloves inside. A tiny clock sat on one shelf, an empty basket on another, and a tiny elephant on a taller shelf. Her fingers touched the spines of the books as she read the titles, some known to her and others new. She turned to where Marcus stood in the doorway, leaning against its frame with his arms crossed.

“It’s beautiful. Bookshelves, in my bedroom?”

“You are welcome to move them if you wish. We have a small library. But I thought you might want to keep your favorites, or your current studies, nearby.” Marcus lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

She saw her trunk already on the floor, as the footmen had brought it up directly after their welcome by the front doors.

“I have a gift for you, too. Though it feels silly and small now.” She hurried to kneel by her trunk, unlatching it.

“That isn’t necessary. You being here has given me Orchard Hill.”

Ellen lifted her writing desk out of the way. “What kind of a bride would I be if I didn’t give my bridegroom a wedding gift?” she asked. She found what she searched for and lifted out a large leather portfolio and a small wooden box, then stood and approached him, keeping her eyes down.

“I couldn’t think what you might wish for, but this reminded me of you. I know you said you don’t sketch anymore, but I thought you might wish to take up the practice again.” Ellen held the sketchbook and pencil box out to him. She darted a look up to see what he made of the gesture, her heart very nearly in her throat.