Page 9 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

E lla had sat quietly beside the bed for close to an hour. Words were lost to her. She didn’t know what Lord Oliver wanted to hear. If he could hear.

Guilt coated her like thick honey because she knew she was wasting valuable time, but it had taken her longer than anticipated to even leave the safety of the door and venture into the room. This was not the Lord Oliver she remembered.

His breathing was shallow, and his skin was pale and waxy, lips and eyes coated in a light-bluish tint, giving him a ghostly pallor.

He wore a simple dressing gown under piles of blankets and lay supine, remarkably relaxed, on the massive four-poster bed as if he were just taking a restorative afternoon nap before tearing out on the town.

Ella could have believed the fantasy if they hadn’t shaved his head.

The doctors had obviously attempted to be tidy, but patches of his silky black hair remained, some sections longer than others.

The back-left side of Lord Oliver’s head was truly made bald, highlighting the contusion spoken about.

A few seconds was all she could give the vicious wound, which appeared to pulsate.

A craggy fissure cut through the middle like a poorly thought-out country road, the dried magenta blood gluing the two sides together.

Ella thought back to the accident. She hadn’t known Oliver had hit his head. Had she made it worse with all the jostling and yanking?

She stared at the fresh handkerchief the dowager had stuffed into her hand before she entered the room. It was still dry. Ella was too numb to cry, too lost to pull herself out of her guilt-ridden mind.

Love him.

Her mother’s words plucked her inside as if she were an instrument, growing dust and needing to be played. But the more Ella fixated on Lord Oliver, the more she questioned that love. Being here, in this place, only served to remind her that she knew next to nothing about him.

She looked about the room. Clearly, the man had an affinity for navy blue, since one version or another of it covered anything that would stand still in the luxurious quarters.

From the curtains to his bed covers, to the round rug to the Asian-inspired wallpaper, everything was splattered in blue.

Which truly wasn’t saying much. Most men would have done the same.

It wasn’t as if Ella had expected pink or orange.

The room was tidy, if a little bit cold, without knickknacks or bric-a-brac littering the bureau or dresser.

There was no book, dog-eared and waiting for him on his bedside table, no journal opened with an unfinished sentence at the small desk against the covered window.

All in all, she felt like she knew even less about Lord Oliver after seeing where he spent his nights. And sadly, he knew even less about her.

And Ella couldn’t do anything more about that—not unless the duke decided to open his eyes.

Or was she wrong?

She cleared her throat, feeling foolish, because her initial thought was not to wake him from his sleep.

“Um… hello,” she started, squashing down the silliness that threatened to stop this endeavor before it even began.

She scooted herself to the edge of her seat.

“You don’t know me, Your Grace. At least, I’m almost sure you don’t.

If you saw me, maybe you’d think that you’d seen me once before at some ball or Society event, but I doubt it. We’ve never even been introduced.”

Ella’s words flowed more freely. She imagined granting the duke a perfect curtsey while he bowed.

“Let me just say first that I’m terribly sorry about this.

Yes, the accident, but also the fact that I’m here talking to you.

I would love to explain the whole thing—and I can explain it—but it would take too long now, and it’s really not worth it at this point.

Let’s just agree that it’s awkward all around.

” She frowned, placing her hand on his lifeless arm.

“That’s not to say I don’t want to be here.

I do. I mean, I suppose I do, I just wish it was under more truthful circumstances. ”

Ella paused, waiting for him to speak, and then shook her head.

“I feel ridiculous,” she said, mostly to herself.

“I don’t know what they want me to do. You see, I’ve never considered myself a talker.

I know what it feels like to be where you are now, Your Grace.

I spent a great part of my childhood in my room, suffering from various complications and illnesses.

My sisters—I have four of them—were a great comfort, but they all had lives to lead, and left me to myself most of the time.

” She angled her ear toward the bed. “What’s that, you ask?

No, I don’t blame them. No one wants to be stuck inside when the sun is shining.

Besides, my mother and father always made sure I had plenty of books to keep me company. So… so there’s that.”

