by Louise Allen
In Elliott’s masterful kiss she had discerned respect and the desire to please her even as he had demanded and taken. And he had ignited feelings in her that were entirely novel. It was alarming and humiliating and left her in a confusion of guilty sensation. What would he think of her if he realised how one kiss had made her feel? He would think her even more abandoned than he must do now, she decided. Or perhaps he would be pleased—and then very, very disappointed.
‘Have a cup of tea and some bread and butter,’ Miss Dorothy coaxed. ‘We must start getting you dressed by one at the latest and it is twenty to the hour now.’
‘Mr Calne will not come until a quarter to three,’ Bella protested. She had bathed—fortunately without an audience—and then the maid rubbed her all over with some deliciously lavish cream that smelled of roses and came, apparently, from Lady Abbotsbury’s private hoard. Then her hair had been washed and rinsed in rosemary infusion, at which point Elliott’s great-aunt and cousin had arrived to direct the drying and brushing.
The maid had trimmed her nails and buffed them with a kidskin polisher, then her gown and undergarments and shoes had been laid out and inspected minutely while she was ordered to rest with her feet up, attired in one of the extravagant négligés she had bought the day before. Lady Abbotsbury expressed complete, and embarrassing, approval of it.
Now Bella could not imagine what else there was to do except get dressed and that would take half an hour at most. She did not relish the thought of sitting around in all her finery for an age with nothing to do but think.
‘We barely have time,’ the dowager said. ‘Eat! There’s your hair to dress, that will take almost an hour. No macquillage these days, more’s the pity, all you whey-faced modern misses—powder and patch and rouge, that’s what you need. Then your corsets—good and tight, that takes time. A man likes a small waist and a good bosom on display.’
Bella picked up a slice of bread and butter and made herself chew. Her real fear was that this alarming old dame would start lecturing her on the marriage bed. She knew she needed some frank advice, but she also knew she would never dare ask, however much some reassurance would help calm her nerves.
By the time Mr Calne arrived a glance in the mirror told Bella that she was white as a sheet. She stood in the drawing room when he was ushered in, too afraid of crumpling her gown to sit.
‘Well, now!’ Mr Calne stopped on the threshold, eyebrows raised, his hands full of yellow-and-white roses. ‘Elliott has caught himself a beauty, and no mistake.’
Bella blinked at him, then risked a second, longer glance at the overmantel mirror. She stared back at herself, eyes huge, lips deep pink against her pale skin. She was, if not a beauty, prettier than she had ever looked.
‘Mr Calne, thank you.’ She recalled her manners and went forwards to shake his hand, only to have the roses placed in hers. ‘You’ve brought me my bouquet, how kind!’
‘Elliott arranged that,’ he protested, waving away her thanks. ‘I am just doing my duty as the surrogate brother who will give you away. Which reminds me, I have something else from the bridegroom.’ He delved in an inner pocket of his elegant tail coat and produced a flat blue morocco-leather case.
‘For me?’
‘But of course for you. Here, give me those flowers back and open it.’ They managed the transfer and Bella stood staring at the case. ‘Go on, it won’t bite.’
His teasing tone broke her paralysis and she clicked the catch. Inside, on a bed of satin, was a double rope of pearls and a pair of pearl drop earrings. ‘Oh, but they are lovely.’ Elliott has given me these? Her immediate reaction was surprise and delight and then she realised: she was about to marry him, to become a viscountess. She would be required to wear appropriate jewellery at all times. The gift was merely protocol.
‘The Hadleigh pearls,’ Daniel said, reminding her that he was Elliott’s cousin and might be expected to know these things. ‘Brought into the family by a seventeenth-century bride.’
‘Good.’ Lady Abbotsbury approved. ‘The rest of the Hadleigh gems are in the bank in London, I expect, unless Rafe pawned the lot of them, which would not surprise me in the slightest. The diamond parure will suit you, but this is more suitable for the occasion.’
