by Louise Allen
Bella finished her luncheon and went back to contemplating the pile of parcels the footman had brought in from the carriage. She supposed they must be for her—who else would Elliott be buying hats for?—but she did not like to open them. The thought that he had been choosing gifts for her made her happy, but she dare not cling to the hope that the gesture meant more than the kindness he had shown her all along.
She wanted to see him, to hear his voice, discover whether the pleasant ache in her heart was truly love. She feared it was. The misery of loving and her love not being returned warred with the happiness the emotion brought her. Elliott had already been so kind, had sacrificed so much, been so patient, she could not burden him with her feelings, feelings he would not return. And why should he believe her, even if she told him that she loved him? She had fancied herself in love with his brother—Elliott would think her fickle, would question her judgement.
But where was he? It was two hours since the carriage had returned and the footman said his lordship had apparently finished his business in the church and had walked off towards the village.
The clock struck three and she found anxiety had turned into worry and worry into anger. He had been gone for almost three days, he must know she was anxious, and yet he had not even put his head round the door, just sent a message and a pile of shopping.
Bella seized the nearest thing, a hat box, and yanked at the ribbons. It cost her a broken nail before she could open the knot she had jerked tight. Inside was the most frivolous villager hat with a big knot of green ribbon over one ear. She tossed it aside and tore open another that proved to contain a stack of fabric samples. They spilled at her feet as she looked at the next. Elliott, it seemed, had indulged himself by buying her fine lawn chemises.
‘Hah!’ Bella dropped them back on to the tissue paper from where they slid on to the floor. What did he care about her underwear? He didn’t even come straight home to see her.
‘Don’t you like them?’ She spun round as the deep voice from the doorway made her breath catch. Elliott lounged there, looking very slightly dishevelled. She was not sure whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Possibly both.
‘You’ve been drinking,’ she accused.
‘Not much,’ he said, wandering into the room. ‘Not enough. A pint of knock-me-down, but I’m still standing.’ His eyes were shuttered, wary, a strange contrast to his careless slouch and loosened neckcloth.
‘Why did you not come home?’ she demanded. ‘Look at the time! Your luncheon has gone to waste, I was worried…’
‘Are you turning into a shrew, wife?’ Elliott picked up the bonnet and reached out to drop it on her head.
Bella slapped his hands away and the hat went flying. ‘Where have you been?’ He frightened her like this.
Elliott picked up the hat and laid it back in its box with exaggerated care. ‘In the inn.’
‘Is it muddy in there?’ Bella demanded, gesturing at his boots.
‘No. I walked round the pond, I seem to recall.’
‘I was worried,’ Bella repeated, laying a hand on his forearm. Elliott looked down at it and she lifted it away.
‘The footmen would have told you I was in the village,’ he said. ‘Must I account for my movements to my wife now? What do you think I was getting up to? Debauching local innocents?’
That hurt, as it was obviously meant to. ‘No,’ she countered sweetly. ‘I assumed you were getting drunk in the local tavern and perhaps getting into a fistfight.’
‘I would have enjoyed that. As it is, I am not drunk, I have not fought anyone and now I am home. How have you spent the time?’
‘I went to church and then I went to see the family chapel. Daniel showed me. I was upset because—’ Because I realised I loved you. ‘And then I came home and entertained Daniel for luncheon. He is being very kind.’
She stalked over to the bell pull and yanked it. ‘I suppose you would like some luncheon now?’
‘You rang, my lady?’ Henlow appeared, calmly oblivious that the drawing room was a litter of packages and underwear, his mistress was standing, elbows akimbo, in the middle, and his master was mired in mud.
‘Thank you, Henlow,’ Elliott said. ‘Her ladyship has changed her mind.’ The butler bowed himself out, still expressionless.
‘I am not hungry,’ he snapped before Bella could catch her breath and call the butler back.