She laughed softly, patting the duke’s arm in a playful rebuke.

“That is so lovely of you to say, Your Grace. I’m flattered that you don’t think I look sickly.

I’m not. A little skinny, yes, but not sickly.

I still have flare-ups every once in a while”—she shook out her pink hands—“in fact, I’m having a small one right now, but I’ve learned to manage them.

Just as you will when you come out of this.

No, no don’t argue with me. You will come out of this and do everything your doctors tell you so you can be good and healthy again in no time. ”

Her smile turned wan. “Yes, yes, I think you’re right.

It’s difficult to come out of something like this and be the same as before.

These kinds of events change a person, whether you want them to or not.

Perhaps they even make one feel more cautious.

I love my sisters, but I’ve always envied their ability to jump into things.

Almost as if they never experience fear or worry about any outcome.

They’re quick to fight, quick to laugh, and even quicker to dance and smile.

I love that about them. Sometimes I think that maybe if I hadn’t been sick so often, I would have been more like that… more like you.”

Ella sighed, stacking her arms on the bed and resting her chin on top.

“Can you actually believe Cordelia was angry when I told her that I’d grown an attachment to you?

She thought your reputation would be too much for me.

You would be too much. They’re always thinking that about me.

I know my family is only trying to protect me, but sometimes I think they really believe I’m still a sickly child who needs their help to get out of bed in the morning.

I can handle a man like you. My life can take adventure, and my body will not tire from it.

I promise you that. So please, don’t worry.

If you want to dance with me three times at a ball instead of one or two, rest assured that it will not be too much. ”

She laughed quietly, rolling her eyes, and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“No one’s ever asked me that before.” She paused to think.

“I want to travel and talk to interesting people and run down long green hills, and sleep under the small yellow stars. I want it all. And the moment I saw you in that ballroom, I knew that you would be the one who would do it all with me. Every day with you would be something new and exciting.”

Before Ella could stop them, tears burned the back of her eyes, and the tip of her nose itched with heat.

She straightened away from the bed, tilting her face toward the ceiling.

“No, no, no, Your Grace, I’m not crying.

No, it’s just a little dust, I think. Nothing to worry about.

I’m sure you’re sick of crying, sick of people worrying over you.

Your brother does. Did you know that? He doesn’t say much, does he?

A bit of an enigma. But I can see it, every time I look at him…

the concern. The fear. It’s off-putting seeing fear in a man like that, so large and intimidating.

He could do with some of your manners, that’s the truth, though I hazard he wouldn’t know what to do with them. ”

Tears under control, Ella shrugged, staring pitifully at her palms in her lap. What was she doing here, yapping on?

Making a fool out of myself.

Perhaps a real love was powerful enough to pull a man away from an eternal sleep, but not a simple infatuation.

Ella rose from her chair, turning toward the door.

The prince didn’t revive Snow White by talking his head off and divulging his inner secrets.

In fact, the prince didn’t wake Snow White at all.

One of his men dropped Snow White’s coffin, dislodging the poisonous apple from her throat, bringing her back to life.

Well, Ella had jostled the duke enough for a lifetime; she wasn’t about to roll him off his bed and dump him on the floor to see what might happen next.

She would say goodnight… say goodbye. That was all that was left for her to do. Ella had come here as his family asked. She’d talked to the poor man. They would be disappointed—heartbroken. No doubt everyone would be. The Duke of Winchester would be greatly missed. But Ella was at a loss.

She crept back to the bed. Before she could stop herself, she stretched out her arm and cupped the side of the duke’s face. His bristles scratched her, and she smiled. He was warm. Peaceful. Balancing on the precipice of life and death.

Slowly, she leaned over the bed, lowering her head to his. She closed her eyes, losing her nerve by the second. His breath was weak and fleeting as it brushed against her lips.

One quick kiss on his cheek and then she would leave.

Ella continued to hover when an odd sensation unfurled itself, like she was being watched. She punched her hands on either side of the duke, holding herself up and away from his face.