Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (4 page)

‘They would be mortified if my wife-to-be stayed anywhere else.’

Bella’s hand jerked and the stain spread like blood over the white tablecloth as her almost-full wine glass toppled. ‘Your wife? You intend to
marry
me?
You?
’

‘Why, yes. Have you any better suggestion, Arabella?’

‘I came here with a perfectly reasonable proposition, and you refused me without even discussing it and now you suggest marriage!’

‘It was not a suggestion. It is what is going to happen.’ Elliott cut through her half-formed thoughts. From his tone he was both making a prediction and issuing an order. He looked as though he was negotiating a business deal, his eyes cold and steady. The charming smile had gone.

‘It is ridiculous! I do not know you. Rafe is the father—’

‘Rafe is cold in the ground.’ She flinched, but he pressed on, ignoring her wordless gasp of shock at his frankness. ‘And how well did you know
him
? I thought you wanted the best for your child.’

‘I do! I would do anything for this baby…’ Her voice trailed away as she saw where this was taking her. ‘Anything.’

‘Exactly. I assume you mean that. You did not come here really expecting to marry Viscount Hadleigh, did you? If Rafe had been alive, he would have refused and you know it, so you had, most sensibly, planned your demands.

‘Now you will become a viscountess, move here, live in what—once I get this place into some sort of order—should be reasonable comfort. The difference is that you will be marrying me and not my brother. Is that such a sacrifice to make for your child or are you telling me you would prefer to live a lie in dowdy seclusion in some remote market town, bringing up a bastard?’

The sharp vertical line between his brows and the edge to his words told her quite clearly how little he wanted this.

‘Of course I would not,’ Bella snapped, nerves
getting the better of shock and distress and even the remnants of good manners. ‘If I thought for a moment you meant it—’

‘You doubt my word?’

Now she had impugned his honour and he was on his aristocratic high-horse. It would be nice to be able to complete a sentence. Bella hung on to her anger—it was more strengthening than any of the other emotions that were churning inside her. She tried again. ‘I doubt you have thought this through. I have no desire to be married to a man who is going to bitterly resent it the moment the knot is tied. You would make an appalling husband.’

Judging by the way the corner of his mouth quirked, he appeared to find her completely unfair words mildly diverting, damn him. Bella had a momentary pang of conscience over thinking such a thing, but found she was beyond caring. This was a nightmare and somehow she had to wake up.

‘Don’t laugh at me!’

‘Do you think I find this amusing? Then let me explain something, Arabella.’ Elliott got to his feet, about six foot three of intense male at very close quarters. She did her best not to flinch away when he planted his hands on the table and leaned towards her, those deep blue eyes holding hers. ‘I am Hadleigh. I am head of this family now. But if Rafe had done what he should have done and married you before he died, then I would be sitting here, a guest in
your
house, acting as
your
trustee until the birth of that child.

‘And if it is a boy,
he
would be Viscount Hadleigh and I would be Mr Calne, his guardian, nothing more. Do you expect me, in all honour, to ignore that fact?’

‘
B
ut you are the legal heir. You hold the title now. You cannot want to marry me,’ Bella protested.

‘For God’s sake, stop worrying about me or Rafe or anything else and worry about your child,’ Elliott snapped. ‘My brother should have left you alone or married you: one or the other. In fact, he should have married years ago. But he did not. Do you think I am grateful for his heedless behaviour because I now have the good fortune to inherit the title?’

He did not sound as though he considered himself very fortunate. ‘All I can do, in honour, is to ensure that if it is a boy he will one day inherit, as my heir. It might not be legally imperative, but it most certainly is morally. No one will suspect—a child is presumed to be the offspring of its mother’s husband. With any luck the birth will be full term or later—I believe that is not uncommon with a first child. We will have been assumed to have anticipated matters a trifle, however late it is.’