‘What is the matter with you?’ she demanded. She was not scared of him, not exactly, but she was scared for them. This was not the Elliott she had come to know. His eyes were fixed on her midriff and she realised she had laid a protective hand over the swell of her belly. ‘Don’t shout at me, I am certain it upsets the baby.’
‘I am so sorry,’ Elliott said, not sounding so in the least. ‘I should not have forgotten that everything revolves around that confounded child.’
‘Elliott! How could you? Our baby—’
‘Rafe’s son,’ he fired back and then caught himself, his face pale and his eyes dark with emotions she had never seen there.
‘But you married me because it might be a boy,’ Bella said, struggling to understand. ‘You said it must be the heir if it is a boy.’ And then she recalled the shadow that had crossed his face when she had teasingly remarked that she hoped the baby was a boy because they would have such fun together. ‘You resent it, don’t you? Elliott, it is an innocent baby. If you are angry, be angry with me, not the child.’
‘I am not angry with the child, or with you,’ he flung at her over his shoulder as he kicked aside some fallen underwear on his way to stand and stare out of the window. ‘I am not even angry with Rafe although, God knows, he deserves it. I am furious with myself.’
‘With yourself?’ Bella stared at the broad shoulders, braced as though he expected her to throw things at him. ‘You mean, because you want it to be your son? But you said—’
‘I know what I said. I know what I should think. I know what is the right and honourable way to feel,’ he said without turning around. ‘So that makes me dishonorable and wrong, does it not?’
‘Oh, Elliott. No.’ Bella wrestled to find the right words. What have I done to him? ‘It just makes you human. I should have realised, I should have thought.’
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I don’t want your guilt to add to mine, thank you.’ She stood and stared at him. He was dishevelled, he smelt of the ale house as he stood there shedding mud on the Chinese carpet, and she loved him. And now he showed her the truth of what she had done by imagining she loved his brother.
This was not simply inconvenience and expense and the end of any choice for him in who he married. This was pain and guilt for him and the loss of a father’s love for her child.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Elliott, I do not know what to say. I do not know how I can ever make this right.’
He turned and smiled at her. It was quite a successful smile, all things considered, and it reminded her, with a jolt, of all the reasons she loved him and why this hurt so much. ‘There is nothing you can do, Arabella. I am just going to have to learn to deal with it.’
And so must I. And the child will know, somehow, that something is wrong, that something is missing from its life. There will be two of us, hoping for his love.
‘Elliott, will you promise me something?’
‘I will try,’ he said, his eyes wary. ‘I am not going to promise something I cannot hold to.’
‘Be honest with me from now on. Tell me what you feel, what you need.’
He watched her for a long few seconds and then shook his head. ‘No, I am sorry, my love, I cannot promise that. I can promise to try, but that is all.’
‘Then that will have to do,’ she said. My love. It is just an endearment. I am a fool to hope that one day you will call me your love, and mean it from the bottom of your heart. Something flickered in his eyes and was gone. ‘What is it?’
Elliott shook his head. ‘A thought that
you do not want to hear.’
‘Tell me.’ Bella went to him and caught his hands in hers. ‘Please.’
‘I want to make love to you,’ Elliott said. ‘Don’t ask me to explain why, now of all times. I know you won’t—’
‘Yes,’ she said, confused, but trying to understand. He needed to prove that she, at least, was his and no longer another man’s. ‘You are my husband and…Elliott!’ He scooped her up and was halfway up the stairs before she got her breath back. ‘Put me down…the servants will see…you’re drunk!’
‘They are paid to be blind, Arabella. And I am stonecold sober.’ He shouldered open his bedchamber door, laid her on the bed and went back to close and lock the door.
Bella sat up and watched as he tossed his coat and waistcoat on to a chair, unwrapped his neckcloth and began to unfasten his shirt. I have seen him naked, she told herself, forcing her fingers to unclench from the bedspread. But she had never seen him undress like this, stripping away his clothes, tossing them aside as though all that mattered was to get to her.
