Charles looked at Ellie. She looked ready to spit.
"My curricle is waiting just outside," he said softly. "I thought we might make a picnic in the meadow. Perhaps we should—"
"I have a miniature of my mother," Ellie said, looking at Mrs. Foxglove even though her words were ostensibly directed at Charles. "In case you'd like to see what she looked like."
"That would be lovely," he replied. "And then perhaps we should be on our way."
"You must wait for the reverend," Mrs. Foxglove said as Ellie crossed the room and took a small painting off of a shelf. "He will be most sore if he misses you."
Charles was actually rather surprised that Mr. Lyndon had not been present. Lord knew if he had a daughter planning to marry at the drop of a hat, he'd want to have a look at the potential groom.
Charles allowed himself a small, private smile at the thought of having a daughter. Parenthood seemed such a foreign thing.
"My father will be here when we return," Ellie said. She turned to Charles and added, "He is out visiting parishioners. He is often detained."
Mrs. Foxglove looked as if she wanted to say something, but she was stopped by Ellie, who brushed rudely by her, holding out a miniature painting. "This is my mother," she told Charles.
He took the small piece from her hands and regarded the raven-haired woman in the portrait. "She was beautiful," he said, his voice quiet.
"Yes, she was."
"She was quite dark."
"Yes, my sister Victoria resembles her. This"—Ellie touched a piece of red-gold hair that had escaped her neat chignon—"was quite a surprise, I'm sure."
Charles leaned down to kiss her hand. "A most delightful surprise."
"Yes," Mrs. Foxglove said loudly, clearly not enjoying being ignored, "we have never known what to do with Eleanor's hair."
"I know exactly what to do with it," Charles murmured, so softly that only Ellie could hear him. She immediately colored beet red.
Charles grinned and said, "We'd best be off. Mrs. Foxglove, it was a pleasure."
"But you only just—"
"Eleanor, shall we?" He grasped her hand and pulled her through the doorway. As soon as they were out of Mrs. Foxglove's earshot he let out a light laugh and said, "The closest of escapes. 1 thought she would never let us go."
Ellie turned to him, hands fiercely on her hips. "Why did you say that?"
"What, that comment about your hair? I do so love to tease you. Were you embarrassed?"
"Of course not. I've grown surprisedly used to your rakish statements in the three days I've known you."
"Then what is the problem?"
"You made me blush," she ground out.
"I thought you were used to my rakish statements, as you so delicately put it."
"I am. But that doesn't mean I won't blush."
Charles blinked and looked to her left, as if he were speaking to an imaginary companion. "I say, is she speaking English? I vow I have completely lost hold of this conversation."
"Did you hear what she said about my hair?" Ellie demanded. " 'We have never known what to do,' she said. As if she has had a place in my life for years. As if I would let her have a place."
"Yes ... ?" Charles prompted.
"I wanted to skewer her with a stare, flay her with a frown, impale her with a—I say, what are you doing?"
Charles would have answered her, but he was laughing so hard he was doubled over.
"The blush quite ruined the effect," she muttered. "How was I to give her the cut direct when my cheeks were the color of poppies? Now she'll never know how furious I am with her."
"Oh, I'd say she knows," Charles gasped, still laughing at Ellie's attempt at righteous indignation.
"I'm not certain I approve of your making light of my deplorable situation."
"You're not certain? It seems rather clear to me." He reached out and playfully brushed his index finger against the corner of her mouth. "That's a rather telling frown."
Ellie didn't know what to say, and she hated not knowing what to say, so she just crossed her arms and made a sound like, "Hmmmph."
He let out a dramatic sigh. "Are you going to be in a disagreeable mood all afternoon? Because if you are, I happen to have brought along the Times for our picnic, and I can certainly read it while you stare at the countryside and meditate upon the fifty different ways you'd like to do your future stepmother in."
Ellie's jaw dropped, but she snapped it back into place in time to retort, "I've at least eighty methods in mind, thank you very much, and I shouldn't mind if you read at all, as long as I get the financial pages." She allowed herself a small smile.
Charles chuckled as he offered her his arm. "Actually, I was planning to check some of my investments, but I wouldn't be averse to sharing with you."
Ellie thought about how close they would have to sit in order to read the paper together on the picnic blanket. "I bet you wouldn't," she muttered. Then she felt rather stupid, because such a comment implied that he wanted to seduce her, and she was fairly certain that women were more or less interchangeable in Charles's mind. Oh, he was going to marry her, that was true, but Ellie had a sinking suspicion that she had been chosen because she was convenient. After all, he himself had told her that he had barely a fortnight to find a bride.
He seemed to enjoy kissing her, but he'd probably enjoy kissing any woman, save for Mrs. Foxglove. And he had clearly spelled out to her the main reason why he wanted to consummate the marriage. What was that he'd said? A man in his position must beget an heir.