In His Eyes(49)

“Hmm. Seems like that little man be likin’ you, Major Westley.”

Westley stilled. “Nonsense. He merely wished to be removed from the cradle.”

“Hmm. Well, he needs to be out of dem damp wrappings anyhow.” She twisted around farther, trying to get a better look, and shifted her injured ankle. She winced and pain clouded her face.

Westley limped over to the settee, the inability to use his cane making him feel unstable. He took careful steps, lest he drop the child. When he made it alongside Sibby, he extended his arms to her. “Here.”

She shook her head. “I ain’t going to be able to do it.”

His stomach tightened. “Then we shall wait for Miss Whitaker.”

“Why? You mean you can’t unwrap him and then wrap him up again in another blanket?”

Westley shrugged, the little boy rising and falling with the movement of his shoulders. “Such is women’s work. It can wait for her to return.”

“Well, then, I reckon that him gettin’ the sickness be more important than you doin’ women’s work.”

The distain that dripped from her lips cut him. He clenched his teeth and had to speak through them. “And what of his infant’s wrappings? I know nothing of the proper changing of such things.”

Her face contorted, then understanding smoothed her features. “Miss Ella can do that part. You just go on and make sure his gown and blanket is dry.” Pleading leapt into her eyes, and Westley could not deny her. She’d lost her own son to coughing sickness. It stood to reason she would be overly concerned about such things now.

Westley considered the best way to handle his task. Never had he held such a fragile thing. Finally deciding the floor the safest place for the assignment, he painstakingly lowered to his knees.



Ella pulled the dripping frock over her head and draped it across the back of a chair. She shivered. Soaked all the way through her corset and her chemise! She pulled off every stitch of clothing and grabbed the towel by the washbasin. She rubbed her arms and legs until they tingled and then turned her attention to her hair. She wrung out its lengths until the cloth would absorb no more of the moisture and then padded toward the armoire.

She made it three steps when the mirror claimed her attention. Copper and cherry hair fell in wild waves all the way down her back, and her skin looked splotchy. She crossed her arms over her chest and hurried away. She needed to dress quickly, lest the major get some mad idea to barge in on her again. Seeing her in her underpinnings had been mortifying enough.

Ella wrinkled her nose. Her only corset was soaked, and her spare chemise was in the wash. Oh, the shame of it. She hadn’t the time to wait for the things to dry, and she couldn’t very well put on wet garments underneath the fresh ones. She’d just have to put on a dress without them and pray no one noticed. At least until after Sibby had her medicine and she could return upstairs with Lee. That is, if the major would let her.

She bit her lower lip and tugged a work dress out. She paused. Maybe not. If Major Remington saw her as a lady, perhaps he would treat her with more respect. She pulled down the blue silk gown Sibby had altered. Yes, better she look like a lady in proper attire. Assuming one could be properly attired for begging, anyway.

Ella plucked a petticoat from the trunk and stepped into it, then let the dress slide over her head. As long as she didn’t entirely undo the fasteners, she could get into it without Sibby’s aid. She managed to tug on the strings behind her back and get the ribbon tied at the bottom of the bodice.

There. That should suffice. Ella ran her hands down the bodice. The fabric slid against the skin underneath, and she felt naked without proper undergarments. Why, she was worse than a harlot. Dressed in naught but a petticoat and a gown! The scandal of it.

Ella stepped back to the mirror and examined herself. The bodice left her neck and the hollow of her throat exposed, but otherwise appeared modest. She leaned closer. Could anyone tell she didn’t have on any stays?

A knock pounded on her door and Ella yelped.

“Miss Whitaker. I must speak with you.”

Strain laced the man’s voice, and Ella placed a hand to her thudding heart. “I’m not ready.”

A growl. “Your son requires you.”

Her heart beat faster and Ella hurried to the door on bare feet, leaving her ruined shoes by the bed. She cracked open the door and peered at him. “What do you mean?”

He shifted his weight off the cane. How had she not heard its thump up the stairs?

“He requires….cleaning.” Red splotched the man’s neck and spread to his jaw, getting lost beneath a day or two’s worth of beard.

Ella’s mouth twitched. This hardened soldier was embarrassed by an infant’s need for fresh napkins? Thankfully, she contained her odd amusement at his discomfort, lest it anger him. She could not afford to antagonize him further, not if she hoped he wouldn’t toss her out into the daunting shadows tonight.

He cleared his throat and she realized she’d been staring. “He is quite restless, and as Sibby is still in pain….”

“Oh! The medicine.” She’d forgotten. How selfish of her. Worrying about clothing while poor Sibby sat in agony down below. Ella threw open the door, and the major’s eyes widened. He took a small step back, and then his gaze unabashedly roamed all the way down her figure before returning to her eyes.