Brighter Than the Sun Read online

  Chapter 9

  Ellie nursed her wounds for the rest of the day, pleading fatigue when a maid came to her room to fetch her for the evening meal. She knew she'd appear the worst sort of coward, but the truth was that she was so blasted angry with Charles and his entire family that she didn't trust herself to sit with them for an entire meal.

  Sulking in one's room was rather boring, however, so she sneaked downstairs and grabbed the latest copy of the newspaper to go over the financial pages. She checked her investments, as was her habit, but then she realized that she no longer knew the status of her savings. Had Charles transferred her accounts yet, as he had promised? Probably not, Ellie thought, trying to be patient. They had only been married for one day. She'd have to remind him, though. She'd read a favorable report on a new cotton mill in Derbyshire, and she was eager to invest a portion of her funds.

  She read the newspaper three times, rearranged the knickknacks on her vanity table twice, and stared out the window for an hour before she finally flopped onto her bed with a loud groan. She was bored, hungry, and alone, and it was all the fault of her husband and his blasted family. She could happily strangle the lot of them.

  Then Judith knocked on her door.

  Ellie smiled reluctantly. She supposed she wasn't furious with her husband's entire family. After all, it was rather difficult to be angry with a six-year-old.

  “Are you sick?” Judith asked, climbing up on Ellie's bed.

  “Not really. Just tired.”

  Judith frowned. “When I am tired, Miss Dobbin makes me get out of bed, anyway. Sometimes she puts a cold, wet cloth on my neck.”

  “I bet that works.”

  The little girl nodded solemnly. “It is difficult to sleep with a wet neck.”

  “I'm sure it is.”

  “Mama said she would send a tray up to your room.”

  “That is very nice of her.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Before Ellie could respond, her stomach growled.

  Judith squealed with laughter. “You are hungry!”

  “I guess I must be.”

  “I think I like you.”

  Ellie smiled, feeling better than she had all day. “Good. I like you, too.”

  “Claire said you made a fire today.”

  Ellie counted to three before she said, “There was a fire, but it was an accident. I didn't cause it.”

  Judith cocked her head to the side as she considered Ellie's words. “I think I'll believe you. Claire is frequently wrong, although she doesn't like to admit it.”

  “Most people don't.”

  “I am rarely wrong about anything.”

  Ellie smiled and tousled her hair. A maid appeared in the doorway with a supper tray. Judith jumped down off the bed, saying, “I had best get back to my room. Miss Dobbin will likely hide my pudding if I am late.”

  “Goodness, that would be dreadful!”

  Judith made a face. “She eats it after I go to bed.”

  Ellie crooked her finger and whispered, “Come back here for a moment.”

  Intrigued, Judith climbed back onto the bed and put her face near Ellie's.

  “Next time Miss Dobbin eats your pudding,” Ellie whispered, “you come to me. We'll sneak down to the kitchens together and find you something even tastier.”

  Judith clapped her hands together, her face a perfect picture of delight. “Oh, my lady, you are going to be the very best of cousins!”

  “As are you,” Ellie replied, feeling tears welling in her eyes. “And you must call me Ellie. After all, we are family now.”

  “Tomorrow I shall show you 'round the house,” the little girl stated. “I know all the secret passageways.”

  “That would be lovely. But you had better run along. We don't want Miss Dobbin to eat your pudding tonight.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know, but the kitchens are in a sorry state this evening. It might prove difficult to find a replacement dessert.”

  “Oh, dear!” Judith exclaimed, paling at the thought. “Bye!”

  Ellie watched her dash from the room, then turned to her tray of food and began to eat.

  Despite her hunger, Ellie found that she only had the appetite to eat about a quarter of her food. Her empty stomach did little to calm her nerves, and she practically jumped clear to the ceiling when, later that night, she heard the outer door to Charles's bedroom open. She heard him rustling around, presumably getting ready to go to sleep, and cursed at herself for holding her breath every time his footsteps brought him near the connecting door.

  This was madness. Utter madness. “You have one day,” she muttered. “One day to feel sorry for yourself and then you must go out and make the best of it. So everyone thinks you set fire to the kitchen. That isn't the worst thing that could happen.”

  Ellie spent the next minute trying to think of something that was worse. It wasn't easy. Finally she waved her hand in the air and said, a touch louder than before, “You could have killed someone. That would have been very bad. Very very bad.”

  She nodded, trying to reassure herself that, in the grand scheme of life, the fire was actually a small incident. “Very bad,” she said again. “Killing someone. Very bad.”

  A knock sounded at the connecting door. Ellie yanked her bedsheets up to her chin, even though she knew that the door was locked. “Yes?” she called out.

  “Were you speaking to me?” Charles asked through the door.

  “No.”

  “Then may I ask to whom you were speaking?”

  Did he think she was carrying on with a footman? “I was talking to myself!” And then she muttered, “Save for Judith, I'm the best company I'm going to find in this mausoleum, anyway.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing!”

  “I couldn't hear you.”

  “You weren't meant to!” she fairly screamed.

