Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady Page 17

  When her husband returned clean and elegant in evening dress, Bella was almost disappointed. And uneasily confused by her own responses. She was married to Elliott, she was trying to be a dutiful wife. And yet—what she felt for Elliott was not dutiful. She had a lowering suspicion that it was, in fact, lust, plain and simple.

  Elliott wanted her to enjoy their lovemaking, but a decent married woman was not supposed to take such pleasure in sex, was she? And certainly not with a man she did not love, however much she liked and respected him. Giving her pleasure seemed important to Elliott. She suspected he would think less of himself if he did not. But did her growing enthusiasm make him respect her more, or less? Is he going to stay tonight? she wondered as he directed the footmen to set up a table for him by her bed and organised her own tray.

  They spoke of sawpits and farm improvements, colour schemes and fabric swatches, the Bayntons’ visit and whether the new blend of coffee was entirely to Elliott’s taste. Bella found herself relaxing, confident that she could contribute something on all these subjects, even if it was only by asking questions and giving encouragement when Elliott spoke of the estate matters.

  Dinner was good and the glass of claret he coaxed her to drink, smooth and full. By the time he lifted her tray away and rang for the dishes to be cleared she was hiding a yawn behind her hand.

  Or, trying to hide it. Not a lot escaped Elliott’s eye, as she was beginning to discover. ‘You are tired, I will leave you to sleep.’

  ‘No! I mean, how can I be tired? I have done nothing all day,’ she protested.

  ‘You had a scare, a revelation about your mother that can only have been emotionally draining, you have been working hard, even if you have been lying in bed, and now you have eaten a very good dinner. I am surprised you are not asleep already.’ He was on his feet and not, she realised, in order to take his clothes off and join her in bed.

  ‘You aren’t coming to bed with me?’ She knew she was blushing, yet she still found the courage to ask because the disappointment was intense.

  ‘I want your full attention when we are in bed together, and for you to be very much awake,’ Elliott said, his eyes darkly intense as he looked at her. ‘I will be gone early tomorrow.’ He came and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, making her shiver. ‘I will see you Monday afternoon, assuming I am not trapped in the drapers’ and the upholsterers’ shops. Sleep well, Arabella.’

  On Saturday Bella realised that not only was she thirteen weeks pregnant but it was finally beginning to show in more than her mood or the state of her insides. Her waist was definitely thickening and her stomach was more rounded she discovered as Gwen tugged on her corset strings.

  ‘Not too tight, please, Gwen.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. With your back it’s best to be careful.’

  Had she guessed? It was going to be impossible to keep the secret for much longer, not from a bright young woman in such a close relationship with her. Oh well, all the staff and most of the neighbourhood would know soon enough that the new Lady Hadleigh had anticipated her marriage vows. Would they think of Elliott admiringly as a bit of a dog or would they disapprove, look down on him because of her folly?

  But there was nothing she could do about it except be a model viscountess. Today, Bella resolved, she would talk to Cook about the meals to be served when the Bayntons came to visit. It would be wonderful to have another woman to talk to. Bella found she was missing Lina and Meg in ways she had never imagined.

  But Cook and Mrs Knight seemed more than capable of looking after the arrangements and Bella felt rather at a loose end. She should have asked Elliott which of the remaining tenants he wished her to call on as a priority.

  But she could call at the Dower House and thank Lady Abbotsbury and Miss Dorothy for their hospitality. And she could take flowers, if she could find any. The lawns around the house were bare of ornamental beds.

  ‘Is there a flower garden, Henlow?’ she asked the butler who was supervising two footmen as they moved a vast and ugly epergne that Elliott had banished from the dining room.

  ‘Of sorts, my lady. It is not what it was in his lordship’s mother’s day.’ He opened the front door. ‘Shall I show you, my lady?’

  ‘Thank you, but I will explore a little by myself. Just give me directions and tell me the head gardener’s name.’

  ‘Johnson, my lady. A cantankerous old man, I am sorry to say, but a good gardener. If you go left around the side of the house, follow the high brick wall along, there’s a green door.’

