Embracing Ashberry (10 page)

Whitney sighed, narrowing his eyes. Ellie
identified the irritation growing in him, so when he continued
doggedly, she was not unprepared. “Do not make this harder than it
is, Ellie. I am not excited about my daughter refusing marriage to
one of the most respected noblemen in England. You do not have my
permission to drive in the park with Ashberry. If you wish me to
communicate your regrets, I will do so and spare you the
anguish.”

Ellie tightened her jaw and mouth as she
turned away, hiding her reaction from her father’s astute eyes.
“No. I am perfectly capable of speaking with the marquess.”

Whitney noted the chill in his daughter’s
voice and his jaw tightened, a clear indication to anyone who knew
him well. He was familiar with his daughter’s tone, for it reminded
him vividly of his wife, and he was not pleased to hear it from
Ellie. “You will do it when he arrives,” he said unequivocally.

“Yes, Papa,” Ellie said softly, not moving
until he turned and left the room.

He narrowly missed Ashberry, who was being
escorted in by the butler. Ellie tried not to look directly at the
butler, murmuring only, “Thank you, Fields,” when Ashberry was
announced. She pretended to have an intense interest in the
landscape that hung between the two drawing room windows, away from
the door.

Ashberry did not tolerate her inattention
and did not waste time in false pretenses. Normally now, he was
greeted with a breathless smile in the hall and Ellie’s posture
this afternoon was too stiff to misinterpret. He was immediately
tense and strode across the room, taking her chin in his hand and
turning her face to his. The tears were still forming in her eyes,
though Ashberry suspected she was fighting them off. “What’s
happened?” he asked softly, his hand gentling around her chin for a
moment before he released her.

Ellie stared at his chest. It was an
impressive expanse, even covered in his coat. She swallowed with
determination, closed her eyes and said, “My father does not want
me to continue seeing you, since he has no intention of giving his
permission for us to marry. He feels driving with you in the Park
any longer will cause gossip and false hopes on your part. He said
I might no longer go.” She stopped, swallowing with difficulty
before adding in a whisper, “He instructed me to inform you that we
would not suit.”

The words began rigidly, without emotion,
but her voice trembled on the word false and broke completely as
she related Whitney’s withdrawal of his permission. The last
whispered sentence held a note of raw reluctance that Ashberry had
no difficult reading. Even when Ellie opened her eyes, she refused
to meet his eyes.

Ashberry suppressed an urge to stalk through
the house and confront her father. Instead, he took a step back and
used one finger to tilt her chin up so that their eyes met. “Do you
wish to continue spending time in my company?”

Ellie’s hands shook from the struggle inside
her. She knew she could not disobey her father but she could not
lie to Ashberry either. He had awakened something inside her she
could not yet name and she knew instinctively Ashberry’s attention
had forever changed her. “I want to,” she finally admitted, “But I
cannot—”

“I do not ask you to be insubordinate,
Ella,” Ashberry assured her. “But I certainly want to continue our
time together as well.” His voice dry, he corrected himself,
“Actually, I’d rather prefer to significantly increase the time we
spend together.”

When she didn’t respond, he asked quietly,
“Does it upset you that your father does not wish me to address
you?”

Ellie’s chin squared in an expression that
Ashberry knew immediately was resolve. “It should be my decision,”
she declared.

Ashberry almost smiled at her comment. She
hadn’t declared an undying love, but he knew immediately he was
about to face her father just as soon as he extracted enough
information from Ellie to use in the conversation. “I'll assume you
mean it upsets you that he has made his decision without
considering your own wishes, which means that you have not yet
refused me. So why does your father find me unacceptable as a
son-in-law?”

Ellie’s eyes closed in pain and she turned
away. She walked to the window and stared out into the street for a
moment before whispering, “It is not you who is unacceptable, my
lord. I am the one he cannot countenance.”

She clasped her hands together tightly,
biting her bottom lip. Outside, a footman waited by Ashberry’s
empty phaeton, but no sign of Charlotte or the Trinity carriage was
visible. Ellie knew her father had likely ordered it put away and
that in all likelihood Charlotte and Edward were grateful for a few
moments alone, as yet unaware of her distress. Not that Edward
could have helped her this time, Ellie told herself sternly. Some
situations had to be managed on one’s own. Ashberry moved to stand
by her side, leaning against the wall. It was at once a negligent
and elegant pose, but Ellie was not deceived. He was intensely
focused on her. She struggled to find the words.