But wealth and glitter did not concern her. Diamonds, indeed! She would look ridiculous, the church mouse in the borrowed finery, but she must try to live up to Elliott’s expectations. Society’s expectations. It was her duty. The thought of living up to his expectations in the bedchamber was another matter altogether. You could not learn to satisfy a man in bed by careful study of etiquette, only by practice and intimacy.
‘My ears are not pierced,’ she realised in dismay, dragging her thoughts back to the present.
‘Pink silk,’ Miss Dorothy suggested, producing a handful of skeins from her bulging embroidery bag.
Mr Calne insisted on fastening the necklace for her while Miss Dorothy, after carefully matching skin tone to silk, managed to secure the pearl drops.
He offered his arm. ‘Now are we ready? I fancy we will be the desirable ten minutes late at the church.’
‘Mr Calne—’
‘Daniel—we are to be cousins, are we not? And I stand in the place of a brother today.’
His smile was charming, his good spirits infectious. Bella smiled back. Somehow she would make this work. She must, for the child’s sake. ‘Daniel. And I am Bella. Thank you for helping us today. It means a great deal to me that Elliott’s family are not offended by the suddenness of this match.’
‘Come then, Bella.’ He checked over his shoulder that Miss Dorothy and Lady Abbotsbury were attired in their bonnets, the dowager leaning heavily on the arm of the tallest, and best-looking, footman. ‘Off to church we go.’
The church was full of the fragrance of roses and lilies from the estate hothouse. Elliott felt his head swim as he stood at the altar steps, taking deep breaths. Unexpected butterflies were making free with his stomach and he needed to calm them. Just what was he getting himself into? Whatever it was, it was too late now to step back from it.
Beside him stood John Baynton, stolid and reliable as ever, reading through the form of service. He had already checked that the ring, a band of plaited gold that had belonged to Elliott’s grandmother, was safe; now he looked up and ran a critical eye over Elliott.
‘You are as white as a sheet,’ Baynton whispered. ‘Very correct behaviour in a bridegroom. I am impressed.’
‘I always endeavour to do the correct thing,’ Elliott whispered back, making a joke of it. What was there to be nervous about? He was doing what he must for the family honour. And he was marrying a young lady who appeared pleasant, well mannered and dutiful.
True, there was the small matter of the baby on its way, his own brother’s child. And the fact that he now had a vastly increased estate to manage—and drag back from neglect. And his new viscountess had never experienced life beyond a Suffolk village. And he suspected that the Earl and Countess of Framlingham were not going to be best pleased to discover that, far from courting their daughter Frederica, he had spent his period in mourning getting married to a nobody.
Ah, well, a challenge is always welcome. Elliott smiled grimly, saw the Reverend Fanshawe’s startled expression and modified his own into what he hoped was reverent anticipation. There was the tap of a cane, the small flurry as his great-aunt and cousin took their places. Then the organ struck up. He kept his eyes forward until he heard the rustle of silk and the sound of Daniel Calne’s shoes on the stone slabs, then he turned.
Arabella was veiled, of course. There was no clue to her emotions behind the cream lace that fell from the bonnet, although the bouquet of roses trembled slightly. She came to a halt by his side and then glanced round as if confused. Elliott braced himself, almost expecting her to bolt, but Dorothy, more familiar with the details of weddings than he, was already coming forwards to take the flowers.
Mr Fanshawe gave them a moment to collect themselves
, then began. ‘Dearly beloved…’
‘…you may kiss the bride.’
Arabella was holding on to his hand as though she was drowning. He lifted her veil, trying to communicate reassurance, and saw her face. She is lovely, he thought with a jolt. Her skin was flushed with delicate pink, her eyes were wide and bright, her lips full, tempting. Where had the drab, miserable little vicarage miss gone? But there was apprehension in those hazel eyes and the full lower lip was not quite steady. No need to alarm her, he thought, dropping a light kiss on her mouth.
Bella curled her fingers hard into Elliott’s grip to steady herself. The bride. I am now Lady Hadleigh. His face came into focus as he lifted the veil, pale and serious, those startling eyes almost ink blue as he studied her face. He is realising that he has committed himself irrevocably, she thought as he bent to kiss her. Her lips wanted to cling to his for reassurance, but already he was straightening; the firm pressure had lingered for just the right amount of time for the place and occasion.
