Perhaps he had written her a letter. It was certainly possible. Afraid to hope, she picked up her skirts and jogged down the remaining length of the hall to her chamber. She burst inside, breathless and tear-streaked, to find Smith still within. She looked up in startled surprise, in the midst of putting away a stack of embroidered corset covers.
“My lady.” Smith bobbed into a curtsy. “I thought you were at breakfast.”
Bella closed the door at her back and then crossed the room. “Smith, I must know if I have any correspondence.”
Her lady’s maid frowned. “I believe there was a letter from your aunt in the Lake District. Would you like it now?”
“No.” She shook her head and reached out to grip Smith’s elbows. “Please think. Did anyone attempt to pass you a note this morning, perhaps belowstairs?”
“Why, no, my lady. I haven’t anything for you except for the post. Is something amiss? Have I forgotten something?”
“No,” Bella whispered, desperate once more with a combination of anger and sadness. “It isn’t you who’s forgotten. It’s someone else.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Bella.” Her maid considered her with a grave expression, her tone one of concern. “What can I get for you, my lady? You look a mite pale.”
“Are you absolutely certain there was nothing for me?” she asked again, needing to hear the truth once more.
“I’m that sorry, my lady, but there was nothing but the letter from Lady Featherston.”
There was nothing. Bella released Smith, assailed by an abrupt weakness. After all the time they’d shared, Jesse had run off without even saying goodbye. Not even a letter. Not a word. Simply nothing. He was gone, possibly never to return. She swayed, her corset feeling too tight with her choppy, upset breathing. Black flecks swam before her, the world tunneling into a narrow slice of only Smith’s concerned face.
“My lady? Is something amiss?”
Smith’s words reached her as if they traveled a long distance. She became aware that her skin was tingling, her face flushed and dappled with perspiration. Bella had never known betrayal until that moment. It was as though all the clouds had unleashed their thunder and lightning on a sunny day, violent and without warning. She felt physically ill. Had he ever even cared for her? Had his every word, every touch, merely been a carefully calculated lie? Had he been planning to leave her all along?
Maybe he’d never meant any of it. Her heart ached with the pain of it all. She thought of the book he’d given her, the conversations they’d shared, of his nude body pressed to hers, of the way he tasted, of the indescribable sensation of him spilling his seed deep inside her body. He’d made love to her, brought her to life, and tossed her over as if she were no better than a soiled waistcoat.
“My lady, please let me help you to sit. I’m very worried about you,” came Smith’s voice again through the cacophony of her frantically beating heart and madly churning mind.
Her knees completely gave out then, sending her spilling to the floor. A wave of nausea assailed her with so much violence that she couldn’t keep herself from casting up what little breakfast she’d eaten all over the flowered carpet.
“Oh dear heavens!” Smith exclaimed, dropping to her knees at Bella’s side with a washbasin and a cloth in hand.
Bella embarrassed herself by heaving again, doubling over until it seemed that nothing remained in her body. When the feeling of sickness at last subsided, she passed the back of her hand over her clammy forehead. Dear heavens, what had overtaken her? She’d never, in all her life, emptied her stomach in the middle of her chamber.
“Here now.” Smith wrung out a strip of linen and used it to wash Bella’s face. “How are you feeling, my lady?”
“Horrid,” she admitted, attempting to muster up a smile and failing. “Smith, could you be a darling and help me out of my dress? I think I need to lie in bed for a bit.”
With the way she felt, perhaps she needed to lie in bed for a week, she thought to herself as her lady’s maid helped her to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Smith,” she apologized. “I did not mean to—”
“Nonsense,” her maid interrupted her in that staunch way she had that belied her tender years. “I will take care of the mess, my lady. Do you feel strong enough to stand?”
“Yes.” She held still while Smith began to hastily undo the long row of buttons on the back of her morning dress. Her mind was reeling with what she’d learned, but the mysterious sickness that had overtaken her had distracted her for a moment. Now the ugly reality returned and with it came the harsh pain of his duplicity. She pulled her arms from her gown and untied her under sleeves, pulling them off.