‘Your boots,’ she managed, hearing the way her voice quavered.
‘Don’t worry, Arabella, I’m not the sort of husband who comes to bed in his boots and spurs.’ He sat on a chair and dragged them off, pulling the stockings with them. Which left him, in broad daylight, in nothing but his breeches. He was very obviously aroused as he stood up and advanced purposefully on the bed. And so was she, with thudding heart, shortness of breath and the embarrassingly insistent intimate pulse between her legs. She ought to be alarmed, she knew. This was her husband, but in a mood she had never seen him before.
Elliott put one knee on the bed and began to unbutton her simple afternoon gown. He bent and kissed her neck as he pushed off her gown. ‘And there is absolutely no hurry.’
It took at least fifteen minutes to remove her petticoats, her chemise and her stays. Every tape, hook and button appeared to require a kiss or a nibble or a touch of his tongue. Bella closed her eyes and wondered if this was a branding, whether he was marking her entire body as his. She was uncertain, but she was also aching and needing and hot and restless. Her breasts were swollen and tender, the nipples hard, wanting his mouth to cover them.
Finally all that was left were stockings and garters. Bella opened her eyes, found Elliott kneeling at her feet and closed them again as he began to untie the ribbons, peel down the stockings, his mouth following the silk to her instep. And then, to her utter shock, he took her toes in his mouth and sucked.
‘Elliott!’ She sat bolt upright, outraged. He looked up, his eyes challenging her to protest again and he kept right on sucking and nibbling until she flopped back, beyond any resistance or shame. Then the other stocking, the other toes, before his hands slid up to press her thighs apart and he began to torment the soft skin behind her knees.
Bella reached for him, wanting to touch, but he evaded her easily. ‘Relax,’ he said harshly.
‘Relax?’ Impossible. There was too much to think about, to worry about. Then she arched off the bed like a bow with shock and delight as he pressed her thighs wider and licked right into the hot aching core of her. Thought became disjointed, feeling was everything—and she burned and throbbed and became liquid with desire. She felt him slip a finger, then another, inside her and felt only the delicious sensations, the urge to close around him, draw him deeper. But his tongue would not let her focus, concentrate, everything was blurring, dissolving and then splintering.
There was a scream and she knew it came from her own throat. Elliott shifted his weight over her and she anchored herself to his big, strong body and held him close. Then, slowly, while her body was still rippling and quivering with delight, he slid into her, inexorable, delicious, until he filled her and she could embrace him with all of herself.
‘Arabella?’ She took one hand from his shoulder and used it to pull his mouth down to hers and kissed him as he started to rock gently, gently inside her. When it changed she did not know, but she was thrusting up to meet him, digging her nails into the tight buttocks to bring him closer still, desperate for him and the building, dizzying sensation that swept over her.
She heard him groan as her body rippled around him and then he thrust hard and cried out and she felt the heat inside her as he came. And then he was lying on her, heavy and hot and male, and she tightened her arms around him and thought she would never let him go.
Elliott was awake, she could feel the slight tension in his body as he tried not to move and wake her. Bella smiled, her cheek against his chest, and fluttered her eyelashes so they tangled with the dark springing hair.
‘Awake?’ he murmured and she nodded, tilting her head to look at him.
He looks at peace with himself again, she thought. Sleek, satisfied male. My male.
‘It was good for you?’
‘Are you fishing for compliments?’ Bella asked, coming up on one elbow to study his face. ‘It was wonderful and you know it. Elliott, we must talk about the child.’
‘No. There is nothing more to be said.’ The warmth cooled as though a current of air had passed over their hot skin. ‘Bella, there is nothing you can do about this. I will just have to come to terms with it in my own way.’ Elliott pulled her in close to his side again. ‘You are very beautiful, you know.’
He is avoiding it now. He only spoke of it before because he lost control of his temper. Now he is going to try and make me think he can forget. But there was no point in angering him again, not after that perfect lovemaking. She made her voice light. ‘Liar. You told me I was not.’
