Brighter Than the Sun

  “But of course. Should I read it or will you recite it aloud?”

  “Oh, I think a recitation is in order.” He leaned forward and raised an eyebrow in a wolfish expression. “So that I might make certain each word gets its proper emphasis.”

  Ellie couldn't contain her laughter. “Very well, then. Do begin.”

  He cleared his throat. “‘Number One: Read to her so that she does not have to flip her own pages.’”

  “Let me see that! You're making this up as you go along. You couldn't have known I was reading. And you certainly couldn't have known the trouble I was having with the pages.”

  “I am merely doing a bit of editing,” he said loftily. “It's allowed, you know.”

  “I'm certain it is, considering that you make up the rules as you please.”

  “It is one of the few truly beneficial parts of being an earl,” he conceded. “But if you must know, number one was indeed that I read to you. I merely amended it to include the bit about flipping pages. Now then, shall I continue?” At her nod, he read, “‘Number Two: Rub her feet.’”

  “My feet?!”

  “Mmm, yes. Have you never had a proper foot massage?” He considered her sheltered background, then considered where he had always received foot massages and from whom, and then decided that she most probably had not. “I can assure you they are most delightful. Would you like a description? Or perhaps a demonstration?”

  She cleared her throat several times. “What is the next item on the list?”

  “Coward,” he accused with a smile. He stretched his arm out along the top of her bedcovers and followed the length of her leg until he found her foot. He tweaked her toe. “‘Number Three: Bring Judith by at least twice a day for a chat.’”

  “That is certainly a considerably more innocent suggestion than the last.”

  “I know you enjoy her company.”

  “I am certainly growing intrigued by the remarkable variety of this list.”

  He shrugged. “I didn't put them in any particular order. I jotted them down as they came to me. Well, except for the last, of course. I thought of that one first, but I didn't want to shock you.”

  “I'm almost afraid to ask what number seven is.”

  “You should be.” He grinned. “It's my favorite.” Ellie's cheeks burned.

  Charles cleared his throat, trying not to grin at her innocent distress. “Shall I continue with the next item?”

  “Please.”

  “‘Number Four: Keep her informed of Claire's progress in the orangery.’”

  “That is meant to be entertaining?”

  “Perhaps not precisely entertaining, but I thought you'd like an update.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “Very well, actually. She's been quite industrious. It's bloody cold down there, though. She's opened the outside doors to air the place out. I expect the smell will be gone by the time you're well enough to resume your gardening.”

  Ellie smiled. “What is the next item on the list?”

  He looked down. “Let me see. Ah, here we are. ‘Number Five: Bring the dressmaker by with fabric samples and patterns.’” He glanced back up at her. “I can hardly believe we haven't done this already. You're not well enough for a proper fitting, but at least we ought to be able to select a few styles and colors. I'm growing most weary of seeing you in nothing but brown.”

  “My father was given several bolts of brown cloth as a tithe two years ago. I haven't acquired a colored dress since.”

  “A most grievous state of affairs.”

  “Are you such an arbiter of fashion, then?”

  “Certainly more so than the good reverend, your father.”

  “On that point, my lord, we are in agreement.”

  He leaned in until his nose rested on hers. “Am I really your lord, Eleanor?”

  Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Social protocol does seem to dictate that I refer to you as such.”

  He sighed and clutched his chest in mock despair. “If you dance as nimbly as you converse, I predict that you shall be the toast of the town.”

  “Certainly not if I don't purchase a new gown or two. It wouldn't do to attend every function in brown.”

  “Ah yes, the ever-so-subtle reminder to me to return to the subject at hand.” He held up the paper in his hands, flicked his wrists to give it a little snap, and read, “‘Number Six: Discuss with her the terms of her new bank account.’”

  Ellie's entire face lit up. “You're interested?”

  “Of course.”

  “Yes, but compared to your finances, my three hundred pounds is a paltry sum. It can't be very important to you.”

  He cocked his head and looked at her as if she was missing some very obvious point. “But it is to you.”

  Right then and there Ellie decided that she loved him. As much as one could decide these things, of course. The realization was shocking, and somewhere in her befuddled mind it occurred to her that this feeling had been building up in her ever since he'd proposed. There was something so very…special about him.

  It was there in the way he could laugh at himself.

  It was there in the way he could make her laugh at herself.

  It was there in the way he made certain to give Judith a goodnight kiss every night.

  But most of all, it was there in the way he respected her talents and anticipated her needs—and in the way his eyes had filled with pain when she'd been hurt, as if he'd felt each and every one of her burns on his own skin.

  He was a better man than she'd realized when she'd said, “I will.”

  He poked her shoulder. “Ellie? Ellie?”

  “What? Oh, I'm sorry.” Her face colored, even though she knew he couldn't possibly read her thoughts. “Just woolgathering.”

  “Darling, you were practically hugging a sheep.”

  She swallowed and tried to come up with a reasonable excuse. “I was merely thinking about my investment strategy. What do you think of coffee?”

  “I like mine with milk.”

  “As an investment,” she practically snapped.

  “My goodness, we've suddenly grown testy.”

