Louise Allen Historical Collection Page 31

  ‘Would you like to rest?’ Elliott asked. Thank goodness, he showed no inclination to restart this discussion. He must have decided the matter was closed. Her husband-to-be had spoken. ‘It has been a long day. Stretch out on the seat. There is a rug you can use as a pillow.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Bella took off her bonnet and lay down. She was tired, now she let herself think about it, but more than that, if she pretended to sleep there would be no danger of any more conversation. Elliott folded the rug for her and she rested her head on it and closed her eyes. He is kind, she reminded herself. And honourable. And he will not be satisfied until he bends me absolutely to his will.

  But you do not love me. That whispered protest seemed to echo in his brain. Of course he did not. Gentlemen did not expect love in marriage. And neither had Rafe. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, but he had not said them. He could not be so cruel as to remind her of that, not when Arabella looked at him and fixed those wide hazel eyes on his. Why had he not noticed before how clear her eyes were and how lavish the dark lashes?

  If it had not been so serious he could have laughed at her innocent assumption that he would marry her in name only. It was not often that he was at a loss for words, Elliott reflected. But this time Arabella had succeeded in silencing him for several seconds.

  Women were emotional creatures, he told himself. Yesterday she had been exhausted, she had received a huge shock and she was with child. Just one of those circumstances was enough to make any woman hesitate when faced with a man insisting he share her bed, although, without vanity, he knew himself to be an experienced and skilful lover. Arabella would not be dissatisfied, he vowed. He would be gentle and considerate and not ask too much of her, not for some time yet. But he would go to her bed, put down the marker that he belonged there.

  She would do her best to be a good wife, he believed that, although she had so much to learn, not just about him or the household but the entire world of the ton and her role as viscountess. But duty was obviously a word with meaning to her and she would try and he must help her.

  Elliott made himself more comfortable in the corner and watched Arabella’s sleeping face. When she had blushed, putting colour into her wan cheeks, the effect had been rather charming. Perhaps he should make her blush more often. The thought of how he might achieve that brought a smile to his lips and a pleasant tightening in his groin. Yes, he was looking forward to tomorrow night.

  He had felt a brute when he had won that argument, though. And when he had become angry he had the clear impression that she was used to being shouted at. She needed confidence to fulfil her new role and she was not going to get it if he was impatient—in bed or out of it.

  At least he had been able to tell her the truth about his lack of a mistress. Keeping a chère amie and planning to court Frederica at the same time had seemed in appropriate to him, so he had paid Lucille off two months past. The lack of female companionship had been the least of his problems recently, but now it occurred to him that the dubious charms of celibacy were fast wearing thin.

  Elliott crossed his legs, the heat of desire fading to be replaced by a mental image of Arabella regarding him reproachfully over the edge of the bed sheets. Patience was going to be needed, but she would soon become accustomed. It was fortunate that he did not suffer any lack of self-esteem in the bedchamber.

  He made himself think of other things. He was beginning to admire Arabella’s courage. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be young, female, pregnant, to find your lover had rejected you and left you all alone. It was not easy for a self-confident, wealthy, privileged male to put himself in those shoes. Then he recalled the days after his father’s death, the shock of bereavement, the hurt of Rafe’s rejection, the loss of the comfortably familiar future he had naïvely imagined would be his, the insecurity of a small income with no open-handed father to bale him out.

  That had been bad, but he’d had his freedom, a small estate, the status of his family name, a man’s lack of constraints, his friends and pastimes. The shock had spurred him to take risks and forge his own, successful, path. But Arabella was a woman with no power and no freedom.

  Together they could build a marriage, he felt confident, just so long as he could remain patient and she was open with him.

  Arabella stirred in her sleep and he smiled. Yes, charming was the word, with those long lashes and her hand tucked under her cheek like a slumbering child. Her lips moved and Elliott leaned closer.

  ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘No!’

  ‘Arabella.’

