Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
West had slept horribly and was feeling the effect of that still, despite it being the following evening. His head had ached constantly, his eyes were fatigued, and despite having a most comfortable mattress, he had tossed and turned the entire night, leaving various parts of him tight and aching.
All because of Elena. Thoughts of Elena. Worries about Elena. Dreams involving Elena.
And in recovering throughout the day, every moment had been filled with Elena.
The day had been one of information and discussion, with Mr. Beale and his estate manager taking Elena and him around the estate to show them the fields and livestock, talking about their concerns and plans for Carraway.
Elena had been completely different today than she had been the night before, all bright energy and eager questions, focus and inquisition.
She was nothing short of impressive, and it was so rewarding to see Mr. Beale and his estate agent witness it.
They’d been shocked with her insight in the first few questions and comments, but then they’d stopped looking at her in awe and started looking more delighted. Then more like she was their equal.
That was when West had been satisfied. When it was no longer unusual—even if there was respect in those expressions and reactions—and was only a fact. When Elena was no longer an object of fascination.
When she was simply Elena with their new eyes.
She hadn’t talked to him much during the day, but he had half expected that after their embrace in the hedge maze the day before.
Elena was a pillar of strength, and any sign of weakness was going to embarrass her.
She would be unsure how to face him with such vulnerability in their memories and might even be ashamed by it.
Of course, there was nothing to be ashamed of, in his mind, and he was only more impressed with her for admitting such tender, private thoughts and fears to him.
More than that, his own heart had fairly burst with excitement when she had told him that Fenmore was her home and that she did not want to leave.
He would give anything to keep her there. This fascination, this curiosity, was more than enough for him to lean into an emotional connection with her. To think of love with her. To wonder it that might be the case already.
To not feel the slightest inkling of fear at that thought.
Taking her in his arms yesterday had been entirely instinctual. No hesitation, no other course. He only wanted to hold her and keep her safe, soothe those fears, give her something strong to cling to when her entire world was shifting around her.
And she had let him. That had been the most surprising part. There had been no marked resistance from her, despite her attempts to appear that she had not been crying at first.
Elena had let him hold her. He would never forget that as long as he lived. He had never felt more at ease, more powerful, more like himself than when she was in his arms, her tears dampening his clothing, her skin beneath his mouth.
He would find a way to keep her, that was for certain. He had no idea if she could ever love him the way he might possibly love her, but he could find a way for her to stay at Fenmore. He would build her a cottage if she wanted. He would live at the inn at Fencrest. He would . . .
He would do anything to keep her.
And now he was waiting for Elena.
The Beales were having a supper party for them this evening, despite his desire to have a quiet evening at home, so to speak.
He was not about to appear ungrateful before their hosts, especially when Mr. Beale had done so much to help them that day.
So welcoming, so even-tempered, so generous with his information and thoughts to veritable strangers.
So willing to assist them that he and his estate agent had offered to come see their fields at Fenmore for even more advice.
West had barely been able to speak for his gratitude and the feeling of support, something he had not had outside of his cousin and their work associates since his father had passed, and something he would wish for daily now that he had inherited Fenmore.
The idea that he would no longer have to fight for his future alone.
Perhaps that was something he had first loved about Elena.
She had not known she was working for his future when she was working to restore Fenmore.
She had thought she was preserving her own, or that of her children.
But she had fought for it despite those unknowns.
She was making the future she wished for a reality, despite the prospect of a loveless marriage.
She had found a way to be true to herself while striving every moment for something better.
She was exactly the sort of woman he wanted beside him for the rest of his life. Someone who would see him as he was, yet force him to be better.
There would be so much joy in a future with her. When they no longer had to fight for the smallest successes, they would find a way to fight for better. They would appreciate every good thing and face every bad.
He could see it now. He could taste it now. He wanted it now.
But would she?
He would not propose marriage to save her, or to keep her.
And he would not go one more moment allowing her to avoid him out of pride.
Soft swishing of material met his ears, and he turned to the stairs that led up to the guest wing where they had been staying, only for his life to end in the space of a heartbeat.
Elena was the most heavenly of visions, the most ethereal of artwork, the most precious of gems he had ever seen, known of, or imagined, and there would never again be the right amount of breath in his lungs where she was concerned.
She descended the stairs as though she had been born to grace the movement, no hint of the rough-and-tough woman wearing trousers in the fields in sight.
No, this angel among mortals was wreathed in some shade of blue and silver that seemed almost lavender, her form so lovely that even sculptors would weep.
Her skirts were dotted with flowers and pearls, the neckline a stunning feat of sculpted fabric that drew the eye without blatant provocation.
Strands of pearls were draped around her slender throat, her hands encased in pristine long gloves, and that dark hair of hers, so often only seen in a simple plait, was luxurious to his eyes, coifed and pinned with such skill and delicacy, he feared the slightest breeze might disrupt it.
He might not have recognized her, but when he looked at her face, she was fully there, pale blue eyes bright and luminous, perfect lips pressed in a tight line, her cheeks as rosy as a blush.
There was his Elena, his sweet and fiery love, seizing his heart in a sound pillaging he had been entirely unprepared for.
