Chapter 25
In the days that followed, Ellie found herself fitting seamlessly into the fabric of the household. Damien was gone much of the time at his club, and she had the leisure to do as she wished. It seemed peculiar at first not to have every moment regimented by the demands of her cousin and grandmother. After all those years of servitude, she felt an almost guilty pleasure to be pursuing her own interests.
A large parcel arrived for her the next afternoon, and to her amazement, it contained art supplies, from paper to pens to watercolors, all of the finest quality. There was a note from Damien saying that Ellie was to order whatever else she deemed necessary and have the bill sent to him. She felt a clutch of her heart. Never in her life had anyone given her a more perfect, thoughtful gift.
Armed with her new equipment, she devoted a great deal of effort to the project of dividing her long fairy tale into a collection of shorter books. It took considerable thought to concoct plot twists and to find ways in which to create plausible endings to each section. For hours, she would sit at the desk in her bedchamber or on the chaise longue by the windows and apply herself to the task of writing and illustrating the revised pages.
As much as Ellie loved her work, however, there were occasions during the course of each day when she needed a break. So she went exploring through every nook and cranny of Damien’s house. She felt rather like an interloper, peeking into rooms and antechambers, going up and down the several staircases, wandering from one floor to the next, and marveling at the tranquil beauty of the décor.
This was her home. And yet it wasn’t. How strange to think that she was the mistress of this fine mansion, albeit temporarily.
One of her favorite places was a large conservatory with a glass roof. Here, the air was moist and tropical with lush vegetation, and there were benches where she sometimes sat with her sketchpad. She also loved the library, a high-ceilinged chamber with groupings of chairs where one might sit in the hushed silence and read or draw. The shelves were half empty, though, and she wondered if Damien meant to fill them slowly over the coming years. How lovely it would be to visit bookstores with him, to make new selections and carry them home to unwrap …
Then Ellie would remember she wouldn’t be here for much longer.
Sometimes she would venture belowstairs. She had discovered that Mrs. MacNab was Damien’s cook. Perhaps it wasn’t quite dignified for her elevated station, but Ellie enjoyed sitting at the long table in the kitchen, chatting with the woman about household gossip or menus. On a number of occasions, she’d had to stop herself from reminiscing about certain incidents at the island castle. There were always other servants nearby, and no one on staff other than Finn and his wife knew that the master had abducted Ellie.
Strange, how she could feel such wistful nostalgia about that interlude at the castle, when the raging winter storm had trapped her in the company of the Demon Prince. She remembered how gruff Damien had been at first, how his manner had gradually thawed, how he had carried her up to her tower bedchamber when she’d sprained her ankle, how he had brandished the fireplace poker as a sword while posing as Prince Ratworth. And she remembered that first wild kiss on the parapet and their magical night together when she had coaxed him into her bed.
Damien needed no coaxing anymore. They slept together every night, although work often required him to stay late at his club. How she relished being awakened with kisses, feeling the warmth of his body beside her in bed. And always there was the intense pleasure of his lovemaking, the intimate touches, the sense of being one with him. When she allowed herself to consider it, Ellie feared a strengthening of the silken bonds that tied them together. But she had resolved to savor each moment of this interlude and not fret about the future.
Each afternoon, her heart leaped when he came into her bedchamber to give her a lingering kiss before they went upstairs to take tea with Lily in the nursery. On Sundays, they would attend church and then take a walk in Hyde Park so that Lily could look for ducklings to feed. While the girl skipped ahead of them on the path, they strolled arm in arm and talked about many topics, from the progress of her book to household matters to Lily’s schooling—but never Ellie’s departure.
Ellie didn’t want to spoil their easy camaraderie by inquiring about the cottage. Damien had said that the task of finding the perfect place might take a while, and surely he would tell her when he had news of a good prospect. In the interim, she let herself drift along in a glow of happiness, never looking further ahead than the next scene in her book.
One day, she had an unexpected caller. Summoned to a sunny yellow sitting room, she found Lady Anne perched nervously on a chair. The earl’s sister-in-law wore a nondescript gray gown that turned her eyes more gray than blue, and a lace spinster’s cap that covered her silvering dark hair. A shy smile lit her delicate features.
Ellie gave her a warm hug. “Does my uncle know you’re here?”
