In the Spinster's Bed

by Sally MacKenzie

  Of course he could imagine it. He had imagined it. He’d eventually concluded that Hortense was either barren or had learned how to prevent pregnancy.

  “But now you are free,” Veronica said, “to marry again.”

  “Ah.” He felt as if a noose had just dropped over his head.

  “Oh, not immediately,” Helena quickly assured him. “Though given the seriousness of the situation, I believe everyone will understand if you don’t wait a year to remarry.”

  “Or even six months.” Veronica shrugged. “You are almost forty.”

  “You will want a young girl.”

  “Though not too young.”

  “No, indeed. Not a debutante. A girl in her second or third Season. Someone with a bit of Town bronze, but young enough to give you many children.” Helena swallowed and exchanged a pained look with Veronica. “Give you many sons.”

  Then they looked at him.

  He looked back at them and tugged at his cravat.

  “We’ve started a list,” Veronica said, determination clear in her tone. “In a few months we’ll begin to invite some matrimonial candidates down to Benton for you to look over.”

  He knew they meant well. And he understood why they’d brought up the topic. He should feel some responsibility for the succession. But . . .

  But I want to marry Belle.

  Belle was thirty-seven, almost of an age with Helena and Veronica. It was very unlikely she would give him sons. Impossible if what she’d said was true, that she couldn’t have children.

  But he’d endured one loveless marriage. Could he stomach another?

  He could ask Belle to be his mistress—

  No. She’d already refused that position. If he married, he would lose her.

  And he didn’t want Belle to be his mistress. He wanted her to be his wife. He wanted to be able to acknowledge her, to have her at his side, especially at times like these.

  “These are the names we’ve come up with.” Helena took a sheet of paper out of her pocket, opened it, and pushed it across the desk toward him. “Look it over, William.”

  “And add any names you’d like us to consider,” Veronica said.

  Helena nodded. “And with God’s grace, by this time next year we’ll have an heir to carry on the title.”

  He left the paper on the desk and stood. His sisters-in-law stood, too.

  “Helena. Veronica. I appreciate your efforts. I just—”

  Helena frowned at him. “We sometimes have to do difficult things, William, to further a greater good.”

  “Yes.” These two women were very brave, far braver than he. “I do comprehend that. However, I find I need some time to think.”

  “That’s understandable,” Veronica said. “But don’t think too long.”

  “Life is unpredictable.” Helena pressed her lips together, and then her face began to crumple. “It can en-end at the most unexpected m-moment.”

  Oh, damnation. These women had suffered so much. William came over to put an arm around each of them. He held them as they sobbed into their handkerchiefs. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

  Life was unpredictable. He had to go to Loves Bridge. He had to see Belle. He could not wait a moment longer.

  “I must leave Benton for a few days.” He felt better just saying that, as if he was finally taking back control of his life.

  “Leave?” Helena looked at Veronica.

  Veronica gaped at him. “Where are you going?”

  “To see a friend. I left some business unfinished when I rushed here.”

  Helena frowned. “That’s right, you weren’t in London when Albert got word about the duke. Where were you?” Her frown deepened. “Albert thought you were up to something.”

  He stepped back. “I wasn’t up to anything.” Well, Albert might not agree with that if he were still alive to have an opinion.

  Poor Albert. He’d always been suspicious of things, but then, he’d been raised to worry. He’d thought he was going to be the next Duke of Benton.

  In the end, all that worrying had been for naught.

  “I needed to get away from Town. You know how unbearable Hortense made things, and people were still talking about her after her death.”

  He wasn’t going to worry about the future. He was going to follow his heart and let the future come to him. If he’d been thinking more clearly twenty years ago, he would have married Belle instead of Hortense and saved himself years of misery.

  “But I do have to tie up some loose ends. Don’t worry. I won’t be gone long.”

  Chapter Eight

  May 22, 1797—Thank God for the Spinster House.

  —from Belle Frost’s diary

  May 1817

  “It’s been a fortnight, Poppy, and William has not returned.”

  Poppy interrupted her toilette briefly to glance at Belle. They were sitting—Belle at the dressing table, Poppy on the bed—in the spare bedchamber. Belle had moved her things into once she’d realized she was increasing. Something about sleeping in the bed where her child had been conceived was too overwhelming.

  Where William’s and my child had been conceived.

  She rested her hand on her belly. She’d been so certain she’d miscarry like last time. She still expected the cramping to start at any moment.

  Perhaps I am counting wrong. That must be it.

  But something was definitely different. She was so very tired, and her breasts ached. Her bodice felt tighter, too, and she’d swear she saw a slight rounding in her heretofore flat stomach.

  She closed her eyes. Oh, God. How is it possible to be so elated and so terrified at the same time?

  She wanted William’s child fiercely, but to be pregnant and unwed . . .

  She took several deep breaths. Panicking wouldn’t solve the problem.

  Nothing would solve it.

  She jerked out her hairpins with hands that shook. “Of course he won’t be returning, Poppy.” She’d read the papers. “He’s the Duke of Benton now. No one thinks his sisters-in-law will produce a last-minute heir.” She snorted. “He can’t teach music in Loves Bridge any longer.”