“I, I was attacked, in our gardens in
Cornwall, my lord. He had a knife. There are ... horrid scars on
me, even inside me, that will never go away.” Ellie turned her head
away. “You do not want me as a wife Ashberry, however much I desire
otherwise. I am not beautiful, not enchanting. At least not in the
way a wife should be. Not, not when one knows what I—I truly look
like.”

She swallowed a sob and tried to forget all
the compliments he had paid over the past week. She had begun to
believe that Ashberry really did find her an attractive companion
but Ellie had long ago concluded no man could look past the ugly
red marks that crossed her middle and her father's words had
reminded her of the futility. She hurt inside now almost as much as
that first awful week.

Ellie’s shoulders dropped. Emotional
exhaustion and turmoil were beginning to tire the inner piece of
her soul that continued to dream and buttress her outward
composure. Over the last few months, with the help of her mother,
Mr. Hughes and more recently an unknowing Ashberry, Ellie had begun
to feed its yearnings with a picture of what might have been.
Today, though, the hopelessness was again rising inside her,
insatiable in its demand for misery.

Defeated, she began to move away, at least
until Ashberry’s hand stopped her simply by draping itself over her
shoulders and grasping the far one firmly. “Don’t make it harder,
please,” she whispered. “Let me go.”

“Never,” Ashberry said roughly. He was still
reeling from her inadvertent confession. She desired that he would
want her as his wife. It implied at least some degree of
affection.

Ellie had no time to digest or question his
response. The drawing room doors swung open, revealing Lord
Whitney, his frame tense and his face furious. Neither one bothered
to hide their emotions: Ellie’s tears were starting to roll over
her cheeks and Ashberry’s arm was wrapped comfortingly around the
girl. “What is going on?” Whitney nearly roared, an accusing glare
directed toward his daughter.

Ashberry stared in astonishment at the man.
He didn’t hesitate, but clasped Ellie even closer beside him before
he replied. “You might want to know that your daughter is doing her
best to an obedient daughter,” Ashberry answered for them both.
“However, it hasn’t discouraged me in the least.”

Whitney’s eyes flashed as he focused on
Ellie’s tears. “She cannot marry you, Ashberry. She has been
compromised,” he ground out.

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened while Ashberry’s
eyes narrowed. “I know what happened to your daughter, Whitney,” he
replied, disgust in his voice. “I don’t know, however, what made
you imagine it could be compared with a young chit discovered with
a stable boy or footman.”

“For God’s sakes, man,” Whitney sighed, his
entire body seeming to sink downward, “Don’t imagine you can even
conceive of the ... the ignominy of that day. Let alone the
suffering that has followed it.” He shook his head sadly. “It would
have killed most women. Hell, it would have killed many men. But we
both know that to be a bride of any gentility means to be chaste
and my daughter is not.” The last four words were harsh and seemed
to dwell in the room, their import the cause of Ashberry’s
tightening features.

Ellie’s inchoate cry of pain seemed wrenched
from her. She found the nearest surface to bury her face, not
caring that it was the front of Ashberry’s coat. His arms fitted
around her, naturally cradling her head between his arm and chest.
“You are intelligent man, Whitney,” the marquess finally answered
quietly, the surge of violence in his stomach and throat held
tightly by years of self-control. “But I disagree, quite
vehemently, with your ideas about the essential quality in a wife.
As the marquess in the room, I am the expert on the necessary
attributes in a marchioness. My wife will be a faithful
gentlewoman, a compassionate and conscientious mistress of our home
and she will represent honorably my name and family.”

He looked down at Ellie’s head, praying with
his whole body that this moment would not be the only time he would
hold her as she cried. “Your daughter is perfect for me,” he
finished gently, not even bothering to glance again at her father.
His fingers stroked her ear and then wiped the tears that leaked
around her hidden eyes.

