Brighter Than The Sun (7 page)

"But I know we hit that deep rut. I saw it. I felt it."

"The rut was most likely the catalyst for the removal of an already loose wheel."

Ellie leaned down and inspected the damage. "I think you're right, my lord. Look at the manner in which it is damaged. The spokes have been crushed by the weight of the curricle, but the body of the wheel is in one piece. I have studied very little physics, but I should think it would have snapped in two when we overturned. And—Oh! Look!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out the metal bolt.

"Where did you find this?"

"On the road. Just over the hill. It must have come loose and fallen off the wheel."

Charles turned to face her, his sudden movement bringing them nose to nose. "I think," he said softly, "you are correct."

Ellie's lips parted in surprise. He was so close that his breath touched her face, so close that she could
feel
his words as well as hear them.

"I might have to kiss you again."

She tried to make a sound that would convey— well, she didn't know what exactly she wanted to convey, but it made no difference anyway, as her vocal cords refused to make a single noise. She just sat there, utterly still, as he slowly tilted his head to the side and rested his lips upon hers.

"Very nice," he murmured, his words entering her mouth.

"My lord ..."

"Charles," he corrected.

"We really ... that is to say ..." She completely lost track of her thoughts at that point. Having the inside of her lower lip caressed by a man's tongue did that to her.

Charles chuckled and lifted his head a mere inch. "You were saying?"

Ellie did nothing but blink.

"Then I may assume you merely wanted to ask me to continue." His smile turned wolfish before he tipped up her chin and traced the line of her jaw with his lips.

"No!" Ellie burst out, suddenly jolted by a mortified sense of urgency. "That isn't what I meant at all."

"It isn't?" he teased.

"I meant to say that we are in the middle of a public road, and—"

"And you fear for your reputation," he finished for her.

"And yours as well, so you needn't make me out to be a prude."

"Oh, I have no intention of doing that, sweetheart."

Ellie lurched backward at his suggestive remark, promptly lost her balance, and ended up sprawled in the dirt. She bit her lip to keep herself from saying something she might regret. "Why don't we head home now?" she said evenly.

"An excellent idea," Charles replied, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. She took it and allowed him to help her up, even though she suspected that the effort hurt him. A man had his pride, after all, and Ellie rather suspected that the Wycombes had more than their fair share.

* * *

The walk back to the vicar's cottage took about ten minutes. Ellie kept the conversation strictly on neutral topics, such as literature, French cuisine, and—even though she winced at the banality of it when she brought it up—the weather. Charles looked rather amused throughout the conversation, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. Worse, his ironic smile was just a touch benevolent, as if he were somehow
permitting
her to talk about thunderstorms and the like.

Ellie wasn't much enamored with the smug look on his face, but she had to be impressed that he could maintain the expression while he was limping, rubbing his head, and occasionally clutching his ribs.

When the cottage came into view, Ellie turned to Charles and said, "My father has returned."

He raised his brows. "How can you tell?"

"He's lit a candle in his office. He will be working on his sermon."

"Already? Sunday is days away. I remember my vicar frantically scribbling away every Saturday eve. He would frequently come up to Wycombe Abbey for inspiration."

"Really?" Ellie asked with an amused smile. "He found you that inspiring? I had no idea you were such an angelic child."

"Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. He liked to study me and then choose which of my sins would serve as his next sermon's theme."

"Oh, dear," Ellie replied, smothering a laugh. "How did you bear him?"

"It was worse than you think. He doubled as my Latin tutor and gave me lessons three times per week. He claimed I had been put on this earth to torture him."

"That seems rather irreverent for a vicar."

Charles shrugged. "He was also overfond of drink."

Ellie reached to pull open the front door, but before her hand connected with the knob, Charles laid a restraining hand on her arm. When she looked up at him in question, he said in a quiet voice, "A word with you before I meet your father?"

"Of course," she replied, moving away from the door.

