Louise Allen Historical Collection

by Louise Allen

  Seeing the set of his jaw, she thought that she would not want to cross him. There was a feeling of power and force about him that his brother had not possessed, a suppressed energy as though he was confined within the clothing and trapping of an aristocrat, but wanted to shed them, do something explosively physical. He was a man who had an aim in life, not one aimlessly filling time.

  Elliott sat back and took some papers from his pocket, bent over his notebook again and jotted what looked like calculations. Surely not her allowance still? He dropped a letter on the seat. Reading it upside down, she could see the words…your instructions, have sold the stocks at a most advantageous price and have invested in the company you mentioned to the extent of one thousand pounds…

  No. Not her allowance, but business. Her husband must be a rich man. You will be all right, Baby, she promised. You will grow up healthy and protected and you will never know your papa did not want you. I will love you and Elliott will be your papa instead and he will ensure your future. It was easy to be glad of his money and his title for the baby’s sake. But she felt uncomfortably mercenary to accept it for herself. She had sinned and now she was being rewarded. Yet without the marriage her child would not be legitimate, she reminded herself. Her own feelings and sensibilities must come second.

  The carriage drew up and she looked out to find that they were in a busy street, lined with bow-fronted shops. ‘I am sorry to be such an expense to you,’ she said without thinking. ‘And should we not be in mourning?’

  ‘You are to be Lady Hadleigh and you must do the title credit. There is nothing to thank me for. And we have no family tradition of wearing mourning, certainly not in the country. Come.’ And he held out a hand.

  Bella stepped out of the carriage on to the flagstones. The sudden thought that this was the first step into her new life made her stumble. She was shopping to find a bonnet worthy of a bishop and the wardrobe of a countess. She would do it. And, somehow, she would learn to make this man a good wife.

  Elliott caught her elbow and steadied her. She managed to smile at him and he smiled back, probably with relief that she was not being ill or difficult. A pair of young ladies passed them and she saw them glance at Elliott, their casual gaze sharpening as they looked. He really was a very attractive man, she realised, her lips tightening as she caught him returning the scrutiny.

  He was taller and leaner—harder—than his brother. His smile was as ready, but no doubt far more genuine. Not as pattern-book good looking as Rafe, Bella thought critically, striving for detachment, but more overtly masculine. Dangerous in quite a different way to Rafe because it was less showy. This was a man who was utterly comfortable and confident in his masculinity. Elliott did not appear to feel the need to prove anything to anyone except himself. She felt a flutter of emotion that, for once, was neither apprehension nor nausea. Not, surely, attraction? No, not after what she had experienced with Rafe, she thought, hiding the shiver.

  ‘Here we are.’ Elliott had guided her along the pavement and into a milliner’s shop without her realising. Bella pulled herself together and stared round at the hats on display. She probably looked like a child inside a confectioners, but she could not help herself studying the delicious concoctions with longing.

  ‘Monsieur—but, no, I must say, my lord, is it not so?’ A tall woman of a certain age swept down on them, obviously very familiar with Elliott. Which was interesting. Bella slid a sideways glance at him, distracted from her preoccupations. Did he bring his mistresses in here?

  ‘Indeed, Madame Cynthie. And send all my accounts to Hadleigh Old Hall from now on, if you please. This lady, Miss Shelley, is to marry me tomorrow and she requires a bonnet for that occasion and one to meet the bishop this afternoon.’

  ‘Ah!’ Madame cast up her hands in delight before pouncing on Bella’s bedraggled bonnet strings. ‘And what colour is the wedding gown, Miss Shelley?’

  ‘Er…’ Elliott was no help, he merely lifted his brows at her in an infuriating manner. ‘Green. Pale leaf green.’ That was the gown she had dreamed about while she was waiting for Rafe: a dress the colour of spring.

  Half an hour later the perfect wedding bonnet, wreathed in veiling and tied with bunches of utterly frivolous green ribbon, was in its box and Bella was staring blankly at two more perfect hats. She was not used to choice. The one with the cherry-red ribbons made her rather mousy brown hair seem darker and shinier and was very dignified. But the one with the bunch of primroses tucked under the brim made her eyes look greener and was so pretty she wanted to smile just looking at it.

  ‘I cannot decide.’

  ‘Both, in that case.’ Elliott did not appear bored at having to lounge around a milliner’s shop while she dithered, nor annoyed that he was now buying three bonnets and not two. ‘The red ribbons for Bishop Huntingford, I think. Put it on now. And throw the old one away,’ he added to the milliner. ‘Now for that reticule.’ He waited until they were outside the shop before adding, ‘And a green wedding gown.’

  ‘I will never find anything to fit at such short notice.’ She wanted to say that it did not matter, but, of course, it did. Elliott would be displeased if she did not look the part. The urge to demand that her old bonnet was packed up and returned to her died.

  ‘Nonsense. Here we are.’ Another little jewel box of a shop, this time a dressmaker’s. And another shopkeeper delighted to see his lordship and obviously used to having him on her premises. Elliott met Bella’s questioning glance with a look of bland innocence. Was he keeping a mistress? Of course he was, she must just learn not to mind about it. It would be easier with her emotions not involved; it was not as though she would be a real wife.

  Mrs Sutton, could, of course, assist his lordship. She had just the gown and if Miss Shelley would only step into the fitting room to try it on, any alterations could be accomplished by mid-afternoon.

  ‘And anything else you have to hand that would do,’ Elliott called after them. ‘Morning dress, afternoon dress, walking dress. Miss Shelley’s luggage met with an accident.’