How competent he is, how assured, how certain of how things must be done. And I am none of those things. But she had been, until Rafe had come into her life and turned it on its head. She had been a dutiful daughter, a competent housewife, an efficient support to the parish. Would any of those talents be of use at all now? It was time to learn to be a viscountess.
Bella lifted her chin and straightened her back as she placed her hand on Elliott’s arm. Deportment and dignity were important. She took her bouquet from Miss Dorothy and matched her steps to Elliott’s slow stride as he began to walk back down the aisle. Following his example, she looked from side to side, smiling and nodding to the strangers who were watching her. There was an unexpected number of people filling the pews. On her way to the altar she had been too nervous to look.
Many must be the staff, inside and outside, from the Hall and the Dower House. But there was a neat little woman who was perhaps the vicar’s wife and a young lady with a little girl on her best behaviour at her side, both of them smiling at someone behind Bella and Elliott—Mrs Baynton, she guessed.
For all the short notice, this was not a hole-in-corner affair, which was a relief. She had worried for Elliott’s reputation if there was gossip now. That would come when her pregnancy became obvious, but perhaps by then people would have got over the shock of the sudden marriage, provided she comported herself suitably.
Elliott had arranged matters so that it seemed just what he had said—a hurried marriage because of the bride’s unreasonable father. I must write to Papa, she realised, then pushed away the unpleasant thought until tomorrow at least. There was too much else to deal with today.
They emerged into a sunny May afternoon, the guests flocking out behind them, to find the churchyard full of curious and smiling villagers. ‘I am glad this is a country wedding,’ she whispered to Elliott and he smiled down at her.
Something tugged at her skirt and she looked down to find a small boy holding out a fistful of wild flowers. He was solemn, chubby and with a front tooth missing. ‘Just one moment,’ she said to him and tossed her own bouquet up in the air.
There was a laughing scramble as girls ran for it and she stooped again to the child. ‘Those are very pretty. Thank you so much.’ He thrust them into her hand, solemn with nerves. Bella looked at them, an unkempt tangle plucked from the hedgerow instead of the elegant and sophisticated bouquet. Just like me, she thought. ‘And what is your name?’
‘Charlie Mullin, mum.’
‘Where do you live, Charlie? May I come and visit you one day?’
‘Pa’s the baker, mum.’
‘Then I expect he makes excellent bread, I must buy some.’ She straightened up laughing, and he ran off to grab the skirts of a plump woman who was pink with embarrassment at her son’s bravado.
‘That was well done,’ Elliott said as they began to walk again.
‘I must get to know the villagers as well as your tenants,’ Bella said, waving to a group of little girls. ‘I have a responsibility to them now and I am used to this kind of work from my parish duties. I expect Mrs Fanshawe will be able to advise me who is in need.’
‘It will come as a shock to them if someone from the Hall calls,’ Elliott said, his voice dry. ‘I doubt they have had any attention from Rafe.’
Rafe would not have understood the need to be sure if frail elderly villagers had warm bedding and someone to cook for them or whether the village children learned their letters and he had probably not cared in any case. Elliott would care, but these things were not something the lord of an estate was expected to deal with. This was something she, the viscountess, could do, she realised. ‘Well, I will call,’ she said. ‘And I will tell you what needs doing and we can discuss it.’
The look he gave her held amusement and a degree of surprise at her decisive tone. ‘And I expect you will be asking me for money for your good works?’
‘Naturally,’ Bella said, delighted to find something she was equipped for.
Whereas for this, now, she was not. Elliott was turning to speak to the stocky man who had stood by him on the altar steps. ‘Arabella, may I introduce John Baynton, my groomsman and a very old friend, and Mrs Baynton. And this is Miss Baynton.’
‘Prunella,’ the little girl said, producing a curtsy. ‘I am five.’
