In His Eyes(17)

She grasped the material and lifted it free. Silk the deep red color of wine shimmered in the waning sunlight filtering through the window. It might clash with the color of her hair, but that didn’t matter.

She stripped down to her chemise, pulled a fresh set of stays around her, and then slipped the gown over her head. It fit almost perfectly. The tasseled hem pooled a bit around her feet, but if she managed to find some crinoline or a decent petticoat, then it should just brush the floor. She ran her hand up the smooth material of the bodice and paused.

A mirror. She needed a mirror. Near the window sat a dressing table, and atop it, a silvery looking glass. Ella hurried to it, her skirt making an odd swishing sound.

The reflection that met her eyes caused her cheeks to warm. Well, what did she expect to find in Cynthia’s valise? Ella placed her hand at the base of her throat. An entire hand’s width and still skin to spare before the top of the bodice.

The gown scooped low, so far down that her rounded bits of femininity were poking over the edge. Not to mention the exposure of her shoulders and the top part of her arms. Ella groaned. The rest of the bodice fit fine, though she suspected it had hugged to Cynthia tighter than it did her.

Ella clicked her tongue. Why did Cynthia have this dress with her anyway? Did she suspect to get back into it after having the child? Pushing those thoughts aside, Ella examined the rest of the gown, trying to decide if the trollop’s dress or the scullery maid’s frock would cause her more harm.

Finally, she wrinkled her nose and reached behind her and started fumbling with buttons. As pretty as the silk was, it would not do. Better a maid than a tart. If they hadn’t stopped mid-way up her back, she wouldn’t have been able to get to them. Ella made a face. She must have been too enamored with the fabric to notice that part of the dress was missing.

A knock at the door stilled her trembling fingers.

“You done yet? We is waiting on you.”

How much time had passed? “I…um…well….”

The door swung open, and Sibby’s pointing finger dropped to her side. “Oh!”

The heat climbed from Ella’s exposed throat all the way to her ears. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Sibby narrowed her gaze. “I thought you wasn’t that type.”

Ella looked at the gathered folds of the shimmering skirt. “I’m not. This belonged to Lee’s mother. I didn’t know….”

Sibby sighed loudly enough to pull Ella’s gaze back to her creased face. “Now, look here. I might can get that dress turned into something respectable, but I ain’t got the time now.” She crossed over to the bed and began plucking through Ella’s things with no regard for privacy. “What else you got?”

Tamping down her frustration and embarrassment, Ella joined her and lifted the yellow dress. “Just this and what I came in.”

Sibby wrinkled her nose and dug into the bag, pulling out a deep-blue gown. She’d barely lifted it before dropping it back to the coverlet. “This ’un is worse than what you got on.”

Ella pressed her lips into a line.

Sibby bustled to the wardrobe. “No matter. The missus was bigger than you, but I bet she’s got somethin’….” Her voice trailed off. “Here!”

She pulled out a black paletot and held it up.

“A winter coat? But it’s far too warm.”

Sibby leveled a sour gaze at her. “Then you sweat. If this is gonna work, then you can’t go looking like some wretch…or a trollop.”

Ella accepted the woolen coat that buttoned all the way to her neck. She was covered, but her attire seemed odd, and, therefore, suspicious.

“Now. Let’s get moving.”

She nearly refused, but what was a little embarrassment in order to secure a home for her little Lee? It wasn’t the first time people of any class or color had looked down upon her, and she doubted it would be the last. Let them think what they would. Lee would ever be worth the scorn heaped upon her. Drawing a breath to bolster her confidence, Ella embraced her new life as a deceiver.





Westley ground his teeth against the pain and attempted once again to stand. Mrs. Preston clicked her tongue at him, but he ignored her just the same as he had the two days past when she had tried to gainsay him. The week he’d spent awake had brought him strength—and restlessness. He ached to be free of the bed. And the leg would hold him, if for no other reason than his relentless determination.

“You have to give it time to heal, Major.” Her voice carried equal notes of pleading and chiding.

This he knew, and yet he grew ever agitated by the time it took to do so. Weeks had passed since the battle, weeks his leg should have healed more than it had. No, what caused this weakness was naught more than continued laziness. In order to gain strength, he would have to demand it of himself and force his body to cooperate with his wishes.

“You will gain your feet once more, but you must give it time.”

Westley grunted a reply as he feared opening his mouth for a proper response would release a dishonorable yowl instead. Perhaps if he put only a portion of his weight….

The swish of her skirts across the floor signaled Mrs. Preston moved from her place at the hearth to come near, even though she had promised him space mere moments earlier. She would give him no peace about it.