Ellie's eyes turned to slits. "No, but my husband is about to if he utters one more derogatory word about me."
"Ellie," Charles said in a placating voice. "I don't think you did this on purpose. It's just—"
"Aaaaargh!" she yelled, throwing up her arms. "If I hear that sentence one more time I shall scream."
"You are screaming," Claire pointed out.
Ellie wanted to strangle that child.
"Some people simply aren't very good at gardening," Claire continued. "There is nothing wrong with that. I myself am terrible with plants. I wouldn't dream of interfering with anything here. That is why we employ gardeners."
Ellie looked from Charles to Helen to Claire and back. Their expressions were faintly pitying, as if they had stumbled across a creature who, however likable, was completely inept.
"Ellie," Charles said, "perhaps we should discuss this."
After two days of silent treatment, his sudden willingness to discuss her apparent failure in the orangery simply threw her over the edge. "I have nothing to discuss with you," she ground out. "Any of you!" Then she stomped from the room.
* * *
Charles let Ellie stew in her room until evening, then decided that he had better go and talk to her. He had never seen her as upset as she'd been that morning in the orangery. Of course, he'd only known her slightly more than a week, but he certainly had never imagined the spirited and brave woman he'd married getting that upset over anything.
He'd had a few days to cool his temper over their last argument. She'd been testing him, he now realized. She wasn't used to the ways of the ton and she was lashing out. She would settle down once she grew more accustomed to marriage.
He knocked softly on the connecting door, then a bit louder when he heard no answer. Finally he heard something that might have been, "Come in," and he stuck his head inside.
Ellie was sitting on her bed, bundled up in a spare quilt she must have brought with her from home. It was a simple piece— white with blue stitching—certainly nothing that would have fit the overblown tastes of his ancestors.
"Was there something you wanted?" Ellie asked, her voice quite flat.
Charles looked at her closely. Her eyes were red, and she looked very small and young in the voluminous quilt. She was clutching something in her left hand.
"What is that?" he asked.
Ellie looked down at her hand as if she'd forgotten she was holding anything. "Oh, this. It's the miniature of my mother."
"It's very special to you, isn't it?"
There was a long pause, as if Ellie were deciding whether or not she wanted to share her family memories. Finally she said, "She had two made when she realized she was dying. One for me and one for Victoria. It was always the plan that we would take them with us when we married."
"So you would never forget her?"
Ellie turned her face to his quite suddenly, her blue eyes surprised. "That is exactly what she said. Exactly." She sniffled and wiped her nose inelegantly with her hand. "As if I would ever forget her."
She looked up at the walls of her bedroom. She hadn't gotten around to taking down the dreadful portraits, and the countesses looked even more imposing than usual when compared to her mother's gentle expression.
"I'm sorry about what happened today in the orangery," Charles said softly.
"I'm sorry, too," Ellie said in a bitter voice.
Charles tried to ignore her harsh tone as he sat beside her on the bed. "I know that you truly loved those plants."
"So did everyone else."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that someone doesn't want to see me happy. Someone is purposefully ruining my efforts to make Wycombe Abbey my home."
"Ellie, you are the Countess of Billington. That very fact means that Wycombe Abbey is your home."
"Not yet. I need to put my mark on it. I need to do something to make at least a piece of it mine. I tried to be helpful by fixing the oven."
Charles sighed. "Perhaps we shouldn't mention the oven."
"I did not set the rack incorrectly," she said, her eyes flashing fire. "Someone tampered with my efforts."
He let out a long breath and placed his hand on hers. "Ellie, no one thinks badly of you. It is not your fault that you're a bit inept when it comes to—"
"Inept! Inept?" Her voice rose halfway to a shriek. "I am not—" She got into a bit of trouble here, for in her haste to jump off the bed and plant her hands on her hips in offended fury, she forgot that Charles was sitting on a corner of her blanket, and she tumbled onto the floor, landing rather clumsily on her bottom. She staggered to her feet, tripping twice—once on her skirt and once on the blanket—and finally ground out, "I am not inept."
Charles, for all of his efforts to remain sensitive to her distress, could not keep his mouth from quivering into a smile. "Ellie, I didn't mean—"
"I'll have you know I have never been anything but ept."
"Ept?"
"I have always been supremely organized, brilliantly capable—"
"Ept?"
"I don't procrastinate and I don't shirk my duties. I get things done."
"Is that a word?"
"Is what a word?" she burst out, looking very annoyed with him.
"Ept."
"Of course not."
"You just said it," Charles said.
"I did no such thing."
"Ellie, I'm afraid that you—"
"If I did," she said, flushing slightly, "then that ought to prove how upset I have become. Using nonsense words. Hmmmph. It is very unlike me."