His mouth was tight when he said, "You are still committed to marrying me the day after tomorrow, are you not?"

Ellie suddenly felt dizzy. Charles, who had been so adamant about holding her to her promise, seemed to be offering her an escape clause. She could cry off, say she had cold feet...

"Eleanor," he prodded.

She swallowed, thinking of how tedious her life had become. The prospect of marrying a stranger terrified her, but not nearly as much as a lifetime of boredom. No, it would be worse than that. A lifetime of boredom punctuated by bouts with Mrs. Foxglove. Whatever the earl's faults—and Ellie had a feeling they might be many—she knew in her heart that he was not an evil or weak man. Surely she could find happiness with him.

Charles touched her shoulder, and she nodded. Ellie thought she saw his shoulders sag slightly with relief, but within moments the mask of the dashing young earl was back in place on his face. "Are you ready to go in?" she asked.

He nodded, and Ellie pushed open the door and called out, "Papa?" After a moment of silence she said, "I'll just go to his study and fetch him."

Charles waited and in a moment Ellie reentered the room, followed by a rather stern-looking man with thinning gray hair.

"Mrs. Foxglove had to return home," Ellie said, flashing Charles a secret smile. "But may I present my father, the Reverend Mr. Lyndon. Papa, this is Charles Wycombe, Earl of Billington."

The two men shook hands, silently assessing one another. Charles thought the reverend seemed too rigid and forbidding to have fathered such a bright flame as Eleanor. He could tell by the way Mr. Lyndon looked at him that he fell short of the son-in-law ideal, as well.

They exchanged introductory pleasantries, sat down, and then once Ellie had left the room to prepare some tea, the reverend turned to Charles and said, "Most men would approve of a future son-in-law solely because he is an earl. I am not such a man."

"I didn't think so, Mr. Lyndon. Clearly Eleanor has been raised by a man of stern moral character." Charles had intended the words merely to placate the reverend, but as he spoke, he realized he meant them. Eleanor Lyndon had never even once shown symptoms of being dazzled by his title or his wealth. In fact, she seemed far more interested in her three hundred pounds than his vast fortune.

The reverend leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to discern the sincerity behind the earl's words. "I won't try to prevent the marriage," he said quietly. "I did that once, with my older daughter, and the consequences were disastrous. But I will tell you this: If you mistreat Eleanor in any way, I shall descend upon you with all of the hellfire and torment I can muster."

Charles couldn't stop one corner of his lips from turning upward in a respectful smile. He imagined that the reverend could muster quite a bit of hellfire and torment. "You have my word that Eleanor will be treated like a queen."

"There is one more thing."

"Yes?"

The reverend cleared his throat. "Are you overfond of spirits?"

Charles blinked, a bit startled by the question. "I certainly have a glass when appropriate, but I do not spend my days and nights in drunken stupors, if that is what you are asking."

"Then perhaps you might explain why you reek of whiskey?"

Charles fought back an absurd urge to laugh, and explained to the reverend what had happened that afternoon and how Ellie had accidentally poured whiskey on him.

Mr. Lyndon leaned back, satisfied. He didn't smile, but then, Charles doubted he smiled often. "Good," the reverend said. "Now that we understand each other, allow me to be the first to welcome you to the family."

"I am glad to be a part of it."

The reverend nodded. "I would like to perform the ceremony, if that is acceptable to you."

"Of course."

Ellie chose that moment to return to the room, carrying a tray with a tea service.

"Eleanor," her father said, "I have decided that the earl will suit you nicely."

Ellie let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She had the approval of her father, something that meant more to her than she'd realized until that very moment. Now all she had to do was actually get married.

Married.
She gulped. Lord help her.

Chapter 6

The next day, a package addressed to Ellie arrived by special messenger. Curious, she untied the string, pausing when an envelope fluttered out. She reached down to the floor, picked up the envelope, and opened it.