  She woke, confused, on a bed that rocked, woken by Rafe, who was dead and who she must fight. She had been dreaming about him, that blissful moment when he had lain his long, hot body over hers, had parted her softness with demanding fingers—and then the nightmare had begun.

  ‘Arabella, we are home.’ Not Rafe, but Elliott. Safety. Bella rubbed her eyes, remembering and wondering at the relief that filled her when she saw who she was with.

  Home. She swung her feet off the seat and sat up, pushing back her hair. Elliott looked tense. He must be impatient, chasing about the county because of her, dealing with her fears and her emotions, when he had so much to do here.

  Bella reached for her new bonnet and tied the ribbons, managing a smile for him. He stared back, serious, looking as though he was trying to read her mind. ‘This is a lovely house,’ she said, snatching at conversation. ‘I think I will enjoy discovering it and learning about my new home.’

  ‘You must make what changes you wish,’ Elliott said. ‘I have no sentimental attachments to anything here.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was rather chilling. She had hoped to explore with him, find treasures from his childhood that he would tell her about, learn the history of the old house and get to know him in the process. ‘What is your smaller estate like? Is it close?’ The carriage swept past the front of the hall and turned towards the Dower House.

  ‘About ten miles south of here, towards Moreton in Marsh. The house is more a yeoman farmer’s than anything more grand, but the land is good.’ Despite his measured description Arabella could hear affection and pride in his voice.

  ‘What will you do with it, now you have this?’ Bella allowed him to help her down from the carriage, wishing the dusk was not falling. It would be good to see her new home in sunlight. ‘What is it called?’

  ‘Fosse Warren. It is close to the Fosse Way, a Roman road. I have no choice but to leave it in the hands of my steward, he’s a good man.’ There was something in his eyes that told Bella that it was a wrench to leave the estate in other hands, however trusted.

  ‘And the house will be standing empty,’ she said, thinking about damp and keeping rooms aired. She must find out about housekeeping there.

  ‘I will let it out, I expect,’ Elliott said, steering her round a hole in the drive. ‘I will not dispose of it; it can become the second son’s portion.’

  ‘But it is your home,’ she protested, managing not to blush at the reference to another child. But Elliott would do his duty to this land, this house and its people, just as he was doing his duty to her. Of course he was thinking ahead, making plans for the future of the family.

  ‘Hadleigh Old Hall is my home now. And yours,’ he added as he knocked. ‘Ironic, is it not? I never expected to live here, while you thought you were to be its mistress although you had never seen it. And now we must both call it home.’

  The door opened before Bella could respond. ‘My lord, Miss Shelley.’ Dawson seemed less frail today, or perhaps he had been expecting them and had not been alarmed by the knocker. ‘Her ladyship and Miss Dorothy are in the drawing room, my lord.’

  Bella took a deep breath. Miss Dorothy had been charming, but Lady Abbotsbury would be an entirely different kettle offish, she suspected. How had Elliott described her? Querulous, that was it. She had managed with the bishop, now she must manage with the dowager; she could not let Elliott down.

  ‘Elliott? What is this Dor
othy tells me?’ The sharp voice began the moment Elliott stepped through the drawing room door. ‘Marriage to some country girl no one has ever heard of? What are you about? Eh?’

  Chapter Seven

  A country girl no one has heard of. That is exactly what I am, Bella thought. His family are going to hate me, I am not good enough, he will realise…

  ‘Great-Aunt Alice, Miss Shelley is here,’ Elliott said reprovingly, with a squeeze of Bella’s hand. The panic subsided a little.

  ‘I can see that! Come here, girl.’

  Bella dropped her best curtsy and stood in front of Lady Abbotsbury, summoning up all the calm she used in the face of Papa’s worst moods. ‘Lady Abbotsbury. Thank you for allowing me to stay here.’

  ‘Not much choice! Harum-scarum way of doing things, I must say.’ The old lady’s cheeks were plump and brushed with rouge, her hair was piled high, augmented with false curls and padding and her gown was of the last century: brocade and panniers and lace. But her eyes were sharp and dark and interested entirely in the present moment as they studied Bella. ‘You’re very pale, child. What have you got to say for yourself, Miss Shelley?’

