In His Eyes(31)

“Oh, yes, yes,” Miss Martin said, her fan fluttering. “Your missus said that they received word you were missing and assumed dead. But the poor dear held out hope you would return.”

Westley felt his blood quicken.

“It was rather odd, you see, as none of us saw her arrive. It seems she traveled to the house alone to have your son.”

“My son?” Westley croaked. Impossible. He had abstained from knowing a woman, even one from the abundance of those who hung around the camps for men to make use of to relieve their basal hungers. Therefore, there were none who could claim he had sired their child.

At least, not with any thread of truth.

His anger began to seethe. What trollop had decided to use the news of him missing from his unit as an excuse to try to steal his name rather than admit her sin?

“Oh, look at him, Mama.” Miss Martin’s pink lips turned up. “She told true. Looks like they did marry in a flurry of emotion.”

Westley forced a smile. When he got to Belmont, that tart would soon regret making him her target. For now, though, he might play the game….

“You have met her, then?”

“We were over for tea last week. I must say, Mr. Remington,” Mrs. Martin said, eschewing his military title, “I would have never expected you to wed a Confederate girl.” She smirked. “Perhaps there will be some redemption for you in this town after all.”

Westley frowned. Not a Federal camp follower, then. Who was this woman who had stolen his name?

“We are leaving just as soon as Mama gets some thread to patch my dress again. We could drive him out there, couldn’t we, Mama?”

Westley slid his gaze from the sunny young woman to her dowager mother. The elder Martin woman’s mouth hitched, and something sparked in her eyes. Suspicion?

“Why, of course, Opal, dear. I would be glad to see the happy couple reunited.” She offered a smile that held little humor. “I’ll be only a moment.”

Westley followed Miss Martin outside, her incessant words slipping across his ears without taking hold. He’d expected to find any manner of things at Belmont, but not this.

“Mr. Remington?”

Westley focused back on the young woman who tied a large bow under her chin to secure her bonnet. Closer inspection noted her gown frayed a bit, and the ribbons and flowers on the bonnet were worse for wear.

“I asked what became of your speech. You sound as though you didn’t grow up a stone’s throw from here.”

As intended. Westley tried to give an apologetic smile. “I have been away many years.”

Her forehead creased, and he decided to turn the subject off him.

“I see Greenville did not fare well. How are things at Riverbend?”

“Oh.” She lowered her gaze and much of the delight slipped from her countenance. “We still have a roof to ward off the rain and walls to stay the wind. The rest we can make do without.” She turned warm brown eyes toward the street. “Many here did not fare as well.”

Westley inwardly groaned. He was such a cad! What was he thinking to ask such a thing?

“Though none fared as well as Belmont.” Mrs. Martin’s clipped words intruded on the conversation as the door clicked behind them. “But I’m sure you know that.”

He did, and he could not fault the woman her bitterness. “My father’s letters said as much, but I have heard naught of Belmont since his passing.”

Some of the steam went out of Mrs. Martin’s scowl as she waved for her driver to untie the horses. “He was a good man. We were all sad to see him go. The only good of it is that your mother went soon after.”

Good? How could losing both of his parents at once be a good thing?

She blinked, tears pricking her otherwise cold eyes. “It is hard on a woman living her remaining years as a widow. Be glad your mother didn’t have to suffer it during these hard times.”

Her soft words bore so much pain all he could do was incline his head. “Perhaps you are right.”

“All the more reason to have joy this day, Mama,” Miss Martin said as the driver opened the carriage door. “Mrs. Remington will receive the great blessing of not having to face what she feared she would.”

Westley nearly corrected the young woman who he thought had misunderstood that his mother also died, but then realized she referred to the imposter.

He offered a tight smile. Something must have happened to Sibby. She would have been a force for any actress to deal with, and, colored or not, she would have never handed over Belmont. There were two women in this world Westley esteemed. One was dead and the other must be gone. It seemed there would be no stragglers to see off Belmont after all.

Westley assisted the ladies inside the carriage and then seethed in his humiliation of struggling inside behind them. Though the leg throbbed as he sat, he refused to let his fingers seek the comfort of massaging it.

“Does your leg hurt you much, Mr. Remington?” Miss Martin asked.

He nearly lied, but that would be both dishonorable and ridiculous. “It does.”

The carriage lurched forward and another spasm of pain shot from his thigh to his toes.

“I wonder,” Mrs. Martin said, her reedy voice filling the carriage. “Why you did not send word to your wife that you were alive.”

“I did not know she was here.” The truth.