The first of Elliott’s friends. Daniel did not count, he was family. ‘Good afternoon, Prunella,’ Bella said. It gave her time to compose herself, to manage the sort of amiable yet dignified smile that she supposed a viscountess should favour. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Baynton, Mr Baynton. Thank you for coming. I am glad Lord Hadleigh had friends at his side today.’
Mrs Baynton did not seem too concerned about composure and dignity as she shook hands. ‘And I am delighted to meet you, Lady Hadleigh, and to discover that Elliott has such a romantic streak in him! I will call in a week or so, once your honeymoon is over: I am sure we will be firm friends.’
Honeymoon? Of course, with a runaway bride and a precipitous marriage, the presumption must be that this was a passionate love match and that she and Elliott would be spending their days and nights in intimate seclusion. It was the last thing she wanted, whereas becoming close to this friendly young woman with her warm brown eyes was exactly what she needed.
It seemed Elliott thought so too. ‘Honeymoon? I only wish we could, but under the circumstances, with so much business following Rafe’s death, I am afraid I will be sadly neglecting Arabella.’
‘Yes, do call soon,’ she urged as the Bayntons gave way for the vicar to introduce his wife.
‘Are they coming to dinner?’ she asked as Elliott turned finally to the waiting carriage.
‘Yes. The Bayntons, the Fanshawes, Daniel, my great-aunt, Dorothy.’ He waited until they set off and the noise of the wheels masked their voices from the footmen up behind, then bent and murmured, ‘And I believe Anne Baynton is increasing again, which is convenient, should you two become friends.’
‘Oh, yes.’ It would be a huge relief to have a female friend who had already carried a child to talk to. But she would have to deduce what to tell Mrs Baynton, who would surely work out that her new friend had not conceived on her wedding night but was already three months gone. If she confided that a baby was on its way, then Anne Baynton would conclude that Elliott was the father, and that they had had a liaison. Could she let the wife of one of his friends think he had behaved in such a way?
‘May I tell her?’ she whispered. ‘She will guess, I am sure. Bu—’
‘But not the full truth?’ he murmured back. ‘Yes, let her think I am impulsively passionate. It will amuse John.’
‘I do not want anyone amused at your expense!’ she retorted in an agitated whisper, surprising herself at how defensive she felt on his behalf.
‘What man would object to being thought capable of seducing such a virtuous beauty?’
That was hardly reassuring. Bella slanted a wary look at his face and then faced forwards hastily. He was smilin
g, but there was a gleam in his eyes that sent a warning shiver down her spine. She had seen that expression on Rafe’s face. Elliott was thinking about seduction in rather more than the abstract.
And she was not a beauty, or virtuous, so he was being sarcastic, she supposed, which was disappointing—she had thought him kinder than that. She tried to ignore the hurtful sting of his words and focus on the good news—she would have a female friend who could support her through this pregnancy.
They drove the short distance to Hadleigh Old Hall in silence. By the time they arrived Bella had a composed smile on her face and two firm resolutions—not to expect anything from Elliott and to think only of the here and now.
Elliott helped her down. ‘Well, Lady Hadleigh?’
‘Very well, my lord.’ Her dignified composure was shattered as Elliott swung her up in his arms. ‘Elliott!’ The other carriages were drawing up around them. There was a burst of applause and a cheer as she buried her face in his shoulder and was carried through the front door.
Chapter Nine
The hall was full of staff, laughing and smiling. For one appalled moment Bella thought Elliott was not going to stop and she would be swept up the stairs and into his bedchamber. Her heart thudded with fear and excitement, then he set her on her feet, his long fingers laced into hers.
‘Three cheers for our new ladyship.’ Henlow stepped forwards. ‘Hip, hip, hoorah!’ The staff needed no urging from the butler and the hall rang with their enthusiasm.
Bella felt her eyes beginning to swim with emotion—they genuinely sounded happy that she was there. Everyone was being so kind to her. She untied the wide satin ribbons on her bonnet and one of the maids came forwards to take it and her gloves.
‘Bella! I insist on being the first to kiss the bride in her new home.’ Daniel took her by the shoulders and dropped a smacking kiss on her lips. ‘You’re a lucky fellow, Elliott.’
