Embracing Ashberry (34 page)

It was a nebulous emotion at best when
thought to exist between a man and a woman, making one both
vulnerable and foolish in the eyes of society. Automatically, she
recalled her mother’s words on the subject, for the woman had
dismissed amorous love as subjective, only understood by the person
who felt it, easily open to interpretation, and
misinterpretation.

Men, Lady Whitney believed, could easily
transfer their love from one woman to another as beauty and lust
dictated. Women, too, often erred in claiming love when in fact
they felt gratitude, physical attraction or affection. Ellie had
seen the emotion explored in detail in theatres in France and
Austria, and though she accepted that such explorations were in
fact entertainment, it was also true that many of the truths of
life were represented on the stage.

Ellie wondered what Griffin thought of as
love—affectionate companionship and undoubtedly passion, she
finally decided, calming herself. It wasn’t, after all, an uncommon
understanding, especially for men. He couldn’t think that love was
what Ellie considered it, the definition ingrained her by Mr.
Hughes: an enduring, cherishing, selfless and sacrificing
commitment to another, man, woman or child. The gentle man had
explained her mother’s behavior to Ellie in terms of love; the love
of a mother for her child was the easiest to identify and accept,
though he believed that a man and wife could love each other
wholeheartedly, if the marriage was truly as marriage was meant to
be.

Biting back a sigh, Ellie dismissed the idea
that Ashberry loved her in that all-consuming and giving way. After
all, he had been married to her for barely two weeks. Love, as
Ellie thought of it, would certainly need years to form and
coalesce within both of them.

Instinctively, Ellie knew that when she
loved, as she loved her brothers and mother, and even her father,
she was open to desperate hurt, aching emptiness, shocking grief.
Her father had proved it to her not so many days ago and she
suspected that if she came to love her husband, any betrayal from
Ashberry would be a hundred times worse.

Her compelling urge to self-preservation
could be damning but the alternative was unthinkable, terrible
enough to destroy her forever.

Ellie could not help but remember that her
parents’ marriage, seemingly successful for so long, had just
dissolved before her very eyes. She wondered how long it would be
before Ashberry’s lust expired, and whether they would have
anything left when it did. Ellie refused to think of her own body,
its own needs, of whether her desire would ever expire. Even more
steadfastly, Ellie refused to consider whether she loved her
husband, refused to examine if what she felt was simple gratitude
or if she already had given herself without reservation to the man
that had promised to honor and keep her for life.

Before many minutes passed, Griffin
straightened, peering sharply behind them. “Here he comes, my
lady,” he murmured, rapping above him on the carriage. Ellie waited
while Benjamin pulled the coach to a stop. The switch was made
quickly, with Ashberry climbing inside the carriage and Griffin
mounting the mare. Ellie watched as Alexander took the second one
and also mounted.

“I’m sending them ahead to the Park,”
Ashberry explained as he settled himself on the seat beside
Ellie.

He drew the blankets over them and drew her
close to him. “I have a desire to see home and be out of this
carriage, despite your distracting company, and I sense you would
not be averse to arriving as soon as possible. Benjamin will be
pushing the horses faster, Ellie dear, and I’m afraid the ride
might become quite rough.”

Ellie nodded, her eyes turned toward him as
she waited. She knew he would understand, and he did.

“I asked him where he was from, he told me.
A rough part of world, my dear, in the French part of the
Americas.” Ellie laid her head on his shoulder while his fingers
entwined with hers under the blankets. “There’s not much I could do
other than that—it’s not like he’s the only one running around.” He
sighed, stretching his feet across the carriage and bracing them on
the facing seat before he added, “But I will let Edward know of
your small discovery, as well as my own men. It was my
understanding that they never found the man?”

“No,” she whispered. “Never.” She cleared
her throat. “Of course, Papa was concerned about telling everyone
why they were searching. He said the man was a thief, I think,
which I can’t imagine inspired any desperate concern. Besides, no
one else in the vicinity of Rose Hill was attacked after me.”

