A Duke for Lady Ellen

Chapter 8

The Brightlys had been invited to a house party—even though it was the middle of the season—outside Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk, thanks to the Dowager Countess of Fredrick, and Sophie was all in a twitter about the opportunity to spend more time with Lord Fredrick, her most amiable—and eligible—grandson. Ellen watched as she pulled out ribbons and bonnets and gloves from various drawers, trying to decide which to take. She thought about reminding her sister that her lady's maid would take care of these things when she packed for Sophie, but Ellen figured why bother. Let Sophie feel useful.

"Won't this be exciting?" Sophie asked, trying on a pair of pink kid gloves and admiring her hands. "Yes, I'm definitely taking these." She moved them to a pile at her left.

"I'd be more excited if we didn't have such a long drive ahead of us. I shudder to think how numb my derriere will become after eighty miles on the road."

Sophie laughed. "That's why I'm packing an extra pillow to sit on."

"Who all is coming to this party, do we know?"

Sophie listed off a litany of guests, looking a little moony when she mentioned Lord Amberleigh, Lord Stacey, and the Duke of Danbury. Ellen wondered how she had found out the guest list, but Sophie had her ways and was an excellent gossip. To Ellen's mind, the house party sounded like the ideal place for Sophie to find a husband—or at least to reduce the number of potential suitors.

"Oh, and Hambidge is coming too. Apparently, his mother and the Dowager are good friends." Sophie tried to look innocent as she imparted the news, but Ellen saw right through her.

"That's nice," Ellen said noncommittally.

"Of course he'll be older than almost anyone at the house party. I hope he can keep up with the rest of the guests." Sophie peered intently at Ellen, and Ellen willed her face to be placid but unreadable. It would not do for Sophie to think she knew any secrets about Ellen.

"Do you need any help packing?" Ellen asked, changing the subject.

"No, I think I'll wait for Betsy." She sat amid her accessories. Her bedroom looked like her wardrobe exploded.

Ellen nodded and left for her own room. She had correspondence to attend to, which she should have finished by breakfast. Already Leah was packing several morning gowns and evening gowns into trunks, and had assembled a valise of accessories for her, attacking the project with determined vigor. But she did not wish to disturb her lady's maid, or get in her way, so she went downstairs to the green parlor, where her mother was visiting with Lady Blackmon. She greeted both women, then went to sit at the secretary by the wall and proceeded to write a letter to her dear friend Mrs. Simpkins and her Aunt summering in Bath, and a response to the Earl.

Dear Ethan—

If I speak boldly of love in my poems, it is only because one must be bold about love. It does not mince in on little cat paws, it bounds in like a lion on the savannah, ready to roar its possession. My lord, if there is someone whom you love, you must let her into your heart, or you may miss out on the greatest experience of felicity and comfort of your life. I should not want that for you.

And you may think that you are being noble by allowing her to be courted by someone else, but how can you be sure that she is happy in that decision? Too many peers marry for property and status, love getting cast aside like rubbish. What if you could bring her love? What if she is merely waiting for you to declare yourself to her, but thinks she must accept the suit of another, because he asked her first? You cannot let such a travesty occur. Be bold, I say! Tell her of your love. And if she does reject you, while painful, you shall know that you tried, and that you gave love a thorough chance.