The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,55
her painting without thinking about where it came from or what monsters waited beneath it, then shut it off when she was done making art. But shutting it off wasn’t the same as healing it.
The only way to heal a wound was to examine it, clean it, and keep treating it until no hint of infection remained. But Ellie, who was so good at examining others, couldn’t do the same to herself.
She hated herself for her cowardice. But there weren’t enough opiates or stimulants or lovers or parties in the world to make bearable the pain of really, truly looking at her feelings for Nick.
So she wouldn’t look. The infection would kill her someday. But if she looked, and found that she really still loved him, and he wouldn’t forgive her…
Ellie crumpled the paper and returned it to Lucia, who understood the dismissal implicit in the gesture. Her maid left as quietly as she’d entered. But Madeleine still stood next to her, and she wouldn’t be put off so easily. “Is anything amiss?” she asked.
Ellie turned resolutely toward the archers. Percy Pickett was up next. “Merely some estate business. You should watch Sir Percival shoot. You wouldn’t believe it from his attempts at poetry, but he’s quite the archer.”
Madeleine paused while Percy shot, but she used the stunned, raucous applause of the audience to cover her next words. “I hope you know that you’re welcome to stay at Rothwell House as long as you like. I don’t know what will happen between you and Lord Folkestone, but you will always have a home with us.”
If Ellie moved to Rothwell House, Madeleine would be so sisterly, so smothering in her generosity. Ferguson would try to protect her, even from herself.
Ellie wouldn’t last a fortnight without wanting to stab them both.
“Thank you, but there’s no need for that,” Ellie said. “I can manage quite well on my own.”
Madeleine paused. There was a strange quality to her silence, as though she was taking aim with just as much solemn consideration as Percy did for his second shot. When he let his arrow fly, she spoke. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You don’t have to manage this alone, you know.”
Ellie applauded Percy’s shot, not looking at her sister-in-law. “Don’t worry about me. I vow I’m not in trouble.”
Why didn’t Madeleine heed the warning in Ellie’s voice? Why, when she heard Madeleine draw a breath, did Ellie feel some swift, ugly kick of rage — the rage of a caged, brutalized animal, ready to bite the first hand that might offer it rescue?
But Madeleine had never seen the beast lurking in Ellie’s heart. “Ferguson and I saw you last night, quite late. I know it’s indelicate to mention, but you seemed upset.”
Upset was such a small word for what she’d felt. She hadn’t gone directly to her room from her studio. She had wandered instead, through the disused rooms and darkened halls that she’d never wanted and yet now would miss tremendously. Only something like anger, or grief, or self-loathing, could have kept her from noticing her brother and his wife in whatever alcove they’d secreted themselves in.
Her lips curled over her teeth. “I thought I was clear that this isn’t a bacchanal, Duchess. You should have been abed.”
Madeleine’s shrug would have been at home at Versailles. “If the marquess evicts you and you can never host us here again, we’re keen to explore all its dark corners while we still have the chance. Was it Folkestone who made you so upset? Say the word and Ferguson will take care of it.”
“Will he?” Ellie asked. Her voice dropped and her eyes narrowed as she turned on Madeleine. “The way he took care of himself by abandoning me years ago? Or the way Father took care of Nick? Ferguson will turn into our father, I’m sure — he may as well start by threatening anyone who comes near me. Or will he take care of it by compromising Nick as he compromised you? That would be deucedly awkward, not to mention illegal.”
Through the dark, red-flecked tunnel that had become her vision, she saw Madeleine’s face turn from confused to hurt to furious. Sweet, perfect Madeleine and her sweet, perfect vision of love. Ellie wanted to keep going, keep slicing, until Madeleine left her alone. And then she would burn the house, flee for the Continent, and seek oblivion among people who didn’t know her and wouldn’t pity her.
But it wasn’t Madeleine’s fault that she was happy