A Wayward Woman

by Helen Dickson

  The gentle breeze stirred the curtains, the sun’s rays illuminating the figures within the bed. Belle lay back on the pillows, wrapped in Lance’s arms, her limbs entwined with his. Her eyes were closed, and a dreamy, contented smile curved her lips.

  Lance was aroused from sleep by servants’ voices outside the room. His movements roused Belle and she rolled closer, reaching out a hand to caress his lean, muscular ribs. Wanting nothing more than to remain in bed, but aware of the lateness of the hour, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Belle laughed happily and, springing up, embraced him from behind.

  ‘What’s this? Deserting your wife already?’

  He smiled as he felt the softness of her breasts on his bare back, delighting in the feel of them. ‘Absolutely not, my sweet,’ he said, thrusting his arms into his robe. ‘I shall go below and summon breakfast and instruct your maid to attend you.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ she told him, padding with unashamed nakedness across the carpet to her dressing room, where a large tub of scented water awaited her. ‘Ooh, how lovely,’ she gurgled happily, realising Daisy had let herself into the dressing room by another door so as not to disturb her mistress and her husband. ‘I’ll have a bath while you’re gone.’ She cast a playful, seductive look over her shoulder. If he could not declare his love for her, at least she could humour and tempt him. ‘You can wash my back if you like.’

  He grinned, tossing the robe aside, the temptation to join her at her toilet almost his undoing. ‘Minx. You know how to tempt a man. Besides, it’s large enough for the two of us. It would be a shame to waste the water.’

  He took her in his arms, thighs and belly touching, feeling the thrust of her breasts against his chest.

  ‘Let’s get in the water,’ she said, eager to get on with the process.

  They soaped and lathered each other, teased and kissed. Belle was becoming more sure of herself now, sure as she had never been when she had climbed into bed with him last night, when it had been Lance who had dictated, who led the way. She had been a novice then, happy to follow, and because he was a good teacher, she had learned from it and now there was no need for him to guide, to provoke, to demand. But Lance continued to set his own pace, gathering her into his arms, wet and slippery, and then back to bed.

  It was mid-morning the following day and Lance and Belle were in the drawing room, drinking coffee. Belle glanced to where Lance sat reading his newspaper. She couldn’t believe that she was his wife. Wife. A glow warmed her at the thought. Perhaps now she would have the chance to prove to Lance that he hadn’t made a dreadful mistake in marrying her. Perhaps their relationship would be different now that he had accepted their marriage.

  Ever since he had decided to marry her, for most of that time he had existed in a state of smouldering anger over being forced to wed her. Letting her gaze wander to the window and the long curving drive beyond, she gave a wistful sigh. She was falling in love with him—or had fallen. It was the only reason she could think of for the excited quivering feeling that assailed her whenever she was in his presence. Happiness, joy, delight were welling in her, filling her because this handsome, vital man belonged to her, every glorious inch of him. She had been attracted to him from the start, to his strength, his passion. She was still considering this revelation and reflecting on the tenderness of Lance’s lovemaking when she saw a landau was approaching the house.

  Lance glanced up from his newspaper and looked through the window, recognising the equipage. ‘Good Lord!’

  ‘Who is it?’ Belle asked when he discarded the newspaper and got to his feet.

  ‘My mother.’

  His announcement had Belle shooting out of her chair. She was sorry that Lance’s mother had missed their wedding and she was looking forward to meeting her, but because of the past and not sure how she would be received, she did feel a certain amount of trepidation.

  ‘Oh, dear. I wish I’d known she was going to call.’ Her hand went to her hair. ‘I must look a sight.’

  Aware of her nervousness, Lance took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Don’t be nervous. She won’t eat you. And you look wonderful.’

  ‘I feel terrified,’ Belle confessed, without taking her eyes from the equipage in the drive, seeing a woman alight after a few moments. ‘But what if she doesn’t like me and resents me for snaring her son?’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll do nothing of the sort. Don’t worry. She’ll love you, you’ll see.’

