Marrying His Cinderella Countess

Eleanor must be hating this, he had thought as he had stood there, looking down at her calm, serious expression. But she had been there—out of compassion for her new neighbours and to support him.

He had wondered if one day she would she grow to love him, because he was beginning to suspect that the feeling that warmed his heart when he looked at her, that made him want to whip himself for every unconsidered hurt he inflicted on her, might just be love. Not that he could tell her that, burden her… Eleanor would feel it her duty to love him in return, and love, he was discovering, was not something you got by wishing for it.

He did not deserve that she loved him, of course. She would love their children, if they were fortunate enough to have them. Would he be jealous of his sons and daughters when she rocked them in her arms?

‘Blake.’

Eleanor had nudged him and he’d realised that he had drifted off into his own thoughts. The few friends and relatives who had been invited to the ceremony had started laying flowers at the foot of the memorial, and Eleanor had moved forward to lay a spray of yellow and white roses and ferns.

He had pulled himself together and given her his arm for the short walk back to the hall and Trenton Grange, steadied by her calm tact.

Now Tuscan jinked at a hay stook and Blake cursed, made himself concentrate on what he was doing. The far field was still uncut, delayed by the weather, and he wanted to

go and check that it was ready to be scythed tomorrow. He steadied Tuscan to an easy canter and headed for the distant boundary hedge.

The stallion’s powerful stride was soothing, and Blake let his thoughts drift back to Eleanor. He could not even curse the Fates for bringing him and Lytton and Crosse together that night in White’s, because if that fatal card game had not happened then he would never have met Eleanor.

There was one more thing he must do to clear his conscience as far as Felicity’s memory was concerned. Then he could concentrate entirely on convincing his wife that she had made the right decision when she had said yes to his proposal.

*

From her eyrie in the Long Gallery window seat Ellie saw Blake come in from the stables. Usually he went to the front door, sought her out, told her what he had been doing. Today, walking rapidly towards one of the side entrances, he seemed almost…shifty? The glimpse she’d had of his face had revealed an expression not precisely grim, but certainly deadly serious.

The ceremony in the churchyard must have hurt him more than he had allowed her to see. Neither the hurt nor the fact that Blake had hidden it from her was a surprise. She had promised herself not to mention Felicity unless he did, but if he needed her then perhaps she should just happen by and see if he said anything.

She reached the landing in time to see the tails of his coat vanish in the direction of his suite of rooms, so she followed along the passageway, through the open door of his sitting room, and paused outside the bedroom door. That was open too, and she could see that he was not inside, but she could hear someone moving in the dressing room.

Her kid slippers made no sound as she walked across the carpet and halted in the doorway. Blake had his back to her as he stood at the dressing table. One drawer was open and he lifted something out and stood with it in his hands, quite motionless as he looked down at it. His body, intensely still, blocked it from her view.

‘Blake?’

He turned, his hand behind his back.

‘I thought I saw you come in,’ she said. ‘A good ride?’

‘I was looking at the hay fields. There will be a better crop than I feared after all this rain. Have you had a pleasant afternoon?’

‘An idle one,’ she confessed. ‘I felt rather tired, for some reason, so I went to the Long Gallery and have been learning some more ancestors. I was daydreaming in the window seat when I saw you.’

She could have kicked herself for mentioning tiredness when she saw Blake pick up on the word.

‘I am perfectly well. I simply spent too much time investigating the linen presses, that is all.’

He tugged on the bell-pull. ‘I will take a bath. It is a trifle early to change for dinner, but I must smell of the stables.’

‘What were you looking at just now?’

‘Nothing of importance.’

‘Blake, don’t lie to me, please.’

He stiffened, but she was too suspicious now to worry about any insult to his honour.

‘If it were of no importance you would not be trying to hide it.’

‘I have no wish to distress you.’ He brought his hand from behind his back and held out a miniature portrait.

‘Felicity…’ Ellie breathed.