Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 93
And he sat in the marquis’ favorite seat, a book open across his lap with a raging fire in the hearth, illuminating his contoured face. It was only upon further inspection that she noticed his feet planted solidly before him and his hands were those of one used to manual labor.
His words flowed evenly, though slowly. His head lowered and his knuckles white where they clutched the book. Concentration radiated from him, yet his eyes barely looked to the pages.
Ellie wondered what held his attention so, if it weren’t the words before him.
Startled, she was unconcerned about whom he was.
His voice blanketed her with a deep sense of security.
“What are you reading?” The words came in her voice, yet she was unaware of speaking them.
His head lifted slowly and his eyes met hers. Brown—his eyes were brown, that was the only thing she was sure of in that moment.
And that, despite his cultured tone, he was not of the noble class.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. Closing the book, he stood. Taller than she’d expected, he loomed before her, his back to the fire. “I should return to the stables.”
He moved toward the shelf he’d retrieved the book from, his free hand rubbing against one thigh.
“Are you hurt?” Again, she asked the most irrelevant question. “I mean, you are…”
“It is the weather,” he said as he slipped the book back into its place and turned back toward her and the exit. “I fear the cold, damp weather here in London does not agree with me.”
Ellie wanted to laugh at his words. It was the excuse she’d expect from a man three times his age. Yet, she sensed the subject was nothing to scoff at.
He moved quicker than before as he crossed the room. No doubt headed for the door behind her. It was then that she noticed one foot did not lift as high as the other, and he tilted ever so slightly to the left to compensate for it.
“Do have a good evening, Lady Ellington.”
“You know my name?”
“Of course.” A sheepish grin lit his face.
“Then it is only proper you introduce yourself, as well.”
“I am nobody, my lady. Only a lowly stable hand sent to fetch the week-old pickings from the garden.”
Ellie looked about her. “This is not the garden.”
“That it is not.”
“But here you be.”
“I confess, Cook was not about the kitchen, and so I thought to spend a bit of time until her return in the warmth of the house. The stables are awfully wet and dank during storms.”
“And you thought to spend your time in the marquis’ chair—reading his most favored book?” she questioned.
“I thought you knew naught what book I read.”
Hesitantly, she smiled, for, in fact, she knew the book well, though not the words it contained. She’d spied the marquis with it across his lap many a night in this very room.
When his head dipped in embarrassment, she continued, “I promise, I will not let on to your secret.”
“That is overly kind of you.” His fingers again massaged his upper leg. “I must see if Cook has returned. Undoubtedly, the stable master will not agree with your generous words or my tardiness.”
“What ails your leg?”
“I am told I was in a carriage accident before I could walk. While my nursemaid took care of me after my parents had decided I was beyond repair, I fear my leg and hand still suffer damage.”
“And the marquis was agreeable to hiring you?”
“I can handle a horse better than men twice my age and with four healthy limbs.” His affronted words had her regretting her question.
“I did not mean to imply—“
“You would not be the first, nor the last, to think a cripple cannot handle the tasks in a stable,” he cut her off. “Besides, the marquis and the stable master know of my shortcomings. I truly must return before he questions my whereabouts. Good eve, my lady.”
“Wait,” she said. He stopped a few feet from the door when she laid her hand on his arm to halt him. “Can I not have your name? If I see you about—which I likely will—I would have a name to address you by.”
“Alex.”
“Only Alex?”
“Alex is all I have to give.”
Ellie was at a loss for words…
It was much the same with her. She was ‘Lady Ellie’ or ‘Lady Ellington’, no surname, for no person had claimed her as their own.
“Well, Alex, you may call me Ellie.”
“That is not proper, my lady.”
“I assure you, it is quite proper, for you see, much like yourself, it is all I have to give.” It was all she had to give, the amount of her worth in a single leather-bound tome, the writings of a man who’d be forgotten in time, much like herself.
He nodded. “Very well. If we ever find ourselves alone, it will be Ellie.”
That was the most she could ask for. Any servant, no matter the favor bestowed by their master, would be punished for daring to call a lady by her given name—even if said lady was not actually a lady.
“Before you go…” Ellie turned and rushed farther into the study, she looked over a few titles before selecting the book she sought. “Take this.”
Ellie held the book out to him.
“The Task,” he read, but didn’t take the tome from her outstretched hand. “What is this for?”
“It seems you have memorized that last book.” Ellie looked to the ornately engraved book in her hands. “And this book was given to me years ago. I have heard that Cowper has a beautiful way with words. Please, take it. I am not much for reading.”
Reluctantly, he took the book, tucked it under his arm, and issued a curt but formal bow. “My deepest thanks, Lady—“
“Ellie,” she said. “We are alone, after all.”
“Your kindness will not soon be forgotten…” He paused. “Ellie.”
Her name sounded divine from his lips. Few addressed her in the household, many preferring to act as if she didn’t exist rather than associate with the rumored bastard child of the Marquis of Drake—little more than a ward of the Marquisate and someone to take pity on.