  Unfortunately Belle did not share Lance’s confidence.

  When Lance’s mother swept into the hall, they were both there to greet her. Lance left Belle’s side to enfold the older woman in his arms, expressing his delight at seeing her.

  ‘Mother, it’s wonderful that you’re back. I hope your journey was uneventful.’

  ‘It was. I returned late yesterday. Naturally I was eager to meet my new daughter-in-law,’ she said, looking past him to the nervous young woman, ‘so I came straight over.’

  Lance held his hand out to Belle, urging her forwards with a reassuring smile.

  ‘Mother, may I present Belle—my wife. Belle, this is my mother.’

  ‘I am very happy to make your acquaintance, ma’am.’

  Elizabeth Bingham, with light blue eyes and grey-streaked dark hair, was reserved and considered Belle for a long, uncertain moment before she gave a quick, worried glance at her son. As if with decision, she sighed and took Belle’s hands in her own.

  ‘Welcome to Ryhill, Belle—and please call me Elizabeth. I’m happy to meet you and delighted to have you in the family. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I missed your wedding—but we have plenty of time to get to know each other and you can tell me all about it. How are you settling in at Ryhill? You’re not finding it too daunting, I hope.’

  ‘I must confess that it’s not what I’m used to. Since coming to England I’ve lived with my grandmother so I have no experience about running a house—but given time and application, I shall soon learn.’

  ‘I have every confidence in you, Belle, and I shall be glad to help in any way I can. The servants are extremely competent, so I am sure you’ll soon get used to running such a large house. What a beautiful name you have.’

  ‘Actually, my name is Isabelle, but everyone—except Grandmother, that is—calls me Belle,’ Belle explained.

  ‘I may call you Belle?’

  ‘Of course you may. I would like that.’ Belle was completely taken with the easy friendliness of this attractive woman and accepted the feeling as mutual as Elizabeth’s slender fingers squeezed her own before releasing them.

  Elizabeth studied the dark green eyes regarding her solemnly from beneath a heavy fringe of dark lashes, and finally managed a smile. ‘I am well pleased that you and Lance are married. It’s time he settled down. You must find living in the country so very different from London—and a big change from America, I am sure.’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘I can imagine your marriage to Lance has drawn much attention hereabouts; in fact, it all happened with such speed that I cannot believe it. One minute you are unattached, Lance, and the next you aren’t and announce that you are to be married in just a few weeks. Everything happened so fast. I suspect there are a lot of disappointed young ladies hereabouts.’ She smiled at Belle. ‘Whenever he comes home he always sets all their hearts aflutter with dreams and aspirations of securing him for themselves.’

  ‘Then they’ll all be disappointed,’ Lance said, smiling proudly at his wife of forty-eight hours. ‘I am well satisfied with the wife I have. I want no other.’

  ‘And I approve your choice. Belle is charming and I know we will become good friends.’

  ‘Come,’ Lance said, sliding his hand to the small of Belle’s back, where it rested comfortably. ‘Let’s go into the drawing room, where we can have some tea while we catch up on everything. I’m eager to know all about Ireland and Sophie—and about my new niece.’

  He was abo
ut to propel his wife towards the drawing room, only to be halted in his stride by his mother’s next words, spoken sharply.

  ‘Your niece? Your niece is doing nicely, Lance. Would that you could show the same interest in your daughter.’

  For a moment a deathly hush fell upon the hall. The word daughter caught Belle’s blurred attention. She stared with dazed shock at her mother-in-law. She wanted to ask her what she meant by that remark, but the grim expression on her face as she looked at her son made her wary.

  ‘I take it you have told Belle about Charlotte, Lance? I sincerely hope so, because this is where she should be.’

  ‘Charlotte?’ Belle asked, bemused. Her heart contracted. Slowly she turned to look at her husband, so distracted by her own rampaging emotions that she never noticed the sudden hardening of his face or the way he faced his mother, as if he were bracing himself to meet a firing squad. ‘Lance? What is this? Please tell me.’