  He'd be testy, too, she thought, if he'd just realized that he was on a one-way path to a broken heart. She was in love with a man who saw nothing wrong with infidelity. He had made his views on marriage painfully clear.

  Oh, Ellie knew he'd remain faithful for the time being. He was far too intrigued by her and by the newness of their marriage to seek out other women. But eventually he'd grow bored, and when he did, she'd be left at home with a broken heart.

  Damn the man. If he had to have a fatal flaw, why couldn't he have chewed his fingernails, or gambled, or even been short, fat, and hideously ugly? Why did he have to be perfect in every way except for his appalling lack of respect for the sanctity of marriage?

  Ellie thought she might cry.

  And the worst part of it was that she knew she'd never be able to pay him back in kind. Ellie couldn't be unfaithful if she tried. Perhaps it was due to her strict upbringing by a man of God, but there was no way she could ever break a vow as solemn as that of marriage. It just wasn't in her.

  “You look terribly somber all of a sudden,” Charles said, touching her face. “My God! You've tears in your eyes. Ellie, what is wrong? Is it your hands?”

  Ellie nodded. It seemed the easiest thing to do under the circumstances.

  “Let me pour you more laudanum. And I'll brook no arguments that you just had some. Another quarter does isn't going to render you unconscious.”

  She drank the liquid, thinking she wouldn't mind being rendered unconscious just then. “Thank you,” she said, once he'd wiped her mouth for her. He was looking at her with such concern, and it made her heart positively ache, and…

  And that was when it came to her. They said reformed rakes made the best husbands, didn't they? Why the devil couldn't she reform him? She'd never backed down from a challenge before. Feeling sud
denly inspired and perhaps a little bit dizzy from having doubled her current dose of laudanum, she turned to him and asked, “And when do I learn the mysterious number seven?”

  He looked at her with concern in his eyes. “I'm not sure you're up to it.”

  “Nonsense.” She waggled her head from side to side and gave him a jaunty smile. “I'm up for anything.”

  Now he was puzzled. He blinked a few times, picked up the bottle of laudanum, and regarded it curiously. “I thought this was supposed to make one sleepy.”

  “I don't know about sleepy,” she countered, “but I certainly feel better.”

  He looked at her, looked back at the bottle, and sniffed it cautiously. “Perhaps I ought to have a nip.”

  “I could nip you.” She giggled.

  “Now I know you've had too much laudanum.”

  “I want to hear number seven.”

  Charles crossed his arms and watched her yawn. She was beginning to worry him. She'd seemed to be doing so well, and then she'd practically been in tears, and now…Well, if he didn't know better, he'd think she was out to seduce him.

  Which worked rather well with what he'd written down for number seven, actually, although he suddenly wasn't too keen on revealing his amorous intentions while she was in such a strange state.

  “Number seven, if you please,” she persisted.

  “Perhaps tomorrow…”

  She pouted. “You did say you wanted to entertain me. I assure you I shan't be entertained unless I know the last item on your list.”

  Charles never would have believed it of himself, but he just couldn't read the words aloud. Not when she was acting so strangely. He simply couldn't take advantage of her in this condition. “Here,” he said, appalled by the embarrassment he heard in his voice and growing a touch angry with her for making him feel like such a…such a…Good God, what was happening to him? He was positively domesticated. He scowled. “You can read it yourself.”

  He placed the paper in front of her and watched while her eyes scanned his words. “Oh, my,” she squeaked. “Is that possible?”

  “I assure you it is.”

  “Even in my condition?” She held up her hands. “Oh. I suppose that's why you specifically mention…”

  He did feel a teeny bit smug when she colored beet red. “Can't say it, darling?”

  “I didn't know one could do such things with one's mouth,” she mumbled.

  Charles's lips spread into a slow grin as the rake within woke up. It felt good. More like himself. “Actually, there's a lot more—”

  “You can tell me about it later,” she said quickly.

  His gaze grew heavy-lidded. “Or perhaps I'll show you.”

  If he didn't know better, he could have sworn she steeled her shoulders when she said—or rather, gulped—“All right.”

  Or maybe it was more of a squeak than a gulp. Either way, she was plainly terrified.

  And then she yawned, and he realized that it didn't much matter if she was terrified or not. The extra dose of laudanum was taking effect, and she was about to…

  Let out a loud snore.

  He sighed and pulled back, wondering how long it was going to be before he could actually make love to his wife. Then he wondered if he could possibly live that long.

  A funny noise erupted from the back of Ellie's throat—a noise through which no normal human being could sleep.

  That was when he realized that he had bigger things to worry about and started wondering if she was going to snore every night.

  Chapter 18

  Ellie awoke the next morning feeling remarkably refreshed. It was amazing what a little grit and determination could do for one's spirits. It was a strange thing, romantic love. She'd never felt it before, and even if it did make her stomach a little flippy, she wanted to hold onto it with both hands and never let go.

  Or rather, she wanted to hold onto Charles and never let go, but that was a little tricky with the bandages. She supposed that this was lust. It was as unfamiliar to her as romantic love.

  She wasn't completely certain that she could turn him around to her views on love, marriage, and fidelity, but she knew she could never live with herself if she didn't give it a try. If she wasn't successful, she'd probably be miserable, but at least she wouldn't have to call herself a coward.