* * *
“Lady Ellie.” A hand grasped her shoulder, shaking gently. Why was he back to calling her Lady Ellie? They were still alone. She hadn’t heard the marquis return from his evening out. “Lady Ellie, you have a visitor.”
With a start, Ellie sat up, the bright, noonday sun streamed through her windows, blinding her for a moment. She must have fallen asleep, and slept through the night—for the first time in over a year she hadn’t awakened, a nightmare fresh in her mind.
“Daphne, heavens, stop jostling me so.” Ellie pushed her maid’s hand away. “I am awake. It certainly must be too early for visitors.”
“You slept through your morning repast, my lady.” Her maid rushed across the room and picked up a cream dress draped over a chair, presenting it to her with a flourish. “Miss Ruby…I mean, Mrs. Jakeston awaits you below.”
“Has it been a week already?” Ellie mused. “How many times must I tell her I am a grown woman and do not need her checking on my welfare?”
“At least one more time, my lady.”
“Stop it with the my lady, Daphne.”
“Why are you ever so riled up?”
Thoughts of Alex, that’s what, but there was little chance she’d share the object of her frustration with her maid. The girl already went on and on about ‘how handsome he is’ and ‘do you think he fancies anyone?’. It made her sick to think of Daphne or Payton enjoying Alex’s longing looks.
If Ellie hinted at her dream or that it had wandered far past where their actual encounter had ended, she’d never hear the end of it. How had her dream progressed so that she now, in the light of day, found it hard to draw breath? In her dream, he’d thanked Ellie for her kindness with a kiss—and she’d allowed him to wrap her in his solid embrace.
Strong, capable, uninjured arms.
“Come now, my lady.” Daphne shook her once more. “That stable hand cannot keep her occupied all day.”
“Stable hand?”
“Yes. Mrs. Jakeston requested to see him when I told her you weren’t seeing callers at the moment.” Her maid returned from Ellie’s dressing room with a pair of cream slippers to match her gown. “Said she would stay occupied until you were ready to see her.”
During her and Alex’s brief talk in the alley—and his subsequent agreement to help her—he’d given his vow of assistance more willingly than she’d imagined possible. She was aware that her luck would not last forever, but she needed more time to figure out what her future would hold before she was thrust from her home and forced to make any decisions.
Ellie pushed from the warmth of her bed, slipped from her night shift, and donned her fresh undergarments and gown with Daphne’s help and sure hands. Next, she sat at her dressing table, allowing the girl to brush through her mess of red hair, gently working her way through the many knots from falling asleep without plaiting it first.
“Oh my, my lady,” Daphne sighed, pulling the brush through a particularly difficult tangle. “You must have had a fretful sleep for it looks like you fought a war during your rest.”
“Ouch.” The brush twisted in another knot. “Can you not just sweep it back and pin it as best you can for now?” Ellie didn’t want to admit it but she hoped to catch Alex before he departed for the stables.
“Why the hurry now?”
“It is rude to keep Ruby waiting.”
Her maid smiled into the mirror before them. There was little doubt the girl thought her mistress finally saw the rudeness of her ways. In truth, Ellie only wanted to complete her mandatory weekly visit with her sister—and if she gained a glimpse of Alex in the process, that would be most fortunate.
Ellie entered the drawing room, a serene smile on her face; but she was only greeted by her sister—Alex already having taken his leave.
“Ellie,” her sister greeted her with a quick hug, releasing her and regaining her seat before Ellie’s displeasure showed itself. “I am sorry for missing our visit a few days ago. The work required to make a dilapidated old house livable is quite cumbersome, to say the least.”
“I had not noticed you’d missed a visit, though I take such joy in seeing you.” Of course, she’d noticed her sister had failed to show on the anniversary of the marquis’ death, but she’d rather be entombed along with the man than admit it to Ruby. “But you are here now and I will tamp down my elation at that.”
Ruby tried to maintain eye contact with her younger sister, but Ellie noticed the woman’s hands clutching and unclutching. She needed to give Ruby credit for her persistence in persuading Ellie to accept her into her life, though she was met with snide retorts and avoidance.
“Baby Neill is doing well,” Ruby said, changing the subject. “I have so much enjoyed helping Vi with his care. Having a child about—his laughter and precociousness—is something I never thought to experience.”
“I am sure at your age, you had given up hope of a family.” Ellie knew she was being cruel, but she would not get into another endless discussion about children and marriage—and family. “But you’ve been blessed with Mr. Jakeston and a new home. Things will work out as you’ve always dreamed.”
Ruby stared at her in silence, the quiet becoming almost deafening between them before she continued, “That is exactly it. I never thought of a family of my own—neither wished for one nor expected it. However, once Vi wed Lord Haversham—and then Harold captured my notice—I found it was something I truly longed for.”
“I commend you on your life’s discovery.”
“Ellie—“
“Can we please not have this pointless argument again?”
“You are the only one who turns our discussions into arguments—though I blame your quarrelsome nature on our father.”
Ellie sighed and held her hands wide, signaling her to speak.
“What I was trying to impress upon you is that marriage—and a family—wasn’t something I realized I desired because I felt it was out of my reach.”
