Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady Read online

  ‘I have been clumsy, I am so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. I felicitate you on the forthcoming happy event and I will be suitably surprised when I hear about if officially, so to speak.’ Bella turned her head away, still worrying about that unfinished word. ‘Bella, forgive me. I will not speak of this to anyone, I swear.’

  ‘Thank you. I would not have Elliott embarrassed for the world. And there is nothing to forgive.’ She should ring for tea. It still had not quite sunk in that she was mistress of this house and could order the staff as she wished.

  ‘And what is Daniel to be forgiven for?’ How could I have ever mistaken someone else’s voice for Elliott’s? Bella wondered. His was deeper than Rafe’s, more flexible and expressive than Daniel’s.

  ‘For making Bella jump out of her skin just now,’ Daniel answered before she could think of anything to say. ‘She was lost in thoughts of wallpaper and curtains and I walked in and startled her.’

  ‘I was just going to ring for tea,’ Bella interjected. Now she was committed to a lie, Daniel was taking her request for discretion to include mentioning it to Elliott. It seemed she had done nothing but deceive him recently and it made her miserable. Or perhaps she was refining too much upon it and it was simply her unsettled emotions that were to blame.

  ‘Daniel has just got here—I did not realise that you two had a meeting.’ Elliott stood back punctiliously as she went through the door, then they both followed her along to her own sitting room and waited while she rang the bell and sat down.

  ‘We do not have a meeting,’ Elliott said. ‘I came back because I had forgotten some paperwork. You’re a fair ride from home,’ he remarked to his cousin. ‘But it is good to see you.’

  ‘I have a new hunter I wanted to try and I dropped by on the off chance. But there is a matter of business, if you have the time. Perhaps I can ride with you a little when you go out again.’

  ‘Discuss it now,’ Elliott said as the maid came in and was sent away for the tea.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Bella said, remembering that a dutiful wife would not want her husband to be drinking tea with her when he could be attending to business. ‘The girl can bring your tea down to the study.’

  ‘I meant here. I would not miss your first tea party, my dear.’ He smiled at her and Bella felt a rush of pleasure.

  Daniel looked doubtful. ‘I do not wish to bore Bella with such things, but if you insist…I was wondering if you are going to lease Fosse Warren. Or sell it, perhaps.’

  ‘One of your clients interested?’ Elliott enquired and Bella recalled that Daniel was a lawyer.

  ‘No. I am.’ Elliott stared at him and Daniel shifted, colouring up. ‘I thought I would try farming myself. A sideline, you understand. I don’t intend giving up the law.’

  ‘I had no idea the practical rural life held any appeal for you. Well, I am sorry, but I only intend to lease the house and pleasure grounds. I have hopes of a returning nabob or some cit wanting a country retreat. I shall retain the estate and the farms. But feel free to come and talk farming any time you want.’

  ‘Thank you, I will take you up on that. You’ll be putting a manager in?’

  ‘My steward is very competent, but I will be keeping a hand on it. I don’t want it neglected while I bring this estate around.’

  ‘Rafe was never one for rusticating, he always said the country was a dead bore,’ Daniel remarked as the maid brought in the tray.

  ‘A pity he did not delegate sufficient authority to Jim Turner for him to keep things running, in that case,’ Elliott said. ‘He’s a good man. If Rafe had trusted him, the land and the buildings wouldn’t be in the state they are now. Thank you, Arabella.’ He took the cup she passed him and smiled, a sudden flicker of warmth breaking through the intensity. He was still unhappy about leaving his own home, she thought with a sudden flash of insight. ‘The tenants’ cottages are a disgrace from what I’ve seen so far,’ he added, serious again.

  ‘I must start visiting the tenants,’ Bella said. Perhaps she could be helpful to Elliott in pointing out which were the priority cases if repairs were needed.

  The two men moved on to speak of a local political scandal and Bella studied the two faces, so obviously related and yet so different. She was becoming used to seeing the likeness to Rafe in both men, although she was finding it harder and harder to recall his exact appearance, to remember his voice when Elliott’s deeper tones were in her ears all the time. Perhaps all her memories of those few days would blur mercifully, in time.

