by Lucy Ashford
She’d watched him from the window as he climbed down from his chaise with long-limbed ease, dressed with devastating simplicity in his caped driving coat and shining top boots. Belle met him at the open door; he bowed over her hand then assessed her swiftly.
He frowned a little.
She stiffened, her heart missing a beat; Lord, how sensitive she was to his every gesture, every look. ‘La, Mr D., you look as if you’d swallowed a spider. Is something wrong?’ she queried with a jaunty smile.
Amusement gleamed in his dark eyes. ‘Since you ask, yes. Your clothes disappoint me a little.’
‘Disappoint you?’ she gasped.
A muscle quivered at the corner of his jaw. ‘Indeed. They’re almost—conventional.’
She glanced down quickly at her dove-grey pelisse. ‘But I thought—since we’re meeting your family—I decided you would be embarrassed if I dressed in my usual foolish way...’
‘Not foolish,’ he said quietly. ‘Please don’t change yourself, Belle. For me, or anyone.’
Dear God. If she didn’t have more sense she’d be head over heels in love with this man. But she did know better, so she plastered on her bright smile, stilled her shaking heart and hurried inside, to come out very soon in a cherry-pink walking dress with navy ruffles and a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with pink-silk ribbons galore. ‘Better?’ She tilted her head jauntily and waved a cherry-coloured fan.
Adam grinned. ‘Oh, much better. Shall we depart?’
He held out his arm so she could rest her fingers daintily on it and led her to his carriage.
* * *
After driving the chaise over Westminster Bridge, Adam left the vehicle in the tender care of his coachman Joseph and led her towards the vast amphitheatre that was Astley’s. Such a throng had gathered for the popular attraction that she wondered they’d be able to find anyone at all, but soon there were gleeful shouts of ‘Uncle Adam! It’s Uncle Adam!’ and two little boys were running towards them.
A moment later a cheerful-looking man—Adam’s younger brother, it had to be—was striding eagerly forwards to grip Adam by the hand.
‘Out of the way, you hooligans!’ Freddy commanded. ‘Is that the way, brats, to greet your esteemed uncle?’ The grin on his pleasant face completely counteracted the severity of his words. He had the same thick dark hair as Adam, the same chiselled jaw, but was just a little less tall and looked as though he spent most of his time smiling. ‘Adam, good to see you. And—’ his gaze had fastened on Belle ‘—Mrs Marchmain? Your servant, ma’am!’ His eyes were widening considerably. ‘Come away, brats, and give the lady some space.’
The oldest boy—he must be Joshua—was gazing up at her, frowning. ‘Papa, is she one of Uncle Adam’s petticoats that you and Mama were talking about at breakfast when I came in?’
‘Oh, Lord. Joshua, you little imp, that’s quite enough!’ Freddy turned to Adam and Belle in rueful consternation. ‘So sorry, so very sorry. Joshua, no more London treats for you, if you don’t remember your manners!’
Joshua, the birthday boy, looked crestfallen. ‘Please,’ said Belle quickly. ‘I don’t mind at all—I know my appearance is a little unexpected...’
She heard her voice trailing away. This is awful. I’m not going to be able to cope with this. I should have refused to come...
‘I like her,’ said the smaller boy, Tom, stoutly. ‘I like her pink dress and her ribbons. I don’t see why Mama and Papa were so worried ’bout her coming with us today.’
‘Good grief,’ exclaimed Freddy, ‘my apologies again, Mrs Marchmain, you can see that parental discipline is totally lacking here. I’ve told Louisa many times, we should have tutors and footmen with us on outings like this to instil some kind of order on our brood—but she just won’t have it! Oh, here comes Louisa now, thank goodness, with our youngest...’
They were joined by one of the prettiest women Belle had ever seen, holding a curly-haired four-year-old boy tightly by the hand. She was, to someone of Belle’s experienced eye, wearing a gown that allowed for her state of pregnancy, and Belle saw how Freddy’s face lit up at her approach. ‘My wife,’ he said to Belle, with all the love and pride in the world.
Caught unawares, some emotion—some old pain, long-buried—smote Belle with such intensity that she shook. No children for her.
The lovely, charming Louisa took Belle’s hand with her own free one. ‘How delightful to meet you, Mrs Marchmain.’