“Lady Bella,” Smith began, her tone hesitant, “have you been feeling ill often?”
Bella frowned. “For the last few mornings, my stomach has been most upset. I can’t think why.”
Smith came to stand before her, finishing the removal of her dress and undergarments before undoing the fastenings of Bella’s corset. “Forgive me, my lady,” she paused, looking as if she were afraid to continue, “but I’ve noticed you haven’t had your courses when you ought to have.”
She inhaled deeply as the corset was whisked away. Thank the blessed angels. She needed that air. Her stomach already felt more settled. She mulled over her maid’s words. “I suppose I haven’t. What of it, Smith?”
“You’ve only felt ill in the mornings?”
Bella was confused by her maid’s swift round of questions. “Smith, what do these queries of yours mean? Pray tell me and cease hinting. I haven’t the strength for playing games just now.”
“My lady.” Smith’s expressive face was lined with worry. “I fear it means you’re with child.”
Chapter Nine
Oh dear God. It couldn’t be. Could it? She’d only lain with Jesse once. She knew precious little of such delicate matters, but it stood to reason that once would be enough, particularly with a man as virile as Jesse Whitney. Her hand crept over her midriff. She had been feeling ill fairly often, but had merely put it down to worry that Thornton would accept Jesse’s suit for her hand. She’d never once imagined she could be carrying a babe.
Jesse’s babe.
Stricken, she stared at Smith. “If ever you possessed even a shred of loyalty to me, I beg of you…” She stopped and closed her eyes, trying to gather the words up from her numbed mind. First Jesse had left her in the night as if he were no better than a common outlaw, and now she was carrying his child out of wedlock. It was all too dreadful to be true.
“You needn’t utter another word, my lady,” Smith hastened to say. “My first loyalty is of course to you. Forgive me for my plain speaking. It is merely that I noticed the bedclothes at Wilton House. I’ve also noticed a difference in you ever since.”
The bedclothes. She had bled after losing her maidenhead. How foolish she’d been to think she could keep her sins a secret. “Pray don’t apologize, Smith,” she said wearily. “You were right, of course. I fear I’m carrying Mr. Whitney’s babe.”
“Oh Lady Bella.” Her maid’s voice was as pitying as her gaze. “He left last night. I heard it this morning from Patterson, who was acting as his man while he was here at Marleigh Manor. He said he’s going back to America.”
“I know.” Tears pricked her eyes anew as the devastating truth of her plight sank into her bones. “He’s gone, and I don’t know where or if he’ll ever return. America is a vast country, Smith, and I’ve no hope of finding him.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, sobbing. “And I love him so terribly much. The pain is almost too much to bear.”
Very likely, she ought not to be sharing all her secrets with a servant, but Bella had come to think of Smith as a confidante more than a mere underling. She had proven her mettle and allegiance again and again. Her lady’s maid had become her friend. They’d grown up together, after all.
“My lady, pardon me if I speak out of turn, but there are ways a woman can rid herself of that which
is unwanted.” Smith’s expression grew pained. “I’ve known of some servants who have taken herbs to remove the babe early so as to keep their positions, without anyone being the wiser. I tell you in confidence only so that you may know you have a choice.”
There are ways a woman can rid herself of that which is unwanted.
Bella shuddered. Smith spoke of somehow harming the babe, of forcing it from her womb. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting the child she’d created with Jesse, if indeed that was the mysterious affliction ailing her. For much as she hated Jesse in that moment, she had to admit that his child would never be unwanted. Her love for him hadn’t altered. He was her first love, would be her last. No, she could never willingly rid herself of the babe, as Smith had suggested.
“Thank you for your kind offer, Smith, but I think I must bear my shame,” she murmured, swallowing against another onslaught of tears.