“Heavens, no! He said we are to cut off all ties. But … my dear girl, I could not rest easy without assuring myself of your happiness.”
Ellie was touched to the depths of her heart. Lady Anne had been the only one in the Pennington household who had ever shown her kindness. Not wanting the woman to worry, Ellie portrayed herself as perfectly serene in her marriage, with Lily a lovely stepdaughter and Damien a kind husband.
“Might I … meet him?” Lady Anne asked rather hopefully.
“Oh, my lady, I’m sorry, he’s away at his club. Perhaps…”
Ellie stopped herself before inviting Lady Anne to dinner one evening. How could she make future plans when she didn’t know the timing of her exodus from London? And anyway, it seemed unfair to encourage more family visits when she would be gone soon. As she hugged the woman good-bye, she felt the wrenching pain of knowing they would likely never again meet.
Ellie didn’t know how she would bear saying farewell to Lily and Damien. Perhaps it was best not to let herself even think of it …
The following day brought matters to a head. Ellie awakened with a familiar low ache in her back. And she soon discovered that her monthly courses had commenced.
The realization left her feeling somehow bereft. She’d last had her monthlies onboard the ship after they’d left the island castle to return to London. That meant that four weeks had passed since her arrival here at this house. It seemed impossible that the time had flown by so swiftly.
Glancing out her bedroom window, she saw that the yellow daffodils and red tulips were in full bloom. She had meant to be gone by now. A haze of green covered the trees and the earthen beds between the pathways. Spring had arrived, and the garden was full of new life.
Yet she was not.
Was that the source of her sudden bout of melancholy? Had she secretly yearned to conceive Damien’s child? Common sense told her it was best that she hadn’t. A baby would only bind her to Damien, making their parting all the more difficult. They had not wed with the intention of staying together. And as fulfilling as their time together had been, he had never spoken of love. For a brief idyllic interval, she had let herself forget that they both had been forced by circumstances into a marriage that neither of them had wanted.
All day, Ellie mulled over those troubling thoughts while she tried to concentrate on her sketching. At the edge of her mind lurked an awareness that she had dallied here with him long enough. The honeymoon had to come to an end sometime …
In late afternoon, Damien strolled into her bedchamber to find her sitting on the window seat, gazing outside, the sketchbook lying forgotten in her lap. She turned her face up for his kiss as had become their custom every day. The brush of his lips filled her with bittersweet longing and she arose quickly, giving him a wan smile and avoiding his eyes.
He slipped his arm around her waist, his gaze questioning. “You look pale, Ellie. Is there something amiss?”
“No … yes. I don’t feel well today, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry. Are you ill, then? Perhaps you ought to be in bed.”
Ellie didn’t want to see that look of solicitous concern on his face. Nor did she wish to feel this weak-willed urge to bury her face against the folds of his cravat, to seek comfort in his warm embrace.
“I’m not ill. It’s perfectly natural.” Despite their intimacy, she felt herself blush to explain, “It’s … my monthly time, that’s all.”
His expression cleared. “Ah. Then you must stay here and rest. Lily won’t miss you this once. Well, she will miss you, but I’ll find a way to keep her entertained.” Catching hold of her arm, he walked Ellie toward the bed and drew back the covers. “I’ll have Mrs. Tomkins send up a hot water bottle to help with any pains you might be suffering. In a day or two, you’ll feel much better, I’m sure.”
His masterful management of the situation grated on Ellie. She resented being handled like a business problem at his club. Especially when an unresolved issue weighed heavily on her mind—as it should on his, too.
Stepping away from him, she crossed her arms. The thoughts and emotions churning inside her came out in a rush. “I won’t lie down, I’m not an invalid. And I should like to know the status of my cottage, for it is an excellent time for me to leave here!”
The faint ticking of the mantel clock filled the silence. He gave her that inscrutable stare. “Because you are not with child, you mean.”
“Yes. You must allow, this would be the ideal circumstance for my departure. So what is being done? Have you found any prospects?”
He glanced away for a moment. Then he stepped closer and his green-gray eyes burned into hers. “Ellie,” he said urgently, gripping her hands. “Why move away at all? Stay right here with me—with Lily. She loves you, she regards you as her mother. And you’ve all the supplies you need to illustrate your books, do you not? I’ve ordered the servants to leave you be so that you may work in peace. Surely there is nothing that you could gain from a cottage that you can’t find right here with us.”
