“No,” Bella denied. “I shall never return to the naïve girl I was. She is quite gone, I fear.”
“It may seem so at the moment, but given time I’m sure your opinion will alter. I too have suffered the loss of a babe, Bella. I know the pain you feel.” There was the hint of a tremble in Cleo’s voice. “Please know I am here to offer counsel should you need it.”
“Thank you, Cleo.” Bella faltered, guilt clashing with self-loathing. “I’m a horrid person. I’ve been lying to all of you for weeks, and now I’ve killed the one life I was meant to protect.”
“None of us is without sin.” Cleo paused. “You must try not to punish yourself for this, Bella. But in the meantime, I think it best if you inform Thornton of the nature of your illness. I cannot in good faith keep this secret from him.”
There was a limit to her sister-in-law’s understanding, it would seem. Bella knew she was right even if she’d rather throw herself in front of an omnibus than confess her shame to her brother. “Do you think it might wait until I’ve had a rest? I shouldn’t think I could face him just now.”
“Rest is precisely what you need to help heal,” Cleo agreed. “Fortunately, your mother has yet to return from her visit with Cousin Clothilde. It will be your brother’s decision as to whether or not she is ever to know the full extent of this.”
“I understand.” Tiredness assailed her. “I am at his mercy, as I should be.”
“You must prepare yourself to answer questions you may not like,” her sister-in-law cautioned. “He will want to know the babe’s father, my dear.”
That much Bella was not willing to give. It would be her undoing. “He’ll not have it from me.”
“Bella, it’s Mr. Whitney, isn’t it?”
“It’s no one, for there is no longer a babe.” Bella closed her eyes again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to sleep.”
Jesse listened with only half a heart as the clergyman before him droned on about the rewards of heaven. Heaven was a long, long way from Richmond, Virginia. Of that much, he was certain. The land where he’d grown from boy to man was much changed, but not enough that his return didn’t bring an onslaught of pain. He’d spent a great deal of time in Richmond, having been raised there by his maiden aunt Hortense, who’d been such an awful harpy he’d gleefully run off to what he’d naively believed to be his great adventure in the war. Ultimately, the fight had brought him back when the city was under siege, and he’d been forced to watch the wholesale destruction of the buildings and people he’d come to know so well. Even now, he could still smell the smoke of cannons and burning houses, hear the cries of the wounded and dying.
He sighed heavily as the weight of his past came barreling into him yet again. Nothing could have prepared him for the return to the place that had once been hell on earth for him. The years didn’t ameliorate the sting, didn’t stanch the flow of memories. His nightmares had grown markedly worse, keeping him up through the early hours of the morning. Death, he supposed, had a way of turning a man inside out.
It had taken weeks after his initial arrival, but at last, Lavinia had gone to meet her maker. Beyond the small chapel where only two mourners had gathered, a freshly dug grave was the last remaining sign Lavinia Jones had ever walked the earth. Aside, that was, from the petite blonde girl standing stiffly at his side.
Clara.
He glanced to her, noting her pale, tear-stained cheeks. She had his blue eyes, his long nose, his thick golden hair, and the signature beauty Lavinia had possessed before it faded away, obliterated by illness. There was no doubt Clara was his daughter. It mattered little if she despised him. She was his flesh and blood, and he was sworn to protect her. Of course, she was every bit as hardheaded and determined as he was. When he’d been her age, he was off fighting in a war he’d had no business partaking in. She hadn’t spoken more than a handful of sentences to him since his arrival. She’d made it known to him that she didn’t care for him and that the last place in the world she wished to go was anywhere he would be. She wanted to stay in the land she loved. He couldn’t blame her for her constancy—in truth, it was an admirable trait.
Out of respect for her, he had allowed her to remain in Virginia until her mother’s passing. But he was itching to return to England and the life he found himself longing for from afar. England with its cold snaps and dreary rains had become his new home. He didn’t fool himself as to the reason why. It was Bella.
