by Grace Elliot
He glanced at her, expecting to see his happiness reflected. But her head was down, staring at her plate, pushing a pea round and around with listless distraction. Immediately concern dampened his happiness.
“Is something the matter?”
“No sweetheart.” She softly gazed into his eyes, melting his soul all over again.
“Are you feeling unwell? You aren’t eating.”
“No.” She shook her head, ringlets dancing. “I’m too excited to eat.”
Remembering his lack of appetite early in the day, Jack accepted this explanation without a second thought. As the celebration progressed he kept stealing glances; she was so beautiful in her bridal gown, with the spring flowers soft in her hair she was every bit as enigmatic as one of Farrell’s paintings. But still a ripple of unease stirred the surface of his happiness, as a wistful sadness filled her eyes.
The ale flowed in a never ending supply. As the guests grew merry, the tables were cleared aside and a fiddle player established himself on a straw bale, striking up a jilty tune that set feet a tapping. Charles nudged his brother.
“Time to start the dancing old boy.”
“Oh, of course.”
Eulogy’s hand was a featherweight, resting on his own, as he escorted her onto the makeshift dance floor. To wild applause the fiddle player struck up a waltz, and the crowd hushed as Jack took his bride in his arms. Her body fitted so snugly against his, she felt warm in his arms, catching the fresh scent of her hair, the primroses tickling his nose as he held her close. Gliding around the floor, her gaze locked in his, Jack grew impatient, suppressing the growing urge to whisk his bride off to their private chambers. But something in Eulogy’s expression discomforted him. Other dancers took to the floor, nudging and bumping against them. Eulogy gave a shuddering sigh. Jack glanced at her in alarm. He saw her smile bravely, but saw how her lip trembled. He guiding her toward the doors, dancing through the throng, took her by the hand and led her outside.
After the stuffiness of the barn, the fresh air was bracing. Eulogy turned into him, her face full of sorrow, and rested her cheek against his jacket.
“Something is wrong. Don’t pretend it isn’t.”
She stiffened in his arms. His heart beat heavily and with a dry mouth he voiced his worst fear. “Do you regret our marriage already?”
“Oh no!” She clung tightly to him. “Never think that.”
“Then what?” Panic coursed through his veins. Was she ill? It would be intolerable to lose her now, after everything else. He gathered his wits. If she was ill, he would help her. He would employ the best doctor in the country.
“We are married now,” he spoke calmly. “Your problems are my problems. Let me help.”
Slowly, she drew away. The air between them cooled.
“No more secrets,” he whispered. “Tell me.”
Her voice caught and he had to strain to hear. “There’s someone I must see. Can you forgive me? I must leave you for a while.”
Jack took a step back. Perhaps it was the ale but his world lurched sickeningly.
“Give me a moment to make our excuses and we can slip away together.”
“No!” she almost shouted, planting her hand in his chest to push him away.
“You want to be alone?” Blood pounded in his ears, as man and wife he wanted to be there for her and yet she was pushing him away.
“I do.” She nodded.
A deep, empty loneliness engulfed him like a storm cloud across the summer sun.
“Oh.” Jack opened his mouth but shut it again. It was as if he had been punched. Wasn’t being married about sharing everything? On their wedding day was he to be shut out? Disappointment muted his happiness; her cutting him out was like a physical pain. “But I love you.”
“I know.” She took a step away. “You trust me don’t you?” Her eyes burnt into his, searching, questioning. He glimpsed the seeds of doubt in their rich velvet depths.
Jack swallowed hard. In that instant he knew he loved Eulogy so much, that his needs were as nothing compared to hers. Gravely he nodded.
“Of course. I learnt that lesson several weeks ago.” With a huge effort he masked his disappointment with a smile, because he knew deep down that what he wanted didn’t matter now, he loved Eulogy enough to let her be. “Go, do what you need to. I shall be here for you when you return.”
There was such intense sorrow on her face, his heart contracted painfully. He wanted to hold her, to walk with her, but she wanted to be alone. He must put her needs first so he bit his tongue, using all of his formidable will to stay seated.
“Thank you.”
With a grateful nod she turned and walked away. He watched her go, her hips swaying gently with each step that took her further away. It was as if a part of him were being torn away. He reached out, steadying himself against the barn wall. In time, perhaps his need to protect her would fade, and perhaps she would let him in. In the meantime, all he could do was wait.
She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, a small figure by a dry stone wall. She stopped, her little hand posed on the gate. His heart leapt into his throat as she turned. A slow sad smile haunted the corners of her lips. Tears filled his eyes, his very love spilling over his cheeks. She raised her arm, hesitant and beckoned for him to follow.
Color flooded back into his world. Eager as a pup he took to his heels and ran to her. Neither spoke as she grasped his hand, and led him back down the winding path towards the church. Jack kept silent, sensing her need for quiet, knowing that she was vulnerable in a way not previously shown to him. He opened the lynch gate and let Eulogy pass within. He stood back, waiting her signal that he was to follow. Once again she took his hand, pressing her fingers against his palm as they walked in somber silence.