  ‘Where is Rafe buried?’ she asked and both men turned to face her, their faces as alike as brothers in their shared surprise. She should not have blurted it out, she realised, but she needed to know. She did not want to come across the grave unexpectedly and betray any emotion that might betray her.

  Elliott recovered first. ‘In the family vault in the church where we were married,’ he said. ‘You will see it on Sunday, although the memorial is not finished yet, of course.’

  ‘Just a plain plaque?’ Bella enquired, trying to sound as though she was taking an interest in a total stranger’s grave. Rafe had lain so close to her when she had married Elliott. The thought made her feel cold. Perhaps it was best that she had not known.

  ‘I thought a plaque, yes. Name, dates, title and the family crest. White marble,’ Elliott added. She saw the way he was studying her face and wondered if she had said something that might betray her feelings to Daniel.

  ‘What, no statue of Rafe in heroic pose showing his best profile and with scantily clad maidens mourning at his feet?’ Daniel joked. ‘He’d have appreciated those.’

  ‘Calne.’ Elliott frowned.

  ‘My apologies, Bella.’ Daniel’s smile was rueful. ‘And I must be going. I keep forgetting that you are on your honeymoon, such a practical pair of lovebirds that you are—curtains and agriculture are most unconventional entertainments two days after the ceremony.’

  He took himself off, leaving Elliott audibly grinding his teeth. ‘He is not usually tactless.’ He sat down next to Bella on the sofa. ‘I am sorry, did that disturb you?’

  ‘Talking about Rafe’s tomb? No, and I raised the subject after all, which was foolish of me. I did not want to come across it unexpectedly, that is all. I should have waited and spoken to you when we were alone. My thoughts and emotions are all over the place—is it my condition again, do you think?’

  ‘I imagine so.’ Elliott smiled and her heart warmed. He was so kind to her. ‘Not that I would know. I have considerable expertise with brood mares and pointer bitches, none at all with wives. Perhaps if you were to develop a wet nose, a glossy coat and a tail I might be better able to advise.’

  ‘Oh, Elliott.’ Bella dissolved into laughter. ‘Would you tell me sit if I did?’

  He caught her in his arms and pulled her on to his lap. ‘Certainly—sit! I have never seen you laugh before. It suits you.’

  Her giggles died away as she found herself held very close. There were laughter lines at the corners of those blue, blue eyes and Elliott’s lashes were dark and indecently long for a man. His arm was firm around her and she balanced securely, one hand pressed to his waistcoat, conscious of the strength of his thighs beneath her, the occasional flex of the muscles and the alarming realisation that Elliott was finding this arousing.

  ‘Elliott?’ She licked her lips and saw him watching her. His heavy-lidded regard stirred disturbing sensations deep inside. ‘Elliott…’ She leaned towards him and pressed her lips to his.

  Everything about Elliott became tense, from his arms around her to the hard evidence of his sexual interest beneath her. Bella could almost hear him thinking before his lips moved under hers and he leaned back against the support of the sofa, bringing her to lie against his chest. It meant she was on top of him, in control of the kiss. It felt exciting and dangerous and wicked, even though he had not even opened his mouth beneath hers, even though his hands remained light on her back, quite still.

  He
is leaving it to me, she thought and the sense of power eclipsed all the other sensations. Elliott wanted her and she was in command and she knew her kisses did not displease or disappoint him. It seemed to her, in a flash of insight, that this was a brave thing for a man to do, to abdicate sexual power to a woman. She could not imagine Rafe doing so for a moment and yet Elliott was not doing this out of weakness, but out of confidence.

  Bella ran her fingers into the hair at Elliott’s nape, rubbing over the taut tendons, the muscle. She had the illusion that she could hold him like this, powerless in her grip, so she could pillage his mouth at her leisure. Part of her mind laughed at her—he could have her on her back in a moment—but the fantasy was delicious. As she probed at his closed lips with her tongue-tip and he resisted her she realised he was playing too.