Ah, Bella. He glanced back to the head of the chapel, his eyes resting briefly on Lavinia’s coffin before rising to the stained-glass windows above. Bella hadn’t answered a single one of the many letters he’d sent her, and it troubled him greatly. He couldn’t be certain if his correspondence wasn’t finding its way to her, or if hers wasn’t reaching him, or if something worse was afoot. Perhaps she had elected not to write him. If she were angry with him, he truly couldn’t blame her one whit.
He missed her. Dear God, how he missed her. It was as if he had lost a part of himself, the very best part of himself. In the empty stretch of weeks he’d spent in Virginia, he’d made a terrifying realization. He didn’t simply admire her for her sweet concern for him, for her lovely face, or her tempting curves. He didn’t merely adore her keen mind and outspoken love of literature. He didn’t just miss her. He loved her.
He loved Bella de Vere, the woman he’d met when she was but a schoolroom girl, sitting on her spectacles in the library at Marleigh Manor. Perhaps he’d loved her since that day four years ago. He didn’t know. Love had a way of appearing in a man’s life and rendering it impossible to recall what had come before it. He regretted his rushed departure, for he had come to see that Lavinia had exaggerated the extent of her illness in an effort to make him hasten to her side. Oh, she had been taken very sick with consumption, but she had been cunning to the end, knowing full well that he would arrive before her death.
While he was glad to have his daughter’s well-being secured, he wished to God he had the same confidence when it came to Bella. He’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that she would at least write him once. After all, she’d professed her love for him on many occasions. They were all but betrothed. Some word from her would have been appreciated, and would have gone a long way toward providing him the peace of mind he wanted most.
The minister finished his piece and bowed his head in prayer. Jesse followed suit, his heart constricting as his daughter’s sobs became more pronounced. Lavinia, despite the multitude of sins she’d committed, had apparently been a beloved mother to Clara. He put an arm around his daughter’s thin shoulders, awkwardly offering her support she likely didn’t want. She shocked him by turning into his embrace, pressing her cheek to his chest, and breaking into body-racking cries.
Humbled, he held her tightly to him. As the minister droned on with his prayer, Jesse was overcome by an inexplicable feeling of absolution. The anger he’d kept for years dimmed like a lamp running out of oil. In her death, it was far easier to think that perhaps Lavinia, like he, had somehow been a victim of the savagery war wrought upon the land. He liked to think, at least, that she was sorry for enabling him to nearly be captured. In the end, he’d mercifully escaped with his freedom and his life both intact. And if he hadn’t lived through the hell of battle, he would never have moved to New York, never would have traveled on to England, and never would have met the woman he loved.
His mind drifted again to Bella. He could finally be back on his way to her.
“Amen,” he whispered.
“Who is he?”
The question emerged as a rather violent growl. Bella winced as she watched her brother stalking around her chamber as if he were a bull about to charge. She’d managed to escape his wrath for a blessed three days, but now the time had come. Oh how she dreaded the interview about to unfold.
“Or perhaps,” Thornton continued through clenched teeth, “I should ask you who the bloody bastard was, because I’m going to murder him when I have his name.”
�
��I don’t know,” she lied, utterly terrified of what his reaction would be should he discover her lover’s identity.
“You don’t know,” he repeated, nearly spitting the words like little darts. “Do you mean to say there is more than one possibility?”
“Yes,” she lied again. “Please accept my apology, Thornton. I am deeply ashamed for the scandal I have brought upon myself. But surely you must see that your attacking anyone would not enhance the circumstances.”
“The hell it wouldn’t. Nothing would delight me more than to thrash whoever’s done this to you.” He stalked closer, cutting quite a menacing figure in his fury. “Protecting him will not serve you, Bella.”
Regardless of what he said, she wouldn’t be swayed. She knew her secret was best kept, not revealed. “Thornton, your brotherly loyalty is admirable, but I shall not countenance violence.”
