Page 17 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

I t was an undeniable fact that time ran slower in the country.

Ella had already known this from all the months her family spent at their estate in Norwich throughout the year.

But at least there she was acquainted with the staff and had friends.

Most importantly, she’d had her sisters (before their inconvenient marriages).

All this to say that, however glamorous and awe-inspiring Sutton Park was from the outside, the inside was intolerably lonely those first few days.

Lady Evelyn and her mother tried to help.

They gave up their hours, showcasing the grand house, giving Ella tours and backstories of the mammoth rooms—which king slept in that bed, which painting had crossed the Channel with the Conqueror.

But the ladies had their own routines and schedules and settled into them seamlessly, leaving Ella to her own devices.

It didn’t take long for the innumerable gold chandeliers to lose their luster and the countless marble busts of dead dukes to lose their shine.

Too much time on anyone’s hands was never a good thing, and soon Ella was wondering why she’d been brought along to begin with. She’d assumed her job was to be helpful, to spend time with Lord Oliver. However, that was proving not to be the case.

She tried not to take it to heart. The doctors were merely overprotective, and the duchess accepted everything they advised. Lord Oliver needed sleep, they said. He needed quiet and darkness, they said.

He didn’t need anyone except them, they said.

For now, they said.

By the third day, Ella was at her wits’ end. She’d already considered herself a liar; now she was an interloper as well.

If it wasn’t for the library, she’d have gone stir crazy. When she wasn’t eating or sleeping, Ella decamped to the cavernous space (which put the townhouse’s library to shame), stretching out lazily in the tufted leather chairs like a cat in a patch of sunlight.

But something caught her fancy that afternoon, and it wasn’t Robinson Crusoe , which she’d already read four times anyway.

Staring out the tall, mullioned windows, she noticed Uncle Edward setting up an easel outside in the middle of the garden that stretched out, long and rectangular, in the back of the house.

Remembering what Jack had told her at dinner, Ella frowned at the stately man, carefully lining up his paints and materials in just the right way.

Obviously, the gentleman didn’t only paint scandalous things, she concluded.

Landscapes must be another passion. Perhaps Jack, in all his insufferable wisdom, didn’t know his uncle as well as he thought he did.

And she couldn’t wait to tell him that. Whenever the opinionated pirate emerged from whatever hole he’d hidden himself in.

Ella chided herself for the ungracious thought.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen Jack over these last days.

She’d grown quite accustomed to his back, since he always seemed to be walking as far away from her as possible whenever they happened upon the same place.

But the fact that he’d refused to join the family for dinner since the first night rankled her.

She couldn’t help but take it personally.

Ella had always considered herself a rather lively dinner companion. A proper conversationalist.

Perhaps she’d been wrong.

No.

No. No. No.

She slapped her book closed and launched herself from her chair. She refused to doubt herself because of that man. She was a bloody great conversationalist—instructed by her mother, and the viscountess never failed.

Ella would prove it.

The light was already violent and blinding by midmorning, and Ella cursed herself for not grabbing her bonnet before marching into the garden. She’d be sweating in no time in the summer heat.

But no matter. She was on a mission. And a few freckles never hurt anyone. Especially if her mother wasn’t here to see them.

Not wanting to disturb Uncle Edward, Ella eschewed the pebbled path that led to the manicured hedgerow garden.

She kept to the lawn that eventually sloped down to the green and murky pond, which sat placid and calm in the windless expanse.

Framed by long, willowy grass, and a cloudless sky, the scene evoked peace and tranquility, and it was no wonder the uncle had chosen to paint it.

Ella would start the conversation by admiring his choice.

That bit of approval would be sure to break the man from his shell.

When they’d first been introduced, Uncle Edward merely bowed and gave Ella a shy, panicky smile before scuttering away. She was determined to start a conversation that lasted longer than a minute this time around.

Naturally, she would get him talking about painting. Everyone loved talking about their hobbies. Ella knew nothing about it—had never shown aptitude, her mother had announced when she was seven. She would be a blank slate for the man and prove that she could be trusted with his time.

Maybe Uncle Edward could even give her lessons. He could teach her about mixing colors and instruct her on how to create a bucolic scene with the sun reflecting off water, and maybe even a frog chirping merrily from its lily—

Breasts!

