Page 29

~May 25~

I t had been almost a week since the panorama, but Ellen still had yet to hear from Lord Pennyston. This didn’t make her a little worried, it made her extremely worried. The only thing she could do was wait or ask the Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society for help. She opted for the second.

As the door closed behind Lord Wickford, Ellen looked around Lady Ayres’s drawing room at all of her dearest friends.

“The Ladies of the Wagering Whist Society have certainly been called upon for quite a lot more assistance than usual—both Mr. Fitzwalter and Lord Wickford!” she started.

“It’s a good thing we came to that agreement last week too as for some sort of recompense for our advice,” Lady Blakemore admitted.

“I am so pleased that you now agree with the majority, my lady,” Lady Gorling said with just a hint of smug in her voice.

“I am so very sorry, ladies, but I’m afraid I’m going to ask for some assistance as well,” Ellen admitted. All eyes turned to her.

She told them all about her excursion to the panorama with Lord Pennyston. “I am extremely worried about him,” she said, finishing her tale. “I haven’t heard a word from him since then.”

“Goodness, gracious! When was this?” the duchess asked.

“Thursday last,” Ellen said.

“It’s been nearly a week?” Lydia asked.

“You seem to be extraordinarily worried, Lady Moreton,” Lady Ayres said, giving her a close look.

“How could I not be?” Ellen asked.

“May I ask a personal question?” Duchess Bolton asked.

Ellen looked toward her quizzically.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about your husband?” she asked.

“Well, I went to the panorama to see how it would feel to travel,” Ellen explained.

“And how did it feel?” Diana asked.

Ellen vividly remembered exactly how it felt. “Terrifying,” she admitted.

“So, I ask again, what are you going to do about your husband?” the duchess repeated. This time she added a slightly sad-looking smile.

What was she going to do about him? Could she stay married to Richard? She honestly didn’t think she would be happy.

“It is clear you care deeply for Lord Pennyston,” Lady Sorrell pointed out as Ellen sat thinking.

“I do,” Ellen whispered. “I care for him a great deal.”

“Possibly even love him?” Lydia asked gently.

Did she?

“I should think so,” Lady Gorling announced as if simply her saying so made it true. The difficult thing was, Ellen was beginning to realize, that it was. And if it was…

She looked around the room at her dearest, closest friends and said something she would never have admitted to anyone else. “I need to get divorced!”

“If that is the case—and I agree that it is—then knocking on Lord Pennyston’s door to inquire after his health and well-being couldn’t possibly have a more deleterious effect on your reputation,” Lady Blakemore said, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

Lady Blakemore! The woman who was the biggest stickler for society’s rules Ellen had ever met! She was telling Ellen to go and knock on a gentleman’s door? “You don’t think so?” Ellen asked, not even trying to keep the surprise from her voice.

“Well, honestly, how could it get any worse?” Lady Gorling—another extraordinarily upright lady asked.

Diana gave a little shrug. “You can’t argue with that.”

“It sounds as if you have something you need to do, Ellen,” Lydia said with a little giggle.

“Indeed. I’ll, er, I’ll wait until after we’ve played at least one hand of whist, I believe.” Ellen just couldn’t see herself jumping up and running out to Lord Pennyston’s home right away. She needed to digest this for a little while. At least the half to one hour it would take to play a hand or two of cards.

~*~

Forty-five minutes later, Ellen raised a tentative hand and knocked on the front door of Lord Pennyston’s home. Her footman had offered to knock for her, but she felt as if this was something she needed to do herself.

It terrified her, but she knew in her heart it was the right thing to do.

A very imposing-looking butler answered the door. He quickly controlled the widening of his eyes to look down his nose at her. Ellen suspected she deserved that. “Yes?”

She would not be cowed by a butler, however. With a lift of her chin, she announced clearly, “Viscountess Moreton here to see the Viscount Pennyston.” It sounded a little odd that her husband and Lord Pennyston were the same rank, but they were both first sons with honorary titles. Richard’s father had been earl while Pennyston’s father was a marquess.

“I do not believe His Lordship is at home,” the butler said, his eyes shifting off to the side. Obviously, he was lying.

“I believe he is,” Ellen heard herself saying. She could hardly believe it. She was not a bold-as-brass young lady. She was meek and mild, kind, and rule-following almost to a fault, but this was her love on the line. She needed to ensure Lord Pennyston was well. She stepped up into the house, pushing past the startled butler. “I need to speak with him, now. It is of the utmost importance.”

“But, my lady,” the butler protested.

“Where is he? In his study? In his bed chamber? Wherever he is, I will speak with him.”

“Lady Moreton!” Freddie appeared from the far end of the hall.

“Sergeant Jones, I am very pleased to see you. I need to speak with Lord Pennyston. I am horribly worried about him,” she said, going to him. “I haven’t heard from him since our outing to the panorama. Where is he? Please, take me to him.”

The sergeant opened his mouth and then closed it again without saying a word. He seemed to make up his mind about something, though, for he turned and led the way back through the foyer and toward the back of the house. He stopped outside of a door just past the main stair and indicated the closed door. “Good luck.” And with that he hobbled away, leaning on the stick in his right hand.

Ellen watched him pause and give the butler, who was standing nearby and staring at her, a long look. The man seemed to get his unspoken message because he turned and went back to manning the front door. Ellen turned back to the door and gave a knock.

“Lord Pennyston? Lord Pennyston! It is Lady Moreton… Ellen,” she called through the door.

There was no answer.

She knocked and called out again. When, once again, there was no answer, she tried the handle, but the door was locked. She knocked again.

“Really, my lord, I come all this way risking everything, and you won’t even answer your door?” she called out.

Silence.

“Very well, I will have my say, anyway. I find your behavior to be…” She paused and thought about it. Sighing, she said, “Understandable.”