They entered the grave yard. Eulogy knelt before a grave, bright with fresh spring daffodils. The grave was carefully tended and recently, the ground disturbed the previous year. Eulogy dropped to her knees in front of a freshly carved gravestone. Jack took a step back, not wishing to intrude on her grief as head-bowed, she prayed. A few minutes she stood again, tears rolling down her cheeks.
She took one look at Jack and flew into his arms. He cradled her against his wide chest, stroking her hair, crooning words of comfort.
“My mother,” Eulogy explained. “Mary Foster. I wanted to tell her about you. She’d be so proud.”
Understanding and relief hit him in equal parts. What a fool he’d been. Of course she would be sad that her mother had missed her wedding day.
“I wish I’d known Mrs. Foster…to thank her or looking after you so.”
Eulogy blinked back tears. “The woman who raised me, Mary Foster, noble by nature, if not by name.”
“None nobler than her. And I owe her my happiness.”
Eulogy smiled gratefully.
“Mary Foster was an extraordinary woman, and I shall be forever grateful to her love and care.”
Jack closed his eyes on tears as suddenly, he knew what he must do. “Stay here and tell her me, the wedding and your new life. I shall wait yonder. And then, when you are ready, we shall find the other grave.”
“What other grave?” Eulogy looked puzzled.
“Lady Devlin’s of course. Let us find her final resting place together, for I need to thank her for giving you life and for the sacrifice of letting you go…for without that heaven only knows.”
“Could we?’ Eulogy squeezed his hand. “You wouldn’t mind…on our wedding day?” The look of surprised joy on her face made his heart soar.
“Nothing would be more appropriate. For without her selfless action I would not have known you…and I want to promise on her grave that I will always protect you from hurt, cherish and love you… in a way fitting for her, Eulogy.”
- The END -
About Grace Elliot.
Grace Elliot is a veterinarian by day and author by night. She turned to writing as an antidote to an emotionally demanding job. Grace firmly belie
ves intelligent people need to read romance as an escape from the pressures of modern life.
Grace’s blog is a blend of historical trivia, romance and cats!
http://graceelliot-author.blogspot.com
www.wix.com/graceelliot/grace-elliot
If you have enjoyed this book then you may be interested in other work by the same author.
A Dead Man’s Debt.
“Historical romance at its best.” The Romance Reviews
“Totally engrossing…sensual and evocative writing.” Fiction Books.
“Breathtaking sensuality…page turning drama…a wonderful talent.” Once Upon a Chapter.
Celeste Armitage has a plan…and it doesn’t include marriage.
Celeste’s despairing parents exile her to the country, where she finds a sketch book of nude studies. She is shaken to find the artist is her hostess’s son, Lord Ranulf Charing. This cynical lord is the exactly sort of dissipated rogue she despises most…if only her blood didn’t heat at the sight of him!
Lord Ranulf faces ruin as a blackmailer uses his late brother’s debts to destroy the Charing’s reputation. When Ranulf unexpectedly falls for the rebellious Celeste he must chose between true love and family duty…but Ranulf underestimates Celeste’s resolve to clear his name and unwittingly places his soul mate in mortal danger
Coming NOVEMBER 2012
Hope’s Betrayal – book 2 in the Huntley Trilogy.
(Excerpt from the work-in-progress)
Captain George Huntley could think of many ways to spend a foul winter’s night, buy lying full length in a reed bed, with salt-water drizzle blowing in his face was not one of them. Huntley ignored the creeping dampness against his belly and thighs, to pitch his senses against the darkness: ears aching for an unguarded curse or the splash of an oar. But, all he heard was a lone gull, tossed erratically in a wind that screamed like a harpy through ships’ rigging in the harbour behind him.
Huntley scowled at the black void of the tossing sea; something wasn’t right. What had he missed? The officer beside him, equally uncomfortable, was wise enough not to complain for amongst those of his men who fell short, Huntley’s temper was legendary.
“Damn it, Bennett!”
“Sir?”
“High water already - another five minutes and the tide will be running off…” Huntley’s mind raced. “The first storm-free night for weeks, no moon…the smugglers will seize the chance…So what have I missed?”
His eyes narrowed to a hungry look, a muscle twitched along his jaw. Bennett shivered.
“Perhaps they fancy a night by a warm fire, instead of this damnable drizzle, Sir.” Huntley threw him a sideways glance.
“Not losing heart now?”
“No, Sir, just saying that if I were a smuggler…”
“If you were a smuggler after the storms you’d be desperate. Best night to land contraband in weeks -they can’t afford not to.” With a dull thud, Huntley punched the ground. “Curses!”
“Sir?”
“What have I missed, Bennett? What have I overlooked?”
Hearing the frustration in the Captain’s voice, Bennett declined to answer.
Like some nightmarish phantasm rising from the grave, Huntley stood, and stretched the stiffness from his muscular limbs. Bennett didn’t need to see the Captain’s face to know it would be set in its habitual frown, flint blue eyes sparking with anger, lips thin with anger…