  Or consort with the Spinster House spinster.

  “Who can’t teach music?”

  She spun around. “William!”

  He was standing in the doorway.

  Even before she could form a coherent thought, she was on her feet and flying across the room to him. She pressed her face into his coat and inhaled his wonderful, familiar scent. His arms, closing round her, felt like heaven.

  “Did you miss me, Belle?”

  Had she missed him? She’d show him how much she’d missed him. She reached up, grabbed his head, and pulled it down.

  The moment her lips touched his, she went a little mad.

  In seconds they were naked and on the bed—fortunately, Poppy had already decamped—and William was coming into her. There was nothing gentle about this joining. It was desperate, elemental, and quick. At his first thrust, waves of pleasure crashed over her. She clung to him, and when he dove into her one last time, she’d swear he touched her heart.

  He collapsed and rolled over so she ended up sprawled across his chest. He kissed her, the kiss as leisurely as their coupling had been frenetic, and chuckled. “I guess you did miss me.”

  “Yes.” She loved the feel of him in her and under her. His heat, his smell, the sound of his voice, the curve of his lips. She would memorize it all, every inch of him, so she would never forget their time together.

  “I will tell you a secret,” he whispered. He kissed her again, running his hand down her back. “I missed you, too.”

  She giggled. “I guessed that.”

  “You always were perceptive.” He grinned. “It’s so good to be here again, Belle”—he flexed his hips and she felt him stir slightly inside her—“and here, too.” He raised one eyebrow. “But why here? Why this bedchamber?”

  She pressed a kiss to his chest. “I missed yo
u too much in the other.”

  I should tell him about the baby.

  No, not yet. He might not be happy—he surely won’t be happy. I don’t want to ruin this moment.

  The thought of his unhappiness had already ruined it.

  “It was hell being away from you, Belle.”

  She kissed his throat. “Oh, William, I’m so sorry about your father and brothers.”

  His eyes darkened. He slipped out of her and walked across the room as if he needed to put as much distance between them as he could. She watched him fiddle with the bottles on her dressing table, his back stiff and straight.

  She wanted to go to him, but if he’d wanted her touch, he would have stayed in bed.

  “It was terrible, Belle.” He tapped a bottle against the dressing table’s top. “A bloody nightmare.”

  “How did the accident happen?” She spoke gently, almost whispering. “That is, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  “No, I just . . . I still can’t believe it. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the roads were a muddy mess. I almost ended up in a ditch myself more than once.” He glanced back at her, his expression bleak. “I thought my father was just being dramatic again. I didn’t think he would really die, so I wasn’t driving half as fast as Albert must have been.”

  “You were being sensible.”

  “No. I was being selfish.” He rearranged the scent bottles, knocking one over. He didn’t seem to notice.

  She bit her lip to keep from arguing with him. It wouldn’t help. He’d forgive himself in time.

  “I got there just after it happened. Albert must have taken the turn off the main road—a turn he’d made thousands of times—too quickly. He crashed into the big oak near the gates and flew headfirst into it. Oliver fell out and was trampled by the horses.”

  He closed his eyes, a spasm of pain flashing over his face. “I heard the crash and the screams before I saw the wreck. Hobbs, the gatekeeper, was already there when I came up, but it was too bloody late. They were both dead.”

  His voice broke.

  To hell with giving William space. She crossed the room, wrapped her arms around him, and rested her cheek on his back. His body was almost vibrating with tension. “I’m so sorry, William.”

  “They didn’t have to drive that fast, Belle. Father lived several hours longer.”

  She moved to face him. “But they didn’t know that. They were doing what they thought they had to do. It was just an accident. A tragic accident. Thank God their wives and children weren’t with them.”

  “Yes, thank God for that.” He was still tense. “I didn’t tell my father they were dead. He asked for them, but I just said they were ill.”

  She thought she saw a plea for reassurance in his eyes.

  “That was wise, William. There was no point in telling the duke. It would only have made his passing more painful.”

  He relaxed a little. “Yes, that’s what I thought, too.” And then he sighed, and his arms finally came round her.

  She held him and listened to his heart beat and the clock on the mantel tick away the minutes. I am exactly where I most want to be. If only this moment could last forever.

  Finally William gave a great jaw-cracking yawn.

  “God, Belle, I’m so tired. I haven’t slept well since I left you.”

  She hadn’t slept well either. “Then let’s go to bed.”

  “Yes.” He managed a smile. “But this time just to sleep.”

  The bed was smaller than the one in the other room, but that was all right. Belle wanted to stay close to William. She wanted to hold him. She wrapped her arms around him, and in just a few minutes, his breathing slowed and deepened.

  It took her quite a bit longer to fall asleep.

  Something was swatting at his face.

  “Mmft.” He swatted back at it. “Go away, Poppy.”

  “Merrow.”

  Bloody cat. Now it was walking on his chest. He cracked open an eye. Oh, blast, the room was light. It must be morning.

  He turned his head to look at Belle. She was still asleep, her long lashes resting on her cheeks, her silky hair spread over her pillow. The coverlet had slipped to her waist, exposing her breasts. They looked bigger, the lovely circles around her nipples darker than he remembered.