‘Then people will believe you had—’

‘I am Hadleigh,’ he interrupted her again. ‘After my brother, they expect that sort of behaviour from the viscount, I have no doubt. It will be a one-week wonder, the gossip.’

‘But the staff here,’ she protested, swept along by his vehemence, knowing she had capitulated but still protesting, ‘they saw me arrive on the doorstep, on foot, sodden, having obviously travelled on the common stage. That is not how you would treat your betrothed, surely?’

Elliott sat down again and reached for the claret. ‘Of course not, not if I knew you were coming. However, we simply use the truth about your difficult father, who does not approve of the immoral ways of the aristocracy and who has forbidden our marriage, despite the fact you are of age. His temper is such that you felt you had to run away to me before your condition became obvious and not wait for wedding preparations. You said nothing when you arrived to indicate that you were expecting to see Rafe and not me, did you?’

Bella shook her head. ‘No. I behaved as confidently as I could and I only used your title. I feared the butler would show me the door before I could get to Rafe if I did not.’

There had to be something wrong with this, somehow. Her child would be legitimate? She was going to become the Viscountess of Hadleigh after all, despite her shame, despite her ruin? Yes, there had to be some catch, something she had not seen. Things that were too good to be true normally were just that. This seemed the
perfect solution—but it would be like a diamond with a huge flaw in its heart. She felt too tired and dizzy and confused to think it through and find that flaw.

‘You have had enough for one day, I suspect.’ Elliott was at her elbow and she had not even noticed him move. ‘You are in a delicate condition, you have travelled too far and you have had a shock.’

‘Yes.’ She was beyond arguing now; he was too strong to resist. And she should not resist in any case, but some voice kept nagging that she should not do this to him, that he did not deserve it. She had been prepared to make a sacrifice for her child; she had not expected the victim to be an innocent man.

‘I cannot think straight any longer. We must talk again, but I would like to retire if I may. Your great-aunt and your cousin—what will you tell them, my lord?’

‘Why, the truth, of course.’ He eased back her chair and waited while she got to her feet. ‘That ours has been a most secret and rapid courtship, and, given your father’s irrational opposition, I intend marrying you by licence just as soon as I can lay my hands on one. Which is going to involve an early trip to Worcester tomorrow to see the bishop.’

She ought to say something, but it felt like trying to walk into a strong wind. ‘You should stop calling me
my lord
,’ he added just before they reached the door. ‘We must appear to be on intimate terms.’

‘Elliott,’ she repeated obediently. It was a more solid name than
Rafe
, more real somehow. He
was
real, she realised. He was the only reality between her and utter ruin. Rafe was dead and she was safe from him, at least.
But he had been the devil she knew. This brother she did not know at all. ‘This is…I don’t feel—’

‘And it would be as well if you were to come with me to Worcester, if you are up to travelling tomorrow. I expect you will need to do some shopping. Then back here by evening and we will be married the next day. Which reminds me, I must send a note down to Mr Fanshawe, the rector.’

‘Married the day after tomorrow?’

‘The sooner the better, don’t you think? I have met the bishop before, which is fortunate. George Huntingford. Bit of a dry stick, but not inclined to be awkward. He won’t have come across your father, will he?’

‘I have no idea. But, Elliott, I cannot just confront a bishop and pretend—’

‘Pretend what?’ Elliott enquired with infuriating logic. ‘You are of age, you are who you say you are and you are free to marry. There is no deception.’

‘I do wish you would let me finish a sentence,’ Bella said, her temper sparking through the fog of exhaustion. He was right, of course—why could she not simply accept it? She swallowed the tears of frustration, tried to think rationally. Was this really the right thing to do? It seemed so easy, far too easy. Perhaps she was dreaming.

‘You are not very coherent tonight,’ Elliott said in response to her protest. ‘It is hardly surprising, but if I waited for you to finish we would be here until the small hours.’ They looked at each other, his expression mildly exasperated, hers set into a frown that was probably making her even plainer than usual. He must surely be
studying her and wondering what on earth he had done to deserve this.

