Page 46 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

E lla swirled her fork around her plate, shoving the roasted capon from side to side. With one ear, she listened to her father drone on from the head of the table, happily detailing his uneventful day, which, to Ella’s mind, involved too much time at his club.

She was well aware that she wasn’t being fair to her father, who had given her an abundance of affection and attention throughout her childhood.

But lately, these moments came when she just felt so intolerably vexed.

The forks and knives scraped too loudly on the china; the servants’ shoes scuffled the floor too much as they brought the food up from the kitchen…

Everything was just too quiet and measured, which made the atmosphere seem impossibly loud.

“That’s all very riveting, dear,” Lady Weston told her husband, pausing to chew her meat.

Her gaze flickered to Ella. “Ella looks very pretty, doesn’t she, Henry?

” she asked, smiling at her daughter so intensely, Ella couldn’t find her eyes.

“I think you’ve finally put on the weight you needed.

Your cheeks aren’t quite so pale anymore. ”

Lord Weston blinked at his daughter as if studying her for the first time. “Ella always looks pretty,” he answered matter-of-factly, before returning to his food.

“Oh, I know!” his wife replied with a little laugh. “I just think that whole nasty fever business is finally over and done with.” She pointed the tip of her knife at the ceiling. “Onward and upward, as they say.”

Ella returned a wan smile, giving her mother just the encouragement she needed to continue.

“I didn’t see Lord Oliver here today. Did I miss him?”

Ella shook her head. “No.”

The viscountess desperately tried to moderate the intensity in her voice. “That’s too bad. I was growing rather used to his visits. And I can tell how much he adores walking with you.”

Ella rolled her eyes, placing her fork on her plate. She tucked her hands in her lap and faced her mother. “He’s only done it twice,” she replied tartly. “It’s hardly a routine.”

“But it could become a routine,” Lady Weston said. “And wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Ella received no satisfaction out of hurting her mother, which was why she stayed silent in the face of her enthusiasm. Her mother’s poor hopes would be crushed soon enough when Oliver started showing interest in a new, pleasing young lady. Ella would deal with her then.

Lord Weston thumped his wine glass back on the table.

“That reminds me,” he said, picking up his knife once more, “the duke’s brother, you know, the one who everyone thought had died at sea…

well, apparently, he’s not dead! It was all anyone could talk about at the club today.

Someone saw him walking around Mayfair this morning, right as rain. Or something like that.”

The floor dropped out from under Ella. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles going white from the effort. Jack was alive and in London?

She shook her head. Her father must have heard wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What did you say, Father? You didn’t mean Lord Oliver’s brother, did you?”

“The very one,” he replied, distracted by a pea that wouldn’t stay on his fork. “He owns the shipping company, correct? Lord… John?”

Ella nodded.

Lord Weston stabbed the pea with the fork, pointing it at her with relish. “Then that’s the one.” He bobbed his head, tickled by the fact that he’d been the source of worthwhile gossip.

Those tiny champagne bubbles were back, popping inside Ella’s stomach.

She released her hold on the table, staring at her plate in wonder.

Everything seemed so much brighter, more brilliant.

The carrots had never been more orange, the peas never more succulent, the capon’s skin never more crisp and buttery.

She could hardly stay in her seat. Her chest threatened to burst; she needed to dance. She needed to sing. She needed to find Jack—

Her mother’s knife screeched across the plate as she sawed through her little chicken. “Yes, I know, dear,” she said evenly, giving her husband the same smile she’d just given Ella, albeit more strained.

“You know ?” Ella snapped. “What do you mean, you know?”

Lady Weston wouldn’t raise her head. She focused on cutting everything on her plate. She wasn’t even taking bites—just cutting and cutting, again and again, until the food was reduced to little bits of unrecognizable clumps. “I mean, I saw him.”

“What do you mean, you saw him?” Ella’s tone was so severe, Lord Weston straightened away from his plate.

Lady Weston huffed, finally dragging her attention away from her slaughter. She tilted her head at her daughter petulantly. “I mean he came by today. You weren’t home.”

Ella’s stomach dropped. “Well… is he coming back? When?”