She thought she heard movement. She waited a moment, but there were no further noises. She gave another knock. “My lord, it isn’t at all surprising that you should feel like locking yourself up from the world. It is a horrid and cruel place. People simply do not understand what you have been through. Indeed, what you go through every single time you leave the comfort of your own home. They don’t understand how difficult it is for you.” She sighed again. “To be completely honest, I don’t think even I understand it fully, but I try. I try.”

There was another slight shuffling noise.

“The thing is,” she continued to the door in front of her, “you are actually a great deal luckier than most. Believe me, I have seen some horrid sights at St. Camillus. Men who have lost arms and legs and sometimes both. Soldiers who come back from battle with a whole side of their body missing, practically everything from their head downward. It’s… it’s terrible. Not many, but some do survive. Just think of what they have to live with. Not just screams or nasty names, but the inability to ever move from their bed. War is a terrible, terrible thing and soldiers… soldiers must deal with all the atrocities that come with it.”

She paused to catch her breath that had gotten caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. “But you are stronger than that, my lord. I know it’s not easy, but you can deal with this. You have to. You have to do it for yourself…” And then she added more softly, “And you have to do it for me.”

She leaned her head against the locked door. “Please, Christopher, don’t shut me and the world away. I know you can do this. It’s painful, but you can manage. You have to.”

The silence was painful.

There was nothing else for her to say. Nothing else she could say.

She stood up again and then remembered that there was one thing more. “Oh, and in case you might be concerned for me coming here, you need not. I shall be informing Moreton he should petition for that annulment. My reputation will be in tatters, anyway.”

She waited to see if even that might have brought him out, but it didn’t. She couldn’t even hear the slight muffle of movement, no matter how hard she strained. With a heavy sigh she left him to his thoughts, whatever they may be.

~*~

Christopher didn’t say a word. He didn’t move a muscle. He couldn’t. From the moment he’d heard Freddie say Lady Moreton’s name in the hall, it was as if he’d been stuck fast to his chair. He’d tried as hard as he could to move when he heard her knock, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate.

And then she’d begun to talk. Her words had somehow released him from his chair. He’d managed to stand. A few words more and he could take a step forward, but the door just loomed so far away, as if he were in some terrifying nightmare.

As she spoke, he’d willed his feet forward until finally he’d been standing directly in front of the door. He heard her words. He felt them. He knew their truth. And even more importantly, he heard her whispered pleas from him to do this—for her.

For her, he would do anything. Anything .

Her parting shot, however, had stunned him. She was going to get an annulment? She was going to be… his .

~May 26~

Ellen did the only thing she could do—she went to St. Camillus to see to the patients there. There she was always needed and always had a good feeling for just what to do to make the men feel better.

For Christopher, she was out of ideas. She had done all she could to help him but hadn’t heard a word since she’d gone to speak to him.

She was thrilled with Amelia’s news of her impending marriage to Mr. Sherman, and, of course, hadn’t mentioned to her aunt that she’d already known about his intentions. She thought she’d done a pretty good job of feigning surprise and delight at the news.

So for now, until she could figure out her next move, it was best to simply do what she knew how to do and keep busy.

She was just finishing up changing the dressing on a soldier’s arm when she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She turned to see Richard standing there, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

She finished up what she was doing, gave some words of comfort to the soldier, and got up to speak with her husband. “Richard, what are you doing here?”

“I… I needed to speak with you,” he started, but his eyes were darting this way and that.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I just… I don’t like it here. How can you stand it? That smell… the moaning...”

“It is the smell of injured men and the sound of their pain. We try to help them by dosing them with laudanum and morphine, but sometimes even that is not enough, I’m afraid.”

“Well… I don’t… please, can you leave so we can talk… in private?” he said, taking hold of her arm.

“Of course. Just one moment and let me inform the nurse, so she can take over.” Ellen gently extracted herself from Richard’s grip and went to speak with Nurse Cotswold.

After washing her hands, she found Richard standing outside on the footpath. “Are you feeling better?” she asked. He wasn’t looking quite as pale as he had been inside.

“Yes. I don’t know how you can stand that place.”

“I had a hard time at first, but knowing I was helping soldiers, in a way I hadn’t been able to help you, made it easier to deal with. In a way, I felt as if I were nursing you.”

He paled again at that, clearly feeling guilty for allowing her to believe him dead for so long—as well he should. He glanced down at the ground. “I am sorry, Ellen. It must have been very difficult for you.”

“It was. It took me years to put off my mourning clothes, Richard. Three years !” She took a calming breath. “This is not the place to discuss this. Shall we go home?”

“Yes, please,” he said with relief, turning toward her carriage, which was standing just beside them, waiting.

When they got home, he didn’t pause but walked straight up to the drawing room and splashed some port into a glass. After he’d emptied it and poured himself another, he turned toward her. “I’m sorry, would you like some wine?”

“No, thank you. I don’t usually drink in the afternoon.” She sat at the edge of the sofa, but then got up again wondering if a little Dutch courage wouldn’t help after all. She knew what was about to come. No, she would not follow his lead. She walked to the window instead.

“My mother sends her regards,” he said.

Ellen nodded. “How did you find her?” she asked, still facing out. A carriage passed. Children ran down the footpath followed by a harried nursemaid. She barely noted the ordinary things of life as she contemplated what she was about to say.

“Well. She’s quite happy with her little dower house. She says it’s so much less drafty than the manor.”

“I’m very happy to hear that.” Ellen knew they couldn’t go on exchanging pleasantries for long. She might as well be the one to jump into the bog. “I’ve come to a conclusion,” she told him.

“A conclusion?”

“Yes. About our marriage and what I want to do.”

“Oh! Will you be traveling with me, then?”