‘It’s extremely kind of you,’ Belle said steadily, ‘to include me in your party.’
‘Why on earth shouldn’t we, my dear?’ Louisa smiled. ‘You are, after all, very special to dear Adam... Josh darling, what is it now?’
‘It’s my birthday!’ Josh announced importantly to Belle, having pressed his way between his mother and her. ‘My birthday, and I’m eight, you know.’
With much chattering and laughter, Freddy and Louisa got their lively family to their seats in the huge tiered amphitheatre. The show wasn’t due to start for twenty minutes, but the excited audience had packed the place early and kept the vendors who moved around selling sweetmeats more than busy.
Belle saw how the boys fought to sit next to their uncle Adam. He’d bought them each toffee apples and Belle found herself wincing for him as they clambered all over his pristine clothes with their sticky fingers, but he seemed completely unconcerned, laughing with them and telling them about the spectacle they were shortly to witness. A family. He should have a family of his own...
‘Mrs Marchmain?’
It was Louisa’s voice. For a while, in the merry exchange of seats that seemed to be an essential part of the family outing, Adam’s sister-in-law was next to her. ‘Mrs Marchmain,’ Louisa went on rather breathlessly, ‘I so envy you your life in London! And your clothes are so beautiful.’
Belle smiled. ‘I’m afraid some consider my clothes a little outrageous.’
Louisa stopped her by putting her hand over hers. ‘Adam clearly doesn’t,’ she whispered. ‘Adam is completely smitten. You’ve made quite a conquest, my dear; Freddy and I thought it would never happen. We are so glad for you.’
With that Louisa turned back to her little boys; just as well, because Belle couldn’t have spoken a word. She shouldn’t have come here. She’d made herself stupidly vulnerable by coming here.
The noise around them was rising as the lights were dimmed for the opening ceremony. The blood had rushed to her cheeks at Louisa’s words; she fumbled in her reticule for her folded fan and realised Adam was leaning close, his dark face shadowed.
‘Are you all right, Belle?’ he asked quietly.
A simple question, but after Louisa’s comments it floored her. Adam is completely smitten. No, he wasn’t. No, she was not all right, she was a stupid fool and this false betrothal was tearing her in two.
‘Oh, absolutely!’ she answered with a merry smile and wafted her fan in the air. ‘I’m so excited, I must declare. And as for you, Adam—you’ve kept all this quiet. You have a family that dotes on you! Do you secretly dream of a place in the country, where you can rusticate, as your brother does?’
He gave her an answering grin. ‘Oh, I leave that sort of thing to Freddy. He’s good at it.’
‘Adam.’ She heaved air into her tight lungs and her smile vanished. ‘Adam, I hate these lies. I hate these deceptions.’
His face was suddenly devoid of good humour. ‘Then let’s take a look at these deceptions, as you call them. For example—have you even told Edward yet that you know about his gambling debts? Have you told him what you’ve done for him?’
He saw a pulse flicker in the slender column of her throat. She breathed, ‘I—I didn’t want to trouble him.’
‘Trouble him!’ His voice was rich with scorn.
‘Not until his wife is recovered—at least a little—from her grief.’
‘Your brother surely hasn’t imagined his debt of five thousand guineas would vanish into thin air?’ He sounded incredulous. ‘You realis
e I could enforce that debt at any time?’
Belle breathed, ‘You can’t seriously think you need to remind me? Isn’t my being here proof enough of the hateful power you hold over us both?’
Some latecomers were pushing their way in front of them, causing loud protests. After that Belle had an excuse to turn from him because Louisa was asking her something about her gown.
Adam watched her talk to Louisa, his eyes narrowed. She looked as vulnerable as he’d ever seen her, despite her defiant words. He felt something twist in his gut as he realised how pale, how forlorn she looked in her gaudy finery.
Suddenly it was as though Jarvis was at his shoulder. Jarvis, saying to him, Devil take it, you’ve not even introduced her to your family yet. I want to see her broken if you’re to get your damned land, understand?
Adam gritted his teeth. Jarvis would only be satisfied if he ended the betrothal in public, indicating to the whole world that he no longer considered her a suitable match. Usually it was the woman’s privilege to curtail a betrothal; for the man to break it was a fate reserved for females who’d shown themselves to be liars, libertines or worse.