Lady Weston shrugged through her growing agitation. “He didn’t say.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did he look?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Mother!” Ella slammed her hands down on the table and lifted herself to standing. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“Nothing!” her mother cried, glancing at her husband like she was begging for reinforcements.

Lord Weston got the hint. “Ella, sweetheart, sit down. What’s gotten into you?”

Ella hissed out an exhale as she reclaimed her seat, but continued to shake her head.

She ignored her father’s question and snatched up her knife and fork.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she said, digging her knife into the capon.

Limitless amounts of nervous energy coursed through her, encouraged by raging, maniacal anger.

She had to do something. So she sliced a piece of the chicken and shoveled it into her mouth.

Chewing felt good. It was a tangible release of her frustration and hurt.

“Of course I was going to tell you,” Lady Weston said breathlessly. “Honestly, Ella, you act like I kept this from you on purpose.”

Ella arched an eyebrow at her food, too busy working on another bite to look up at her mother. “Oh, I know you were keeping it from me.”

“Ella!” Lord Weston barked. “Do not speak to your mother that way.” He turned to his wife. “I know you think the fever is over, but I’m not so sure.”

Ella chortled, forking more food into her mouth. “I’m not ill,” she said in between chews. “I’m upset because Mother treated the love of my life like a dog at her door. The poor man has survived the impossible and come all the way back to me, and he’s still not good enough for you.”

Lord Weston threw up his hands. “The love of your life? Lady Weston, what is she talking about?”

“Nothing, dear.”

Ella glared at her mother. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you hide what you’ve done. I love him. I will always love him. You said you wouldn’t stand in my way. Why did you do this?”

Lady Weston watched helplessly as Ella added another piece of meat to her mouth. “Ella, slow down,” she exclaimed. “You need to calm yourself. I’m not standing in your way. I’m just asking that you rethink it… What about the duke?”

“ I don’t want the duke! ”

Ella’s attention flicked to the hallway. She thought she’d heard something—men’s voices—but her mother wasn’t finished arguing her side.

“I would just like you to give him more of a chance—”

Ella could no longer contain her fury. “I don’t have a chance to give. I love Jack. I want Jack. And if you won’t give us your blessing, then I’ll—”

She stopped, dropping her utensils. They clanged against the china as she grabbed her throat.

She tried to swallow, but something was stuck.

Ella breathed, but she couldn’t get any air through.

Her body panicked. She jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over.

She leaned over the table, coughing and hacking, doing anything to get the food dislodged, but nothing worked.

Her parents crowded around her, patting her back, screaming for help, urging her to keep trying.

Her father hacked at her shoulder, but all it accomplished was shoving her hips into the sharp edge of the table.

She clawed at her throat. Her vision swam. Her head became fuzzy. She stumbled into a wall… and the wall moved.

Ella looked up to see what was in front of her, and only had a second to realize it was a person before his hands spun her around. Three sharp whacks! hit her back right in between her shoulder blades, loosening the clog in her throat at once.

Ella heaved in a massive breath, spitting the capon onto the table as her industrious mother threw out a linen cloth to cover it.

Ella couldn’t stop coughing. Her throat felt stretched and fiery.

Her lungs ached from the pressure. All eyes were on her as she settled herself, her chest heaving from the frightening episode.

And then everything went quiet.

And her parents weren’t looking at her anymore.

Slowly, Ella turned around to find Jack standing behind her, his hand still palming her shoulder. She blinked, wondering if she’d died and this was heaven.

But then she saw Oliver, with his relieved, roguish grin, step out from behind his brother and knew it couldn’t be.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked. Ella was still lost in her fog. She stepped away, and Jack dropped his hand from her shoulder.

“Well, we came right in time, didn’t we?” Oliver announced, sharing an awkward chuckle with only himself.

Jack frowned. “Ella?” She couldn’t stop staring at him, marking all the little differences she could find. His blond hair was longer. His stark face was skinnier. He desperately needed a shave. And his ear—

“Where’s your earring?” Ella blurted, fighting away the tears that had already started to well.

A reluctant smile curved Jack’s lips. “I had to sell it.”

Ella was having a hard time following him, which made the tears impossible to stop. “What do you… what…?”

He pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right, Ella. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”