  And so it was with great excitement that she waited in the informal dining room with Helen and Judith while Claire was off fetching Charles. Claire was visiting him in his study under the pretext of asking him to inspect the work she'd done in the orangery. The small dining room was on the way from Charles's study to the orangery, so Ellie, Judith, and Helen were all set to jump out and yell, “Surprise!”

  “This cake looks lovely,” Helen said, surveying the pale frosting. She looked a little more closely. “Except, perhaps for this little smudge right here just about the width of a six-year-old finger.”

  Judith crawled under the table immediately, claiming that she'd seen a bug.

  Ellie smiled indulgently. “A cake wouldn't be a cake if someone hadn't sneaked a little frosting. At least it wouldn't be a family cake. And those are the best kinds.”

  Helen looked down to make sure that Judith was occupied with something other than listening to their conversation and said, “To tell the truth, Ellie, I'm tempted myself.”

  “Then go ahead. I won't tell. I would join you, but…” Ellie held up her bandaged hands.

  Helen's face immediately grew concerned. “Are you certain you're feeling up to a party? Your hands—”

  “—really don't hurt terribly much anymore, I swear.”

  “Charles said you still need laudanum for the pain.”

  “I'm taking very little. Quarter doses. And I expect to be through with that by tomorrow. The burns are healing quite nicely. The blisters are nearly gone.”

  “Good. I'm glad, I…” Helen swallowed, closed her eyes for a moment, and then drew Ellie across the room so that Judith could not hear what she was saying. “I can't thank you enough for the understanding you have shown to Claire. I—”

  Ellie held up a hand. “It was nothing, Helen. You needn't say anything more on the subject.”

  “But I must. Most women in your place would have thrown the three of us out on our ears.”

  “But Helen, this is your home.”

  “No,” Helen said quietly, “Wycombe Abbey is your home. We are your guests.”

  “This is your home.” Ellie's tone was firm, but she smiled as she spoke. “And if I ever again hear you say otherwise, I shall have to strangle you.”

  Helen looked as if she were about to say something, then she closed her mouth. A moment later, however, she said, “Claire hasn't told me why she behaved as such, although I have a good idea.”

  “I suspect you do,” Ellie said quietly.

  “Thank you for not embarrassing her before Charles.”

  “She didn't need her heart broken twice.”

  Helen was saved from further reply by Judith, who crawled out from under the table. “I squashed the bug!” she chirped. “He was huge. And very fierce.”

  “There was no bug, poppet, and you know it,” Ellie said.

  “Did you know that bugs like butter-cream frosting?”

  “So do little girls, I understand.”

  Judith pursed her lips, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation.

  “I think I hear them!” Helen whispered furiously. “Be quiet, everyone.”

  The threesome stood to the side of the doorway, watching and listening with anticipation. Within moments Claire's voice became clear.

  “You will see that I have made great progress in the orangery,” she was saying.

  “Yes,” came Charles's voice, growing louder, “but wouldn't it be faster to have gone through the east hall?”

  “There was a maid waxing the floor,” Claire replied, very quickly. “I'm sure it's slippery.”

  “Bright girl,” Ellie whispered to Helen.

>   “We can just cut through the informal dining room,” Claire continued. “It's almost as fast, and…”

  The door began to open.

  “Surprise!” yelled the four female residents of Wycombe Abbey.

  Charles did indeed look surprised—for about one moment. Then he looked rather vexed as he turned to Ellie and demanded, “What the devil are you doing out of bed?”

  “And a happy birthday to you, too,” she said acerbically.

  “Your hands—”

  “—do not seem to be hindering my ability to walk in the least.” She smiled wryly. “Rather remarkable, that.”

  “But—”

  Helen, in an uncharacteristically impatient gesture, swatted Charles lightly on the back of his head. “Hush up, cousin, and enjoy your party.”

  Charles looked at the gaggle of females looking at him with expectant faces and realized that he'd been the worst kind of boor. “Thank you, all of you,” he said. “I am honored that you have gone to such lengths to celebrate my birthday.”

  “We couldn't let it pass without at least a cake,” Ellie said. “Judith and I chose the frosting. Buttercream.”

  “Did you?” he said approvingly. “Smart girls.”

  “I painted you a picture!” Judith exclaimed. “With my watercolors.”

  “Did you, poppet?” He kneeled down by her side. “It's lovely. Why, it looks just like…just like…” He looked to Helen, Claire, and Ellie for help, but they all just shrugged.

  “Like the stables!” Judith said excitedly.

  “Exactly!”

  “I spent an entire hour staring at it while I painted.”

  “An entire hour? How very industrious. I will have to find a position of honor for it in my study.”

  “You must frame it,” she instructed him. “In gold.”

  Ellie bit back a laugh and whispered to Helen, “I predict a great future for this girl. Perhaps as queen of the universe.”

  Helen sighed. “My daughter certainly does not suffer from an inability to know what she wants.”

  “But that is a good thing,” Ellie said. “It is good to know what one wants. I have only figured that out for myself very recently.”