Page 41 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

Megan’s slight knock announced the arrival of Ellen’s morning cup of chocolate. As Megan entered the room, Ellen could not look at her, she felt too ashamed. The servants slept in the attic above her room, Megan must have heard.

‘I will return in half an hour to help you dress, ma’am,’ Megan said, as she did every morning.

‘I am feeling too ill to rise,’ Ellen replied.

‘You have not been sick…’ Megan swept forward and pressed a palm to Ellen’s brow. ‘You do not feel hot, ma’am.’ Her hand moved away.

No, she was not ill in the physical sense of the word, but she was sick of life and heart-sore. She missed Paul, and she did not want to rise and keep living today. How could she get up, when she knew what had happened yesterday?

She sipped her chocolate and felt bilious, holding a hand to her mouth. Megan rushed to fetch the chamber pot, and Ellen was sick.

‘If you stay in bed, ma’am, should I bring you some toast?’

Ellen nodded and lay back. Her child, Paul’s child, needed her to eat. She turned her head, hiding her face, and the tears, as Megan left.

When Megan returned with the toast, Ellen feigned sleep so she need not speak.

At noon, Megan arrived again, with a luncheon tray. Ellen refused it. She had only eaten four bites of the toast. She would eat for the child tomorrow, but today she had no heart for anything.

Late in the afternoon, there was another slight knock on the door. ‘Are you awake, ma’am?’ Megan called in a quiet, apologetic voice.

Ellen did not answer.

‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ she called again, as though she knew Ellen was pretending to be asleep. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Hillier has sent me…’

Ellen shut her eyes as her stomach turned, even at the mention of his name. But she knew then, Megan knew, she knew what had happened last night. She knew Ellen was hiding here and pretending to be asleep.

‘I have told the lieutenant colonel you are unwell,’ Megan continued, speaking on the other side of the door, possibly too embarrassed to enter and look Ellen in the eye. ‘He still insists you come down for dinner this evening, ma’am…’

Shock pulled Ellen into answering. ‘Then you must tell him, I will not.’

Megan did not quibble or even reply, it was as though that was what she wanted Ellen to say. Ellen heard Megan’s footsteps walk away.

A few moments later, there was a much firmer, hard knock on the door.

Oh my Lord . She had not learned; she had not locked the door, but only to allow Megan to enter.

Ellen slid out of the bed and pulled a shawl off a chair near the bed, wrapping it about her shoulders.

‘Ellen?’ His voice carried the pitch of command. ‘May I come in?’

Her stomach spun. If she ran across the room and locked the door, he would hear and possibly open it before she reached it – as he had done last night.

‘I am not dressed,’ she called back.

There was an odd sound, then a cough.

Ellen prayed he would not come in.

‘But you are out of bed…’ His voice was now coaxing. ‘You cannot be so unwell. It will do you good to come down to dinner, I think, and I require your company.’ The last was an order.

Ellen’s arms folded over her chest, hugging the shawl about her. She wanted to run. But to where? Her fate might be worse if she was left on the street to beg.

‘Do you agree to dine with me?’

She said nothing. Defiant – even though she had no escape.

‘Ellen?’

She still did not reply.

‘Ellen!’

She knew he would not let her say no.

‘Yes.’ Her voice was weak.

When Megan returned to help her dress a while later, Ellen did not speak. She could not. She stood like a mannequin and let her maid do what she needed to, dressing her up like doll for their master’s games.

Occasionally she caught Megan glancing at their reflections in the mirror. Then her skin would redden as she avoided Ellen’s gaze.

Megan knew. The servants serving her tonight would know too.

Her mind returned to the first days she had spent in the lieutenant colonel’s house in Brussels – she recalled the fuss he had made purchasing things, walking her through the streets on his horse in that ridiculous procession.

She could have walked. She saw the young maid in the house greeting her with constant blushes.

Ellen was as certain as the sun would fall and rise, that the maid had known this was always the lieutenant colonel’s intent.

He had sold Ellen’s possessions so she would have no money, he must have stopped her receiving Paul’s back payment of salary. He had not let her leave the house to the help the wounded… If she had gone, Mrs Beard would have helped her, or another of the women.

She closed her eyes. She had thought her naivety left behind in Pembroke Place with her life as the daughter of a duke. But no, she had known nothing of the dangers of the world.

‘I am finished, ma’am.’

Ellen opened her eyes, looking at her image in the mirror. Her hair was curled, with ringlets slipping across her shoulders and pinned high, as though she were going to a ball.

Megan did not smile. Nor did Ellen.

As she walked downstairs, her heart pounding like a thumping hammer, Ellen’s thoughts raced through the options she had now.

She could open the door and run – but she had seen the injured soldiers, on crutches, begging in the streets; if no one helped them, who would help her?