It was irrational and ungrateful, but she was so angry with him, all of a sudden. He was utterly in control and she could do nothing because he was right: this was the best thing for her child. Her fists clenched; deep inside she knew that the man she wanted to strike was not him, but his brother. Striking the man who was going to save her and the baby from this nightmare was madness, but the temptation was strong. It did not help either that she had the conflicting desire to simply lean against his chest and sob.

‘No, I am not very coherent.’ Bella made herself speak moderately. ‘I am usually calm, sensible, coherent and responsible. And before you say anything, losing my virtue to your brother before marriage was none of those things, I am well aware. But he…but I…’

‘Your emotions overcame all else?’ Elliott suggested, not unkindly.

‘Exactly.’ Bella clasped her hands tightly. ‘I do not know if you have ever been in love, Elliott?’
Or are now. No, surely he would not have suggested this if he had any ties to another woman?

‘No,’ he admitted to her intense relief. ‘There is no one.’

‘It sweeps away everything. It was the most powerful thing I have ever experienced.’ Of course, it must have been only the illusion of love or she would have clung to Rafe, wanted him even when he hurt her and spurned her. It made it worse, somehow, that even her own emotions had deceived her. ‘And just now I am bereft, tired, frightened, confused and adrift. And shocked. I
presume you have never experienced any of those emotions either?’ He did not look like a man who was easily discommoded.

‘I have been shocked, certainly. Very recently.’ The corner of his mouth moved in what was either a grimace of pain or a sardonic smile. ‘You will agree that you have had a little longer to become used to your condition than I have.’

‘I have had even less opportunity to become used to the notion that I am to marry a complete stranger and become a viscountess,’ she began and then caught herself as her voice trembled. Elliott was being quite incredibly forbearing. And honourable. And she had put him in a most difficult position. ‘You are being very kind.’ That provoked a quizzical lift of one eyebrow. ‘I do appreciate what you are doing for me, for the baby, but please, may we talk about this in the morning?’

‘We can talk on the way to Worcester. I will collect you at eight, if you think you will be well enough for an early start.’

Bella swallowed. It was no effort to be up and breakfasted by then; at the vicarage everyone rose at six. But at that time in the morning her uncertain stomach was at its worst and just now she felt as if she could sleep for a week. ‘Perfectly, thank you, I will be ready then.’

Her cloak was almost dry and the rain had stopped. Elliott insisted on carrying her valise to the carriage and then helped her out after the silent ten-minute drive. In the darkness Bella could make out a four-square house sitting in a hollow.

‘The Dower House.’ They waited for several minutes
until the door creaked open to reveal an ancient butler who peered out at them as they stood in the wavering light of the lantern he held.

‘My lord? My lady has retired some time since. Miss Dorothy is in the small parlour, my lord.’

‘Thank you, Dawson, we can announce ourselves. Miss Shelley will be staying for two nights if you could organise a room for her, and a maid.’

‘My lord.’ The old man shuffled off mumbling, ‘Maid, room, fires’, to himself.

‘Dawson is about ninety,’ Elliott explained, ‘but he refuses to be pensioned off. Mind the lap dog, it will yap, but I doubt it will bite.’ As he spoke he opened a door and stepped inside. ‘Cousin Dorothy, forgive this late call.’

The dog did indeed yap. And Miss Dorothy exclaimed and dropped her tatting and it took several minutes to restore order. ‘Your betrothed?’ she enquired, peering myopically at Bella when Elliott began to explain. ‘How wonderful. Had you told me, Elliott dear? I do not recall, and I am sure I would have done.’

‘No, Cousin. Arabella has had to run away as her father does not approve of me.’

‘Of
you
? Why ever not? If it had been that rascal Rafe, God rest his soul, one could understand. But
you
, Cousin?’

‘Politics,’ Bella explained, feeling as though she was in an opium-eater’s nightmare now, things were so unreal. ‘Papa is a—’ She realised she had no idea where Elliott’s allegiances might lie.

