Free The Lost Love of a Soldier by Jane Lark Page A

scales. She loved him. She did not regret it.
    Paul had left the carriage curtains open and the lamp unlit again; so she opened her father’s letter and held it to the moonlight which reflected back off the snow, resting her shoulder against the edge of the carriage and holding the paper near the window. There were just two lines of his precise, formal script.
    Eleanor
    You have made your decision and by doing so, made me look a fool. Do not expect a welcome back. You are no longer permitted here.
    The Duke of Pembroke
    His words hurt. He had not even signed it your father .
    They’d been brought up by her mother to call him Papa; he’d not once used the childish name himself. Father, he would concede, but he never said it with emotion.
    “What does it say?”
    Ellen looked at Paul. “That he wishes nothing more to do with me. I think it would have been the same even if Mr Wareham had arrived before we wed.”
    “Then why send him?”
    “Perhaps just to look as though he tried to stop me; for appearance sake…” She shrugged. She’d never understood her father. She’d have to be much wiser to fathom his depths.
    Paul smiled. “Put him from your mind. You have no need to worry over him now.”
    She was not worrying over him but she was concerned about her sisters and her mother.
    Paul gripped her hand and lifted it to his lips. The warmth of his breath seeped through her glove. Then he turned her hand and kissed her wrist above it. Sensation skimmed up her arm. “Do not fret about your sisters either. They have time to mature, and I am certain, your eldest, Penny, is tough enough to fight her own battles. She did not seem demurring when I met her.”
    Ellen smiled, although moisture filled her eyes. Then she laughed, just a sudden sharp sound. “No, she is not demure, she will stand against him if he tries to force her hand, and she will use my disobedience as her example.”
    “And the others will learn from her … ”
    “Yes.”
    Paul had such an aura of confidence; it filled the air around him.
    “Very well then. No more sulking.”
    Her smile lifted. “No.”
    “And no more tears,” he added, wiping one away from the corner of her eye with his thumb.
    Her next laugh was a little chocked, and then foolishly she burst into tears. But she was happy too; they were part happy tears. He pulled her close and held her, as the carriage rolled on.
    Another hour or more passed before they reached Carlisle and the snowy frost bound mud roads, turned to cobble. The noise about the carriage changed as it rolled through streets, and the strike of the horses hooves, tack and carriage wheels bounced back from brick houses.
    When they turned into an inn, Paul pulled away from her and gave her a smile. It burned with compassion. “I know you’ve left a lot behind, Ellen, but now is the time to begin our new life.”
    “I know.” She was his wife and she was about to become his wife in full. A pleasant ache gripped low in her stomach. She took a breath and her breasts pressed against her bodice.
    The carriage halted and all outside was noise. Within, her nerves rioted in anticipation.
    “Come.” He leaned across her to open the carriage door, then climbed out before her and lifted his hand, as he’d done so many times during their journey to the border. She stepped out, her head spinning.
    “Do you wish to eat in a parlour or in our room?”
    “In our room.”
    “Well then we had better claim one.”
    “Yes.”
    He walked her across the courtyard. It had been cleared of snow. Grooms moved to help free the horses.
    Her heart raced. She was not hungry. Her stomach had tied in knots.
    He ordered the gammon pie for them both, and asked for a room for Captain and Mrs Harding. That was her name now. Her lips lifted a little as the novelty flowed through her.
    In a moment they were shown to a room at the front of the inn, overlooking the dark street. It had a huge four-poster bed, carved in the Tudor style with