  Bella tied on one of her old straw bonnets and set out with Toby at her heels, trying to make herself believe that she was now mistress of all she could see. Mostly, on this side of the house, it appeared to consist of an overgrown shrubbery, expanses of rather lumpy lawn and trees that to her inexpert eye needed pruning. The long wall looked promising, she decided—surely it must shelter a walled garden?

  The green door was unlocked and Bella opened it. The terrier shot through the gap as she peeped in. What wonders would it reveal?

  ‘Vegetables,’ she said flatly, knowing that as mistress of the house she should be pleased at the expanse of well-tended crops, the peach house, the cold frames and the orderly stacks of manure and compost.

  ‘Aye, and good vegetables they do be and if that pesky dog digs up my asparagus bed again I’ll take the rake to ‘im.’

  She turned and found a red-faced old man glowering at her. ‘Good morning. You must be Johnson. I am Lady Hadleigh.’ He grunted and made a move as though to lift his battered billycock hat. ‘This is a most admirable vegetable garden and I look forward to seeing round it another day, but just now I am in need of some flowers for Lady Abbotsbury.’

  ‘Had the flowerbeds all turfed over, ‘e did,’ the old man said dourly. ‘Said it was a waste of money employing men to grow flowers. Can’t eat ‘em and the wages cost ‘im.’

  ‘What happened to the gardeners, then?’ Bella asked. It was presumably Rafe this grumpy old man was referring to. How like him to sacrifice both beauty and other men’s livelihoods to fund his own pleasures.

  ‘Labouring they are now. Right waste of trained men, it is.’

  ‘I will speak to his lordship.’ Perhaps Elliott would think the wages justified. She hoped so; she did not like to think of hard-working men out of a job for no fault of their own. ‘So there are no flowers at all?’

  ‘There’s the rose garden. I sees to that. Out of sight, out of mind, so ‘e left it be.’ He stomped off round the brick path without waiting to see if she was following him. Bella had heard that the head gardeners from big houses were a law unto themselves and even refused to let their mistresses cut flowers if it spoiled their borders, but this one amused her rather than offended. She liked his fierce defence of his domain and his concern for his men.

  It was early for roses, but the shelter of the red-brick enclosure, and the care they had been given, had coaxed several bushes into flower and their scent filled the air. She saw small glasshouses as well, which held the flowers that had been used for her wedding. There were plenty to pick for the ladies at the Dower House, and for the main house as well. One particularly vivid bush caught her eye, the blood-red petals almost throbbing with velvety passion. That was how she had always imagined love would look, she thought, rubbing one soft petal between fingers and thumb.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ she told Johnson and thought she detected a slight softening of his expression. ‘They do you credit. I would like to pick some now—could you get me a knife and a basket?’

  ‘I’ll cut these, my lady, and bring them round. You’ll not be wanting to get your hands scratched.’

  Bella watched him, drinking in the perfume and the peace and the sounds of bird song. ‘How many men do you need to get the gardens back to how they were in his lordship’s mother’s time?’ she asked.

  ‘Four more,’ he said without hesitation. ‘And a new heavy roller for the lawns.’

  ‘I will see what I can do
. But I cannot promise, his lordship has much to be seeing to.’

  ‘Aye, ‘e will have.’ The old man laid a tight-furled rosebud carefully in the trug and pushed back his straw hat. ‘Glad to ‘ave ‘im, we are. I recall when ‘e were just a nipper. Good lad. Not like—’ He recollected who he was speaking to and bit off the words.

  ‘Speaking of lads,’ Bella said, not wanting thoughts of Rafe to blight her day, ‘have you any need for a gardener’s boy? Because young Trubshaw needs some honest work.’

  ‘That hellion?’ Johnson scratched his head. ‘Reckon I can work ’im ’ard enough to take his mind off mischief.’

  ‘Thank you, Johnson,’ Bella said with real gratitude. At least one of her worries was solved. She just wished all of them were so easily dealt with.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Next morning Bella drove to church after breakfast. Lady Abbotsbury’s carriage pulled in behind hers as it set off, leaving Bella feeling rather shaken that the formidable dowager was yielding precedence to her. Was she ever going to get used to being a viscountess? And would she learn to behave in the manner Elliott should expect from her?