  ‘I will do my best to make Lord Hadleigh a good wife, Lady Abbotsbury.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. What do you say to that, eh, Elliott? You’ve done better than that rakehell brother of yours, bringing home a nicely behaved young lady who thinks as she ought.’ The black eyes showed no softening as she pronounced her approval.

  ‘I will do my best to make Arabella a good husband,’ he replied, bending to kiss his great-aunt on the cheek. She responded by fetching him a smart blow on the arm with her fan, but Bella guessed she was pleased with the gesture. ‘Thank you for looking after her for me. She is pale because she is tired; she has had a trying few days.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The knowing eyes studied Bella, but Lady Abbotsbury made no comment. She knows, Bella thought. She knows about the baby.

  She waved them to the sofa. ‘What is happening tomorrow? No one ever tells me anything.’

  ‘We will be married in the parish church by licence at three. Daniel Calne will give Arabella away. There will be a dinner afterwards, which I hope you will feel able to attend.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter if I feel up to it or not,’ the old lady snapped. ‘You need it to be seen that I approve. I’ll write to all my acquaintances, never you fear. Arabella will be accepted despite this hugger-mugger affair. You’ll be making the round of visits to all the family at once, I dare say.’

  ‘I thought not,’ Elliott said smoothly. ‘Arabella has a lot to learn here and I expect to be much occupied with estate matters.’

  ‘Will you, indeed?’ The chuckle was wicked. ‘That’s one way of describing it! So we can be expecting a happy event in the new year?’

  Bella could feel herself turning scarlet. She had heard about the outspoken language of some of Lady Abbotsbury’s generation, but she had never encountered it before. Obviously the old harridan had second sight. She made a conscious effort not to lay her hand protectively over her belly.

  ‘So, you’ve found yourself a good girl who knows how to blush, Elliott. Excellent. Most of these modern misses are too brassy to remember how.’

  ‘As you say, Great-Aunt.’ Elliott got to his feet. There was no sign of a blush on his cheeks, Bella noted with resentment. ‘I will leave you now, Arabella. Daniel Calne and the carriage will be here for you at a quarter to three.’

  ‘Thank you, Elliott.’ She remembered to smile affectionately at him.

  ‘Well, take her out on the terrace and kiss her goodnight, Elliott!’ Bella regarded her hostess with fascinated alarm. They were true after all, the stories of shockingly lax behaviour in Grandmama’s day. ‘I don’t know what modern young men are coming to. No imagination, no passion. Shoo, the pair of you, do your canoodling, then I can stop being a chaperon and go to my bed.’

  ‘Arabella?’ Elliott offered his hand. ‘I am reminded that I am shockingly remiss as an eager bridegroom.’

  The fascination turned completely to alarm as she strove for something light to say. She could hardly bolt from the room like a scared rabbit. ‘No doubt it was the interview with the bishop this morning,’ she suggested, getting to her feet and allowing him to guide her towards the doors leading out to the garden.

  ‘Of course, that must have had a sobering effect.’ His eyes were amused, even though his expression remained perfectly serious.

  So, he has a sense of humour. Perhaps the strains of his brother’s death and her arrival had buried it deep, for that was the first sally she had heard him make, although his smiles were warm. It was a relief to find her mild joke had been appreciated. The pleasure of that lasted just long enough to take her out on to the terrace amidst shadowed urns and tubs of clipped evergreens.

  She turned, her hand still in his, and found herself close, almost toe to toe with him. In the dim light he looked so very like Rafe that she shivered and took half a step back in alarm.

  ‘Arabella?’ The deep voice was Elliott’s. This was not Rafe, she told herself, this man was kind and honourable and she must not show any reluctance. Tentatively she lifted her free hand to his lapel. Elliott did not need any further encouragement. He drew her to him, keeping her right hand, still clasped in his, trapped between their bodies as his left hand came round her shoulders. Bella felt the heat of his body down the length of hers and tipped back her head so she could look into his face, so disturbing and familiar in the shadows, yet so subtly different.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, when he made no further move. What is he going to do?