‘Tory,’ he finished for her, his interruption for once welcome.

Miss Dorothy, who was about fifty, plump and rather vague, nodded. ‘Oh, politics. That would explain it.’

‘We will be married the day after tomorrow,’ Elliott pushed on. ‘So if you could find Arabella a bedchamber for two nights, that would be very helpful. I did mention it to Dawson as we came in and I expect he’s gone to speak to Mrs Dawson.’

‘They will see to all that.’ Miss Dorothy beamed at Bella. ‘I do enjoy being a chaperon. One gets so little opportunity now Mama is frailer and we no longer go to many parties, but I used to look after all my nieces.’

‘It is very kind of you, ma’am.’ Bella dredged up her last reserves of will-power and did her best to behave politely. She felt as though she had been pushing against a locked door and it had suddenly opened, tipping her into space. She was still falling. ‘I am sorry, I am afraid I do not know how I should address you.’

‘Well, I am Miss Abbotsbury, but everyone calls me Miss Dorothy, my dear. Now, have you had your supper?’

‘Yes, Miss Dorothy, thank you.’

‘And have you brought a nightgown and a toothbrush? Elliott, where are you going?’

‘Home, Cousin.’ He paused at the door. ‘I was just about to bid you both goodnight.’

‘Without kissing Miss Shelley?’ Miss Dorothy simpered. ‘Such unromantic behaviour! I am not such a fierce chaperon as all that, Elliott.’

‘Of course not. Arabella.’ He came and took her hands in his and looked down at her face. It was an effort not to cling. She had known him a few hours and now this stranger was all she had. ‘It will be better in the
morning, you will see.’ And then he bent and kissed her cheek, his lips and breath warm for the fleeting moment of contact. Bella had an impression of claret and spice before he straightened up and she made herself let go. ‘I will collect Miss Shelley at eight, Cousin, if an early breakfast will not inconvenience you.’

‘Not at all.’ The chaste kiss appeared to have satisfied Miss Dorothy’s romantic expectations. She beamed at him as he left, then turned to Bella. ‘Well, my dear, I expect you would like to go to bed, would you not?’

‘Yes, please, Miss Dorothy.’ At last a question she could answer with perfect honesty and without having to think. The cosy, cluttered room was beginning to sway slightly. ‘That would be delightful.’

Elliott sat in the closed carriage outside the Dower House at a quarter to eight the next morning and made mental lists. It was that or pull out the flask of brandy secreted in the door pocket and drown every one of the obligations Rafe had landed him with. Especially this one.

It would have been a perverse comfort to be able to mourn his brother and perhaps he was, even if what he was mourning for was the brother he never had: the close friend, the trusting companion. Rafe, jealous and suspicious, had never wanted to allow anyone close, even at the end.

But maudlin thoughts about brotherly love, or the lack of it, were no help in dealing with a neglected estate, over a hundred dependents, financial affairs that were tangled beyond belief and this latest obligation.

He was, it seemed, to be married to the plain daughter
of an obscure vicar. Why could he not have done what she asked and pensioned her off with enough money to support the fiction of a respectable widow? His damnable conscience, he supposed. Sometimes Elliott thought he had been given his brother’s conscience as well as his own, for Rafe had certainly not appeared to possess one.

Yesterday evening it had been very clear what he must do, where his duty lay as a man of honour. If she had come to him after the child had been born, then he would not have offered marriage, for that would not have legitimised the baby. But she
had
come and he had been given the opportunity to do what was right.

All his adult life, it seemed, he had been attempting to make up for the damage Rafe had wrought to the estate, to his dependents, to those who crossed his path, and until now he had never been able to do more than stop one young sprig blowing his brains out after Rafe had ruined him at cards. Now all the wreckage had landed at his feet, as though a great storm had thrown it up on to a beach, and he must try to repair everything at once.