Embracing Ashberry (12 page)

It was from Wendy that Ellie finally heard
about the house at Ashberry Park. Caroline, Charlotte and Lady
Westhouse had all promised to use the time between the wedding and
Ashberry’s departure for Cumbria to acquaint her with the
management of the house and Ashberry’s profitable farms and horse
breeding business, but Ellie was intensely interested in how things
were seen by the house staff. Though Wendy was respectful and
thorough in answering, she hadn’t gossiped about the staff or the
family, something Ellie appreciated and noted.

Instead, she enthusiastically told Ellie
some of the history of the house. “The house is built just below
the ruins of the old castle on the prettiest hillside you ever saw.
The village is in the valley below, and you can see the house and
castle from the center square. It’s such a vision at dusk; you’ll
have to ask his Lordship to show you. From the gardens, you can
actually climb up a staircase that leads to a breech in the outer
wall. Of course, the walls are mostly starting to fall down and
there’s a rule now that no one is to go up there alone in case the
unthinkable happens. His Lordship will show you it, I’m sure. He
used to take Miss Caroline and Miss Charlotte and the boys for
picnics and history lessons.”

She told Ellie about the magnificence of the
gardens, the bathhouse in the north wing, the guest and assembly
rooms in the south wing. The conservatory, she said, was “just too
beautiful. I can’t imagine anything more peaceful. I hope you’ll
love it dearly.”

Before Ellie was really aware, she found
herself dressed in a voluminous gown of white silk sewn and
embroidered with silver thread. The chill of the winter
necessitated three heavy wool petticoats, bleached, below her
hoops. The silk stockings were also white, as well as the
translucent chemise that made the fitted whalebone around her
breasts more bearable. Only her boots were not the pure white,
instead a feminine dove gray. With her head uncovered, she hardly
felt like a bride, for the gown was simple if one dismissed the
expense of the fine fabric and the detail of the silver stitches
that decorated the stiff bodice.

Only when Wendy left to find her mother did
Ellie feel the first stirrings of nervousness. Twitching her
fingers, she stood still, intent on Wendy’s instructions to not
wrinkle the fabric but it was hard to wait patiently. She bit her
lip, remembering the pleasant three room apartment she would occupy
at Ashberry House in London: a pleasant sitting room, an expansive
dressing and bathing room and a handsome boudoir, all newly painted
and papered, the furniture freshened, the linens, carpets and
window hangings replaced. Ellie had chosen the fabrics and colors
after seeing the layout, still arrayed in the somber, austere lines
Ashberry’s stepmother favored.

Lady Whitney breathed a sigh of pleasure
when she saw her daughter. She had already been crying, and had
done little yet to hide it. To her daughter, she gave a tender kiss
to each cheek. “You are lovely, Ellie. So much prettier than even I
used to think.” She smoothed a stray curl Wendy had purposely
allowed to hang below Ellie’s ear but then let it return to its
tempting position. “And I can’t believe your father chose these
pearl pins for your hair. It must have been difficult for him.”

“They are perfect, Mama,” Ellie assured
her.

“It’s almost time,” her mother sighed.

Ellie touched her arm gently. “I will
survive, Mama,” she said seriously. “I will be afraid, but I will
survive.”

Lady Whitney’s fingers were gentle as she
held her daughter’s hand. “Remember, my darling Ellie, that it
should not be painful after the first time, if even then for
you.”

Ellie nodded. “Mama, Ashberry is a good man.
He will not hurt me if he can help it.”

Lady Whitney sighed again, her brow creased
in concern. “Not all men know when they are hurting their wives. If
it is not painful, however, just bear it as much as possible, for
it furthers the companionship between husband and wife. Husbands,”
she added with a bit of edge to her voice, “especially need the
comfort of the marital bed.”

Ellie understood her mother’s
implication—she did not perform the duties of the marital bed
joyfully with Ellie’s father and she did not expect any other
civilized woman to have any other opinion of the matter.

* * * *

“Just bear it,” Ellie reminded herself hours
later. At the time, the wedding had seemed so vivid to her, the
brilliant flowers and beautiful gowns not even beginning to match
the heartfelt fondness she wanted to believe was in Ashberry’s
eyes.