None of the three saw Lady Whitney stop in
the doorway, having been urgently summoned by the loyal and
observant Fields. She heard Ashberry’s last sentence and grasped
the doorjamb, her fingers clenching at the wood. She listened as
her husband made another objection.

“Ashberry,” he spoke sternly, “I’m afraid
you do not know all there is to know of my daughter’s health. She
cannot give you an heir. There is no future for her at Ashberry
Park.”

The words infuriated his wife. She swept
forward, ignoring her husband and daughter, whose tears were now
sobs. “My lord,” she smiled graciously, extending her gloved hand
to his free one. “I see you are discussing the arrangements for
your marriage.”

Ashberry was no fool and he knew quite well
which parent in this family would stand by his cause. With one hand
still wrapped tenderly around Ellie’s head and shoulders, he took
the lady’s hand in his free one, lifting it and kissing the back of
her glove. “Good morning, Lady Whitney. In answer to your question,
your husband was just sharing his concerns about Miss Whitney’s
health. He seems unconvinced that I will be able to manage her care
adequately.”

“I don’t see how that should be a problem,”
Lady Whitney murmured, arching a brow. “It was my understanding
that you discussed those concerns last week with my daughter. Is it
necessary to revisit them?”

Ashberry smiled. His Ellie obviously
communicated with her mother at some levels, or Lady Whitney would
not have known about that first conversation. “We did. It doesn’t
appear, however, that her father was aware of the original partial
truth she used to try and deter me.”

Lady Whitney was wreathed in polite smiles,
but her husband was now bewildered. “Ah, well, it was a futile
tactic on my daughter’s part to follow Lord Whitney’s instructions
when you first came to call—and as she despises failure in herself
so of course she wouldn’t report it to him. You should keep in
mind, though, that my husband tends to dwell on the extremes when
it comes to our daughter. He worries too much over her. I trust you
will want to meet with her physician before the wedding?”

The marquess inclined his head
affirmatively. He knew what she was saying. Ellie had not intimated
falsely—they had been warned that she might have difficulty
carrying a babe, but the thing was not impossible either. He would
need to be careful—he would not endanger Ellie with pregnancy if
there were any risks to her. “I’m sure you will be able to provide
enough details for me to retain an appropriate physician.”

Ellie had stilled beneath his head. Her
mother was present and the marquess was discussing their wedding.
He hadn’t fled the room. She lifted her head and stared at him,
wondering.

Ashberry couldn’t help himself, even though
her parents were right before him. He pressed his lips to the top
of her forehead, tasting the fruity fragrance he already adored.
His hands cupped her cheeks and he lifted her face to look in her
eyes. “You are going to be my wife,” he promised, his eyes firmly
on hers.

Lord Whitney was irate but he knew he could
not express his frustration in the way he preferred. His voice was
stiff as he interrupted any reply Ellie would have given. “I will
not permit the match, Ashberry,” he promised, his voice harsh,
“Despite what Lady Whitney and my own daughter appear to have
engineered here.”

Ashberry did not look at the man. He was too
intent on Ellie’s face, her eyes wide and with what he thought
might be hope. His mouth curved into a smile at her astonishment,
even as he answered, “Whitney, don’t turn this into a scandal that
will disgrace you. I am going to marry your daughter, with or
without your consent. She is of age so I do not need your
permission and I certainly have no need of her money. I could carry
her out of your house right now and take her to any of the bishops
and she would be my wife before nightfall. Within two days time, I
would guarantee that everyone in London would know that you refused
to stand by your daughter—as I am a marquess and the marriage
obviously a good one for a baron’s daughter not even presented at
Court, they would assume you did not consent to the match because
you were in hock and couldn’t settle a guinea on her. They might
think things even worse.”

He cleared his throat, eyes still on Ellie’s
wide ones, his voice calm and reasonable even as he described his
alternative. “The attention to Edward and Charlotte would be nearly
unmanageable. Edward, and perhaps even his brothers, would be
forced to distance themselves from you and Lady Whitney and stand
by your daughter and I to salvage your family’s reputation.” He
cupped Ellie’s face in his hands and his mouth tightened, “Or you
can do the honorable thing by her and give your daughter a wedding
that all of England will celebrate as the romance of the year.”