Adam reminded himself grimly that the livelihoods of hundreds of men and their families depended on him. He was doing the right—the only—thing, wasn’t he? She would survive it, as she’d survived so much else, and, God’s teeth, she’d insulted him to kingdom come that day on Sawle Down.
But as he watched her, looking calm and steadfast but guessing very well that wasn’t how she felt—as he watched her, Adam wasn’t so sure.
He wasn’t sure at all.
* * *
When the show began at last the boys were clearly thrilled beyond words by what they saw. They shrieked with delight as the tumbling acrobats made way for a troop of gorgeously apparelled horses, whose riders—clad in Saracen robes—galloped around the ring in breathtaking feats of horsemanship.
The noise from the applauding crowd, seated in tier upon tier around the covered amphitheatre, rose to deafening levels as a troop of gallant Crusaders suddenly rode out to a fanfare of trumpets and put the Saracens to flight. But that was only after much sword-fighting, during which Freddy’s youngest, four-year-old Oliver, crept on to Belle’s lap for a better view, his eyes round with awe. A parade of all the horses and their riders was followed by the return of the acrobats, who to the wild applause of the audience crowned their act by leaping on one another’s shoulders until they’d formed a huge human pyramid.
* * *
The boys were still quite breathless with excitement as they left the arena and emerged with the crowds into the afternoon sunshine.
‘That was wonderful,’ gasped Josh, awed. Adam had gone ahead to find the carriages, so Freddy shepherded the remainder of the party to an agreed rendezvous while the boys chattered away. ‘I’m going to ride a horse like that when I’m bigger.’
‘You couldn’t, silly!’ That was six-year-old Tom. ‘You have to be a—a Crusader! Don’t you, Papa? Tell him!’
Freddy said tactfully, ‘You could join the cavalry, Josh. When you’re a bit older, of course.’
‘The cavalry!’ Josh’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, Papa, can I join the cavalry?’
‘Me, too!’ cried Tom. ‘I’m joining, too! Where’s Uncle Adam? I’m going to tell him!’
‘He’ll be back soon, darling,’ said Louisa, laughing. ‘Oh, here, Oliver, let me wipe your sticky face! Watch Tom a moment, will you, Belle?’
But somehow—somehow, though Belle was sure she’d got little Tom’s hand tightly in hers—Tom got away. Within moments—that was all it took—he was quite lost, amidst all the people still pouring out of the amphitheatre.
‘Belle?’ Louisa’s voice, sharp with panic. ‘Belle, where’s Tom?’
‘He was here. I had him here...’ Belle could barely speak for the panic thudding in her chest.
Louisa had gone quite white. She was already rushing towards her husband. ‘Freddy. Tom’s gone.’
Freddy, taller than they, was urgently scouring the crowds. ‘Josh—Ollie—hold your mother’s hands, understand? Look—Tom’s over there, I can see him. He’s spotted Adam!’
It was true, Belle realised. Tom had somehow through the throng seen Adam returning and had run off to meet him, quite oblivious of the busy thoroughfare he would have to cross. Belle was the first to fly after him, panic and dread weighting her every step with lead.
For a second the little boy stood frozen amidst the horses and carriages. Belle ran on, knowing sickeningly that she’d be too late. Then—Adam was there. Adam was scooping Tom up and out of the way in his strong arms, just before the wheels of a heavy town coach rumbled over the very place where the child had stood.
Tom was unharmed. He cried a little in his fright, and once Adam handed him to his mother Louisa hugged him to her, kissing him over and over again. Freddy gathered his precious brood together and told them sternly that they must stay close, at all times.
Belle could barely breathe. She had been in charge of Tom; she had let him slip away from her grasp.
‘Belle. Are you all right?’ Adam’s voice; he was at her side.
She whispered, ‘Please will you take me home?’
Adam had lifted her hand; she was shaking. ‘No one blames you, Belle.’
He saw how her lips were quite white; her hands trembled as she shook her head. ‘Everyone thought I was holding him safely. If it wasn’t for you—oh, Adam, if you hadn’t got there in time, he’d have been terribly hurt...’
‘But I did get there in time. And Belle, he slipped away from you—boys will be boys, you know that!’