Breasts …

Good Lord, were those flippers ?

“Oh!” Ella tripped, catching herself just before she fell face first into a hedge.

Uncle Edward spun around to face her. “What are you…? Who? What?” He spread his arms out like a horrified eagle, blocking his canvas.

Ella wanted to tell him there was no need. Her neck would not lift her head until she was safely out of range.

Had he been drawing a busty, naked woman with flippers instead of legs? A mermaid? Yes, that was it. Uncle Edward had been drawing a very, very naked mermaid.

“I’m so sorry,” Ella exclaimed, holding her hand over her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun. And other things. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t sneaking. I just didn’t want to disturb your”—she gulped—“art.”

Uncle Edward’s feet shuffled back and forth on the pebbles.

He was tall. All the Sutton men were. But none of the uncles had the bulk of Oliver or Jack, and Edward was the skinniest of the bunch.

Reedy and pale, he seemed incredibly delicate to Ella, like he might break if anyone spoke too harshly to him.

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s fine. I was just… adding,” he sputtered. Ella lifted her head to catch his blush, wondering if clothes would be among the additions. “No one ever bothers me out here. You just surprised me, is all.”

“Of course.”

Uncle Edward took the canvas off the easel and placed it face down on the ground. “I don’t like people to see anything before it’s done.”

“Of course,” she said once more. So much for being a great conversationalist.

The silence dragged on.

“How are you enjoying Sutton Park?” the gentleman asked. “It’s quite lovely this time of year.”

Ella smiled, grateful that someone remembered how to engage in polite dialogue. “It’s like a dream,” she replied truthfully. “But I have a feeling that Sutton Park is lovely throughout the year.”

Uncle Edward nodded. “It is that.”

Another silence. For the life of her, Ella didn’t know what to talk about. She’d planned to ask him about his painting, but there was no way she was ever going to broach that subject. Ever. She had to pivot.

“I don’t wish to bother you any further. I think I’ll just go for a walk around the pond. I always find it fun to peer around the edges and see what life I can find there just under my nose.”

“Care if I join you?

Ella squinted through the sun, finding the lord to be genuine. “If you’d like.”

Uncle Edward nodded, his nose glowing red with pride. “I would. It’s not every day that I get a chance to join a pretty woman on a stroll.”

Ella smiled shyly before hesitating. She glanced at the lord’s hands, remembering too late that it was the other uncle’s wandering touches that Jack had warned her about.

“Is something wrong, Miss Ella?”

“No.” She shook her head, feeling a hot flush climb onto her cheeks. “I just remembered something.”

“Something important?”

Ella accepted his arm and started down the path. “No, nothing important at all.”

*

Hours later, surrounded by the London Ladies Cricket Club in the corner of the Flying Batsman tavern, Ella could finally let out a hearty belly laugh.

“And he didn’t mention it? Not at all?” Lady Anna asked, concern etched into her kind face. “He must have known you’d seen it.”

Ella lifted her shoulders. “Not one time. He was more interested in telling me about the gardens and the pond. It was… nice, if a little odd.”

Mrs. Myfanwy Everett scoffed, placing a hand on her large, pregnant belly. Rearranging herself in her seat, she grimaced. “They all sound odd. Why didn’t any of the uncles ever move out? Didn’t this Edward consider joining a regiment?”

Ella hid a smile behind her teacup. “He did. But then he realized he didn’t like running.”

“What about the church?” Anna tried.

Ella raised a brow. “He found he didn’t like people all that much either.”

“And the other brothers are the same?” Anna asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ella replied slowly. “From what I gather, I don’t think their father was very encouraging. All I know is they are perfectly content to live simple, quiet lives, and the duke allows them to.”

“Why is it that when ladies of a certain age want to live simple, quiet lives, we’re labeled spinsters?” Myfanwy asked.

The club answered with chuckles and laughs, nodding in accord. Ella hadn’t thought of that, but the term perfectly encapsulated the brothers. They were spinsters, and happily so, not lazy, as Jack concluded.

Anna’s sister, Beatrice, leaned forward and cupped her head in her palm. Her smile wide, her face took on a dreamlike quality. “Enough about the uncles—tell us all about the duke.”