A Duke for Lady Ellen

Chapter 12

What was she to do about the Duke and the Earl? She threw herself on the bed and couldn't tell if she wanted to cry or beat her fists. She fell somewhere in the middle, she decided-not distraught enough to cry, not angry enough to abuse the bed and pillows. But her dilemma regarding both men kept her awake into the wee hours-she heard doors snick open and close as the last of Lord Fredrick's guests retired to bed-and still sleep eluded her. Even writing down some lines of poetry did not soothe her; her mind kept running over the last few days and the interactions she had experienced. There was so much to consider.

The next thing she knew, her mother was checking on her. "It's nearly lunch time, Ellen. Are you feeling any better after last night?"

She took a moment to stretch and realized she had fallen asleep still wearing her ball gown. The organza was rumpled and crushed, maybe beyond repair-although Leah could work wonders with fabrics. She stretched again and noticed that for once the concern in her mother's eyes appeared genuine, not like she was really asking about the scene everyone witnessed at all.

"I don't feel well," Ellen said, not quite truthfully. She wasn't normally the type to swoon and take to her bed with the "vapors," but she thought today qualified. "I might need to stay abed."

"You poor dear." Then, concern spent, she asked, "Why did you and the Duke row?"

Ah, of course, she would be direct about her question.

"It's nothing, Mother."

"Now, you mustn't hinder your sister's chances with the Duke by arguing with him. Once you are quite rested, please seek him out and apologize."

Arguing with her mother had no point. Ellen knew this, but her temper blazed before she could stop herself. "I will not apologize to that odious, meddlesome, grudge-holding blockhead."

Her mother started to sputter, clasping at her heart. It really was too dramatic, and Ellen had no patience for it today.

"And furthermore, Mother, does it occur to you that perhaps he ought to apologize to me?" Energy, hot and fast, enveloped her. Why did Sophie's desires and future matter more than her own? Why did her mother always assume Ellen was in the wrong? Ellen jumped out of the bed to face her mother straight on, her hands balled into fists.

"My dear! What's gotten into you?" Her mother backed up against the wardrobe, as if afraid of being struck.

And like that, the fight left Ellen. She glanced around the soothing blue of the room, and breathed. She wasn't even aware she had been holding her breath. "Sometimes Mother, I wish you would take my side."

"What...what do you mean? You're my daughter, I'm on your side." Her mother inched toward Ellen, her hand reaching toward one of Ellen's fists, and then holding back, unsure if the gesture would be wanted. But emboldened, she took it anyway. Ellen did not pull away.

"You only seem to care about Sophie's chances for a match. And not if I get hurt in the process." To her disgust, some wetness pooled at the corner of each eye. She would not cry. After all, her mother had always favored Sophie; this was nothing new. But perhaps with the drama of the last few days, it all seemed too much for Ellen to deal with.

The Marchioness tugged on Ellen's hand and brought her close so she could properly embrace her. With only mild resistance, she accepted the hug. This moment would not change her mother's behavior-she knew this-but being held by her was a rare enough occurrence that she leaned into it, and she rested her head on her mother's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," said her mother, her voice soothing and soft.

"It's alright." Maybe it wasn't quite alright, but she appreciated the apology. It was the first one she remembered receiving from her mother in a long time.