In His Eyes(75)

The light burning behind her closed eyes faded, but along with it the deep fog of fear receded. Ella blinked and rolled to her side, watching the infant take ragged breaths in the dark of her room at Belmont. Tears burned in the back of her throat. “I will love you still,” she whispered. “But, please, Lord, don’t take him from me.”





Westley tugged the hat down on his head and hesitated at the door. He’d stayed up all night contemplating a decision that would affect the remainder of his life. He glanced back at the stairs. No, he would debate it no longer. He set his jaw and tugged open the door.

Late May had grown pleasantly warm, even at this early hour when the dew still clung to the grass and birds twittered their morning symphony. His cane thumped down the stairs and to the drive of Belmont where the mud had not fully dried from all the rains.

He would have to beg a nag from the Martins, but perchance he could purchase a horse in town. Likely, however, all the decent mounts had been confiscated by one army or the other. Perhaps the Martins would be willing to rent one of their geldings to him. His leg should be well enough for riding. Though it still ached, it grew steadily less troublesome.

After a rather pleasant quarter hour or so stroll, Riverbend came into view. The stately home offered Greek revival columns and a wide porch that Westley had played on when he was a boy—back when life had seemed so easy and he hadn’t any more cares that facing his mother’s wrath for ruining another good set of breeches.

He lifted the head of his cane and rapped on the door, then stepped back to check his pocket watch. A quarter to nine. A more respectable hour than his last visit, to be sure. A moment or so later, the door swung open and the house servant offered a perfunctory smile.

“Mornin’ Mr. Remington. You wantin’ to see the missus again?”

“Yes, please, if she is available.”

The woman widened the door and gestured for him to enter. “You can wait in the parlor whilst I goes and gets her.”

Westley removed his hat and tucked it under the arm of his russet broadcloth jacket before moving into the room she indicated. In here, a set of furniture gathered closely around the hearth and a pianoforte rested in the corner. At least they hadn’t been divested of all their furnishings as he had first thought.

“Mr. Remington, how pleasant to see you again.” The tinkling of a feminine voice interrupted his contemplations of the state of affairs at Riverbend.

“Miss Martin.” Westley bowed. “The pleasure is mine.”

She lifted her fingers. “When I heard you came to call, I hurried down in hopes of seeing your wife and son, but it seems they have not accompanied you.”

Westley accepted her outstretched hand and touched his lips to her knuckles before indicating she should sit. “I am afraid the baby is still quite ill, and Ella has hardly left her room.”

Miss Martin perched on a frayed cushion and shook her head, sending her tight brown curls swinging. “Oh, I am so sorry to hear of the troubles, Mr. Remington. That is such a hard thing for a parent to bear.”

Westley nodded, not sure what else to say on the matter. Thankfully, Mrs. Martin chose that moment to make an entrance. Westley rose and bowed.

“Good morning, Mr. Remington. May I assume you have come to ask for the use of my carriage again?”

Westley straightened. “I would not wish to take advantage of your kindness again, ma’am.”

Something about her seemed to relax even as she waved her hand airily. “Of course not, dear sir. It is hardly an inconvenience.”

“I was hoping, perhaps, that I might purchase one of the horses instead?”

Mrs. Martin clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her plain black gown. “Well, I’m afraid then we won’t be able to use the carriage without the pair.”

The Negro woman poked her head in. “You wants any refreshments, Mrs. Martin?”

Mrs. Martin turned, but before she could answer, Westley spoke up. “Thank you for the kindness, but I am afraid I am once again going to be boorish and take my leave quickly. I do hope you will forgive me.”

Mrs. Martin waved the woman away. “Certainly, Mr. Remington. You are surely a busy man.” She regarded him a moment, then seemed to arrive at a decision. “I am sorry we will not be able to sell you the horse. They were rather difficult to hang on to during the war, what with us having to hide them in the woods and all, and I am afraid I simply cannot part with one now.”

Miss Martin rose from her place and moved to stand by her mother. “Mama, do you think it would be all right if I were to call on Mrs. Remington? Her baby is still ill, and I’m sure she would delight in some female company.”

“I’m afraid Ella has been much too distraught for company, Miss Martin,” Westley said.

The young woman bit her lip, and suspicion flooded Mrs. Martin’s eyes. “How very strange that she has hardly been out of that house since she first arrived.”

Westley flexed his fingers. “As I said, the child is gravely ill, and she will not be removed from his side.”

Miss Martin took her mother’s arm and offered a charming smile. “Of course we understand, sir.”

“I thank you.” He shifted his gaze to the dowager. “Perhaps I may rent the use of one of your horses instead?”

Mrs. Martin lifted her nose. “Don’t be absurd. I do not run a livery. The neighborly thing to do would be to allow the use of one’s provisions if one’s neighbor is lacking.”