  Silence, and then she heard his footsteps carrying him away from the door. She relaxed slightly, snuggling more deeply into her bed. She had just about gotten comfortable when she heard an awful, terrible clicking sound, and she groaned, just knowing what she was going to see when she opened her eyes.

  An open doorway. With Charles standing in it.

  “Did I remember to mention,” he drawled, leaning casually against the doorjamb, “how annoying I find connecting doors?”

  “I can think of at least three replies,” Ellie retorted, “but none of them are particularly ladylike.”

  He waved her barb away. “I assure you, I've long since stopped expecting you to behave in a ladylike manner.”

  Ellie's mouth fell open.

  “You were talking.” He shrugged. “I couldn't hear you.”

  It took a powerful force of will to unclench her teeth, but somehow she managed it. “I believe I said that you weren't meant to.” Then she grinned in what she hoped was a sickly sort of manner. “I'm a bit batty that way.”

  “Funny you should say that, because I could swear you were carrying on in here about killing someone.” Charles took a few steps toward her and crossed his arms. “The question is: just how batty are you?”

  Ellie's eyes flew to his face in horror. He didn't really think she would kill someone, did he? If this wasn't proof that she hadn't known this man well enough to marry him, she didn't know what was. Then she saw telltale crinkles of humor form around his eyes, and she exhaled with relief. “If you must know,” she finally said, “I was trying to console myself over the awful incident this morning—”

  “The fiery incident, you mean?”

  “Yes, that one,” she said, not appreciating his facetious interruption. “As I was saying, I was trying to console myself by thinking of all the things that could have happened that would have been worse.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “And killing someone qualifies as worse?”

  “Well, that depends on whom.”

  Charles let out a bark of laughter. “Ouch, my lady. Y
ou do know how to wound.”

  “Alas, but not lethally,” Ellie replied, unable to suppress a grin. She was having far too much fun sparring with him.

  There was a comfortable moment of silence, and then he said, “I do the same thing.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Try to make a bleak situation seem better by imagining all the scenarios that could be worse.”

  “Do you now?” Ellie felt absurdly pleased that they both dealt with adversity in the same fashion. It made her feel they were better suited, somehow.

  “Mmm, yes. You should have heard what I thought up last month, when I was convinced that my entire fortune was going to go to my odious cousin Phillip.”

  “I thought your odious cousin was named Cecil.”

  “No, Cecil is the toad. Phillip is merely odious.”

  “Did you make a list?”

  “I always make lists,” he said flippantly.

  “No,” she said with a little laugh. “I meant did you make a list of what would be worse than losing your fortune?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” he said with a slow smile. “And, as a matter of fact, I have it in the next room. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Please.”

  Charles disappeared through the connecting doorway for a moment and reemerged carrying a slip of paper. Before Ellie realized what he was about, he hopped up onto the bed and stretched out beside her.

  “Charles!”

  He looked at her sideways and smiled. “I need one of your pillows to prop me up.”

  “Get out of my bed.”

  “I'm not in it, I'm on it.” He yanked one of the pillows out from under her head. “There now, this is better.”

  Ellie, whose head was now perched at a bizarre angle, didn't think it was better in the least and she said so.

  Charles ignored her and said, “Did you want to hear my list, or no?”

  She waved her hand around in assent.

  “Very well.” He held the paper in front of him.”‘Number One’—Oh, by the way, this list is titled, ‘Worse Things that Could Happen to Me.’”

  “I hope I'm not on it,” Ellie muttered.

  “Nonsense. You're quite the best thing that has happened to me in recent memory.”

  She turned rather pink and was annoyed with herself for being so pleased at his statement.

  “If it weren't for a few appallingly bad habits, you'd be perfect.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  He grinned wickedly. “I love when you beg my pardon.”

  “Charles!”

  “Oh, very well, I suppose you did save my fortune, so I'm inclined to overlook some of the smaller bad habits.”

  “I have no small bad habits!” Ellie retorted.

  “Yes, you're right,” he murmured. “Only big ones.”

  “That is not what I meant and you well know it.”

  He crossed his arms. “Do you want me to read the list?”

  “I'm beginning to think you don't have a list. I've never met anyone who changes the subject as often as you do.”

  “And I have never met anyone who talks as much as you do.”

  Ellie smirked. “I suppose you'll just have to accustom yourself to my mouthy ways, then, seeing as how you married me.”

  Charles turned his head sideways and looked at her assessingly. “Mouthy ways, eh? What sort of mouthy ways do you mean?”

  She scooted away from him until she was almost falling off the bed. “Don't even think of kissing me, Billington.”

  “My name is Charles, and I wasn't thinking of kissing you. Although now that you mention it, it's not such a dreadful idea.”

  “Just…Read…The…List.”

  He shrugged. “If you insist.”

  Ellie thought she might scream.

  “Now then.” He held the list in front of his face and snapped the paper to attention. “‘Number One: Cecil could inherit the fortune.’”

  “I thought Cecil would inherit.”

  “No, that's Phillip. Cecil would have to murder us both to inherit. If I hadn't married, he would only have had to kill Phillip.”

  Ellie gaped at him. “You sound as if you think he has considered it.”