  ‘I am learning your face.’ Again, that thread of amusement under the serious tone.

  ‘In the dark?’ Perhaps he thought her too plain to look at for long in daylight.

  ‘I can see the shape of your face and the gleam of your eyes and the way you tip your head to one side when you are puzzled. I can smell the rosemary you use to rinse your hair.’ The hand that was flat against her back slid up and rested lightly at her nape. One finger moved, stroking. It felt as intimate as a touch on her bare breast and, despite herself, her body responded, heating, shivering as the tension coiled low in her belly and the breath caught in her throat.

  As she gave a little gasp of shock that she could respond so, he bent his head and took her parted lips, sliding his tongue between them with a directness that had her starting in alarm. The hand at her nape held her still as his mouth explored hers and the intimate invasion was sensual, not forceful. But there was a demand there, behind the gentleness, that reminded her of his insistence on a true marriage.

  Bella made herself kiss back, let her own tongue touch his in a tentative exploration that she knew was untutored, gauche. He will become exasperated in a minute, she thought. This cannot be right. But Elliott did not seem to find it displeasing, for he held her closer, angling his mouth over hers to caress the delicate moistness until she was lost in the feel and the scent and the disturbing heat of him. It seemed, strangely, that he was concerned for her pleasure as well as his.

  When he lifted his head and freed her mouth she found her fingers had curled tight on his lapel and she was standing on tiptoe, the better to give him access to her lips. Blushing, Bella released the crushed coat and stepped back. ‘I think perhaps…’ How could I have done that, taken pleasure from kissing a man I do not love? she thought, shaken. Was her father right after all, and this was wantonness? Yet she did not want anything more than Elliott’s kiss; everything else terrified her.

  ‘I think perhaps I had stopped thinking,’ Elliott said. He sounded somewhere between breathless and amused. ‘I had better take you back inside or even my great-aunt’s eccentric views on chaperonage may be outraged.’ They stepped into the light cast from the room across the flags and he looked down at her. ‘I have made you blush again; that will please the old reprobate.’

  ‘Is she? A reprobate, I mean?’ Bella snatched at the chance to let her pink cheeks cool a little before
going back. She felt disorientated, as though she hardly knew herself.

  ‘Outrageous in her day, I assure you,’ Elliott said with a chuckle. ‘A string of lovers as long as your arm, if my mama was to be believed. She is the product of a more robust age than ours. And she still has an eye for a well-made footman.’

  Bella was smiling as they stepped back into the drawing room. The amusement, and resisting the temptation to stare at the formidable old lady, tided her over the awkwardness of their return and Elliott’s respectful kiss on her cheek as he left. Then she was alone with the two women and the knowledge that by this time tomorrow she would be married to a man she scarcely knew who was wedding her only because his rigorous code of honour dictated it.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘You must eat!’ Lady Abbotsbury sat enthroned in a vast brocade chair that had been dragged into Bella’s bedchamber. She had been supervising the bride’s preparations all morning and Bella suspected she was having the time of her life. She only wished she felt the same.

  ‘I cannot.’ Bella stared at the cold meats and fruit that had been laid out on a side table, her stomach revolting. She hoped the old lady did not realise that this was morning sickness as much as nerves and comment as much.

  But even without that, her emotions were in such a turmoil that she had hardly slept. And now it was hard to work out which was uppermost in her mind—guilt for placing Elliott in the position where he had to marry her, fear at the thought of the wedding night or the residual confusion over the way his kiss last night had made her feel.

  Her response to Rafe had been almost entirely emotional, she could see that now. She had been dazzled, flattered, swept off her feet by the handsome, sophisticated, wonderful man who was powerful enough to take her away, whatever her father said to the matter. She had tumbled headlong into love with Rafe. She had loved with her heart and not her head and she had given herself to him because of that, but somehow she had never been as physically aware of him as she was with Elliott, even when they had lain together.