She could stay, simply let this happen, and in her mind pretend it was not, biding her time – then one day, surely, she would meet one of the women she had known in Brussels and ask for help. She could also write to her father…

She had written before…

Her feet stilled on the step of the stairs. She had placed the letters to her father and Paul’s in the hand of the lieutenant colonel’s servant. Were they ever sent?

Cold fear held her shoulders as she walked down the last few steps, her feet heavy and hesitant. The footman who stood beside the dining-room door opened it for her to pass through.

Lieutenant Colonel Hillier stood up as she entered, looking at her, though he had enough self-recrimination to be unable to look her in the eyes.

Her back straightened, and her chin tilted upwards, she would not be cowed.

If she had to remain here for now, she would not allow him to control her head or her heart – even though she knew he would invade her body again.

She looked at him, directly. Accusing him. Anger flooding her. She hated him, she wished to scream at him, and hit him, claw and scratch.

‘Come, sit beside me, Ellen.’ His tone sought to charm as he withdrew the chair.

Ellen could not move her feet; the floor had become thick mud.

He beckoned her with his fingers. ‘Come, no need to be hesitant.’

The muscles in her jaw tightened with anger. There was every reason to be hesitant.

‘I have a gift for you.’ He lifted a small square box from the table.

He had still not looked into her eyes, when every other time, it was all he did. His skin was flushed red, she hoped with embarrassment. She knew she had not blushed, she refused to feel embarrassed when it was him at fault.

‘I am sorry, Ellen. If I upset you, I did not intend to. But I have been very patient. Come and sit.’ His voice changed in depth and strength at the last.

When he said the word sorry he had sounded remorseful, then his pitch had slipped into an order.

He had never intended kindness when he took her from the place she and Paul had called home in Brussels, he had only ever intended this, and slowly, carefully, slyly, he had closed a prison door on her. There would be no escape unless she found someone to help her.

She sat down. Her hand rested on her bump, the child reminding her she had a reason to stay alive – even if it meant enduring this.

‘Wine?’ He beckoned a footman forward.

Ellen lifted a hand. ‘None for me, thank you,’ she told the footman. Then she told the lieutenant colonel, ‘It only makes my morning sickness worse.’ She wanted him to remember she was with child. She wanted his guilt to grow and cut deep.

He reached across and lay the box he held before her. ‘It is a little present to say thank you. Open it and let us be happy again.’

The box was made from a black wood, inlaid with a pattern of pale roses, probably made from rosewood. Ellen lifted the lid. There was a little slip of parchment there. He had written upon it, To my love.

A shiver tore through Ellen.

Those words had been precious to her when Paul spoke them.

His hand touched her forearm. Ellen jumped. ‘Take a look.’

She lifted the parchment, wanting to crush it in her fingers and throw it in the flames of the fire.

Beneath, a little brooch, a blue enamel bird, lay on a bed of blue velvet.

Lieutenant Colonel Hillier stood. ‘I thought of your eyes. Let me put it on for you.’

She stood too; she could not bear for him to lean over her.

He picked up the brooch and to her horror slipped one hand into her bodice. ‘I would not wish to mark your beautiful skin, Ellen. I will prick my fingers, not your skin, if I am not cautious with the pin.’

With the back of his fingers on her breast he pierced the muslin cloth; bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it back.

Now he had put her in her place and embarrassed her before the footman. Now her skin burned as the footman looked on.

He smiled as her whole body trembled, while he pinned the brooch onto the fabric of her bodice, a little above her nipple.

It took only a moment to secure the brooch, then his hand slid away. ‘There. It will brighten up your blacks.’

Ellen retook her seat, as he did. She knew now, the gift had been given to allow him a moment of control. To ensure she would know he could, and would, touch her when he wanted to.

‘You need not buy me gifts,’ she said in a quiet voice.

‘But I wanted to. I wished to thank you.’

She looked at him. ‘I do not want your gifts, and I do not want it to happen again. Will you give me your word that it will not?’

He met her gaze for the first time, now he had succeeded in embarrassing and belittling her. ‘I cannot promise you that. But I will continue to take care of you, and I shall look after you well.’

‘I do not care how well you treat me?—’

‘Ellen.’ He barked her name so loudly she jumped.

‘Let us be clear. You have no money, no family, and the titled men you appealed to have shown no interest. You have nowhere to live other than here, and if you live here, in recompense, you will repay me as I choose.’ He did not even attempt to speak quietly, so the footman had heard every word.

After dinner, Ellen found a quill, ink and paper, and wrote to her father.

Tomorrow, she would go out alone and take the letter to an inn that would transport post. No one would know, and she could send her letters with no money as the recipient was asked for payment.

She would not even tell Megan what she was doing.

No one could know she was trying to escape.