Ashberry released her hand, putting his arm
around her instead. She lay close against him, absorbing his body
heat, while he thought. The man had said he was from New Orleans, a
French port in North America, famous for the furs and other goods
that came down the Mississippi River. For the moment, there was
nothing else that Ashberry could do except comfort his wife and
inform her family.

His resignation to his inability to pursue
the matter reminded him of the other issue they faced.

Ellie remembered at the same time. “How is
my mother?”

He kissed her hair, debating how much to
tell her. He and Edward had succeeded in quelling a search by the
London police, using their influence with City and Court officials
to convince those in power that it was in Lady’s Whitney’s best
interest not to be found. Edward had assured them that the matter
was a domestic one and that the baroness had not fled to a lover or
to the Continent.

“Edward has retained a solicitor to act in
her interest. He is petitioning the baron for a separation,” he
finally murmured. “And Richard is leaving for Cambridge tomorrow
morning. Fields and John both report that your father has stopped
raging but is quite moody. He had your mother’s portrait removed
from the library and told Fields to burn it. John had it delivered
to Edward’s house instead. Fields does not feel that your mother
would be safe if she came back—apparently your father has begun
attending a shooting gallery to improve his aim with a pistol.”

Ellie drew a sharp breath, clearly
horrified. “Dueling?” she whispered.

“With whom?” the marquess shrugged. “He
cannot challenge his own sons and I am not close by, and would
simply issue an apology and be done with the thing if it was his
intention. Edward feels it best that your mother keep out of sight
until the separation is formalized and your father returns to Rose
Hill.”

“What if he doesn’t agree?” she asked
worriedly. “I can’t imagine he’ll want to support her, you know. He
was always very critical of women who lived apart from their
husbands—perhaps he knew Mama wasn’t happy and thought to
discourage her, but he can’t be made to agree to a separation
contract, or even abide by it.”

“Yes, he can,” Ashberry disagreed soberly.
“Your brothers and I can, and will, force him to acknowledge that
the separation is in his best interest if we must,” he sighed,
“Though it would be easier on everyone if he agrees willingly.”
Ashberry didn’t add that a separation agreement would negate any
attempt the baron might make later to sue his wife for divorce in
order to humiliate her. He could hardly claim abandonment if a
legal separation was on record.

His wife nodded, resting her nose in the
crux of his shoulder. “Thank you, Stephen,” she whispered. “I can’t
believe how much trouble you accepted when you married me. I, I
have trouble fathoming what is happening to my family.”

Ashberry’s hands settled on her, stroking
her back and neck. “Edward has taken most of the brunt,” he
answered softly. “And I would hardly turn my back on your mother
and brothers, since our marriage seems to have precipitated this
crisis.” He kissed her braids, exposed now that her bonnet had been
set to the side.

Silence settled between them, Ellie’s mind
still dwelling against her will on Griffin’s words instead of her
mother, Ashberry still puzzling over Whitney’s irrational behavior.
An hour passed, then two, as the carriage rumbled north. The couple
shared a picnic luncheon beside a warm fire with Benjamin in a
tiny, charming valley beside a small, gurgling stream where the
horses refreshed themselves. Afterward, Ashberry threw water on the
remains of the warmth and helped his wife back into their
carriage.

Ellie and Ashberry both read, their enforced
time together easy. Ashberry’s arm remained tucked protectively
around her waist as he held her when the coach jerked and bounced.
His hand occasionally squeezed her hip or the side of a breast but
for the most part he resisted his temptation to fluster her again.
He knew, more than Ellie herself, what awaited her at Ashberry
Park.

When they were about half an hour from the
property, he took the book from her hands, hushing her gently as he
laid it aside. “Not much longer,” he murmured, pointing out the
glass. Off to the right, below them but still in the distance, a
pretty village was tucked in a dell amidst the barren fields.
Beyond it, the land rose slowly until it became a hill covered with
tall, proud trees that rose in the distance. Ellie could just see a
tower rising from the fog at the top of the hill. “The village is
Ashwood,” he told her, “The estate borders up to the village edge
and we’ll take the hill there up to the house. The castle is above
that, and the cottages and most of the farmland and Park is still
further to the east, out of sight, and north to the old border with
Scotland.”