My dear Eleanor,

Please accept this gift as a token of my esteem and affection. You looked so lovely in green the other day. I thought you
might like to be married in it.

P.S. Please do not cover your hair.

Ellie could barely suppress a gasp when she felt her fingers touch luxurious velvet. She pulled aside the rest of the wrappings to reveal the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen—much less had the opportunity to wear. Fashioned of the deepest emerald velvet, it was simply cut, without flounces or ruffles. Ellie knew it would suit her perfectly.

With any luck, the man who'd given it to her would suit her as well.

* * *

The morning of her wedding dawned bright and clear. A carriage arrived to carry Ellie, her father, and Mrs. Foxglove to Wycombe Abbey, and Ellie truly felt like a fairy princess. The dress, the carriage, the impossibly handsome man waiting for her at the end of her journey—they all seemed like props in some glorious magical tale.

The ceremony was to take place in the formal drawing room of Wycombe Abbey. The Reverend Mr. Lyndon took his place at the front, then, much to everyone's amusement, let out a little yelp of dismay and rushed out of the room. "I have to give away the bride," he explained when he reached the door.

Further laughs ensued when he said, out of rote, "Who gives away this woman?" and then added, "Actually, I do."

But those moments of lightness did not ease Ellie's tension, and she felt her entire body clench up when her father prompted her to say, "I will."

Barely able to breathe, she looked over at the man who would be her husband. What was she doing? She hardly knew him.

She looked at her father, who was gazing at her with uncharacteristic nostalgia.

She looked over at Mrs. Foxglove, who had seemingly forgotten her plans to use Ellie as a human chimney brush and had spent the entire carriage ride over going on and on about how she'd always known that "dear Eleanor would make a splendid catch" and "my dear dear stepson-in-law, the
earl."

"I will." Ellie blurted out. "Oh, I will."

Beside her, she could feel Charles shaking with laughter.

And then he slipped a heavy gold band onto the fourth finger of her left hand, and Ellie realized that in the eyes of God and England, she now belonged to the Earl of Billington. Forever.

For a woman who had always prided herself on her pluck, her knees felt suspiciously watery.

Mr. Lyndon completed the ceremony, and Charles leaned down and placed a fleeting kiss upon Ellie's lips. To an observer it was nothing more than a gentle peck, but Ellie felt his tongue flick along the corner of her mouth. Flustered by this hidden caress, she'd barely had time to regain her composure when Charles took her arm and led her over to a small group of individuals she assumed were his relatives.

"I did not have time to invite my entire family," he said, "but I wanted you to meet my cousins. May I introduce Mrs. George Pallister, Miss Pallister, and Miss Judith Pallister." He turned to the lady and two girls and smiled. "Helen, Claire, Judith, may I present my wife, Eleanor, Countess of Billington."

"How do you do," Ellie said, not sure if she was supposed to curtsy, or if perhaps they were supposed to curtsy, or
if
none of them needed to at all. So she just smiled in her most friendly manner. Helen, an attractive blond matron of about forty years, smiled back.

"Helen and her daughters live here at Wycombe Abbey," Charles said. "Since the death of Mr. Pallister."

"They do?" Ellie said with surprise. She looked at her new cousins. "You do?"

"Yes," Charles replied, "as does my maiden aunt Cordelia. I don't know where she's gone off to."

"She's a bit eccentric," Helen said helpfully. Claire, who looked to be thirteen or fourteen years old, said nothing, a sullen expression firmly fixed on her face.

"I'm sure we will get on very well," Ellie said. "I have always wanted to live in a large household. Mine has been quite lonely since my sister left."

"Eleanor's sister recently married the Earl of Macclesfield," Charles explained.

"Yes, but she left home many years before that," Ellie said wistfully. "It has been just my father and me for eight years."

"I have a sister, too!" Judith chirped. "Claire!"

Ellie smiled down at the young girl. "So you do. And how old are you, Judith?"

"I am six," she said proudly, flicking back her light brown hair. "And tomorrow I will be twelve."