  Another carriage was stopping just as the footman helped her down. Daniel strolled over, raising his tall hat. ‘Good morning, Cousin Bella.’

  ‘Good morning. It is delightful to see you, of course, but isn’t this rather a long way from your home for morning service?’ She accepted his proffered arm and, once Lady Abbotsbury and Miss Dorothy had descended and joined them, they walked towards the porch. Bella did her best to smile and nod and exchange greetings. Presumably most of the people hailing her had been at the wedding, but she could recall few of them.

  ‘I knew Elliott was away from home so I thought I should escort you,’ he said. ‘It is merely ten miles and a pleasant day.’

  ‘But how did you know he was not at the Hall?’

  ‘Oh, I saw him late yesterday in Worcester,’ he said with a grin. ‘He didn’t see me, and I feared being dragged into the upholstery warehouse to give him moral support, so I cravenly hid, but I thought it unlikely that he would be home today.’

  Daniel showed her to the family pew, helped the other ladies with their things, found the first hymn for everyone and generally made himself useful. ‘There’s the family chapel,’ he murmured, nodding to where the top of several ornate monuments could be glimpsed over the high box pew. Bella did not turn her head to look.

  Mr Fanshawe’s sermon was well delivered and thought-provoking and helped her focus her mind on the prayers without thinking of the last church service she had attended with her father in the pulpit. At the end of the service the verger appeared to open her pew door for her and preceded the Hadleigh party down the aisle, making great play with his long, silver-topped verge. Bella fought an inclination to giggle at the thought that she, plain Miss Shelley, was receiving all this attention, but she had herself under control in time to shake hands with the vicar at the door.

  ‘I wonder if I might call and ask Mrs Fanshawe’s advice on where the greatest need is in the parish,’ she said.

  ‘How very thoughtful. My wife would be delighted. There is only so much we can do, you know. I am sure you will be a most beneficial influence in the parish, Lady Hadleigh.’ He smiled and moved on to the next parishioner in line.

  ‘Do you want to see the family chapel while we are here?’ Daniel asked. He seemed to take her silence for consent and steered her back into the church and down the side aisle. ‘Here we are and that…’ he gestured to where a large slab in the floor was highlighted by the lines of fresh mortar around its edge ‘…is the entrance to the vault.’

  Bella took a deep breath. Whatever she did, she must not express any emotion. ‘Where will the memorial tablet go, do you know?’ she asked, reading some of the inscriptions she could decipher and which were not in Latin. There was a florid monument from 1707 with the viscount of the time depicted in Roman general’s uniform that contrasted oddly with his full-bottomed wig and a charming table tomb with a fourteenthcentury Calne and his wife, he with his hound and she with her lap dog at their feet.

  ‘There, where the board has been set up, next to his parents’ memorial.’ Daniel pointed to a bare patch of wall where a rectangle of painted wood had been placed. When she came closer she saw it was a coat of arms.

  Now she was here she was surprised to find how little emotion she felt. The man she thought she had loved had squandered his life, hurt many people, betrayed trust and his duty and now he was gone, leaving only Elliott, the brother he had spurned, to mourn his loss. Poor man, she thought, startled by the pity that overtook the hurt and anger that had been inside her. So arrogant, so proud—did you sense that your brother is worth six of you? Why didn’t I meet Elliott Calne first and fall in love with him? Or perhaps I have.

  The thought was so unexpected, so sudden, that she gasped and sat down in the nearest pew with a bump.

  ‘Bella?’ Daniel sat down too. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I was thinking of Mama,’ she lied. ‘I do not know where she is buried and I wish I could leave flowers on her grave, visit it from time to time.’ Using such an excuse stung her conscience. Forgive me, Mama, she thought. I had to tell him something.

  ‘But you are thinking of her,’ Daniel said. ‘That is all that matters.’

  ‘Yes, you are right, she is in my heart.’ She took her handkerchief, a very pretty scrap of Swiss lace that Elliott had picked out for her when she had been buying her reticule, and dabbed her eyes, pretending tears.

