Free Wedding Rows by Kate Kingsbury Page A

talk about something else. What do you think these little pink flowers are called?” She turned her back and walked away from him, gesturing fiercely at the clump of wildflowers growing alongside the railings that lined the cliff path. “They come back every year and no one seems to know their name.”
    “Dammit, Elizabeth!” He caught up with her, seized her arms, and turned her to face him again. “You know I’d tell you if I could.”
    Struggling to keep the tears at bay, she muttered, “Yes, I do. It’s just that it’s so hard, not knowing. I try not to think about it, but every time I pick up a newspaper . . .” She looked up at him, helpless to continue.
    The look in his eyes cut off her breath. “You know, Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, you sure make it hard for me to keep my promise.”
    “Then don’t.” She didn’t know she’d said the words out loud until she saw his face change. Even if she could take them back, she knew she wouldn’t. Yes, he was right. They should wait. His divorce wasn’t finalized yet. Officially he was still married. Protocol demanded they keep their distance from each other, at least until he was a free man.
    Right at that minute, however, none of that seemed to matter. No one was around to see them, and heaven only knew when she would be alone with him again. If ever. No, she would not take back the words.
    She waited for what seemed an eternity before he moved. She wondered if he’d understood, but then he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. It seemed as if everything—the trees, dogs, birds, the grass, the ocean, the sun, and the salty breeze, all of it—disappeared into one soundless moment in time. So this, she thought with a sense of wonder, this is what being in love is really like.
     
    Polly flew up the stairs so fast she tripped at the top and went sprawling onto the landing. The carpet scraped her knee and she winced. Another flipping ladder to ruin her stockings.
    Edna’s voice screeched up the stairs. “What are you doing up there? You sound like a herd of elephants.”
    Polly pulled a face and scrambled to her feet. “I tripped, that’s all.” The precious letter had crumpled in her hand, and she smoothed it out.
    “It’s those blasted high heels you wear. You’ll break your neck in those, my girl. You mark my words.”
    Having heard the dire warning too many times to count, Polly ignored it and limped into the bedroom. With a flick of her foot she kicked off one sandal, then the other, and sank onto the bed.
    She stared at her address written in an untidy scrawl across the envelope. Just above her name was a smudge of dirt, as if it had been splashed with mud. Tense with excitement, she stared at it, wondering where the writer had been when he wrote the letter.
    There was one way to find out. Very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, she opened the flap with her thumb and drew out the flimsy pages.
    There were three pages altogether, covered in the same scrawl, which at times was hard to read. She skimmed through it at first, skipping the newsy parts to get to something personal. She found it halfway down the last page.
    You sound like a really nice girl. Polly. I hope you’ll go on writing to me. I’d love to hear from you again. If you can, send me a photograph. I’d like to know what you look like. I’ll send you one of me in the next letter. Until then, I’ll be thinking about you and looking forward to hearing from you again. Yours sincerely, Pte. Tom Reynolds.
    Polly pressed the letter against her heart for a moment. His name was Tom! He was nineteen. Only three years older than her. He lived in Surrey, near London, and he liked dancing and football. Well, she wasn’t much of a dancer, and she never saw a football match, but that was something that could be worked on later. Tom. She tried it out loud. “Tom and Polly Reynolds.” Yes, it sounded good.
    She went back and read the letter again, more slowly this