  For a man usually so mentally astute, Lance was too stunned to move.

  ‘This is no place to discuss the matter. I think we should go into the drawing room,’ Elizabeth said, going ahead of them into the room and closing the door when they were all inside. Before entering the house she had sat for a moment in the landau, gathering her courage for what she had come to do. She shrank from the pain she must confront, and the hostility she might encounter from her son. ‘Lance has a daughter, Belle—a daughter he clearly forgot to tell you about.’

  ‘I didn’t forget,’ Lance ground out—his face was white, taut with rage. ‘If you don’t mind, Mother, I would prefer not to have this discussion.’

  ‘No, Lance, I don’t suppose you would,’ Elizabeth said, clearly determined to stand her ground. ‘You never do. It is true to say that you seem to forget your daughter exists half the time. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. Little Charlotte is so sweet and so exactly like you, more every day. She is your responsibility and of course she must come to you. She can’t stay with me. It isn’t right.’

  From across the room, wildly Belle looked about her, her mind already realising what her heart couldn’t bear to believe. She could not bring herself to go to him. Suddenly her knees went weak. Reaching out for the nearest chair, she sank into the seat. Her insides had gone cold with dread. She waited for Lance to tell her the child had nothing to do with him, but he didn’t.

  ‘Lance—is this true?’ she asked when she could find her voice. ‘Do you have a—a daughter?’

  He looked at her, his face hard and cold. ‘Yes, I do.’

  No slap on the face could have hurt so much. A sudden weight fell on Belle’s heart at what was happening. She was stunned, bewildered, and a thousand thoughts raced across her brain and crashed together in confusion. There was no room in her heart or her mind for anything but this vast disappointment, which had already become an aching pain.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ Elizabeth said, feeling sympathy for this young woman who had married Lance in ignorance, and anger towards her son for withholding from her an important part of his life. ‘I don’t like doing this and I certainly did not intend distressing you, but you have a right to be told. While in Ireland Charlotte contracted a fever and was quite poorly. She had us all worried for a time. I couldn’t bear it if anything should happen to her while she is in my care. So I made up my mind to return her to her father—where she belongs.’

  ‘How old is Charlotte?’ Belle asked, her throat so constricted she could hardly get the words out.

  ‘Nine months,’ Elizabeth provided.

  In wretched disbelief Belle looked from her mother-in-law to Lance. ‘Nine months? But—she is still a baby.’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘Lance—how could you do this—to your daughter—and to me? Is—is there something wrong with her?’

  ‘Charlotte is a perfect child, Belle,’ Elizabeth assured her. ‘She is beautiful, warm and loving—and she needs her father.’

  ‘And her mother?’

  Lance’s face twisted and darkened. ‘Her mother—my wife—is dead,’ he bit out. Pushing a hand, which had a curious tremble in it, through his thick hair, he took a step back, his face quite blank now. ‘And now I would be obliged if we could speak of something else.’

  ‘And I will not be so easily put off,’ Belle was quick to retort, trying not to think of the woman—dear God, his wife—who had died such a short time ago, a woman who had borne him a child—a woman he must have loved and whom he still mourned. The thought was so immediate, so dreadful, that she didn’t even want to think about it, for she could not bear it. She felt as if she had awakened from a glorious dream to a nightmare. ‘Your mother is right. You should not have kept this from me. It was cruel and despicable. How did you think I would react when I found out—unless you didn’t intend for me to find out and you planned to send the daughter you have so clearly abandoned to live somewhere in obscurity?’

  Lowering her eyes, Belle smoothed the skirts of her gown with a hand that shook. Her dejection was caught by Lance. The muscles worked in his cheek as his jaw tightened and he turned and strode to the window. With his rigid back to them, his shoulders taut, he thrust his hands into his pockets.

  Belle got up quickly. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said to Elizabeth, trying to keep her voice from trembling. ‘I would like to be by myself for a while.’

