Ellie lurched backward at his suggestive remark, promptly lost her balance, and ended up sprawled in the dirt. She bit her lip to keep herself from saying something she might regret. “Why don't we head home now?” she said evenly.

“An excellent idea,” Charles replied, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. She took it and allowed him to help her up, even though she suspected that the effort hurt him. A man had his pride, after all, and Ellie rather suspected that the Wycombes had more than their fair share.

The walk back to the vicar's cottage took about ten minutes. Ellie kept the conversation strictly on neutral topics, such as literature, French cuisine, and—even though she winced at the banality of it when she brought it up—the weather. Charles looked rather amused throughout the conversation, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. Worse, his ironic smile was just a touch benevolent, as if he were somehow permitting her to talk about thunderstorms and the like.

Ellie wasn't much enamored with the smug look on his face, but she had to be impressed that he could maintain the expression while he was limping, rubbing his head, and occasionally clutching his ribs.

When the cottage came into view, Ellie turned to Charles and said, “My father has returned.”

He raised his brows. “How can you tell?”

“He's lit a candle in his office. He will be working on his sermon.”

“Already? Sunday is days away. I remember my vicar frantically scribbling away every Saturday eve. He would frequently come up to Wycombe Abbey for inspiration.”

“Really?” Ellie asked with an amused smile. “He found you that inspiring? I had no idea you were such an angelic child.”

“Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. He liked to study me and then choose which of my sins would serve as his next sermon's theme.”

“Oh, dear,” Ellie replied, smothering a laugh. “How did you bear him?”

“It was worse than you think. He doubled as my Latin tutor and gave me lessons three times per week. He claimed I had been put on this earth to torture him.”

“That seems rather irreverent for a vicar.”

Charles shrugged. “He was also overfond of drink.”

Ellie reached to pull open the front door, but before her hand connected with the knob, Charles laid a restraining hand on her arm. When she looked up at him in question, he said in a quiet voice, “A word with you before I meet your father?”

“Of course,” she replied, moving away from the door.

His mouth was tight when he said, “You are still committed to marrying me the day after tomorrow, are you not?”

Ellie suddenly felt dizzy. Charles, who had been so adamant about holding her to her promise, seemed to be offering her an escape clause. She could cry off, say she had cold feet…

“Eleanor,” he prodded.

She swallowed, thinking of how tedious her life had become. The prospect of marrying a stranger terrified her, but not nearly as much as a lifetime of boredom. No, it would be worse than that. A lifetime of boredom punctuated by bouts with Mrs. Foxglove. Whatever the earl's faults—and Ellie had a feeling they might be many—she knew in her heart that he was not an evil or weak man. Surely she could find happiness with him.