Mrs. Foxglove recovered her normally extensive powers of speech and said, “Don't be ridiculous. I happen to know you have no suitors.”

Ellie allowed herself a small smile. “I fear you are incorrect.”

Mr. Lyndon cut in with, “Would you care to tell us the name of this suitor?”

“I'm surprised you didn't notice his carriage when I arrived home this evening. He is the Earl of Billington.”

“Billington?” the reverend repeated in disbelief.

“Billington?” Mrs. Foxglove screeched, clearly unable to decide whether she should be delighted by her imminent connection to the aristocracy, or furious with Ellie for having the audacity to perform such a coup on her own.

“Billington,” Ellie said firmly. “I believe we will suit very nicely. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have to pack.”

She made it halfway to her room before she heard her father call out her name. When she turned around, she saw him brush off Mrs. Foxglove's grasping hand and make his way to her side.

“Eleanor,” he said. His face was pale, and the creases around his eyes were deeper than usual.

“Yes, Papa?”

“I—I know I made a terrible muck of things with your sister. I would—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I would be honored if you would allow me to perform the ceremony on Thursday.”

Ellie found herself blinking back tears. Her father was proud, and such an admission and request could only be wrenched from deep within his heart. “I don't know what the earl has planned, but I would be honored if you would perform the ceremony.” She placed her hand on her father's. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

The reverend nodded, and Ellie noticed that there were tears in his eyes. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a small peck on the cheek. It had been a long time since she had done that. Too long, she realized, and vowed that she would somehow make her marriage work. When she had a family of her own, her children would not be afraid to tell their parents what they felt. She just hoped that Billington thought the same way.

Charles soon realized that he had forgotten to ask Ellie for her address, but it wasn't difficult to find the residence of Bellfield's vicar. He knocked on the door promptly at one o'clock and was surprised when the door was opened not by Ellie, not by her father, but by a plump, dark-haired woman who immediately squealed, “You must be the earrrrrrrrrrrl.”

“I suppose I must.”

“I cannot tell you how honored and delighted we are to have you join our humble little family.”

Charles looked about, wondering if he was at the wrong cottage. This creature couldn't possibly be related to Ellie. The woman reached for his arm, but he was saved by a sound coming from across the room that could only be described as a barely suppressed groan.

Ellie. Thank God.

“Mrs. Foxglove,” she said, her voice laced with irritation. She quickly made her way across the room.