  Wishing she could find some words of comfort and support, but knowing there was nothing she could say just now that would help Belle, feeling that she must come to terms with all this on her own and that the questions would come later, Elizabeth gently touched her arm. ‘Of course. I understand. Come to me when you want to talk.’

  When Belle reached the door, Lance spun round. ‘Belle—wait …’

  She turned ferociously. ‘Let it be, Lance. Enough. I have had enough for now. I don’t think I can hear more.’

  She went out and closed the door. She had learned many things since leaving her home in Charleston. Now she learned another, too. Anger was a great hardener, and it was this that helped her to walk across the hall and up the stairs to the room she shared with Lance.

  Resting her back against the hard wood of the door, she looked at the bed, feeling a great urge to go to it and drag the covers off and rip them to shreds. Lance had not disputed the truth of what his mother had divulged, and offered no explanation. Belle wasn’t physically hurt by this or wounded, yet inside she was bleeding.

  Her cherished hopes were cold and dead, like a corpse, and could not be revived. She thought of Lance—her love—and all the feelings and emotions he had created were blighted and crushed, trust and confidence destroyed.

  In her wretchedness she held herself tightly, her arms locked about her body. She had married Lance in the full knowledge that he didn’t love her—and now she knew why. It explained so much. He had been married before. He’d had a wife who had been dead for just nine months. Deep in the recesses of her woman’s heart, Belle had sensed there was something, and yet she had not recognised what it was. How could she?

  That he had married her at all had made her happy. She believed he did care for her and that his fondness was growing into something deeper and stronger. Their loving in the privacy of their bed had delighted her, and it had seemed satisfying to her husband. She had been encouraged by it and believed they were putting down the roots of their marriage, when all the time he was a grieving widower who—she assumed for just then she could see no other explanation—must have loved his wife so much that he put the blame of her death on the birth of his child. What other explanation could there be for him to abandon her like that?

  And what of his dead wife? Had he given to her what she wanted—his whole inner self a man gives to the one woman he loves? She, Belle, had given him her heart, though she supposed he was not aware of it. She had given him her trust—and that he had just broken. In fact, she had given him the sum and substance of herself, who had loved no man until him.

  In the drawing room Elizabeth was about to leave, thinking it bes
t to leave the newly married couple to talk, to sort out the whole sorry mess.

  ‘Belle must be feeling quite wretched, Lance. Would you like me to go to her?’

  He shook his head and turned to look at her. ‘No—leave her. It’s best that I go. We have to talk.’

  Elizabeth went to him and placed a kiss on his cold cheek. ‘Yes, you do. It is something you should have done before you married her. Don’t hurt her further, Lance. She appears to be a strong and sensible young woman. She’ll weather this—and I can only hope she will come to forgive your deception.’

  When Lance entered the bedchamber it was to find Belle gathering toiletries and brushes from her dressing table.

  ‘Going somewhere?’

  Belle swung round at the scathing tone of her husband’s voice. If she had expected him to fall on his knees in remorse for having deceived her, the moment she saw his face, as hard as a granite sculpture, it was obvious he would do no such thing. He didn’t bother to come into the room, but instead remained in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the frame, his arms folded across his chest.

  ‘I am moving to another room for the time being. I will get Daisy to move my clothes later.’

  ‘You’re what? Just like that?’ he said in an awful, silky voice. Although Lance was willing to concede he had treated her badly, he had not expected anything like this, and nor was he going to allow her to deny him the physical side of their marriage. ‘After two days of marriage, you want to move out of our marital bed?’

  Belle took one look at the anger kindling in his glittering eyes and stopped what she was doing. Never had her heart felt so heavy. ‘You must realise that this has come as a great shock to me. I need to be alone for a time—to think about what I am going to do.’

  ‘And why do you think you have to do anything? You’re staying here with me.’

  The authority and the arrogance with which he spoke infuriated Belle. ‘And you can go to hell, Lance Bingham. You cannot expect me to ignore your—indiscretion, to overlook what you have done and how it will affect me. I need to be alone for a time in order to think clearly.’