In His Eyes(84)

Sibby propped the cane she’d borrowed from Westley against the dressing table and began pulling a boar’s hair brush through Ella’s tangle of curls. “We gonna have you looking right fine today, ma’am. We sure is.”

Ella wrinkled her nose. “What’s gotten into you?”

Sibby’s hands stilled. “What you mean?”

Ella twisted so she could see the woman over her shoulder. “You have been acting strangely the last couple of days. You talk to me differently, too.”

Sibby lifted her eyebrows and gave Ella a look that seemed to say she ought to know better. “Well, you ain’t no pretender no more. You is going to be Major Westley’s lady for real now.” She yanked on a tangle and Ella yelped. Perhaps it served her right for thinking such a callous thought about Westley and Sibby’s use of canes. “Now Miss Ella, you knows that being the real lady of Belmont makes things different.”

Ella mused over the words as Sibby twisted and styled her hair, leaving a mass of coppery curls piled on the back of her head and falling past her collar. Would Ella, rather than Sibby, really be seen as the one in charge here once she wed Westley in truth? She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. However, it might give her a bit of power to dig up a few answers.

“All right, then,” Sibby said, plucking her from her thoughts. “You is ready.” She took the cane and moved back, eyeing her handiwork. “Yes’um, that looks right nice.”

Ella rose and smoothed her hands down the skirt. “Sibby, I hope that you don’t mind that—”

“Now you hush that,” Sibby groused, cutting off Ella’s words.

Ella lifted her eyebrows.

Sibby placed her hands on her hips, the docile tone she’d been using suddenly gone. “I know what you is about to say, and don’t you even bother doin’ it. Belmont needs a lady, and the major done chose you. Best you be rememberin’ that.”

Ella declined to answer, knowing that if the circumstances hadn’t been what they were, then Westley would have never chosen her in a thousand lifetimes. She reminded herself that being an unloved wife with a life of means and security was a much better option for Lee than her trying to work and never really having enough to feed them.

Ella squared her shoulders and assumed the look she’d seen Mrs. Martin use.

Sibby grunted. “See there? You look like one of dem already.”

Before Ella could reply, a knock at the door drew their attention. Sibby hobbled over to it and opened it, gesturing for Westley to enter. She moved past him and out into the hall, yelling orders to Basil as she started down the stairs.

Their gazes met and Westley’s eyes darkened as he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the tidy way he had combed it away from his face.

“Ella, you look…” He cleared his throat and blinked, and then suddenly she was once again faced with the stoic soldier. He straightened, and his eyes became unreadable. “You are quite lovely. The seamstress did well.”

She held his gaze. “You are rather dashing today, too, sir.”

Dressed in a dark gray broadcloth suit with a green cravat—that matched her dress, she noted—knotted around his neck, Westley was so handsome it caused a fluttering feeling in her middle. Was she really to be the wife of such a man? A man who would always gain cloying looks and fluttering lashes from every woman he met and cause unwanted jealousy to sour her heart?

Her pulse quickened. Did he mean to marry her in name only so that he would be free to enjoy the company of women out west without truly breaking any marriage vows? Something hot stirred in her stomach. She really was a doaty lass. How very dense of her not to see that sooner. That was the very nature of the arrangement.

Somewhere deep inside she’d actually hoped to marry for love as her mother had. Despite her family’s distain, Mama had married Ella’s father because she’d loved him. And her father had loved Mama deeply in return. Her loss had been more than Papa could bear. But she ought to bury such sentiments now, lest they corrupt her thoughts further.

Ella lifted her chin and strode past him. “Let us not keep the guests waiting.”

Westley mumbled something behind her, but she kept walking. He didn’t want her, he wanted someone to tend his house. That much she knew, and had agreed to.

Why, then, did she feel this burning anger where she should not? He had no real obligation to her other than providing her with a home and funds to care for Lee. Of course Westley would take his comforts in whatever beautiful woman opened her arms to him.

Ella shoved aside her irrational jealousy, more angered at herself for being hurt over it than anything. She caught herself before she stomped all the way down the stairs and slowed her pace to a more respectable descent.

The man was sacrificing much to marry her. She would do well to remember his kindness and generosity and be sure to treat him with more care. Without him, she would be out on her own again.

Ella forced her breathing to slow as she approached the ladies’ parlor where the chaplain and the Martin women waited. As soon as Ella crossed the threshold, Opal rushed over to grab her hands.

“Oh! You look beautiful, Ella. That gown complements you perfectly.” She looked at Ella’s throat and frowned. “Though you really do need a pin for your collar.”

“As I was about to tell her when she fled the room,” Westley said, coming to stand by her.