  Her fingers closed in his hair, commanding obedience as she slid her tongue inside his mouth. The tightness was exciting and his surrender, as he opened to her, delicious. Bella shifted so she cupped his face with her other hand, holding him while she explored, tasted, teased. His mouth was hot and slick and he tasted of tea and, under that safe, domestic taste, something male and dangerous and wild.

  Panting a little, she drew back so they were nose to nose. ‘Take me?’ he suggested, his voice husky, his hands sliding down to the curve of her hips. ‘Here, now…’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Take me. Could she? Dare she? Of course not, she would be utterly inept, laughable. All the magic drained away, leaving her mortified and awkward. ‘No,’ Bella muttered, wriggling free. ‘Not here, in broad daylight.’ She was blushing, she could feel it. How she must disappoint him after his mistresses, chosen, of course, for their sensual expertise.

  ‘Later?’ Elliott sat upright as she landed inelegantly on the other end of the sofa. He did nothing to disguise the bulge in his breeches.

  Bella looked away. She had to try to respond sooner or later, even though it would be a disaster. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Tonight,’ Elliott agreed. He sounded as though they were discussing whether or not to have fish for dinner. Was that simply good manners or was he hiding anger and frustration under the civil tone? Of course he was.

  There was a silence while Bella regarded her toes and wondered what to say next. Her mind appeared to have gone numb and her body was a confused riot of sensations, most of them urging her back into Elliott’s arms.

  ‘What were you doing in that sitting room?’ Elliott asked. He crossed his legs, so she felt it was safe to look at him again. ‘I thought you would want to start any decoration with your own rooms.’

  ‘It will be ideal for the nursery,’ Bella explained. It would have been better if she could have given this more thought before springing it on him, she thought as his brows drew together. ‘A door could be knocked through to my sitting room and there’s a small room for the nurse to use.’

  ‘You will never get any peace.’

  ‘I will. The nurse will be there and my own sitting room is between my bedroom and the nursery.’

  ‘Very well.’ He agreed so suddenly that she was taken aback. ‘But we had better wait until your pregnancy is official before we start knocking holes in walls.’

  ‘Of course. Thank you, Elliott.’

  He made a dismissive gesture and, just for a moment, Bella thought she saw something almost like shame in his eyes. Then it was gone. He was good at hiding his emotions, but she thought it was because he valued self-control, not because he had set out to deceive her.

  Elliott had a certain dangerous edge of physicality to him that made her wonder if he was exactly comfortable in the high ton. She imagined him stripped to the waist boxing, or fencing, driving home an attack with a flashing blade, and swallowed hard.

  ‘I must go,’ Elliott said. He stood and looked down at her and his voice deepened, sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Until dinner, my dear. I look forward to it—and to later.’

  Bella got through dinner somehow. Elliott must have spoken to Henlow, for the meal was formally served, even though there was only the two of them. Elliott was teaching her, she realised, demonstrating the etiquette she must learn in the safety of their own dining room without guests.

  All the leaves had been taken out of the table so they could converse, he at the head, she at the foot. An array of cutlery hedged her plate, glasses were ranked across the top of it. There was a vast starched napkin to control on the slippery silk of her evening gown and a succession of dishes to identify the correct flatware for.

  And Elliott kept up a constant stream of conversation, mostly on subjects she knew nothing about, so she had to deal with a quivering aspic mould while finding something sensible to say about the fact that there would be a by-election next month for the Evesham constituency.

  Then, just as she was trying to decide what to do with the saddle of lamb and the tiny, highly mobile white onions she was being offered, he asked her opinion about Napoleon’s abdication. ‘I am afraid I have no idea whether Elba is a sensible place to put him or not, my lord. This lamb is excellent. Is it from your…our own flock?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Lady Hadleigh, it is ours.’ She decided he was pleased with her reference to the farm. ‘I feel Napoleon would be safer further away—Elba is too close to France for my liking.’

