Page 117 of Deceiving an Earl
“No one ever measured up to you, Ellen. I was always comparing them to you.”
“Oh, Oliver.” She sighed. “What a mess we’ve made.”
“Not really a mess. A detour, maybe.”
“Will you ever forgive me?” she asked softly.
“There is nothing to forgive. I’m disappointed I missed out on so much of Philip’s life, but you are right. There was only one path you could take that would save everyone’s reputation.”
She turned her hand so it was palm up and squeezed his hand. “And where do we go from here? Does Philip lose his title?”
Oliver shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to him or Fieldhurst. In the eyes of the world, he is the Earl of Fieldhurst. Always.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them away. “You’re a good man,” she whispered.
“Not really. I should have taken you away the night we made love in the gazebo and kept you to myself. Then none of this would have happened, and we would have had a passel of children by now.”
She looked at him and for the first time he saw light and laughter in her dancing eyes.
“So we got started a bit late,” she said.
“Will you still have me, Ellen, after all this time?”
“I’ve always wanted you. I just couldn’t have you until now.”
He kissed her knuckles and grinned, for the first time thinking that there really was a future for them.
“Why, Lady Fieldhurst, was that a marriage proposal?”
She considered him gravely for a few moments. “I believe it was, Lord Armbruster. If you’ll have me.”
“I think I can cope.”
“And one other thing.”
He paused, his stomach churning, thinking he’d been so close to happiness to have it snatched away again. “What is that?”
“We move to the ocean.”
He laughed and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. “I can arrange that.”
Epilogue
They never did move to the ocean permanently, but Oliver bought Ellen a quaint cottage perched on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the vast ocean with a winding path to a private beach, where she would walk every morning and dip her naked toes into the cold water.
She would stand there and look out to the horizon, the brisk breeze blowing her black hair all about, lost in thoughts that she never shared with Oliver.
He wondered what she thought about during those moments. He’d even asked her a few times, but she would just smile and link her arm through his and lay her head on the side of his arm, and they would stand there together.
They kept the secret of Philip between them, but in private the three of them would acknowledge the connection. Philip called him Oliver and referred to Fieldhurst as his father and Oliver learned to accept it.
Needham quietly disappeared. Oliver heard from O’Leary that Needham had been shipped off to Australia to practice medicine with the stipulation that he was never to return to England.
Eventually, the fear in Ellen’s eyes faded, and they stopped talking about Needham.
Oliver carefully picked his way down the winding path, alternately watching his footing and staring at his wife. She was dressed in blue today, the color of the sky, facing the horizon, her toes digging into the sand as the waves lapped at them. The breeze was brisk, blowing her hair and gown back as if she were poised on the prow of a ship.
He reached her side, and she turned to smile at him.