Dear God. If she was truly with child, she was doomed. She wasn’t completely naïve to the ways of the world. She wasn’t the only lady in society to have found herself in such dire straits. She’d heard that unwed ladies were often bundled off to the Continent where they were forced to give up their babes and return as if nothing untoward had occurred. But she couldn’t do that. She hadn’t the strength. No, she needed time to think and formulate a battle plan.
“Pray don’t tell a soul what you know,” she begged her maid.
“You have my word, my lady,” Smith vowed. “Now let me help you into bed if you please. You’re looking wan as death, you are.”
Bella allowed herself to be handed up into her bed, feeling incredibly weary. “Send a message to the dowager. Let her know I am ill and merely need rest.”
“Of course.” Her lady’s maid turned to leave.
“Smith?”
The maid stopped, looking back. Bella wished for the first time that they could trade places. How freeing it must be to have one’s independence. To not have the shadow of a demanding mother whose fondest fancy was for her to marry a duke. To not have suffered the pain of loss.
“Thank you,” she said simply, meaning the words more than she ever had.
The heavy dread that had taken up steadfast residence in his gut couldn’t be shaken. Jesse had arrived in London at first light and immediately arranged for passage across the Atlantic. His course was set. He was going home to Virginia for the first time in years. The fact didn’t bring him anticipation or joy. In truth, when he’d left his home state after the war, he had never wanted to return. The lush fields and hills of his youth had been forever tainted for him.
He took a gulp of the whiskey he’d ordered at a questionable-looking tavern by the docks. It singed a fire straight to his soul, but it didn’t numb him as it once had. His mind went, for the hundredth time since leaving Marleigh Manor, to Bella. She would have risen this morning to his absence. He couldn’t help but feel the letter was a mistake. Unable to explain the complexities of his situation to her, he’d merely written that unforeseen circumstances had forced him to return to America, but that he would hasten back to England and explain all to her. Now it seemed foolish by the light of morning. Christ, he should have searched every chamber in the east wing for her. He should have found her, thrown her over his shoulder, and brought her with him.
He missed her already.
He was a grown man who had lived through the fiery hell of war. He’d been a lone wolf for fifteen years, content with keeping to himself, traveling, expanding his wealth. He had never known such depth of feeling for a woman. What he’d felt for Lavinia had been a youthful passion, fueled by the fear of never knowing if he’d live to see another day. What he felt for Bella was so much more vivid, complex, frightening. He meant what he’d said to her. He didn’t believe in love. But he did believe there would never be another woman for him now that he’d found her. It didn’t matter that she was the sister of his great friend. It didn’t matter that she was far too gentle and sweet for the likes of him. She was his, damn it.
He certainly didn’t deserve her. Guilt was a stone in his stomach. He tossed back some more whiskey. Hell, maybe by going away he was doing her a favor. She’d have time to be firm in her decision to wed him. Lord knew she ought to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. She’d been born to nobility, groomed to wear a duchess’s coronet. She hadn’t been raised to fall in love with a mutt of a Southerner who didn’t even call any place home. A man who had a daughter he’d never known.
He didn’t take his responsibilities lightly, and suddenly the man who’d prided himself on never growing any roots into the ground had two immensely important responsibilities pulling him east and west. It was ironic, he supposed, but at the moment he couldn’t find the humor in it. He hadn’t expected to go back to Virginia or to hear from Lavinia again. He had to admit her letter had stunned him, taking him back to the darkest of times he’d vowed never to revisit. He had traveled straight through the night, afraid to sleep for what demons slumber would bring him.
Jesse finished his whiskey and stood, looking at his pocket watch. The time had come. He had to face the ghosts of his past, find his daughter, and bring her back to the home he wanted to create in England. He knew what he needed to do. He only prayed he’d find his way through it all with his sanity firmly intact. And he prayed that when he returned, Bella would be awaiting him with open arms.
The days collected with a morose tedium for Bella. She pressed her heated forehead to the cool glass of the library window, staring out into the gray early-winter afternoon. She still adored the quiet comfort of the library, but she no longer found solace in its familiar walls of books. She hadn’t been able to strike up enough enthusiasm to read in a very long time. Her heart simply wasn’t in it.