“Arabella, the only sin worse than a lack of loyalty is the sin of misplaced loyalty.” He glared at her, every inch the formidable politician he was.
His philosophical pronouncement had her at a loss. She felt certain she’d read it somewhere before, but couldn’t place it in her overburdened mind. “Who said that?”
“The goddamn Marquis of Thornton said it to his wrong-headed minx of a sister,” he exploded. “As your brother and the head of this family, I demand you tell me who has compromised you.”
“I’m afraid I cannot as doing so will accomplish naught.” Bella refused to waver in her decision.
“On the contrary, it will accomplish a great deal, including the unmerciful trouncing of the man you’re about to name.”
He was stubborn, her brother. But she was born from the same stock, and she was equally determined to thwart him. “I don’t want contretemps. The plain truth of it is that I’m not going to tell you so you may as well give up.”
Thornton raised a brow, his expression becoming imperious. “Would you prefer to involve our mother in this tête-à-tête?”
Dear Lord, the dowager was the very last person in the world she wanted to face. The dowager in high dudgeon was not an experience to be relished. “Cleo promised me secrecy.”
“How very nice for her. I, on the other hand, did no such thing.”
The cad. “Thornton, I’ve just gone through the worst few days of my life. I’m finally regaining my strength and a bit of my sanity. Could you not be benevolent just this once and allow me the dignity of putting my mistakes behind me?”
“If benevolence is allowing some blackleg to abuse my innocent sister without consequence, then I want nothing of it.” He was hollering and very likely the entire servants’ wing could hear him.
Her head throbbed. “Please have a heart. I do not wish to make a row of it with you, but I remain firm in my unwillingness to speak of any more than I already have done.”
“I cannot accept your decision.” He ran a hand through his black hair. “Your honor is at stake, Bella. I couldn’t live with myself were I to allow this man to continue on with his life as though he hasn’t caused you such anguish. If our father were alive, he would do the same.”
Their father was but a shadowy memory to her. He’d passed away when she was very young. Thornton had stepped in and been the reliable and honorable male figure she’d needed as a young girl. She loved him very much, so much that she could never tell him what she’d done. The truth would devastate him.
“Is it the Earl of Ravenscroft? By God, if that whoreson touched you, I truly will kill him this time,” her brother snarled.
The earl in question had also been a guest at Lady Cosgrove’s country house party. He was a notorious lothario and an easy conclusion. Bella thought briefly of settling on Ravenscroft but her conscience wouldn’t allow her to bring an innocent man into her web of shame.
She shook her head, looking away from her irate brother to toy with the book in her lap. “I have told you all I’m willing to tell you.”
“Please tell me it isn’t that mutton-headed Duke of Devonshire.”
“Thornton,” she protested, growing weary of his interrogation.
“Bella,” he countered, “if you don’t tell me, there will be penalty for you.”
“Surely no more penalty than that which I’ve already paid.”
“No more books,” he said, seizing the unopened tome from her lap. “You are hereby barred from the library indefinitely.”
“Are you to send me to the guillotine as well, then?” She knew she was exhibiting cheek, particularly given her circumstances, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Insolent minx.” He frowned at her. “Count yourself fortunate I don’t have one at my disposal, else I’d be using it on whatever blighter has done this to you. And you are to have nothing. No fripperies or hundred-pound Worth gowns until I deem your time of punishment to be over.”
Her time of punishment. Really, after all the scandal he’d recently brewed, this was rich indeed. “Am I to wear a scarlet letter of shame?”
“It is a miracle that I once considered you a quiet, biddable girl who would settle down with some bookish earl and never so much as sneeze at the wrong time of day.”
“I am not sure if I should be insulted or pleased.”
“Insulted, by God. I never would have thought you had the devil in you.”
She’d had the devil in her all right, but not in the way her brother would like to think. She wisely kept silent on that particular gem of wisdom. “Perhaps I waited until now to show my hand.” She shrugged. “Take what you want from me. Bury me away in the countryside forever. I will never tell you anything more.”