He’d been falling for her the way she was, but to add this to the totality of Elena . . .
He’d never be able to let her go. Ever. Any distance. Any time. Any event.
He had to have her as his somehow. Had to convince her to take a chance at another marriage with him. Another term as Lady Bickham, this time in truth.
But not tonight. Not with the challenge looming. She wanted to prove herself there, and he would let her.
He had to.
“Will you say nothing, my lord?” she asked him when she reached the bottom stair, her voice trembling with nerves.
West cleared his throat and closed the distance between them, plucking up her hand and pressing it to his heart, letting her feel the galloping pace there.
Her eyes widened. “West! Are you well?”
“Yes,” he said at once, his voice not quite steady. “Are you?”
She swallowed, her fingers pressing against his chest a moment before she tugged her hand away. “No. I feel like a fraud.”
That made him smile. “You are not a fraud. You are perfection.”
She snorted in derision, the sound loud amidst their low voices. “I am not, and you know that well. This is the least like myself I have ever felt.”
West tilted his head at that, frowning. “I think you look entirely yourself, Elena. Beautiful, graceful, noble, entirely aware of yourself and your surroundings.”
As he’d hoped, her cheeks flushed further still. “West . . .”
He took her hand again, this time holding it in his own and looking down at it. “You’ve been avoiding me, Elena.”
“We’ve been together all day,” she reminded him stiffly, her fingers splaying the slightest in his hold.
“And you’ve said maybe five words to me,” he shot back, raising his brow.
Elena sputtered a little, the curled tendrils of hair at her brow and ears dancing with the action.
“I wasn’t . . . I just . . .” She sighed, her shoulders dropping.
“I was mortified at the state you found me in yesterday. At the weakness you saw in me. I am never like that, and I hated that you witnessed that moment.”
“I loved it,” he admitted, keeping his voice low and soft, his thumbs brushing along the back of her hand.
He felt her hand nearly jerk away from him. “What? How could you . . .?”
He shook his head, meeting her eyes and smiling. “I finally felt as though I had something to offer you, even if it was only comfort.”
Elena’s eyes were round as she stared at him. “West . . .”
“It’s not a sin to be soft with me, you know,” he told her.
She shook her head, barely. “I never said it was.”
Her tone was sharp and defensive, and it made him smile. “Then why do you act as though lightning will strike you if you are?”
Her throat worked on a swallow, then another. “I don’t know how to be soft anymore, West. I’ve spent so many years not having that luxury. The walls and armor are all I know now.”
He stepped forward and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Let me be a safe place for your softness, Elena. Let me offer you that, at least.”
She gasped, her eyes fluttering closed at his touch, turning slightly towards it. “I . . .”
“When everyone else wants Ellie,” he went on, “let me have Elena.”
What in the world had happened to his restraint? To his aloof nature, his pride, his self-respect? He was practically on bended knee for her, and he could not even be ashamed about how much of himself was laying on the floor before her.
Metaphorically, of course. He was fully upright.
And fully hers.
“Elena,” he murmured, desperate for her answer.
She opened her eyes, locking them onto his at once. “I will try,” she whispered.
West grinned at that, tapping her cheek with his thumb before dropping his hand. “Then you will succeed, as you seem to do so at anything you try.”
Elena’s smile was bright and teasing. “Then you have never had the misfortune of seeing me waltz, my lord. I have tried many times to master that and have never yet succeeded.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That, I suspect, is due to a shocking lack of decent waltzing partners and no fault of your own. I would wager a very great deal that you would be grace itself once paired appropriately with the thing.” He offered her his arm very formally.
She took it, giggling and shaking her head. “Are you suggesting that you are the partner I should be waltzing with in order to do it well, West?”
“Absolutely,” he retorted as he led her towards the sitting room, where the others would be waiting. “But not while you are learning, as I have a great dislike of my toes being trodden on. Learn with Fred, then come waltz with me when you want to know what a successful waltz feels like.”
“Don’t do it, Ellie!” Fred called out from the stairs behind them, racing to catch up. “The man is an absolute neanderthal and could not waltz if tutored step by step the entire way through!”
“I beg your very rude pardon,” West countered over his shoulder, grinning at his cousin.
Elena, on the other hand, was laughing uproariously. “I knew it! I knew you were a neanderthal! I said you were that day at the lake!”
Fred paused behind them, his eyes wide and looking between the two with a rapidity that was not nearly as dramatic as his usual antics. “Lake? You two? What neanderthal antic could possibly happen at a lake and nowhere else? Are we courting more scandal?”
“Shh!” West and Elena said at once in perfect synchrony.
“Apologies,” Fred whispered loudly. “Are we courting more scandal?”
“No!” Elena hissed. “And for the rest of the night, we are not courting any scandal at all!”
West nodded firmly, hoping his cousin could see how serious he was about this.
Fred rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers towards the sitting room. “Fine, if you insist, you boring children.”
Elena took West’s arm again and let him lead her away. “We cannot take him anywhere,” she hissed.
West gave her a look. “I never do. He just follows of his own accord.”
She snickered and nudged him, which only made his heart soar further still.