His invitation shook her to the core. It was so very tempting to contemplate staying here with him forever. But he had only spoken of Lily’s need for a mother. What of his love? Or was he too much the scoundrel ever to give his heart?
Ellie realized in that moment the truth she had been avoiding. She was madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love with the Demon Prince. Perhaps she had been for a long time, since even before they had left the castle. Yet he was a gambler, a rogue, a flirt. They had married for all the wrong reasons. And if she was merely a convenience to him, as a mother to his daughter and as a readily available lover, then eventually he would tire of Ellie and stray to other women.
He would disillusion her as her father had done.
She withdrew her hands from his. “There is my independence to be gained,” she forced out. “You know that I’ve always desired to live on my own, Damien. We made an agreement in that regard. So where is my cottage?”
Again, he averted his gaze for a moment. “There have been several possibilities that I’ve rejected as inappropriate. It will likely take a few weeks longer.”
A horrified thought struck Ellie. She didn’t want to believe it. “Are you lying to me? Have you even assigned your land agent to the task?”
“Yes. I swear I did. But…”
“But what?”
Damien combed his fingers through his hair, mussing the black strands. His mouth formed a sheepish half-smile. “He’s been working on some other projects for me, and I … told him that your cottage was not a particularly urgent matter. I’m sorry. I can see now that it is, so I’ll meet with him tomorrow. I’ll make it his top priority. You have my word on that.”
Every part of her body felt rigid. She’d been right to fear his betrayal. Already, he had let her down when she’d been counting on him. Tears stung her eyes, and she whirled around to face the windows. “How can I trust your word, Damien? I can’t believe your promises anymore.”
“Ellie…”
Sensing his close presence behind her and fearing that he might touch her, she snapped, “Go! Get out. You’ll be late to tea with Lily.”
She stood there stiffly, hugging her aching middle, until the sound of his footsteps disappeared out the door. Only then did she do what she hadn’t done since the death of her father. She curled up on her bed and wept copiously into her pillow.
* * *
By the next afternoon, Ellie was feeling clearheaded again and, after much thought, had settled upon a plan to force Damien’s hand.
For that purpose, she had ordered the carriage and now she followed a white-wigged footman up the elegant staircase of a town house. To bolster her spirits, she had donned a fine gown of marine-blue silk and a dark gold pelisse. In her hands, she carried a blue velvet bag, which was the superficial excuse for her visit today to Lady Milford.
Although Ellie wasn’t feeling at all cheerful, she was resolved, and besides, there was only so much wallowing in misery that a person could do. She had resigned herself to the cold, hard truth. Damien had come to view their marriage as quite comfortable—presumably on the day when he had witnessed Lily’s instant devotion to her new mama, and then later that evening, when Ellie had invited him into her bed. Why should he be in any rush to secure a cottage for her? From his perspective, he had acquired a mother for his child and a convenient lover as a bonus. So why not simply delay until he had her so charmed by her new life that she forgot all about leaving him?
It was a dishonest, diabolical scheme, and … perhaps if he had done it out of desperate love for her, she might have forgiven him. But he had not. He had merely used her for his own purposes. And now she didn’t dare trust him to honor their agreement. For that reason, Ellie had decided that she needed leverage to push him into acquiring the cottage. That leverage would be information about his mysterious past.
The footman stopped just inside a doorway and announced her.
As he bowed and went out, Ellie entered a sitting room decorated in pleasing shades of pastel yellow and rose. It was the same room where she had come with Beatrice all those weeks ago, on the day that Ellie had first spied Damien bundled in his black coat and hat, watching her cousin from his phaeton outside on the street.
Lady Milford was seated at a dainty desk in the corner of the sitting room, and she put down her quill and rose to her feet. An elegant gown of amethyst silk complemented her fine features and upswept black hair. As she glided forward, there was an ageless quality about her, as well as a lovely feline grace.
Curtsying, Ellie hid a smile. Little did the woman know, she had been the inspiration for the Furry Godmother, a sleek and beautiful cat in Ellie’s storybook. Ellie had been working on an illustration of the character that very morning when the inspiration to come here had struck her. If anyone in society would know the answers to Ellie’s questions, this woman would.
