Page 42 of The Virtuoso
“I am and I’m not.”
“Tell me.”
“I am because they are dear people and very gracious to their guests. I gather they’ve been through a lot, and it has made them sensible, easy to be with.”
“But?”
“But they are so happy with each other,” Ellen said softly. “It destroys some of my illusions, and that is hard.”
“Which illusions, love?”
“I have several illusions,” she said, shifting so she more closely straddled his hips. “I tell myself I was happy with Francis, and I was.”
“But Axel and Abby are happier,” Val guessed. “They were each married before, and it makes them appreciate each other.”
“Maybe.” Ellen’s tone was skeptical. “Francis was married before, and he didn’t look at me or touch me or talk about me the way Axel Belmont regards his Abby.”
“So you and Francis were miserable? What a relief to know he wasn’t actually canonized in the pantheon of saintly husbands.”
“We weren’t miserable.” Ellen found his nipple and bit him through the fabric of his shirt. “But we weren’t close, not like the Belmonts are.”
“I think few couples are, but you said they disabused you of several illusions.” Val made no move to dissuade her from her explorations—for that’s what they were. “The first being they reminded you your marriage was not perfect.”
“The second being that I am happy here in my gardens with no social life, no real friends, and only a trip to market or church to mark the passing of my days and weeks and years.”
“You are lonely.”
“Lonely.” Ellen sighed against his throat. “Also just… inconsequential.”
“We’re all inconsequential. The Regent himself can drop over dead, and the world will keep spinning in the very same direction, but I know something of what you mean.”
“You can’t know what I mean,” Ellen muttered, unbuttoning enough of his shirt that she could lay her cheek on his bare chest. “You have employees at your manufactories, you’ve mentioned brothers, Mr. Lindsey is attached to you, and the Belmonts are your friends. You talk about this Nick fellow, and your viscount physician friend and his wife. You have people, Valentine, lots and lots of people.”
“I’m from a very large family. Lots and lots of people feels natural to me.” But as he reflected on her words, Val realized he hadn’t been quite honest. For all he did have a lot of people, he still felt as Ellen did, isolated and marginal. While he pondered that paradox, he felt Ellen’s fingers undoing his shirt further, until her thumb brushed over his nipple and her cheek lay over his heart.
“Ellen FitzEngle Markham, you are too young and too lovely not to have some pleasures in your life. Your entire existence can’t be about flowers and beans and waving off the nasty boys with your broom.”
“And your entire existence can’t be about slates and shells and bills of lading.”
“Which is why”—Val hugged her close—“we will be pleased to accept the Belmont’s hospitality this weekend, right?”
“Right.” Ellen capitulated with only a hint of truculence in her tone. But then she drew back, peering at Val’s features in the moonlight. “How did your visit to Great Weldon go today?”
“Oh, that.” Val closed his eyes. “Cheatham wasn’t in, and I’m not sure what he’d have to tell me of any use, as his loyalties will clearly lie with Freddy and the Roxbury estate.”
Ellen said nothing but subsided into his embrace. Val gradually drifted off to sleep, leaving Ellen to ponder his answer as the crickets chirped and the breeze stirred gently through the trees. She’d dreaded asking the question and feared to hear his answer. Depending on Cheatham’s discretion, she might have been revealed in the very worst possible light.
But her fears had been for naught. Val had learned nothing, and so she had a reprieve. Maybe in the little time fate had given her, she’d somehow find the courage to tell the man the truth, for surely somebody in the shire—the tenants, the local boys, the well-meaning gossips at the Rooster,somebody—would tell him the woman in his arms was a liar, a cheat, and a thief intent on stealing from him until she had no other choice.
Seven
“Where’s your kit?” Axel asked as he and Val repaired to the airy, high-ceilinged guest chamber across the hallway from Ellen’s room.
“Here.” Val tossed a rolled-up shaving kit to Axel as a procession of footmen trooped in carrying the tub, Val’s traveling gear, and steaming buckets of water.
“Shirt off.” Axel stropped a straight razor against a small whetstone. “And sit you here.” He smacked the back of a dressing stool. “I got your note regarding mischief on your roof.”
“I don’t think it was an accident.” Val sat without even trying to put up a fuss about Axel acting as his valet. “Darius has remained behind, essentially to stand guard. And your sons could have been killed.”
