In His Eyes(86)

She fell into him, and for a few seconds she felt safe, warm, and…loved. Remembering herself, she snatched her head back. Westley’s eyes flew wide, and he stepped away as well. The chaplain chuckled as they stared at one another.

“It is one of my favorite duties, joining a man and woman so in love into the holy bonds of matrimony.”

Ella dropped her gaze, opting for studying the polish on the man’s boots rather than risk him reading anything more in her eyes.

Someone started giggling, and Ella looked up in time to see Opal throw her mother a smug look. Mrs. Martin watched Ella and frowned, and Ella looked away again.

“I know the ring is too big,” Westley whispered. “I will have to get it adjusted to fit.”

Ella nodded, not paying much mind to his words. A moment later she scrawled her name on a document and in less than a quarter hour, the event that forever altered her life was finished. The chaplain offered them his hopes for their joyous life together, declining the refreshments that Basil set out in the dining room, and bemoaning the need to return to town.

The Martin women stayed for a time, and Ella did her best to remember to smile and make polite conversation, but found herself often enough distracted. She kept glancing at the man who was now her husband. A more legal lie than her last one, but a lie all the same. He would not be her husband as God intended, and as Ella watched him laugh and share old stories with Mrs. Martin, Ella realized that she would be bound for life to a man that would daily break her heart. She would love and not be loved in return. She would ever wait for him to come home, while he would always ache for his freedoms.

“You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

Ella blinked and Opal came back into focus. “Oh! I’m sorry. What did you say?”

A sly smile tilted the lady’s lips and she shot a covert glance at Westley. “It seems your thoughts have gone astray, Mrs. Remington.”

Ella wrinkled her nose. “Opal! I merely….” her words died when she could not think of any excuse that would not be an outright lie.

Opal giggled. “See? I told Mama I was right.”

Ella shook her head. “No, you are forgetting we did not marry for love. There is nothing romantic to it. Better that you get that silly notion out of your head.”

“Hmmm. Out of mine, or out of yours?”

Ella crossed her arms, watching the two at the other end of the table. Both of ours, I suppose. Westley had made it abundantly clear that he had no romantic notions about this marriage. “Opal, I have come to believe your mother may be correct. I suspect you have had your nose in far too many romance novels.”

Opal flicked her gaze to Westley and then back to Ella. “I dare say that kiss says otherwise. That was no perfunctory display.”

Ella ran her tongue over her lips, remembering the stirring he had caused, but pushed the notion away. “He is a man, Opal. Of course he’s going to enjoy kissing a lady who will let him.”

Opal frowned and opened her mouth, but her mother spoke before she could say what was on her mind.

“Come, Opal, dear, it is time we take our leave.”

Opal rose from her chair and grasped Ella’s hand. “I shall come to call on you two days hence, and we shall have a long talk, yes?”

Ella returned the squeeze. “I would like that.”

Westley took her arm, and as a counterfeit couple they walked their guests out. Mrs. Martin gave Ella an unexpected embrace, her eyes showing concern.

“If you need anything, dear, do not hesitate to call on us.”

“I thank you.”

Westley wished the ladies a good afternoon and they stood on the porch until the last of the dust from the carriage settled. Westley shifted his weight off his injured leg.

Ella turned to him, saying the first thing that came to mind to break the tense silence. “I see you did not use the cane today. May I assume your leg is feeling better?”

“Some.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I find that I can walk on it without assistance, though I fear there will always be a hitch in my gait.”

Ella turned to look at him, the vulnerability on his face slicing through her. She reached up and patted his jaw. “Do not let such a small thing worry you. It is but another warrior’s scar. A mere reminder of your bravery and strength of survival.”

Relief flooded his eyes and he smiled, looking less the soldier and more the generous yet protective man she had come to love.

Aye, she loved him, foolish lass that she was. There was no denying that she did. She stared at him a moment, and then turned her face away before he saw things in her eyes he ought not.

He took her hand and she let him, knowing it would hurt all the more when he let go. And together they stared out over the front yard of Belmont as the wind whispered promises through the trees and the birds sang a melancholy hymn.



Westley held the doorknob until all the coolness of the metal disappeared into the heat of his palm. He should not open the door. He should not. It turned easily under his hand, unlocked. He would not open the door, and open something he might not be able to close again.

The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing the rose room bathed in warm light. Ella looked up from where she sat at her dressing table, running a brush through her hair. She paused, letting the strands fall in cascades of fire down her back. She set the brush down and turned to look at him, neither of them speaking.