Lady Milford greeted her with a smile. “Ellie, my dear! You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? It does seem that we are old friends now. May I say, I’m so very glad that you’ve come to call. We’ve much catching up to do.”
They sat together on a chaise by the fire, and in response to Lady Milford’s polite queries, Ellie made a dogged effort to avert any suspicion of her difficulties with Damien by dwelling upon the beauty of his house and her happiness at being a mother to his daughter. If Lady Milford gave her a searching stare, at least she was too well bred to ask any probing questions. Instead, she relayed that the nasty gossip about the abduction had been successfully eradicated. With the season now in full swing, everyone accepted that Ellie had eloped with Damien because her uncle had disapproved of the match. The Earl of Pennington had confirmed the story to any naysayers in order to protect his daughter from the taint of scandal. And Lady Beatrice herself had benefited by acquiring a whole string of eligible suitors.
Ellie managed a smile. “I’m pleased to hear that my cousin is so popular with the gentlemen. She must be keeping her new chaperone quite busy at all those balls and parties. Oh, and since I am no longer required to attend her in society, I shan’t be needing these.” She handed over the blue velvet bag containing the garnet dancing slippers. “I do hope you’re not offended to have them returned, but I … I had a notion that you might perhaps wish to give them to someone else.”
It had been the oddest thing, Ellie recalled. When she had gone into her dressing room just before departing, the sparkly garnet shoes had been sitting on top of her clothes press, as if the maid had placed them there and then forgotten to put them away again. And Ellie had felt an inexplicable compulsion to bring them here.
Lady Milford’s lips curved in a mysterious smile. “I’m not offended in the least. Indeed, I shall pass them on to another deserving lady very soon, I’m sure. Now, I sense that there is something else troubling you. Might I ask what it is?”
Ellie realized this was her opening. “Yes, my lady. It has to do with my husband being called the Demon Prince. I’ve learned that he came by the name not so much for being a rogue and a gambler, but because of something peculiar from his childhood.”
She gave a quick summary of what Damien had told her, that he had no knowledge of his parents and had been raised by a gentlewoman named Mrs. Mims, who had spun bedtime stories about him being a prince. When he had been admitted to Eton on scholarship, he had made the mistake of blurting out his royal heritage to Walt, who had promptly dubbed him the Demon Prince.
“Damien no longer credits the story told to him by his guardian,” Ellie said. “He believes Mrs. Mims was only trying to encourage him to behave by giving him an heroic figure to emulate. But I’m not so certain.” She took a breath for courage. “My lady, pray pardon my frankness, but I’ve heard rumors that you were once mistress to one of Mad King George’s sons. You must have been in the inner circles of royalty at one time. Have you ever heard that one of the princes sired a baseborn son and then arranged for the baby to be fostered?”
During Ellie’s speech, Lady Milford’s fine features had taken on a guarded quality. It was evident in the slight thinning of her lips and the hint of a frown in her brow. Those lovely violet eyes regarded Ellie with a trace of hauteur. “If Damien Burke was related to our royal family, I would indeed know. But he is not. I can, without question, assure you of that.”
“But someone must have paid for his schooling at Eton. Being without any family connections to recommend him, how was he even granted admittance to such an exclusive school? My lady, I am convinced that a very influential benefactor pulled strings on his behalf.”
“My dear, I truly wish that I could be of assistance to you in this matter. But there is nothing more to tell. If ever I should hear anything to the contrary, I shall be sure to contact you.”
Lady Milford spoke with such finality that Ellie realized to her disappointment there was no more information to be had here. But the woman knew something. That strong suspicion nagged at Ellie.
As she took her leave and went back downstairs, her mind dwelled on the nebulous theory that had brought her here in the first place. Lady Milford had carried on a love affair with a prince many years ago. Could Damien’s mother possibly be Lady Milford herself?
Wouldn’t that better explain why she had come all the way to Scotland to see about the marriage? It hadn’t been to safeguard Ellie’s reputation, but rather, Damien’s. And he had mentioned that Lady Milford had attempted to interfere in his life another time, when he had been pursuing his first wife …
Ellie needed to prove her hunch. But now the stolen key was the only clue to Damien’s past. And if ever she was to have the necessary leverage to force his hand, she must go straight to Pennington House and search for that key.