Helen laughed. " 'Tomorrow' tends to mean any day in the future," she said, leaning down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "First you must turn seven."

"And then twelve!"

Ellie crouched down. "Not quite, poppet. Then eight, then nine, then—"

"Ten, then eleven," Judith interrupted proudly, "and
then
twelve!"

"Correct," Ellie said.

"I can count to sixty-two."

"Is that so?" Ellie asked, using her best "impressed" voice.

"Mmm-hmm. One. Two. Three. Four—"

"Mother!" Claire said with a beleaguered sigh.

Helen took Judith by the hand. "Come along, little one. We will practice our counting another time."

Judith rolled her eyes at her mother before turning to Charles and saying, "Mama said it's high time you got married."

"Judith!" Helen exclaimed, turning quite pink.

"Well, you did. You said he contorts with too many women, and—"

"Judith!" Helen fairly shouted, grabbing her by the hand. "This is not the time."

"It's all right,". Ellie said quickly. "She meant no harm."

Helen looked as if she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. She tugged on Judith's arm, saying, "I believe our newlyweds would like a moment alone. I shall show everyone to the dining room for the wedding breakfast."

As Helen hurried the guests from the room, Ellie and Charles heard Judith chirp, "Claire, what is a loose woman?"

"Judith, you are a pest," was Claire's reply.

"Does she fall apart? Are her arms and legs not screwed in tight enough?"

Ellie wasn't certain whether she should laugh or cry.

"I'm sorry about that," Charles said quietly once the room was empty.

"It was nothing."

"A bride shouldn't be subjected to stories of her new husband's peccadilloes on her wedding day."

Ellie shrugged. "It's not so dreadful coming from the mouth of a six-year-old. Although I imagine she meant that you
consort
with women."

"I can assure you I
contort
with no one."

Ellie actually chuckled.

Charles looked down at the woman who was now his wife and felt an inexplicable sense of pride blossoming within him. The events of the morning could not have been anything but overwhelming for her, and yet she held herself with grace and dignity. He had chosen well. "I'm glad you didn't cover your hair," he murmured.

He chuckled as one of her hands flew to her head. "I can't imagine why you asked me not to," she said nervously.

He reached out and touched a lock of hair that had escaped her coiffure and curled along the base of her throat. "Can't you?"

She didn't answer and he applied pressure to her shoulder until she began to sway toward him, her eyes beginning to glaze over with desire. Charles felt a burst of triumph as he realized that seducing his wife wasn't going to be nearly as difficult as he'd anticipated.

His body quickened, and he leaned down to kiss her, to run his hands through that glorious red-gold hair of hers, and then...

She pulled away.

Just like that.

Charles swore under his breath.

"This isn't such a good idea, my lord," she said, looking damnably sure of what she was saying.

"Call me Charles," he bit out.

"Not when you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like—oh, I don't know. Rather imperious." She blinked. "Actually, you look as if you're in pain."

"I
am
in pain," he snapped.

She took a step back. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry. Do you still ache from the curricle accident? Or is it your ankle? I noticed you still have a tiny limp."

He stared at her, wondering if she could possibly be that innocent. "It's not my ankle, Eleanor."

"You should probably call me Ellie," she said, "if I'm to call you Charles."

"You haven't done so yet."

"I suppose not." Ellie cleared her throat, thinking that this conversation must be proof that she did not know this man nearly well enough to be his wife. "Charles."

He smiled. "Ellie. I like that. It suits you."

"Only my father calls me Eleanor." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Oh, and Mrs. Foxglove, too, I suppose."

"Then I shall
never
call you Eleanor," he vowed, a smile tugging at his lips.

"You probably will," she said, "when you're angry with me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Everyone does when they're angry with me."

"Why are you so certain I will become angry with you?"

She scoffed at that. "Really, my lord, we are to be married for a lifetime. I cannot imagine I will make it that long without incurring your ire at least once."