‘I know that it was my fault,’ she breathed, her eyes dark with distress. ‘Please, Adam. Take me home.’
* * *
An hour later Belle was alone in her bedroom in Bruton Street when there were strong footsteps on the stairs, a familiar knock at her door. She jumped to her feet as the door opened.
Adam, of course. He’d left her here—at her insistence—then gone on home to act as host to his brother and his wife, who were dining with him that evening.
He came inside, his face unreadable in the shadows. He said, ‘You’ve not even lit any candles. I’ll send for a maid—’
‘No.’
‘Belle, Lennox told me you’ve had nothing to eat and nothing to drink. You’re sitting here in the dark. You should have come with me to Clarges Street.’
‘I—I cannot face your brother and his wife. I cannot.’
‘I told you. Nobody blames you.’
But she blamed herself, more than he or anyone could ever know. She sat on the bed again with her head bowed, her arms folded tightly across her breasts. Adam sighed and went to light two candles above the fireplace. Then he seated himself on the big bed beside her, took hold of one of her hands and turned her gently to face him. ‘Accidents happen,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t your fault that Tom did something he knew very well was wrong. And he is all right.’
‘Only thanks to you!’
‘Perhaps, but even so you will not hide up here, as if you’ve done the child a grave injury—do you hear me?’
She was still trembling. ‘Perhaps not this time. But I did, years ago...’
‘You did what?’ His arm was round her now, holding her. ‘What, Belle?’
‘My brother,’ she whispered. ‘Adam, my brother nearly died. Because of me.’
And so it all came pouring out. ‘He was only six, Adam. The same age as Tom. I was almost eight and—and we were in the house my father once owned, in Bath. Our maid was meant to be looking after us, but I heard a troop of cavalry coming up the street and so I led Edward outside to watch them...’ Her hand went to her throat.
‘Take your time,’ Adam said. ‘I’m listening.’
Somehow, she told him the rest. How Edward, escaping from her hold, had run excitedly towards the trotting horses. How the one nearest to him, taking fright, had reared up and Edward had been knocked over by those plunging hooves
.
‘My little brother was badly injured,’ she went on, her voice scarcely audible. ‘His arm and wrist were broken, and his face—oh, Adam, a hoof caught his forehead. He was in terrible pain and was an invalid for a long, long time. I often think it’s why he’s—not as strong in other ways as he should be. He almost died and I shall never forgive myself.’
She was shivering, but she refused to cry. Adam kept his arm round her and felt raw emotion punch him in the gut. If she’d cried—damn it, yes, if she’d cried, as most women would have done—he’d have offered a few terse words of comfort then backed off as quickly as he could.
But she was the one backing off. Pulling away from him, hastily brushing her dark curls back from her face and saying in a fractured voice, ‘There. You know it all now. You should go back, to your brother and his lovely family. I will be quite all right.’
* * *
But Adam wasn’t all right. Adam was finding that all his safe and sure convictions—that he was a tough man, that the weakness of indulging in sympathy for others was not for him—were falling apart around him.
He said in a voice that was almost harsh, ‘Belle. I understand that was a terrible thing to happen. But for you to let it tear at you like this, to let it scar your whole life, cannot be right. Are you really saying that the accident to Edward is why you sacrifice yourself for him? Do you think that helps him, for God’s sake?’
She’d got up to walk distractedly up and down the room, still in that cherry-pink dress in which she’d looked so radiant when he’d picked her up to take her to Astley’s. She was always beautiful, damn it; even more so now, because she looked so damned vulnerable.
She turned to him, her green eyes wide and translucent in the whiteness of her face. ‘Whatever I do for Edward,’ she breathed, ‘can never be enough. Ever.’
Her low self-worth—her despair—tore at his gut. He stood up to grasp her hand and make her sit again, next to him on the edge of the bed. ‘By God,’ he said, ‘it’s more than enough. Listen, Belle. You should not spend your whole life feeling guilty for your brother. You were only a child yourself. Surely your parents—your mother at least—realised your grief, your remorse? Surely the maid who was supposed to be watching you was as much to blame—if we are apportioning blame—as you?’ Adam saw one silent tear trailing freshly down her cheek and yearned to kiss it tenderly away.
