Page 9 of His Bluestocking Bride

Marcus felt sorry for the man when all four of them burst out laughing. He offered his arm to Ellen, who took it in a perfunctory manner. The woman did not seem affected by him at all. She did not blush under his gaze or his compliments, did not demure in their conversation, and took his arm as a matter of course instead of fluttering her eyelashes or preening the way others had done.

He saw this as evidence of her practicality. Ellen must be a woman with a good deal of sense and lovely to look upon. A man could do much, much worse in a wife. Perhaps, with more time, he might put the question to her.

Perhaps.

Chapter Four

Sitting at her dressing table while Sarah brushed out her hair, Ellen relaxed beneath the maid’s ministrations and allowed her mind to wander.

Seeing Marcus again, being alone with him before dinner, created all manner of conflict inside her heart and head. For years she held him up as an ideal companion, but never dared hope he would pay her attention. Yet he called her by her Christian name almost at once. Such familiarity made her feel heady. Excited. But she could not allow that.

Such an intimacy could be one of his methods of flirtation. Though they knew each other as children, most would put away that familiarity upon entering adulthood.

As far as society was concerned, she barely existed. She was not important. Apart from their meeting here in her cousin’s house, she would likely never see Marcus again.

That thought did nothing to lift her spirits.

A light rap on the door startled her. She exchanged a glance with Sarah, who hurried to answer it. The girl opened it a crack, then stepped back to allow the person outside entry.

Marianne entered wearing her wrap, her hair in a long blonde braid. “I am glad you are not abed yet. I wished to speak to you before you retire. We did not get the chance for a private word today.”

“Shall I go, miss?” Sarah asked, hovering near the door.

“Yes, of course. Good night, Sarah.” The girl bobbed a curtsy and disappeared, closing the door behind her. Ellen began to braid her hair, watching Marianne in the mirror.

“Is the room to your liking?” Marianne walked about, straightening a cushion on the chair near the fire.

“Yes, very much.” Tying off the braid with a ribbon, Ellen turned fully in her chair to face her friend. “I am glad to be here.”

Marianne glanced up with raised eyebrows. “But?”

Shaking her head, Ellen confessed her thoughts. “Why am I here at the same time as Mr. Calvert? Is he to be Collin’s guest and I yours?”

“No.” Marianne shook her head. “If anything, I have sincere hopes you will spend your time here keeping each other company.”

Ellen frowned, uncertain she heard correctly. “Keeping each other—? Marianne, what are you saying exactly?” She stood, gripping the back of her chair tightly. “You are not playing matchmaker.”

Marianne’s face remained serious. “I certainly am.”

Ellen took one breath and then another, her thoughts flying quickly through her mind. How could her friend and her cousin do this to her? Why would they set her up for such a dismal failure? Especially when Marianne knew, and had for a number of years, that Ellen admired Marcus? In a moment of youthful folly many years past, she told Marianne that marrying Marcus would be dreadfully romantic.

Marianne must know that Ellen left that dream behind her long ago. “Five seasons, Marianne,” she said at last, loosening her grip on the chair. Her knuckles had turned white. “I’ve had five seasons in Bath. I am firmly on the shelf. I accept that. Please. Do not make Mar—Mr. Calvert’s time here difficult by throwing me at him.” She met her friend’s gaze, pleadingly.

Marianne came across the room, reaching out to embrace Ellen. Ellen hoped this meant her friend accepted her request.

But Marianne’s next words dashed that idea. “You are perfect for him, Ellen. Marcus just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ellen stepped away, wrapping her arms about herself. “No. I’m not. He is the son of an earl, he goes to London every season, he can have his choice of women.”

“But what if his choice is you?” Marianne asked with a wide gesture of her arms. “You are both here. No distractions. No meddlesome family. Just the two of you. Why not give it a chance?”

“Because it would be terrible. Can you imagine me trying to flirt with him? Win him over?”

A snort escaped the proper Lady Falkham. “He sees enough of that behavior in London. I want you to be yourself.” Her look became earnest. “I want you to talk to him and be honest.”

“Honest?” Ellen moved to sit on the edge of her bed, shaking her head. “I dare not be honest. You know, Marianne. You know how I have always felt about him. I think that would terrify him to know a bookish little nobody fancied herself in love.”

Marianne winced. “Maybe not that honest. I meant that you should behave as you would with Collin and me. Not the way your mother wishes, or society expects. The way you wish to be. I think he will find it endearing.”