Page 115 of Deceiving an Earl
And then there was Oliver, always talking to her, trying to convince her to open her eyes and leave the ocean. Well, not really leave the ocean. He didn’t know she was at the ocean, but that was the effect of his voice, making her leave the one place she felt safe and happy.
She listened for Philip. Occasionally she would hear his voice talking in the background, mainly to Oliver, never to her. But she knew he was there. She could feel his touch on her arm, and she knew her son was by her side.
In the back of her mind she knew why she was in this strange nowhere land, a place in her brain that she had escaped to. She knew about William and what he’d done to her, however, when the memories tried to surface she pictured herself floating on the endless waves and everything went away.
Eventually the water became more and more distant. She could hear the roar of it but could no longer see herself on the waves or feel its warmth cocooning her.
The insistent voices prodding her to wake up overtook the sound of the ocean and her eyelids would flutter and she would look around her bedchamber. Not the sea, not the small cottage that she had conjured in her mind, but her bedchamber in London. And she would close her eyes again.
…
Oliver made his way down the hall and to the terrace where Ellen sat in a pillowed chair, wrapped in a blanket, staring at her gardens.
It had been two weeks since the attack. She’d been asleep for four of those days, and he had despaired that she would never wake up. But gradually she’d come back to them. Not the same. She liked to sit in silence more than she liked to talk.
Her bruises were healing. The swelling had gone down. She still winced when she moved, because her ribs pained her, and her hand was still wrapped in a splint.
She spoke. It wasn’t as if she were completely mute. But she talked only about superficial things and never about Needham or that night. Oliver hadn’t even dared to bring up their own relationship.
They were in a sort of limbo.
Philip was due back at school soon, and Oliver wanted to discuss things with her. Difficult things.
He sat in a chair next to her. She smiled at him, but it was a sad smile, bereft of her once sparkling personality.
“I want to go to the ocean someday.” It was the first time she’d initiated a conversation, and the fact that she was declaring something she wanted to do was unexpected.
“Very well. We will go to the ocean.”
She turned her head back to the gardens. “When I was asleep,” she said. “I dreamed of the ocean. Floating on the ocean, walking in the ocean, dipping my toes in the ocean.”
“Did you?” He treaded carefully, not knowing how he was supposed to react.
“I guess I wasn’t really dreaming. It was a strange alternate place. But I loved it there. I didn’t want to come back.”
It hurt to hear that she did not want to return to him, but at the same time he understood.
“I’d like to go there. To the ocean…” Her voice trailed off. Oliver was becoming accustomed to this. She would suddenly stop talking and lapse into silence.
If the ocean would bring back the old Ellen, then he would take her there. If the old Ellen was gone for good, then he would learn to love this Ellen.
“We need to discuss things,” he said, hating to bring it up but knowing it needed to be done.
She looked at him out of the side of her eye but didn’t say anything.
“You’ve never asked what happened to Needham.”
“You said he wasn’t coming back. That’s all I need to know.”
“He’s not. I can promise you that. But don’t you want to know what happened to him?”
She turned to look at him. “Do I have to marry him?”
“No.”
“Do I need to worry that he will return?”
“No.”
