Marrying His Cinderella Countess

‘My husband will be with us shortly, I expect,’ Ellie said. ‘What a very pleasant afternoon for a drive you have had—although I believe your house is not far distant?’

‘A stone’s throw,’ Lord Trenton agreed. ‘Our lands march together along the entire valley.’

Tennyson entered again, followed by a flurry of footmen with tea things, an urn, plates of little dainties. ‘His lordship’s apologies, my lady, he will be with you directly he has changed. He was at the stables, I understand.’

Ellie was mid-way through an enquiry about lemon or milk and was passing the sugar when the door opened and Blake walked in.

‘Sir, ma’am—my apologies.’

There was a flurry of greetings before they all settled back with their teacups. Conversation was general and surprisingly stilted, considering that these were close neighbours who had known Blake since he was a boy. Perhaps it was her presence that had put a damper on everyone’s mood, for surely Lord and Lady Trenton would be baffled by Blake’s choice of bride.

She looked again at Lady Trenton and thought that if her daughter had inherited her looks she would have been truly lovely as a young woman.

And Blake ended up marrying a hedge sparrow instead of their bird of paradise.

Sheer pride kept her expression bright, and somehow she made conversation and did all the right things with the teapot and cream jug. She might be a hedge sparrow, and one who had not been raised to be a great lady, but she would be a hedge sparrow with perfect deportment if it killed her.

She made determined conversation with Lady Trenton who, as she explained, had just returned from Bath, where she had been attending the deathbed of a distant relative.

Ellie noted that Lady Trenton was not wearing mourning for that relative, and could only conclude that her final attendance had been in hopes of a legacy.

‘I am so sorry to hear of your loss, Lady Trenton. Doubtless that is why we did not have the pleasure of your company at our wedding?’

Lady Trenton gave a nervous titter. ‘Oh, yes, of course. We would have so enjoyed being there. Dear Blake…quite like a son to us.’ She sighed. ‘Such hopes we had.’

Lord Trenton scowled at her, and his wife gave another of her irritating little laughs and added hastily, ‘Of our dear Felicity, I mean. She was such a beauty.’

She turned from Ellie with what looked suspiciously like relief as Blake moved over to sit beside her on the sofa.

‘Will you be restoring the rose garden, Blake dear?’

‘I had not given it any particular thought,’ he said. ‘It has certainly been allowed to deteriorate since my mother’s day. I have had little time or inclination for garden design.’

‘Our Felicity loved roses. You remember, of course.’ Her voice was low, intimate, as though she and Blake were alone in the room. ‘I have never been able to grow them in our own garden—they remind me of her so. That evening when you and she walked out amongst them—’

‘Time we were taking our leave, my dear.’ Lord Trenton stood up abruptly. ‘We should not be monopolising the newly wedded pair.’ His smile was ghastly. ‘Stop boring Hainford with your everlasting gardening. It will be Lady Hainford’s decision now—she who tells her gardener what to grow.’

He ha

d not been fast enough to prevent Ellie seeing Blake’s face—that one revealing moment when there had been nothing but memory and pain and loss before he had his expression under control once more.

He had loved Felicity, she realised. Perhaps in his heart he still did, whether he acknowledged it or not.

Her insides seemed to have turned to ice, but somehow polite social behaviour kept her smiling brightly as she shook hands, determined not to look at Blake as he said goodbye.

*

‘How very lovely Felicity must have been. Her mother is still a handsome woman.’

Blake looked down at Ellie, standing beside him, neat, composed, apparently cheerful. My wife. And he had not given her a moment’s coherent thought since he had walked into the drawing room and found the Trentons sitting there.

Bloody idiot, he snarled at himself now. You knew they would come—you should have been prepared.

Because Eleanor had sensed something—he was sure of it.

‘…love her?’

‘What?’ He jerked back to the present. ‘I…er…yes, of course. I had known her for years…we were going to marry. Of course I loved her.’