‘I was wrong. You are graceful and charming and pretty always, but when you are on fire in my arms you are beyond beautiful, every inch of you.’
And he has explored every inch, there cannot be anywhere his mouth and hands have not been.
‘I will be fat soon,’ she lamented. ‘My waist is thickening already. And look.’ She rolled on to her back and ran her hand over the curve of her belly. Oh Lord, of all the stupid things to say.
‘You are blooming,’ he contradicted her, pleasantly enough, but the intimacy that had briefly blossomed was gone again.
Bella wriggled up against the pillows and pulled the crumpled bedspread around her. There seemed to be nothing to do but change the subject. ‘Tell me about the bishop.’
‘He was very understanding. Tutted a bit over the baby, but gave me no lectures. And he was not surprised when I told him about your father’s mental state; he had thought his letter intemperate considering your age. He will say nothing to your father’s diocese and will write back to him to say the marriage is legal and has his approval.’
Bella let out a long breath. Thank goodness. The thought of the scandal and the embarrassment to Elliott if the bishop had not been sympathetic had been keeping her awake at night. If only her father would come round and accept this marriage. She did not hope for his for-giveness, just his indifference.
‘Then I did your shopping,’ Elliott continued, playing with her hair.
‘I asked for fabric swatches, not underwear and hats,’ she said, letting her fingertips trail down his ribs. ‘But they are very lovely. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. And what have you been doing?’ There was that constraint again; he was avoiding telling her something.
‘Exploring, getting to know the staff and my way around. I visited the gardens. Elliott, did you know Rafe dismissed the assistant gardeners who used to help with the ornamental work? Old Johnson says they have only been able to get labouring jobs and he has had to grass over most of the flowerbeds. Can we afford to employ them again?’
‘If you want.’ He was still sprawled against the pillows, looking up at her. ‘And what else did you do?’
‘I visited the Dower House and I went to church on Sunday—Matins. That was when Daniel arrived. He said he saw you in Worcester so he came to escort me in your stead.’ There it was again, that shuttered look. ‘Elliott, what is it you are not telling me?’
�
��You can read me like a book, it seems. I went to the castle and I looked at the Army List. Arabella, there is no gentle way to say this—your brother-in-law, Lieutenant James Halgate, is dead, killed at Vittoria in August 1812.’
‘James? Oh, no.’ James had been so alive, so vivid, so dashing, it was hard to believe. ‘But that is almost two years ago. Where is Meg now?’ Bella stared at him as though he could conjure the answer out of thin air.
‘I am sorry, I have no idea. I asked the militia commander who we should contact in London to find out about the widow’s pension, so we can do that. We will find her. And your other sister.’ Elliott pulled her to him in a hard hug. ‘I promise.’
‘Thank you. You are so kind to me,’ she murmured against his shoulder, grieving for James, aching for Meg.
‘You are my wife, Arabella,’ Elliott said. ‘Of course I will help. Your sisters are family now.’
Not, I love you Arabella, I will do anything for you. Oh, Elliott. So kind, so supportive to his unasked-for, inconvenient, wife and the child he does not want.
‘I am so happy that Elliott has come back here to live,’ Anne Baynton said, as they braced themselves against the jolting of the carriage. The two women had decided upon a day in Worcester shopping while their husbands looked at woodland and then, Bella suspected, spent the rest of the time enjoying a holiday from domestic life. Goodness only knew, Elliott deserved one, she thought.
Bella smiled back. It was good to have a friend, one that she would be able to confide in and to share the joy of her baby with. Nothing and nobody could replace Meg and Lina, but she had liked and trusted Anne from the start. ‘I thought that Elliott did not come here often since he left to go to university,’ she ventured.
‘He did not.’ Anne pursed her lips. ‘He and John knew each other as boys, but when Rafe inherited we only saw Elliott in London during the Season or when we visited Fosse Warren.’