“And you think a family and marriage is within my reach?” Ellie held her sister’s stare, refusing to look away. “Or that it is something I have ever wanted?”
“Everyone wishes for family.”
“Well,” Ellie said. “I have never been impressed with the family I was given—nor would I wish my life circumstances on another. Who is to say my child would fare any better than I did?”
“You are not our father.” Ellie saw the fight draining from Ruby, knowing their conversation would end shortly. It always went in much the same direction each time Ruby set about pushing this topic. “I only think you should think about your future a bit more.”
“I assure you, I think about my future often.” Ellie slipped her fingers into her apron pocket and touched the letter from their father’s solicitor. “It has never included a family or children because one must think to keep their home before anything else.”
“You will always have a home with Harold and me.” She’d said the same sentiment over a hundred times since Drake passed, yet Ellie was no closer to accepting the offer than she was a year ago.
“Again, that is a most generous offer, but I must politely decline.” Ellie stood, hoping to get her point across that their visit had come to an end. “Please give my best regards to your husband.”
Ellie pasted a bright smile on her face, one that anyone who looked closely enough would notice didn’t reach her eyes.
Ruby remained seated for a few moments before shaking her head, standing, and taking her leave.
Ellie crumpled in the seat Ruby had vacated, allowing the many thoughts she wished she could say to her sister to bounce around in her mind.
There were so many things Ellie was sorry about, and hundreds of others that she owed apologies for. She wanted to accept her sister and everything she had to offer. The idea of another caring for her—truly taking care of her—seemed like a dream outside Ellie’s grasp.
To embrace all Ruby offered, Ellie would need to open herself up and let everything in, but that would also allow many terrible things to escape her. Making herself vulnerable before her sister, letting Ruby envelope her in a net of safety, would only bring out all the harsh memories Ellie had worked to suppress, things she’d sworn never to trouble her sister with.
They ate Ellie from the inside out—and she’d die before allowing them to do the same to Ruby.
Chapter 6
Alex paced before the dressing mirror in one of the upstairs guest chambers, turning to and fro, assessing the skill with which the maid had altered the coat to fit him. The cut and fabric were long out of fashion, but with Drake’s shrinking size as he aged, Lady Ellington had been forced to locate a trunk in the attic that housed clothes from the marquis’ younger years.
The coat draped as it should—pulled tight across his shoulders, its tails falling precisely as he’d noted of Lord Haversham’s coat. Lifting the hem of his pressed pantaloons, he took special notice of the Hessians securely on his feet. They were unlike any boots he’d ever worn before, and shockingly, they fit as if they’d been crafted for his feet only, not those of a man over a year in his grave.
Alex felt a twinge of unease and remorse over donning the clothes of the late Marquis of Drake. But he reminded himself, as he had numerous times each day since he’d agreed to orchestrate Ellie’s plan, that this was for a good cause—he was only doing this to prepare Ellie for the eventual transfer of the Drake townhouse…buying her time to figure out her own future, whether that was with her sister or forging her own path.
“Do you think I shall pass?” he asked. “The clothes fit well, but I worry I do not know the mannerisms of a true lord.”
When no response came from behind him, he looked over his shoulder to where Ellie sat by the closed door, lost in her thoughts, though she stared directly at him. He took the opportunity to watch her. When her face wasn’t pinched in displeasure and she wasn’t working overly hard to make her discontentment apparent, she looked almost angelic in nature; part of her hair had come loose from her pins and created a halo of light around her head. Her expression, neither pensive nor perplexed, lent a childish air to her visage. She’d tucked her legs up under her, her skirt falling over them and stopping a few inches short of the floor. Today, she wore a dress of the most delicate peach, with a white apron tied about her waist. Since she’d come out of mourning, he’d looked forward to seeing what colors and styles she chose to wear—not that he knew a thing of ladies’ fashions, but no matter her choice, it far outshined the dull black, sturdy gowns she’d worn.
He was leery to bring up the task before him, knowing it would disturb her peaceful air, vanquishing her calm gaze.
Smiling, he realized he could dress every morn with her sitting thus, lost in her own thoughts or watching him—it didn’t matter—as long as she was close. He’d always thought his connection to the marquis was the elusive man himself, but now, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe, the possibility existed that his destiny was tied to the woman before him…not the marquis.
“You look dashing.” Her words were no more than a whisper, and likely not meant to be spoken aloud.
He raised his brow, catching her eye in the mirror. “Dashing, yes.” He twisted this way and that, puffing his chest and dancing a little jig. A small smile pulled at her lips at his antics. “But will I pass for a marquis?”
She unfolded from her chair, stood, and walked around him, her fingers pinching her chin with concentration as she inspected him. Finally, she stopped, her hands falling to her sides. “I confess, I am not the appropriate person to judge. You look to be any gent conducting business on Bond Street or promenading through Hyde Park.”
“And my hair is not too long?” he asked, smoothing his palm along the part at his crown. Lady Ellington’s lady’s maid had trimmed his hair to where it tucked neatly behind his ears and barely brushed his collar in back. “It still feels a bit disorderly.”
