Brighter Than The Sun (10 page)

The crowd thinned out at the entrance to the kitchen, and Ellie wormed her way forward. She had to get a look at the oven and see if she could somehow determine what had caused the blaze. She knew that everyone would believe that the fire was her fault— she only hoped that they would think she had done a shotidy job fixing the oven and not that she had purposefully set the fire. Better to be thought foolish than evil.

When she entered the kitchen, Charles was in the far corner, conferring with a footman. His back, thank goodness, was to her, and she darted over to the oven, which was still letting off a bit of smoke, and stuck her head in.

She gasped at what she saw. The rack had been moved to its highest position—even higher than it had been before Ellie had fixed it. Any food placed in the oven would catch fire. It was inevitable.

Ellie stuck her head in a little further, wanting to get a better look, but then she heard a sharp curse behind her. Before she had time to react, she felt herself being yanked backward, and she had no doubt as to who the yanker was.

She turned around warily. Charles was standing over her, and his eyes were blazing with fury.

"I have to tell you something," she whispered urgently. "The oven. It's—"

"Not one word," he bit out. His voice was hoarse from the smoke, but that did little to diminish his rage. "Not a single, damned word."

"But—"

"That's one too many." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Ellie felt traitorous tears stinging her eyes, and she had no idea whether they were caused by hurt or anger. She hoped it was anger, because she didn't much like this feeling in the pit of her stomach that he had somehow rejected her. She rose to her feet and walked to the kitchen doorway so that she could hear what Charles was saying to the servants in the hall.

"... thank you for endangering your lives to help me save the kitchen and indeed all of Wycombe Abbey. It was a noble and selfless act you performed today." Charles paused and cleared his throat. "I must ask, however, were any of you present when the flames began?"

"I had gone to the garden to collect herbs," replied a kitchen maid. "When I returned, Miss Claire was screaming about the fire."

"Claire?" Charles's eyes narrowed. "What was Claire doing down here?"

Ellie stepped forward. "I believe she came down earlier when ..." She faltered for a moment under the weight of his thunderous glare, but then she reminded herself that she had absolutely nothing of which to be ashamed and continued. "... when we were all gathered in the kitchen."

Every servant's eyes were on her, and Ellie felt their collective condemnation. After all, she had been the one to adjust the rack.

Charles turned away from her without a word. "Get me Claire," he said to a footman. Then he turned to Ellie. "A word with you," he barked, and stalked back toward the kitchen. Before he reached the doorway, however, he turned around and said to the assembled group, "The rest of you may go about your duties. Those of you who are sooty may feel free to avail yourselves of the bathing facilities in the guest wing." When none of the servants immediately moved, he said sharply, "Good day."

They all ran off.

Ellie followed her husband into the kitchen. "That was very kind of you to allow the servants to use your bathing facilities," she said quietly, wanting to get in the first word before he started to rail at her.

"They're
our
bathing facilities."' he snapped, "and don't think you're going to distract me."

"I hadn't meant to. I can't help it if you did a kind deed."

Charles exhaled, trying to give his heart time to resume a normal rhythm. Christ, what a day it had been, and it wasn't even noon yet. He'd woken up, found his wife with her head stuck in an oven, gotten into his first argument with her, kissed her soundly (and ended up wanting much, much more than that) only to be interrupted by a damned fire that
she
appeared to have started.

His throat was raw, his back was killing him, and his head pounded like a gavel. He looked down at his arms, which appeared to be shaking. Marriage, he decided, was not proving to be a healthful endeavor.

He turned his gaze to his wife, who looked as if she didn't know whether to smile or frown. Then he looked back over at the oven, which was still spewing smoke.

He groaned. A year from now he'd be dead. He was sure of it.

"Is something wrong?" Ellie asked quietly.

He turned to her with a disbelieving expression. "Is something
wrong?"
he echoed. "Is something
WRONG?"
This time it was more of a boom.

She frowned. "Well, obviously something, er, some things, are wrong, but I was speaking in a more general sense, you see. I—"

"Eleanor, my bloody kitchen is burned to a crisp!" he fairly yelled. "I fail to see anything general about it."

Her chin jutted out. "It wasn't my fault."

Silence.

She crossed her arms and stood her ground. "The rack had been moved. It wasn't where I left it. That oven didn't stand a chance of
not
catching fire. I don't know who—"

"I don't give a damn about the rack. One, you shouldn't have tampered with the oven in the first place. Two"—now he was ticking off on his fingers— "you shouldn't have run in here while the fire was raging. Three, you damn well shouldn't have stuck your head back in the bloody oven while it was still hot. Four—"

"That is quite enough," Ellie bit out.