He pointed to where a road rose from the
village toward Ashberry Park. “Most of the land on this side we use
for pastures for the stables, but at this time of year, all the
animals are inside if they’re not being exercised. On this side of
the village and to the south are the lands of the area’s
gentry—we’ve just crossed onto land belonging to Sir Henry Chapman,
whose house cannot be seen from the village. It’s in a little
valley about a half mile away.”

Ellie nodded, moving across from him to peer
more closely from the window. The carriage slowed to negotiate the
hill as they descended into the glade. Old trees rose gracefully
around them that would shade the village in the summer but today
the sun shone down through bare limbs and onto the muddy streets.
Children and women wandered with and without purpose between the
buildings and Benjamin was forced to slow almost to a crawl when
the carriage was recognized. People began lining the carriage’s
road, clapping and shouting in greeting, until Ashberry looked at
his wife and smiled.

“They are welcoming us home,” he explained
unnecessarily, clearly satisfied.

More seriously, he added, “It will be more
crowded, much slower, when we reach the top of the hill, I
suspect.” He smiled before answering her unspoken question. “There
are more cottagers than villagers, plus the house staff and the
stable workers—not to mention the village men who work at Ashberry
Stables.” He glanced at her, noticed her frown. “When I speak of
the Stables, I am usually referring to my businesses.” He pointed
about half way up the hill, before the grade steepened, where Ellie
could see whispers of smoke. “The barns are there, just low enough
to stay out of view. Our personal stables are closer to the house
and much smaller, though it is where the business started for my
grandfather.”

“I see,” Ellie nodded, noting that the road
was twisting around several ancient oak trees. As they passed them,
fencing began to line the road, the lime washed wood marking the
pasture boundaries.

“The trees mark the edge of Ashberry Park
land,” he added, “On this side. I own the village too, of course,
but it is so small that it is hardly an investment—there isn’t even
a church there. The villagers come up to the manor for services as
they please and my chaplain conducts weddings and funerals when
needed. Most of the genteel neighbors go the other direction to the
church at Blackrock or come to our own chapel.”

As the carriage began to climb the hill, he
stopped talking, his eyes taking in the condition of the fencing,
the pasture, analyzing each bit of information. A light snow was
sprinkled over the ground, but it wasn’t enough to cover the
grasses beneath. “The estates steward, Jefferson, has been running
the house and the stud in my absence, and Matthew has overseen the
farms.”

“Mr. Matthew is the land steward?” After he
nodded, Ellie asked, “I was given to understand that your cousin
was in charge of the house. Is she not?”

Ashberry shrugged. “She is, of course, as
much as she wishes to be. Jefferson keeps the ledgers and ensures
the house stays within budget, but Sarah does most of the
day-to-day management—supervising the staff, working with the cooks
and housekeeper, overseeing the cleaning and refurbishing that is
always going on. Jefferson keeps busy with Ashberry Stables and my
other properties and investments.” He looked at her carefully. “Now
that we’re home, of course, and with Sarah leaving for London soon,
I’ll take over the management of the Stables again as much as I
can. Jefferson will be traveling occasionally to my other estates
to inspect the work there. What he does at the house, Ellie, is up
to you. If you would like to keep the books yourself—”

Ellie laughed. “No, indeed,” she shook her
head. “I will check them of course, but accounting is not my strong
suit.” She smiled at him sweetly, “Besides, I’ll have many other
things to do—looking after the staff, visiting the cottages,
meeting the villagers, and visiting with the neighbors.”

“And taking care of your husband,” Ashberry
murmured suggestively. “Remember what I told you in London about my
bed here.” He watched her flush, couldn’t restrain himself from
reaching out and touching her lip with his gloved fingers. “Yes,
you’ll be spending a good amount of time in it.”