A Duke for Lady Ellen

Chapter 17

After the evening of the ballet, the Duke and Ellen were rarely parted. At soirees, balls, charity events, and dinner parties, the two of them met frequently, sneaking off once in a while when they could cuddle for a few amorous moments. Never once did he touch her in any way that could be deemed indecent, however. Ellen discovered she was rather disappointed at his reserve, particularly when they slipped off less and less for romantic interludes as the weeks drew on. Still, they traded barbs and jibes and laughed at each other's jokes, and in the opinion of the ton, it appeared that a match was in the offing. In fact, they had shown up in the Society pages again, as speculations mounted as to when the banns would finally be read.

But sometimes, especially lately, Ellen thought the Duke was merely going through the motions-not that he was insincere about his warmth for her, for he clearly liked her a lot, but she didn't feel that Matthew had exhibited real passion for her in quite a while. Sometimes, he felt more like a brother to her than a would-be paramour. She wanted to ask him about it, especially when she saw how Sophie and Fredrick behaved towards each other when Fredrick visited their house-rather treacly sweet, their passion barely appropriate sometimes (to the Marchioness' horror)-but the Duke never let their exchanges get too serious. In fact, every time that she tried to corner him into an honest conversation about where they were headed as a couple, the Duke would joke and tease her or deliberately distract her down another avenue of discourse.

Of course, she had not shared this curious aspect of their friendship with anyone-only wrote about it in her unsent letters to the Earl or in her diary. Ellen wanted to feel for the Duke the way she had felt for Ethan that one magical night, but no matter how hard she tried, it seemed as if she could not quite fall in love with him. More than that, it seemed he would not let her, as if something blocked whatever that thing was that sparked love in people. But aside from that, he was a delightful companion, and spending time with him during the Season made it endurable.

Her mother, however, was growing impatient, as the Season had come to a close in midsummer, and no proposal had been made. "Will he come up to scratch or not?" she demanded one day at the dinner table.

"Sometimes these things don't happen on your timeline, my dear," said the Marquess, sparing Ellen from answering. "If they happen at all."

"Well, the Duke's court-paying made it appear that Ellen was off the market, and yet still nothing." The Marchioness was wringing her hands together in a perfect picture of despair.

"Don't worry about the Duke," Ellen said, cutting into the mutton on her dinner plate. "You have Sophie's wedding to plan, remember?"

And like magic, her mother's attention swiveled to Sophie and her upcoming dress fittings, invitations to be mailed out, preparations for the special breakfast, any one of a hundred various wedding-related activities, and Ellen was given some respite. How could she tell her mother that she did not think the Duke ever planned to offer for her? That they were merely good friends rather than anything else? (And more, that Ellen might prefer it that way?) Her mother had pinned her dreams on a Duke becoming part of their family; Ellen was loath to disappoint her. But what could she do?

After dinner, Ellen settled a wrap around her shoulders and wandered out of doors to the garden, to enjoy the evening for a little while before she went to bed. The stars were just emerging in the sky and crickets chirped, and she walked back and forth between the roses admiring and smelling them. Ten minutes passed before Sophie joined her, sitting on the large swing, and patting the seat next to her. "Come, let's have a good chinwag," she invited. Ellen walked over and sat down, and the sisters pushed the swing idly with their feet.