Page 33 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
The sensations inside her swelled, and then there was one deep last push and his seed spilled into her. She opened her mouth, her breath releasing – while his body shuddered. Then his weight came down onto her and she held him as he lay still for a moment.
He brushed a kiss on her cheek before lifting off her and laying on his side. She did her best to right her clothes, then lay with her back to him.
‘I love you,’ he whispered into her hair.
Tears slipped from Ellen’s eyes.
‘Are you well?’ He could not have seen her tears, though perhaps he had sensed them.
‘Yes, I am well.’ She was. She was happier than she had ever been; no matter the oddness of his world she could still feel the intensity of his love for her.
‘Sleep now.’
She understood there were two sides to Paul; here he must mostly be the soldier, but even so, there would be moments when the other half of him could be expressed – the man who loved and needed her.
She fell asleep in his embrace, and she slept well.
8
Ellen sat with a quill poised in her fingers, and an empty page lay on the oak table before her. After four weeks in Cork, the weather had not been good enough to sail. She had written to her mother and to Penny to tell them where she was. She had told her mother she was well, but impatient to complete their journey. To Penny she had written a dozen amusing little stories of her adventures, describing Paul’s men and their atrocious ability to maintain polite language in her hearing – and about the women, who were kind and supportive yet kept their distance.
She had a woman to help her now, as a maid, cook, washerwoman and everything else, though currently, while they lived in the inn, her only duties were as a companion and ladies’ maid.
Ellen stared at the blank page. She wanted to write to her father, but she had no idea what to say. The quill twirled in her fingers. No words came.
She looked through the window at the busy street. Paul was restless. He wanted to be on his way. The waiting was difficult.
Words came at last. She looked back at the paper and dipped the quill in the ink then wiped the nib clear of drops, before writing simply.
Dear Father,
I hope you will forgive me for marrying Paul. But I am happy. We are happy. I have told Mama how we are waiting to sail to America, but the winds will not calm enough to allow it. I think we shall be here another couple of weeks, if you wish to write to me before we leave, I have given you my address.
Your daughter,
Eleanor
She looked at the words for a moment. In the past she would have written, your obedient daughter, but today she was his disobedient daughter and she could hardly write that. She blotted the ink, then folded the letter, struck a flint and sealed it by heating the edge of a small block of red wax over the flame until a few drops fell on the folded page. She used Paul’s seal, pressing the small pendant he had loaned to her into the wax.
Once she had addressed the letter, she placed it with the others, fetched her cloak, then went in search of her maid, to ask the woman to accompany her to the posting inn. She could ask the woman to take them, but Ellen wished to stretch her legs, and Paul would not be back until dinner.
* * *
Ellen stood on the edge of the harbour wall watching the waves crash against it. The sea was still too angry for the ships to sail. Foam and spray spewed over the top of the wall as the waves hit it, and tiny droplets of salty water blew into her face.
This was her favourite thing to do, to come down to the harbour and watch the sea. She liked to come during the hours Paul drilled his men because at this early hour, the harbour was less busy as long as the tide was out.
Another four weeks had passed and more since she had written to her family, but there had been no reply. Each day she looked out across the sea thinking of her mother and her sisters, wondering how they were, and what they thought of her desertion. Were they angry with her? Was that why they had not written? Ships reached Cork from England every week but no letters came.
Ellen stood for a little while longer, just watching the tug of war the tide played with the waves, throwing them against the harbour wall, before pulling them back.
She felt like the sea. She was happy with Paul, and this life had become normal, yet when they left for America it would be abnormal again. The part of her which missed her mother and her sisters still tried to pull her back.
Ellen turned her back on the water and faced her maid. The woman stood a few steps back. ‘Jennifer, I am sorry to leave you standing in the cold. We will go home.’ It was odd to call an inn home. An inn was not a home – yet they had been here for weeks.
When would she have a home again; if they were to always travel where would ever be home?
Paul is my home– and so the inn was home – that was the answer. She did not need a place, just him.