  ‘You think he might escape and we would have war again?’ That was an alarming thought after only a few weeks of peace. ‘Perhaps wiser counsel will prevail and he will not be sent there.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Elliott went on to talk about the government’s views on the subject; the names of ministers and opposition politicians made her head spin. She strongly suspected him of trying to distract her from what would take place later in her bedchamber, but she tried to keep up with him. It was obvious that she would have to start reading the newspapers if she was not to appear a complete dunce when they had dinner parties.

  Somehow she managed five courses and remembered to leave Elliott to his port without needing to be reminded. She sat and pretended to read until he joined her and then braced herself for at least another hour of scrupulously polite and highly educational conversation until the tea tray was brought in.

  ‘Lady Hadleigh.’

  ‘My lord.’ He was going to say something about her reluctance this afternoon, or what he expected when they went to bed, she knew it. Bella sat up straight, put on her best, brightly interested, face. She could do this. She must do this, and the longer she put it off, the worse it would be. Elliott was her husband now, she owed him a duty. And another, more cynical, sense nagged her that she must attach him for the sake of the child. That the happier he was with her as his wife, the better he would accept the little cuckoo in his nest.

  ‘You preside over the dinner table with great grace.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Oh, thank goodness, he did not want to talk about bed yet. Then what he had said sank in and she bit her lip to control the smile that was in danger of becoming an unladylike grin of delight. ‘It is such a relief to hear you say so—I was well aware that you are doing your best to make me familiar with the etiquette.’

  Elliott sat down, crossed his legs, steepled his fingers and regarded her over the top of them. He should have looked formidable, instead he seemed reassuring. ‘I hope I can help; it cannot be pleasant to be pitchforked into this.’

  ‘I never thought of the practical implications of being married to a viscount,’ she admitted ruefully.

  ‘I imagine not,’ Elliott said wryly, then, to her great relief, changed the subject instead of observing that she had not appeared to have given much thought to anything but her infatuation or she would not be in this position now. ‘Shall I invite the Bayntons to spend the day soon? If the weather is fine John and I will ride out—I want his advice on some woodland—and you and Anne can have a comfortable time together.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ The prospect of having a female friend who could explain the mysteries of childbearing was almost overwhelming. ‘Thank you, Elliott. I am c
onscious of how much trouble I must be to you.’

  ‘Not at all. I am beginning to see the advantages of having a wife,’ he said. What those were for him she could not imagine; just now she seemed to be causing him nothing but problems. Perhaps he thought that after tonight…His smile with its wicked edge sent little flutters of alarm through her. ‘You must let me know whenever you want to go into Worcester for more shopping—clothes, refurnishing your suite. Perhaps you and Mrs Baynton would like to have an expedition one day?’

  ‘I am not sure the bills I might run up will count as advantages.’

  ‘We need to make this our home,’ Elliott said. ‘That will cost money—I am quite resigned. I have put repairs in hand to deal with the damp and the cracked windows.’

  ‘Well, in that case…what are your views on water closets?’

  Elliott gave a gasp of laughter. ‘I hardly dare enquire why you ask. Where were you considering locating such an object? And how the devil do we get the water to it?’

  Bella launched into a description of her reading on the subject and they were well into considerations of water tanks, lead pipe and ventilation by the time the tea arrived.

  ‘I can just imagine what Daniel would say if he could hear us,’ Elliott observed as Bella poured, nervously aware of the age and beauty of the Worcester tea service she was expected to deal with. ‘If he thought us unromantic before, can you imagine his comments on sanitary engineering as a honeymoon topic?’

  ‘I would not dream of discussing such things with anyone else present,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘I know it is not something ladies should speak about, but I do feel I can talk about anything with you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Elliott’s expression of satirical amusement softened. ‘Now that is a romantic observation, Lady Hadleigh.’

  Bella wondered just how romantic Elliott was feeling an hour later as she sat at her dressing table while Gwen brushed out her hair. Such dull hair, she thought. Straight and brown and ordinary despite rosemary rinses. Did men notice such things, or did the fact that she was not a beauty mean that details such as the colour of her hair or the shape of her nose were ignored? Perhaps it was best not to brood on what men found attractive, not with her husband expecting her to…In fact, best not to think at all, about anything, if that could be managed.