Much had changed at Marleigh Manor since Jesse’s departure. Lady Scarbrough’s husband had unexpectedly met an early demise, leaving her free to wed Thornton. Forgoing propriety and mourning periods, they had wed as soon as possible because the countess—now the marchioness—was enceinte. But while her brother’s wife’s condition was a cause for celebration, Bella’s was not. Only Smith knew.
She sighed, watching her breath fog the pane and obscure the view of the gardens below. Soon, she would no longer be able to hide her secret from her family. Her hand traveled to her midriff. She’d convinced Smith to continue tightlacing her into her corset despite the weight she’d gained. It was imperative that she keep her condition from the dowager for as long as possible.
Two months had passed. Still no word from Jesse. Still no battle plan. She was bereft, knowing now that she’d likely never hear from the man she loved or see him again, and that she was left with the herculean task of somehow raising his child. She was determined to keep the babe, for he or she was all she had left to give her hope.
“Darling daughter,” the dowager trilled from behind her, her voice tinged with uncharacteristic delight.
Bella turned to find her mother sweeping into the library, the ribbons of her cap flying about her head. Her ever-present gray silk skirts swished and frothed about her. To Bella’s eye, the effect was all quite silly. She’d never know why the dowager insisted upon remaining in half-mourning for the marquis when it seemed to Bella that she’d never even harbored the slightest bit of fondness toward him in his lifetime.
She sighed again, feeling quite dismal to have had her musings interrupted. “Yes, Maman?”
“I have correspondence for you from the Duke of Devonshire.” She held out a small missive bearing the duke’s seal, waving it as if it were a royal banner. “That’s three times in the last fortnight. I daresay he’s smitten!”
Bella accepted the letter without even a frisson of excitement. The duke was a dear man and had begun writing to her with increasing frequency. He was kind, steadfast, and everything Jesse Whitney was not. While the tone of his letters was always above reproach, he had begun hinting that his feelings for her were no longer platonic.
“I’m sure he’s no more s
mitten with me than I am with him,” she murmured, tucking the letter into the pocket of her day dress.
“What stuff.” The dowager waved her hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve asked Thornton to extend an invitation to Marleigh Manor. We have no way of knowing if he’ll choose to court you, given your brother’s disastrous decision to wed that woman. But I have every hope that he shall take into account our extensive familial history and your infinite suitability as his future duchess.”
Blessed angels. She didn’t want to wed the duke. Even if she did, there was no way she could go to him as his bride while carrying another man’s child. She hadn’t the heart for deceit, and soon she would no longer be able to cinch away her problems.
“I’ll not marry the Duke of Devonshire,” she told the dowager. “And you must cease referring to Cleo as ‘that woman’. She is Thornton’s wife and the Marchioness.”
Maman shuddered, her disgust for her son’s choice of wife evident. “Do not dare take me to task, Lady Arabella de Vere. Whilst your brother has taken leave of his faculties, I have not. You are the sole hope of this family. Marrying the duke will go a long way toward repairing our reputation in the eyes of society.”
Bella frowned, most uncomfortable with the idea of herself as the de Vere family savior. If anything, she was bound to bring more shame and ruin upon the family than her brother had. They would forever be scandalous now. Her poor mother would have an apoplectic fit when she discovered the truth.
“The duke has hardly been courting me thus far,” she reminded her mother, attempting to blunt her expectations. “He’s merely become a friend, nothing more.”
Her mother sniffed. “Men and woman are not meant to be friends, daughter. He’s already written that he will come for a visit. Mark my words, he would never come to Marleigh Manor in the midst of the dreadful scandal in which we now find ourselves unless he could find it in his heart to desire you for his wife.”
The Duke of Devonshire was coming to see her? The mere thought rendered her weak. How was she to possibly smile and make merry as if she hadn’t a care? “When will he come?”
Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3 Page 43