  “I wouldn't put it past him,” Charles said with a shrug. “Now then, ‘Number Two: England could be annexed by France.’”

  “Were you drunk when you made this list?”

  “You must admit it would be a very bad thing. Worse than losing my fortune.”

  “How kind of you to put the welfare of Britain before your own,” Ellie said acerbically.

  He sighed and said, “I'm just that kind of man, I suppose. Noble and patriotic to a fault. ‘Number Three—’”

  “May I interject?”

  He looked over at her with a beleaguered expression that clearly said, “You already have.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes. “I was merely wondering if these items are ranked.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “If they are ranked, that means you think it would be worse for Cecil to inherit your fortune than it would be for France to conquer England.”

  Charles let out a whoosh of air. “It's a close call. I'm not sure.”

  “Are you always this flippant?”

  “Only about the important things. ‘Number Three: the sky could fall to the earth.’”

  “Surely that is worse than Cecil inheriting your fortune!” Ellie exclaimed.

  “Not really. If the sky were to fall to the earth, Cecil would be a bit too dead to enjoy my fortune.”

  “So would you,” Ellie retorted.

  “Hmmm. You're right. I might have to revise.” He smiled at her again, and his eyes grew warm, although not, Ellie thought, with passion. His gaze seemed to hold something that was more akin to friendship—or at least that was what she hoped. Taking a deep breath, she decided to take advantage of the lovely moment and said, “I didn't set that fire, you know. It wasn't me.”

  He sighed. “Ellie, I know you would never do something like that purposefully.”

  “I didn't do it at all,” she said sharply. “Someone tampered with the oven after I fixed it.”

  Charles let out another long breath. He wished he could believe her, but why would anyone tamper with the oven? The only people who knew how to work it were the servants, and they certainly had no reason to try to make Ellie look bad. “Ellie,” he said placatingly, “perhaps you don't know quite as much about ovens as you think you do.”

  Her posture grew suddenly very tense.

  “Or perhaps our oven is fashioned differently than yours.”

  Her jaw unclenched slightly, but she still looked extremely upset with him.

  “Or perhaps,” he said softly, reaching out and taking her hand in his, “perhaps you do know every bit as much about ovens as you say you do, but you made a small mistake. A new marriage can be very distracting.”

  She appeared to soften at that statement, and Charles added, “Lord knows I'm distracted.”

  To change the subject, Ellie pointed to a bit of writing at the bottom of the sheet of paper in his hand. “What is that? Is it another list?”

  Charles looked down, quickly folded the paper, and said, “Oh, that is nothing.”

  “Now I must read it.” She snatched the paper away from him, and when he lunged after it, she hopped off the bed. “‘Five Most Important Qualities in a Wife’?” she read incredulously.

  He shrugged. “It seemed a worthwhile endeavor to decide in advance just what it was I needed.”

  “‘What?’ Now I'm a ‘what?’”

  “Don't be obtuse, Ellie. You're far too bright to carry it off.”

  There was a compliment in there somewhere, but Ellie wasn't about to give him credit for it. With a loud snort, she began to read. “‘Number One: Attractive enough to hold my interest.’That is your most important requirement?”

  Charles had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “If you're half as disgusted with
me as you look, I'm in big trouble,” he muttered.

  “I'll say.” She cleared her throat. “‘Number Two: Intelligence.’” She looked back up at him with a dubious eye. “You have redeemed yourself slightly. But only slightly.”

  He chuckled and leaned back, letting his head rest against his interlocked hands. “What if I told you this list wasn't ranked?”

  “I wouldn't believe you for a second.”

  “I thought not.”

  “‘Number Three: Doesn't nag.’ I don't nag.”

  He didn't say anything.

  “I don't nag.”

  “You're nagging right now.”

  Ellie's eyes shot daggers in his direction, and she continued on with the list. “‘Number Four: Ability to move within my social circle with ease.’” She coughed with disbelief as she read this. “Surely you realize that I have no experience with the aristocracy.”

  “Your brother-in-law is Earl of Macclesfield,” Charles pointed out.

  “Yes, but he is family. I needn't put on airs with him. I have never been to a London ball or a literary salon, or whatever it is you indolent types do all day during the Season.”

  “I shall ignore your misplaced insult,” he said, sounding suddenly every bit as haughty as Ellie had always expected an earl to. “Now then, you are an intelligent woman, correct? I am certain you will learn whatever you need to. Can you dance?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you converse?” He waved his hand. “No, don't answer that. I already know the answer. You converse overwell and overmuch. You shall do just fine in London, Eleanor.”

  “Charles, I am beginning to find you overirritating.”

  Charles merely crossed his arms and waited for her to continue, beginning to find this process extremely tiresome. He'd made out this list well over a month ago, and he'd certainly never intended to go over it with his future wife. Why, he'd even written—

  He suddenly remembered number five. All of the blood in his face abruptly dropped down to his feet. He saw Ellie look down at the list as if at half speed, and heard her say, “‘Number Five.’”

  Charles didn't even have time to think. He vaulted off the bed, a primitive cry escaping his mouth, and pounced on her, knocking her down. “The list!” he croaked. “Give me the list.”