"I'll tell you when it's enough! You—" Charles stopped himself from continuing, but only because he realized he was shaking with rage. And, perhaps, with a little latent fear.

"You're making a list about me," she accused. "You're making a list of all of my shortcomings. And," she added, wagging her finger at him, "you cursed twice in one sentence."

"God help me," he moaned. "God help me."

"Hmmmph," she said, somehow managing to incorporate a world of scathing reprovement in that one semi-syllable. "He certainly won't if you continue cursing like that."

"I believe you once told me you weren't overly fussy about such things," he ground out.

She crossed her arms. "That was before I was a wife. Now I am expected to be fussy about such things."

"God save me from wives," he groaned.

"Then you shouldn't have married one," she snapped.

"Ellie, if you don't shut your mouth now, God help me, I'm going to wring your neck."

Ellie rather thought that she'd made her opinions clear on the possibility that God was going to help him, so she contented herself with muttering, "One curse is understandable, but two ... Well, two is really too much."

She wasn't certain, but she thought she saw Charles roll his eyes to the ceiling and mutter, "Take me now."

That did it. "Oh for the love of God," Ellie snapped, uncharacteristically taking the Lord's name in vain. After all, she had been raised by a reverend. "I'm not so bad that death is preferable to marriage with me."

He leveled a look in her direction that told her he wasn't so sure.

"This marriage doesn't have to be permanent," she burst out, humiliated fury making her words shrill. "I could march out that door right this second and obtain an annulment."

"What door?" he drawled. "All I see is a charred piece of wood."

"Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired."

"My sense of humor— Where the hell are you going?"

Ellie didn't reply, just continued on her way past the charred piece of wood she preferred to think of as a door.

"Get back here!"

She kept going. Well, she would have kept going if his hand hadn't found the sash of her dress and yanked her back against him. Ellie heard a ripping sound, and for the second time that day, she found herself pressed up against the hard length of her husband's body. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him intimately against her back, and she could smell him—she would swear she could smell him, even through the lingering smoke.

"You will not get an annulment," he ordered, his lips practically touching her ear.

"I'm surprised you care," she retorted, trying to ignore the way her skin was tingling where his breath warmed her.

"Oh, I care," he growled.

"You care about your blasted money!"

"As you care about yours, so we had better make the best of this."

Ellie was saved from having to admit that he was right by a loud "ahem" from the direction of the doorway. She looked up to see Claire, who was standing with her arms crossed. A huge, irritated frown covered the girl's face.

"Oh, good day, Claire," Ellie said with a tight smile, trying for all the world to appear as if she were quite pleased to be standing in this extremely awkward position in the middle of a burned-out kitchen.

"My lady," Claire replied flatly.

"Claire!" Charles said with a fair amount of feeling, releasing Ellie so quickly that she bumped into the wall. He walked toward his cousin, who beamed at him.

Ellie merely rubbed her elbow where she'd hit the wall and muttered all sorts of unflattering things about her husband.

"Claire," Charles said again, "I understand that you were the one who first discovered the fire."

"Indeed. It began not ten minutes after you and your new wife exited the kitchen."

Ellie narrowed her eyes. Was that a slight note of derision she'd heard in Claire's voice as she said the word "wife"? She
knew
that girl didn't like her!

"Do you have any idea what caused it?" Charles asked.

Claire looked surprised that he'd even asked. "Why, I... well..." She looked meaningfully over at Ellie.

"Just say it, Claire," Ellie ground out. "You think I set the fire."

"I do not think you did it on purpose," Claire replied, placing her hand over her heart.

"We know that Ellie would never do such a thing," Charles said.

"Accidents happen to everyone," Claire murmured, casting a pitying look toward Ellie.

Ellie wanted to strangle her. She didn't particularly like being condescended to by a chit of fourteen years.

"I am certain you
thought
you knew what you were doing," Claire continued.

At that point Ellie realized she had a choice to make. She could leave the room and take a bath, or stay and kill Claire. With great reluctance, she decided to bathe. She turned to Charles, affected her best shrinking violet posture, and said, "If you'll excuse me, I believe I will retire to my chamber. I'm feeling terribly faint."

Charles eyed her suspiciously and said under his breath, "You've never fainted a day in your life."

"How would you know?" Ellie returned in an equally low voice. "You didn't even know I existed until last week."

"It
feels
like forever."

Ellie stuck her nose in the air and whispered sharply, "I concur." Then she straightened her spine and swept from the room, hoping that her grand exit wasn't too terribly marred by the fact that she was covered with soot, limping slightly, and wearing a dress that was now torn in three places.

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. You 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.