Now, however, the freedom of those moments
seemed so far away.

The wedding she remembered was so long ago,
as if it was the memory of another girl, of another bride. The
small affair had taken place at St. Stephen’s, but the rank and
fame of the marquess had necessitated some allowances for pomp. A
bishop had condescended to conduct the ceremony, leaving the gentle
rector Ellie loved so dearly to watch from behind.

He had blessed them in his own way after the
ceremony, kissing each of their cheeks and wishing them the best,
and Ellie knew that the event would be the talk of St. Stephen’s
parishioners for years. Both families had made generous donations
to the chapel, and both bride and groom had promised to return when
they came to London.

Mr. Hughes, his smile genuine, had whispered
to Ellie that his prayers had been answered. The moment had warmed
her nervous heart, at least for a time.

The breakfast, really a late luncheon for it
didn’t start until nearly three o’clock, had been a marvelous
success. Lady Westhouse had presided with an ease that amazed
Ellie, but causing her to wonder if she could ever be as composed
and accomplished. The match pleased the countess, or at least she
had told Ellie so, though her expression was still curious whenever
she looked at her nephew. He seemed not to notice but allowed Ellie
to lead them through the obligations of the afternoon.

The marquess had spoken easily to
politicians, London residents, distant relations of both families
and the like, while Ellie had managed to smile until her mouth
ached. No one seemed to mind that the bride was quiet, and everyone
assumed she was just a little nervous about that new and most
unfamiliar marital responsibility.

Not that it was a poor assumption, Ellie
told herself. She was actually more than nervous, though over the
years her doctors had clarified and explained the mechanics of the
act, thus eliminating the excuse of complete ignorance. She was,
because of this necessary education, perfectly terrified. The
admission caused her stomach to turn slightly, until Ellie forced
herself to remember that one did not have to enjoy one’s duty to do
it. She had allowed Wendy to help her into the silk negligee her
mother had supplied, along with a long, flowing velvet peignoir to
safely cover it. The gown and robe were perfectly decent, covering
her from shoulders to toes, but Ellie did not see the modesty of
it. She saw only that the silk clung lovingly to curves she wished
desperately to conceal and that both garments were dreadfully easy
to slip down and off her slender frame.

As soon as Ashberry saw her, he knew she was
petrified. He had left her alone too long, he thought, regretting
his decision to give her time to compose herself and recover from
the affair downstairs. Instead, she stood motionless at the mirror,
staring at her body but hardly seeing it. The expression on her
face was so incredibly fragile that he barely noticed her garments
past a first brief look. She saw him almost immediately and tensed
even more as he came to stand behind her.

He was not undressed completely. He still
wore his shirtsleeves but the cravat was gone, so that his shirt
opened at the neck and hinted at the body underneath it. Ashberry
had exchanged his formal breeches and hose for a pair of trousers,
having decided that appearing in her rooms in a robe would have
shocked the girl. It hadn’t mattered, though, for she was working
diligently to reduce herself to that condition.

He thought to say the right thing. “You are
incredibly beautiful, Ella Amelie Trinity.”

The new name was almost her undoing. “I hope
you still think so tomorrow,” she managed in a whisper.

Ashberry sighed, knowing he was about to
deny himself something he dearly craved. “I do not wish to force
you, Ella,” he said quietly.

She laughed, but the noise was hollow. “It
might be easier if you just did and got it over with,” she choked
out.

Ashberry stepped back abruptly, as if
someone had thrown cold water on his face. “I don’t want to just
have it ‘over with’,” he enunciated clearly, a hard edge on his
voice.

Ella nearly jumped at the new sound in his
voice. She turned to him, her chin high but her eyes anxiously
searching his face. “What do you mean?” she asked after a moment,
her arms crossed protectively over her stomach.

Ashberry was grateful that she had not left
the confines of her own dressing room. Had he found her in her
boudoir, or worse yet in his own chamber, the mocking presence of
the large, prominent beds would have been his ruin. He took a
moment to calm himself before explaining slowly, “I do not want a
marriage, Ella, which is cold. I want you to come to me because you
trust me and desire to share a part of yourself with me that you
give to no one else. I want to come to you for the same reasons. I
want you to be warm and soft when I touch you, not frightened and
remote.”