  God, he’d missed her. He reached out to touch her—and stopped.

  Poppy was right. They should get up. Belle might already be late to open the lending library. He’d promised to protect her reputation, though soon there’d be no more need for that. He had a special license in his coat pocket—the coat that was still on the floor where he’d dropped it last night.

  He touched her cheek instead of her breast. “Good morning.”

  “Mmm.” She burrowed deeper into the bedclothes.

  It was his fault she was still asleep. He’d woken her in the middle of the night to make love again. Just as he’d like to do now, but he wouldn’t, not with Poppy’s stern gaze on him. However, he did need to wake her . . .

  If touching her cheek won’t work, maybe touching something else will.

  He ran his hand slowly down her body. Ah, yes. Her eyes opened, desire flickering deep in them. Perhaps there was time for a quick coupling before they had to get up.

  His fingers stroked over her stomach, then came back to linger there. He hadn’t noticed last night—he hadn’t noticed much of anything last night—but he didn’t remember her belly being so round before he’d left for Benton.

  The desire in her eyes dulled to something else. Worry? What could be amiss? Surely she didn’t think he minded if she carried a few extra pounds.

  “I-I was going to tell you”—her voice was hardly more than a nervous whisper—“truly I was, William, but I—” She forced a wobbly smile, one that didn’t begin to reach her eyes. “I got distracted.”

  He grinned at her. “I got distracted, too.”

  Her smile vanished, and she looked down to pluck at the bedclothes.

  A thread of unease slid up his spine.

  “And, well, maybe I thought about not telling you. I wanted to be brave enough to say nothing, but—” She pressed her lips together, shook her head. “No, you have enough to deal with.”

  Poppy had jumped down from the bed and was now watching him from the floor by his coat. Something was most assuredly amiss.

  “You can’t stop there, Belle. Tell me what? What did you want to be brave about?”

  “That I . . . that is, I’m . . .” Belle moistened her lips, her eyes still examining the bedding. “I’m so sorry, William. I truly thought I’d l-lose this baby like I did the l-last one.”

  “Baby?!” Wonder and joy and a surging excitement—

  Wait a moment.“The last one?! You were pregnant before?”

  Belle flinched and slid away from him, all the way out of the bed and halfway across the room. She wrapped her arms around her middle, as if she wanted to hide.

  Poppy walked over to sit on her foot. Perhaps the cat thought that would be comforting.

  “Belle . . .” He sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. He must have misunderstood. He had just woken up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just don’t understand. Did you conceive when we were young?” He wouldn’t insult her by suggesting the child had been some other man’s. She wasn’t Hortense.

  Poppy was now rubbing her head against Belle’s ankle.

  “That’s why I’m in Loves Bridge, William. When my father discovered it, he threw me out of the house. My mother bundled me into a stagecoach and sent me here to her distant cousin, Mrs. Conklin.” She choked on something that might have been a sob or a giggle. “Can you imagine? My father is related through marriage to a lightskirt.”

  Good God. So there had been a child.

  Anger and frustration and sorrow churned in his gut. Belle should have told me. I had the right to—

  Poppy hissed.

  Belle made that odd little noise again and looked down at the cat. “I
f only my mother hadn’t noticed my courses were late. If I could have hidden it just a few more days . . .” She pressed her lips together. “I-I lost the baby right after I got to Loves Bridge.”

  Zeus! “Why didn’t your father insist I marry you?”

  “He didn’t know you were the father.” She grimaced. “I wouldn’t tell him, even when he tried to beat it out of me.”

  “Belle!” Her bloody father had beaten her? He leaped from the bed and strode across the room to wrap his arms around her.

  She stood stiffly in his embrace, but at least she let him touch her.

  He’d always known her father, for all his pious ways, was a whited sepulcher, but this was even worse than he’d imagined. He’d send the dastard packing as soon as he was back at Benton. “Oh, God, Belle. I’m so sorry.”

  I should have been there. I should have considered the possibility she’d conceive. We’d certainly done the deed often enough. Why the hell didn’t I think of it?

  Because I’d been a selfish, lusty idiot.

  Poppy moved back a few steps, but she was clearly ready to claw his naked feet if he made a wrong move.

  He slid his hands up to Belle’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me, Belle? I wasn’t married then. I hope you know I would have done the honorable thing.” At least I hope I would have.

  “The honorable thing?” She pushed against his chest, but he wouldn’t let her go. “The honorable thing was not to mention it. Your father would have been furious—I was only the vicar’s daughter, after all. He would never have let you marry me.”

  “Bugger my father.” Not at all what he should say about a man who had just died, but Belle was correct. The duke would indeed have been in a high dudgeon over the matter. “We could have gone to Gretna Green.”

  Belle dropped her hands. “Perhaps. But would you have wanted to, William? Think of the scandal. Your father had just bought you your colors.”

  He opened his mouth to say of course he’d have wished to marry her, damn the scandal, but . . .

  Would he have wanted to settle down? He’d been army-mad then.

  I would have married Belle if I’d known about the baby.