by Louise Allen
Eventually he said, ‘How long did you know Rafe?’
‘Eight days,’ she confessed.
‘You were constantly in his company? You became intimate in every way, understood him, mind and soul?’
‘Why, no. We could only meet in a clandestine way, snatch an hour here and there. How many couples know each other mind and soul before they marry? I loved him. I mean, I thought I loved him. I did not know him at all, of course,’ she added with wrenching honesty.
‘You fell in love with a man you had known for a handful of days, if you add up those snatched hours,’ Elliott said remorselessly. ‘Rafe was complex and complicated, just like any other human being. You could not possibly have thought you knew him any better than you know me.’
‘But I do not love you!’ she threw at him.
‘True.’ Elliott nodded. ‘What was it that so destroyed your judgement, your instinct for danger? Were you were dazzled, desperate, beguiled or seduced?’
‘No! Yes, I mean I was all of those things. But haven’t you a mistress?’ Bella asked rather desperately. She had to know, she realised.
‘No, not just at the moment.’
‘But you could get one,’ she suggested. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’ Please take one. Then I will not have the humiliation of my ignorance, my clumsiness. My fear.
It was obviously entirely the wrong thing to say. Elliott looked thunderous. ‘Then you should mind,’ he growled. ‘Why should I in any case, when I will have a wife? As it happens, I believe in marital fidelity.’
‘Then you would want to come to my room.’ Best to be quite clear. ‘Next year, I mean, after the baby is born?’
‘I was rather expecting to do so tomorrow night,’ Elliott said. His voice was dry, but she could hear his temper tightly reined beneath it.
‘Tomorrow night?’ Her insides seemed to have become entirely hollow.
‘It is usual on a wedding night to consummate the union.’
‘But you do not love me,’ she protested. How naïve, this is not some green boy, this is an experienced man who expects to gratify his physical desires. He thinks I have been Rafe’s mistress so I will know what to do. And what if he is just as angry as Rafe was when he realises how inept I am? And Elliott did not think her pretty. How could he, looking as ill and drawn as she was? So this was duty, as he saw it. No mistress, faithfulness to his inconvenient, unsuitable wife. A nightmare and twenty-four hours to anticipate it in.
‘Love is not a necessity, you know,’ Elliott said, confirming her thoughts. ‘You are not repelled by me?’
She shook her head. No, of course she was not repelled by him. Part of her looked at him and ached with a very shocking and basic desire to touch him. To be touched by him. He was big and strong and very masculine and she needed to be held and comforted. But that was nothing to do with what a man and woman did in bed. Marital intimacy was quite another thing.
‘Or frightened of me?’ Another shake, a little slower that time. Bella kept her eyes fixed on the reticule she was holding in a death grip. She was terrified, but how could she tell him? The humiliation would be even worse than keeping silent. ‘We will consummate this marriage.’
‘Must we?’ It came out as a whisper.
‘Yes. There is no way I am going to contemplate a sham marriage. This is for the rest of our lives. I am doing my duty, Arabella—I am asking you to do yours.’
He was quite right, of course he was. She understood duty and she understood obligation and she must pay the price. This man was saving her from poverty and shame and her innocent child from all the stigma of its conception. ‘Yes, you are right, of course. You will require an heir if this is not a boy and you are entitled to a proper marriage whatever happens.’ Could she counterfeit whatever was necessary for him to be satisfied with her?
‘I would not force you. Physically, I mean. I would never do that. But I will come to you tomorrow night and we will see what happens.’
‘I will not refuse you,’ she murmured, her fingers still crushing the worn reticule.
‘And you must always tell me if you are indisposed, naturally.’ How calm and unembarrassed he sounded, as though they were discussing whether she could hold a dinner party or accompany him to the races.
‘I do not make excuses,’ Arabella said, trying not to sound reluctant and hearing her own voice, colourless and flat.
‘No, you do not, do you?’ Elliott shifted across into the corner so he could look at her more directly and she made herself meet his gaze, her chin coming up a little. ‘You have little experience of men, I assume.’
‘Very little indeed,’ she agreed. ‘It has not been very successful so far,’ she added with an attempt at a dry little joke.
‘I will have to see what I can do to improve that,’ Elliott said. Mercifully he did not begin to explain just how he would set about it.
He was going to be her husband and he expected to be so, fully. Her brain did not seem to be working very well. Why had she not realised that he would require…that? She had known instinctively that there was a flaw with this perfect solution and here it was.
Somehow she must learn to please Elliott as she had not pleased Rafe, she must. She kept trying not to think of that, of what it had been like. Afterwards she had thought it had been her fault for being so ignorant, for crying out at the pain, otherwise he would not have risen from their makeshift bed so soon, without holding her, without so much as a caress. Now she tried to tell herself that he had behaved like that because of who he was and it was no fault of hers. But a voice inside hacked away at her confidence. Repressed, ignorant vicarage girl, it whispered in Rafe’s voice. You are frigid…You will never please a man. Stupid, clumsy, plain.
The next day she had hardly seen him, his kisses had been brief, almost brutal. And then, when she had clung to him, he had turned on her, his words full of angry, acid spite. At first she had not understood, then as the truth had sunk in she had clamped her hands over her ears, trying not to hear. She was a bore in bed, a bore for wanting to cling, a bore for not realising this was all a game to entertain him while he was stuck in this Godforsaken backwater. There had not been one word about her feelings, about her, at all.
Now, her resolution not to think about the act itself could not entirely suppress the thought of those quite shocking nightgowns. Elliott was expecting her to wear one tomorrow. Everything she would be wearing, every day, right down to her skin, was ordered and paid for by him. He owned her and she must do what he said.
A shiver ran down her spine. And he would own her baby, too. Yes, the diamond had a huge flaw in it, she could see it now so clearly. But that was the price she was going to have to pay for the security she and the child needed.
‘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 s
ucceeded 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 inappropriate 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 of fish, 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 Dorothy 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.