Ellie’s mouth opened in near shock. It
didn’t sound like he wanted anything like she had ever associated
with marriage, certainly not what her mother had indicated, first
when she was still in the schoolroom and later, before they left
for Europe, and again before the wedding.

Confused, she said the only thing that came
to mind. “Mama said it would be all right, to just endure it.”

Ashberry restrained the urge to throw
something, anything. Roughly, he pulled Ellie toward him, his hands
immediately gentling as he drew her close enough to kiss her
forehead in the familiar gesture. He had kissed her chin at the
wedding, so close to her mouth that the guests had not seen
anything unusual, Ellie remembered suddenly, lifting her face as he
pulled back.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want you to
do,” he answered softly, forcefully, holding her eyes in his own
with determination. “It’s been the advice of generations of
mothers, but it’s not what I want, what any man truly wants, from
the bed we will share. I am convinced that those loyal and dutiful
attempts by daughters everywhere to ‘endure it’ are the primary
cause of the English gentleman’s tendency to accumulate mistresses.
I don’t want you to bear it at all, Ella, I want us to be part of
who you are, who we are together.” He paused, his voice softening
even as his hands stroked down each cheek. “I want you to adore
being with me, Ellie.” The last three words were nearly raw, the
nickname formerly reserved for her family imbued with fierce
intensity. His shoulders slumped and he turned to look around the
room.

The dressing room had certainly changed
since he had come in here just two weeks ago to inspect the work.
The maids had removed all traces of his stepmother, for though she
had been dead many years, no one had touched the marchioness’ rooms
since. New paint and paper with elegant pink roses adorned the
walls and a beautiful landscape painting that he knew had come from
the Whitney house hung proudly over the mantelpiece. However, the
room had no comfortable sitting area where he could settle her for
a talk, and the fire was not burning here. “That’s not going to
happen, at least not tonight,” he concluded flatly.

Ellie choked back a sob. “I’m sorry,” she
whispered, turning away. “I ... I guess we should have talked
before about, I mean ...” Her fingers gripped the velvet of her
peignoir tightly and she turned aside to stand in the doorway to
her boudoir.

Ashberry took a deep breath and moved to
stand behind her. He loved the look of the creamy fabric as it
flowed over her back and he saw for the first time the tempting
curve of her bottom where the velvet hugged it in the candlelight.
He kept himself from touching those intimate places only because he
rested his hands on her shoulders. “It will happen, Ellie,” he said
gently, using her nickname again. “Just not tonight.”

Ellie’s hands trembled. A delay in
consummating the marriage would not hurt anyone, she told herself.
It certainly wouldn’t hurt her. “When?” she asked in a whisper.

“When you can come to my bed,” he said
quietly. “Tonight is my preference, of course, but we must consider
your needs.”

Ellie’s laugh was uneven. “That’s awfully
liberal,” she said carefully.

He smiled, closing his eyes to breathe in
the luxurious scent of her hair. It was still piled on top of her
head, but now it was a simple knot, one he could easily release. He
took a moment to pull the pins away. Ellie did not resist but she
stiffened quite noticeably.

“Does it bother you to have my hands in your
hair?” he asked softly, smoothing the mass of curls into some sort
of order and following their length to the lower middle of her
back.

Ellie’s voice was choked with anxiety. “I, I
can’t remember the last time anyone besides Mama and the maids saw
me with my hair falling down.” Even in her sickbed, Ellie
remembered, her mother had kept it fastened behind her or
underneath her.

Ashberry tried to be comforting. He pressed
a kiss to the back of her head and returned his hands to her
shoulders. “You, Ella, are quite brave. I think if our positions
were reversed, I would have run screaming into the night by now.”
Two minutes passed, then three. His fingers gently rubbed her
shoulders through the fabric of her robe, his fingers moving in
circles near the nape of her neck. “I have a suggestion,” he
offered quietly when she did not respond.