Chapter 9 #2
“I wish someone had done that for you sooner, but I am grateful I had the chance to give you something you value.” He couldn’t decide which to stare at—her face, all pink and glowing from the fire and the wine, or the hand right before him, with the short, blunt nails and the creases in her knuckles dyed from spooning out medicine all day.
Her fingers curled inward, making a loose fist against the brown fabric of her skirt, and he realized she could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke.
He cast his mind wide for something to speak of—anything—before he did something incredibly stupid, like taking her hand in his and kissing every single line of her palm.
“I’ve been wondering something, and that book brought it to mind.”
“Oh?”
Mark hesitated, knowing he was on rocky ground. “Would you tell me why you chose Persephone as her middle name?”
The loose fingers became a tight fist.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to,” he added hastily, leaning away to get a better look at her face.
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “You deserve to know. You’re her parent, too.”
That knot in his stomach, sitting heavy as an anvil, made itself known like every time Constance came up in conversation. Mark didn’t know why. It didn’t feel like he had lost a loved one. He’d never held her. His loss couldn’t even hold a candle to what Ellen had gone through.
“I chose Constance because she will always be on my mind. I shall always love her.” Ellen gave him an awkward half smile. “You only wrote to tell me your wishes if the baby was to be a boy, not a girl.”
Mark nodded, inwardly grimacing. “I wrote twice during the pregnancy.” The first had been a cool, distant letter of congratulations and well wishes for her journey into motherhood.
He had only been away from her for two months when he’d received her announcement, still run ragged on a training ship and bunking with boys four or five years younger than himself.
He still didn’t know how to handle his grand passion fizzling into disdain, and it clearly showed in how he'd written her. His second letter was in response to her update on the pregnancy, and he cringed to think of how high-handed he’d been, telling her when the baby boy was born, he wanted it named after his father: Anthony George Glenfall.
It was the first grandchild for his family.
“Obviously, she wasn’t a boy, so I was free to choose whatever name I desired.” She spoke simply, but Mark detected an undercurrent of tension.
“It fits her perfectly,” he assured. “And I clearly deserved to be left out of the process, if I was such a nincompoop as to not consider the babe could be a girl.”
A faint smile played across Ellen’s lips. “I chose Persephone for the goddess in Greek mythology, of course.”
“I didn’t think you knew of that tale,” Mark blurted before thinking better of himself.
She frowned. “Of course I did. The ancient Greeks were practically all you ever talked about. And when we wed, I read some children’s stories to learn more about it so I could converse with you more easily.”
Mark felt like an arse. He’d tried to talk to her about his translation efforts, his grand hopes of becoming a renowned gentleman scholar, but had thought it’d all flown far above her head. “Did you choose Persephone for me?”
“No.” She looked amused. “I chose it for her. And me. I felt like Demeter, weeping as my beloved daughter descended into the underworld. Perhaps a bit dramatic, but the story meant a lot to me during those days afterward. My parents weren’t pleased by the paganism, though.
They wanted a solid, English name like Mary or Judith. ”
“I’m glad you chose what you felt was right for her.” Mark swallowed the sour taste in his mouth, washing it away with more warm wine.
“And, I’ll admit, I probably wouldn’t have known the myth if it wasn’t for you, so it did feel fitting. Perhaps you were a part of it after all.”
The tightness in his chest loosened. He reached up and covered her hand in his. Her warm skin slid under his, making his chest hurt with the exquisiteness of the feeling. Ellen allowed him to part her fingers with his, entwining them. It felt right.
Ellen moved in the seat, setting her empty mug on the desk on the other side of the chair.
She looked down at him, eyes wide, and absently licked her lips.
She meant nothing by it. But the barest sight of her hot, flexible tongue made him swell to attention.
Blood pounded through him, and he cursed his body. Now is not the time.
Ellen leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs, so her face was much, much closer to Mark than before. “Why did you leave?”
Mark swallowed twice before finding words. “I was young and unmoored. I thought the Navy would be a good way to find myself.”
She shook her head. A curl escaped her bun, and it fell over her shoulder and almost brushed his forehead as he leaned close to her again. “You said that the day you left. I know it’s not true. We may not know each other, but even then I could tell when you were lying.”
Mark gripped her hand tighter in his. “I was foolish and impulsive. I was unhappy with my life and thought I needed to escape.”
She scrutinized him, searching his soul through his eyes. “Why did you tell me the day you left? Why did I, your wife, get three hours’ warning?”
“It was a mistake.” Mark squeezed her hand, but she pulled free.
“Clearly,” she said, her voice hardening, “you fell out of love with me. Or did you ever love me at all? I know we were young, but I could’ve sworn you were just as mad for me as I was for you.”
Mark knew he had to tell the truth, though it would hurt her. And he knew now how wrong his reasoning had been. He dared reach up to caress her face. Despite the wind, her cheek was silky smooth under his touch. “I fell in love with you the moment I met you.”
Her lips twisted, and she gently took his wrist and pulled his hand away from her face. “Obviously it wasn’t enough.”
Mark sighed, rubbing his face. “We were too young to get married and we didn’t know our minds. My father should’ve horsewhipped me when I told him I wanted to marry you.”
“I see.” Her voice was steady. “Yes, as we outgrew our youthful infatuation so quickly, it would’ve been better never to have married.”
Mark had many complicated feelings about their relationship, but for the past two months he’d been certain only that he was grateful to have been linked to this woman.
He was half tempted to make a declaration of love right then, but that would be worse than being brutally honest about their past. He didn’t want to scare her away.
“What I felt for you was true.” He met her eye. “I married you because whenever I was near you my heart beat wildly and I couldn’t sleep anymore. And when you let me kiss you it felt like I’d touched heaven.”
Ellen’s eyes went shiny, and she blinked rapidly. “But?”
“Those are the true reasons I married you.” He paused. “You were also rich and young, and I married you for those reasons, too.”
Ellen leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and staring at him.
“Did you never wonder why I was so eager to find a bride when I was nineteen? And wed at twenty? Most sons of lords wait until nearer to thirty.”
“I was a girl in love. I didn’t question my luck.” Mark didn’t know how Ellen’s voice could remain so calm and steady in the middle of this.