“We shall see,” he vowed, his tone deadly. “We shall see.”
Chapter Eleven
“It’s a glorious day,” murmured the Duke of Devonshire to Bella as they walked slowly through the Marleigh Manor gardens. “I must say, the countryside is particularly refreshing.”
Stones crunched beneath their heels. The day in question was rather cold but sunny enough to warrant a jaunt away from the dowager’s chaperoning ears. She looked to him, thinking him handsome enough. He was tall, blond-haired like Jesse, and yet so different. Where Jesse had been bold and passionate, Devonshire was cool and composed, quick to offer praise and yet always above reproach. He had wooed her mother as well as wooing Bella, for he was clearly a man who knew the way of the world.
She pulled her dolman more tightly around her walking dress to stave off the chill. “It is indeed quite bright and pretty for this time of year.”
It was odd indeed, she thought, to be walking and talking as if all were right with the world. But everything was wrong. The smile she donned was false. The silk Worth gown she wore had been hand-picked for the occasion by her mother. Bella couldn’t be bothered with such trivial details any longer after her life had been altered in such an awful, irrefutable way.
Her babe was gone now, forever lost because she’d been stupid enough to take out her mare in a storm. She would never forgive herself. The pain was an awful, gaping chasm inside her. Thank the blessed angels her mother didn’t know. Her brother and Cleo had been true to their word and kept her secret, and although Thornton had done his utmost to learn the identity of the babe’s father, she had maintained her silence. She supposed he’d quite given up on her.
So it was that she’d been paraded before the poor, unsuspecting duke like a mare trotted out for the consideration of prospective buyers. She shivered, as much from the December air as from the dreadful feeling of emptiness within her. It all seemed so much like it had been a nightmare now, and she was dressed to her best yet still just a husk of her former self.
“I wonder, my dear Lady Bella,” the duke began, interrupting her morose thoughts, “if you’ve enjoyed my time here at Marleigh Manor as much as I have.”
Bella’s gaze snapped to his, searching. Was it possible that he was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for being? Had he sensed her detachment? She pursed her lips, crafting her response with care. “You must kn
ow I find your company most delightful, Your Grace,” she murmured at last.
Truly, the duke was a kind man. If she needed to be married off to anyone—which her brother assured her she must, given her ruined state—it may as well be someone as quiet and compassionate as he. Of course, she hated being dishonest with him. He deserved a wife who could love him with a whole heart. Bella’s had been so badly bruised and battered that she wasn’t even certain it could ever recover.
“I’m honored by your compliment,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “I must say that I treasured the brief opportunities we had for conversation at Lady Cosgrove’s house party. Afterward, your letters sustained me. Your knowledge of literature, particularly the works of Anthony Trollope, is to be admired.”
If she were honest with herself, she’d acknowledge that she too had enjoyed corresponding with the duke. He shared her love of novels. But exchanging letters with him had nevertheless been a pleasant task, even if she’d done it mostly to appease her insufferable mother.
Guilt skewered her at the expression of frank admiration on the duke’s face. “I look forward to discussing The Eustace Diamonds with you, sir, should I ever have the opportunity to finish reading it.”
“My lady.” He stopped abruptly, turning to face her and take her hands in his. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I must tell you that over the last few months, I have come to think of you with great fondness.”
Oh dear. She swallowed, the guilt blooming more and more within her stomach with each word he spoke. “I am fond of you as well, Your Grace.” For the first time, she realized he had neatly diverted her so that they were no longer visible from the windows of the drawing room where the dowager waited. He wasn’t immune to the ways of men, it would seem.
Slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was warm and firm, closed-mouthed and surprisingly passionless. She supposed she had come to expect kisses that devoured. Jesse’s kisses had been hot, hungry and demanding. They had not been tepid and polite. Before she could further compare, it was over as quickly as it had begun.
Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3 Page 45