  Am I in love with him? It was too difficult a thought to come to terms with here, now, with Daniel, unwittingly tactless at her side.

  ‘I am sorry to be such a watering pot,’ she said with a smile. ‘The monuments all look very handsome against the grey stone, I think. Will you come back for luncheon?’

  ‘If it would be no trouble.’ Daniel walked her back, handed her up into her carriage then followed in his. Bella regretted her polite invitation the moment she made it. Now, instead of the simple luncheon she had intended to eat on the terrace and the opportunity to try to come to terms with what she actually felt for her husband, she would have to sit inside in the small dining room and make conversation while Henlow and at least one footman danced attendance. She just wished Elliott would come home.

  Elliott studied the stonemason’s notes. The man was right, he was almost certain. If the memorial slab was made a little narrower and taller and the angles at the top replaced with a wreath, then it would sit more harmoniously next to his parents’ monument. It would be the work of a moment to look again at the chapel and then he could get home and see Arabella, put her mind at rest about the bishop before he broke the news about her brother-in-law.

  He wondered how she was and hoped she would have sent for the doctor if she had felt unwell again. He wondered, as the carriage drew up at the churchyard, if she was thinking of him.

  He strode down the aisle, hat in one hand, notes in the other and into the Calne chapel, put down his hat on a pew and studied the wall. Yes, he would write and order the changes. His eye was caught by something close to his foot, a scrap of white, and he bent to pick it up.

  The very new, very pretty handkerchief embroidered with lily of the valley in whitework was one of the set he had given Arabella in Worcester. Arabella had been here.

  She had sat here, amidst his ancestors, carrying the child who could well carry on the line. She would be hoping for a boy, he thought. It was the natural wish for every wife with a title and an inheritance to secure for her husband. It would not occur to Arabella that her husband could be so dishonourable that he hated the idea of her with his brother’s son in her arms.

  I hope she found peace here, Elliott thought as he took up his hat and strode out of the church, the heavy door closing with a bang behind him, because it gave me none.

  ‘I’ll walk,’ he said to the coachman. ‘Tell her ladyship I will be home after luncheon.’ He strode off in the direction of
the village before the man could respond. What he wanted was not a civilised noon meal with his wife. He wanted to get drunk and hit someone.

  He probably needed someone to hit him, he acknowledged furiously as he vaulted the fence into the lane—a fight would be deeply satisfying. He felt betrayed, which was nonsense, illogical. It would be satisfying to be able to shout at Arabella, rant at her for her actions, her pregnancy. He had felt none of that when she first told him, only anger at Rafe and pity for her.

  But the child had not been real to him then. Now he could see the changes in Arabella, saw the consequences in the doctor’s visit, her desire for the nursery. She had ordered the cradle to be polished—for Rafe’s son.

  Elliott reached the village duck pond and kicked a stone into it, sending three ducks and a coot panicking to the far shore. Two small boys, who doubtless should have been doing something useful for their mothers, looked up from where they were fashioning a fishing pole from a length of twine, a bent stick and a pin with a wriggling worm, dismissed him as no threat to their truancy and went back to their task.

  Elliott sat on a log, ignored the effect on his elegant pantaloons, and watched them. They were about six, he supposed, grubby, ragged, gap-toothed and utterly absorbed in their adventure. He wanted a son like that. He wanted Arabella to have a son, his son. They would go fishing together, play truant from the tutor together. He would teach him to ride and shoot and care about the land. His son, a boy with Arabella’s hazel-green eyes and his own dark honey hair.

  Damnation. He had no right to be thinking like this. It had been no problem at first. It was as he came to know Arabella, to like her, to realise she was not just his wife in some abstract sense, but a person who mattered to him—that was when the fact that the child she carried was not his began to hurt.

  He hated himself for it, he decided as he stood up and circled the pond. If she knew, she would despise him for feeling like this after all his talk of honour and duty. Elliott dug into his pocket, found two sixpenny pieces and tossed them to the boys as he passed. Their gasps of delight made him smile, albeit grimly, as he headed for the Calne Arms.