"I suppose I should be glad I married a realist."

"We are the best sorts in the long run," she replied with a loopy smile. "You'll see."

"I have no doubt."

There was a moment of silence, and then Ellie said, "We should go in to breakfast."

"I suppose we should," he murmured, reaching out to stroke the underside of her chin.

Ellie lurched backwards. "Don't try that."

"Don't try what?" He sounded rather amused.

"To kiss me."

"Why not? That was part of our bargain, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Ellie hedged. "But you know very well I can't think straight when you do that." She supposed she probably ought to have kept that fact to herself, but what was the point if he was just as aware of it as she?

Charles's lips spread into a full-fledged grin. "That's the idea, my dear."

"Perhaps for you," she retorted. "But I wanted the chance to get to know you better before we entered that... er ... phase of our relationship."

"Very well, what do you want to know?"

Ellie was silent for a moment, having no idea how to answer that. Finally she said, "Anything, I suppose."

"Anything?"

"Anything that you think might help me to know the Earl of Billington—excuse me, Charles—better"

He thought for a moment, then smiled and said, "I am a compulsive list-maker. How does that rate for
an interesting tidbit?"

Ellie wasn't certain what she'd been expecting him to reveal about himself, but that certainly wasn't it. A compulsive list-maker? That told her more about him than any hobby or pastime ever would. "What sorts of things do you make lists about?" she asked.

"This and that. Everything."

"Did you make a list about me?"

"Of course."

Ellie waited for him to elaborate further, then impatiently asked, "What was on it?"

He chuckled at her curiosity. "It was a list of reasons why I thought you should make a good wife. That sort of thing."

"I see." Ellie wanted to ask how long this list of good reasons was, but thought that might sound a touch too ill-bred.

He leaned forward, the devil lurking in his brown eyes. "There were six items on the list."

Ellie leaned back. "I'm sure I didn't ask you the number."

"But you wanted to."

She kept silent.

"Now then," Charles said, "you must tell me something about Miss Eleanor Lyndon."

"I'm not Miss Eleanor Lyndon any longer," she pointed out pertly.

He laughed at his mistake. "The Countess of Billington. What is she like?"

"She is often a bit too mouthy for her own good," she replied.

"I already
knew
that."

Ellie made a face. "Very well." She thought for a moment. "When the weather is nice, I like to take a book and read outside. I often don't return until the sun sets."

Charles reached out and took her arm. "That is a very good thing for a husband to know," he said softly. "I will know where to look, should I ever lose you."

They walked toward the dining room, and he leaned down and said, "The dress seems to fit you well. Is it to your liking?"

"Oh, yes. It is quite the most lovely gown I have ever worn. It required only the smallest of alterations. How were you ever able to obtain it on such short notice?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I paid a dressmaker an obscene amount of money."

Before Ellie could respond, they had rounded a corner and were entering the dining room. The small crowd of guests stood up to cheer the new couple.

* * *

The wedding breakfast passed uneventfully, with the exception of the introduction of Charles's great-aunt Cordelia, who had been mysteriously absent from the ceremony and much of the breakfast. Ellie couldn't help but glance at the empty seat, wondering if her husband's aunt had an objection to the marriage.

Charles caught her staring, and murmured, "Do not worry. She is merely eccentric and likes to act on her own schedule. I am sure she will make an appearance."

Ellie didn't believe him until an older woman, dressed in a gown at least twenty years out of date, came crashing into the room with the declaration, "The kitchens are on fire!"

Ellie and her family were half out of their seats (indeed, Mrs. Foxglove was halfway out the door) by the time they realized that Charles and his family had not moved a muscle.

"But Charles!" Ellie exclaimed. "Didn't you hear what she said? Surely we must do something."

"She is always claiming that something or another is on fire," he replied. "I believe she enjoys a flair for high drama."

Cordelia made her way to Ellie. "You must be the new bride," she said bluntly.