Page 36 of His Bluestocking Bride

Marcus tried to focus on the conversation of his dinner companions but found he could not stop glancing down the table at Ellen. She barely looked at her dinner companions, let alone spoke to them. Strange. He’d found the viscountess to be entertaining company in the past.

“Mr. Calvert,” his hostess spoke, drawing his attention. “Would you tell us more of your bride? How did you meet Mrs. Calvert?”

He glanced to either side of him to find the other guests looked equally intrigued. “It is not a particularly intriguing tale. We have known each other since childhood. I have always enjoyed her company. I found it very natural to think of her when I turned my mind to finding a wife.”

One of the female guests on his side of the table leaned forward to speak. “Very natural? What a way to speak of marriage. But why have we not seen her in your company before, in London?”

“Her family does not go to London. They enjoy a short season in Bath.”

His hostess chuckled and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I cannot think of anyone I know who would prefer Bath to London. How extraordinary.”

Marcus knew asking Ellen to wed would raise eyebrows, but he did not understand how much the questions along that vein would irritate him. What did it matter to anyone else who he chose as his bride? Once married, society recognized she was part of him and his prestige. Her family did not matter so much as her current place in his.

Casting a quick look down the table to check on his bride, he wondered if that was why Ellen appeared solemn and silent at her end of the table. Were people asking her the same intrusive questions?

Changing the topic felt like the most tolerable option. “Mrs. Harrison, you have exquisite culinary taste. This dinner is absolutely perfect.”

She demurred gracefully.

In another moment, he praised a young woman down the table from him on her lovely voice, then spoke in general about the wintry weather and expectations for the season. Expertly, he turned the conversation from himself. Deftly, he laid out compliments and flattered one person after another. Before long, the dinner was complete, and the lady of the house stood to signal for the other ladies to accompany her from the room while the gentlemen enjoyed stronger libations than readily available in the card room.

Peter Banner came to his side of the table and sat, crossing his arms and leaning back. “For your first event as a married man, you are doing supremely well.”

“It’s hardly any different than it was when I was single,” Marcus said, his voice low enough that his comments remained between the two of them. “Except that I’m no longer fending off single women.”

Banner chuckled and then turned to converse with the man on his other side.

Marcus hadn’t told his friend the entire truth. While he might carry himself as he always had, speak as he always did, he was worrying for Ellen. She had been nervous to come and being apart from her when she might be uncomfortable made him anxious. If nothing else, the ton had taught him to mask his feelings, and he did that now for her sake.

Ellen might not appreciate a hovering husband, he told himself.

He carried on through the after-dinner port as though nothing weighed on his mind, speaking of their plans to go to London.

When the host finally stood, it was time to rejoin the ladies. Marcus sprung up faster than he intended to. He made up for it by allowing other gentlemen to precede him as they shuffled out.

He entered the parlor and surveyed the room, looking for Ellen in her beautiful mint green gown. He found her, sitting on a covered bench near the window, deep in conversation with Mrs. Banner.

“They will be thick as thieves in no time,” Banner said, appearing beside him.

Marcus barely held in a sigh. “I hope so. Ellen needs friends here.”

“She will have them. In time.” Banner clapped him on the shoulder and went forward, making straight for his wife, and Marcus followed a step behind.

Chapter Sixteen

A footman answered the door at the Banner home. He showed them inside and took their things, the only servant in evidence. Their home was not so large as Orchard Hill. Yet it felt warm and welcoming. The floors were polished oak, the walls covered in a simple dark green paper, with watercolors decorating the hall between doorways.

The footman led them to a parlor where a fire burned in the hearth. Mr. and Mrs. Banner stood as Ellen and Marcus entered, both of them with friendly expressions. Bows and curtsies were made, but then Mrs. Banner came forward with her hands outstretched to take Ellen’s.

“Oh, I am glad you accepted our invitation. I know you must be in great demand, new to the neighborhood as you are.”

Ellen glanced askance at Marcus, who likely knew how few invitations had actually arrived at their home for her. “Thank you for thinking to ask us.”

“Please, come and sit. We usually enjoy each other’s company before dinner is ready.” Mrs. Banner moved to the comfortable looking maroon couch and gave the cushion next to her a pat.

Ellen accepted and sat, glancing around with interest. The walls were covered in a cream-colored paper with miniature portraits and larger paintings of landscapes. Dried flowers hung in a few corners, their colors muted but a lovely contrast to the walls. The furniture looked to be made less for decor and more for use, with sturdy lines and dark colors.

“How are you settling in as mistress of Orchard Hill?” Mrs. Banner asked.