  Bella was almost speechless by the time she emerged, but Elliott was ruthless and took her firmly off to find more shops. Reticule, shoes and gloves were easily dealt with, but the lingerie shop was another matter altogether. ‘No.’ She found her voice and dug her heels in after one glance at the froth of lace and gauze in the window. There were no actual garments on display, but she could imagine them only too vividly. ‘I am not going in there with you.’

  ‘Very well. Will you be all right out here for one moment?’

  ‘Why, yes, but—’ Elliott walked calmly into the shop leaving her, and the laden footman, outside.

  ‘Right, in you go.’ He emerged after a few minutes. ‘Sanders, take the shopping back to the carriage and have it come round to collect Miss Shelley in half an hour. I will meet you at the Royal Oak.’ He tipped his hat to Bella and strolled off.

  It was impossible to vent one’s feelings in front of the footman. Bella knew that she must preserve the illusion that she knew Elliott very well and not protest about having a stranger buy such intimate garments. She managed to keep a smile firmly on her lips, nodded to Sanders and went in.

  It seemed Elliott had merely uttered a sentence containing the words bride, wedding, tomorrow, everything and left. After a few minutes Bella mentally added, outrageous, extravagant and indecent.

  ‘This is transparent,’ she protested, peering over the top of the garment being held up before her. ‘And what is it, anyway?’ She would look like the loose woman she now was.

  ‘A nightgown, madam. Here is the négligé and the slippers to match. I thought this set as well? And this. Oh, yes, and this would be enchanting with your colouring, if I might be so bold. Millie, only the best Indian muslin for Miss Shelley’s underthings, mind. Oh, and that Swiss embroidery, as well. Now, stays…’

  Whenever Bella tried to protest that there was enough the three assistants shook their heads and informed her that his lordship
had been quite clear in his instructions and they would not dream of stopping until they had fulfilled them.

  ‘And handkerchiefs,’ the assistant said finally. ‘There. Now we will just pack them up, Miss Shelley, if you would like a cup of tea?’

  It was almost worth it to see Sanders’s face as he was loaded up with dainty packages and bandboxes, striped and beribboned. Almost.

  Elliott was lounging in a private parlour at the Royal Oak, the day’s newssheets spread out on the table, a jug of coffee by his side, but he got to his feet as she entered. ‘Coffee, Arabella?’

  ‘Thank you, no.’ Her stomach revolted at the smell. ‘Tea, please.’

  She could almost pretend this was normal, sipping tea in a strange city, alone with a man she had known for less than twenty-four hours, wearing a fashionable bonnet and expecting to visit a bishop. This was the sort of thing—without the bishop, of course—that she had once dreamed of doing with Rafe. The room blurred and she swallowed, disciplining her thoughts.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Is everything all right, Arabella?’ Elliott enquired. ‘Have you finished your shopping?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’ Bella struggled between politeness and honesty. ‘I cannot help but feel that this has been an entirely too-extravagant morning.’

  ‘Did you not enjoy it?’ Elliott watched her over the rim of his cup and she could not decide whether he was amused or displeased at her lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Of course not.’ I have a mind above such frivolity. But honesty won. ‘No… Yes, I did. Most of it. It was very pleasant to choose nice things.’ She felt herself colour up and his eyes crinkled at the corners in response. Elliott appeared to like her blushes, which was disconcerting. They had amused Rafe too, she reminded herself, sobering instantly.

  ‘It is the bare minimum, of course. But I thought that you would wish to have the modiste call privately at the Hall so you can discuss your requirements when…’ he waved a hand vaguely in front of himself ‘…your figure changes.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Something else to blush about. Perhaps it was better to abandon all pretence of modesty. ‘I think that will happen soon, but the current mode is helpful in disguising things.’

  There was a tap at the door and a waiter began to bring in food. Bread and butter, some cold meats and cheese, fruit cake. ‘You have to eat properly,’ Elliott observed, buttering bread for her when she sat and just looked at the table.

  ‘I know. I was thinking about something else.’ Bella added a little chicken to her plate and told herself that the baby needed the food and she needed her strength. So far, thank goodness, she had developed none of the cravings for strange foods that Polly the laundry maid had reported. Coal and honey had been one messy result.

  But men were not interested in such feminine things, she knew. Elliott was being very forbearing, even discussing her morning sickness. Years of subduing her own feelings and desires came to her rescue as she searched for acceptable conversation. ‘Who will be at the wedding?’ she asked.

  ‘Cousin Dorothy, my great-aunt Lady Abbotsbury, if she feels up to it, and my friend and neighbour John Baynton, who will be my groomsman.’ He frowned. ‘Who can give you away?’

  ‘Miss Dorothy?’

  Elliott laughed, the first time she had heard him do so out loud. The sound made her smile, it was so infectious. ‘She would love that, I am sure, but it would cause even more talk if we do something so unconventional.’ His amusement vanished as he studied her face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You sound just like Rafe when you laugh. It was the only time his voice was as deep as yours.’ Rafe had laughed a lot. All the time, except when he was suddenly intense, gazing deep into her eyes, his own so blue. She had thought they must be the bluest eyes in the world until she saw Elliott’s, darker, more vivid, like deep ocean water with cold, dangerous currents beneath the warm surface.

  ‘I am sorry. I must be a constant, painful reminder.’ His lips thinned as he helped himself to a slice of beef and added mustard lavishly from the pewter pot. She must stop this, he did not need her throwing her memories of his brother in his face at every turn.

  ‘No, not at all. I will become accustomed. It is simply a matter of self-discipline and I will learn to forget my experience with Rafe,’ she added bleakly. Soon, surely, she would be able to look at him and not see Rafe’s face like a translucent mask overlaying Elliott’s? She had to remember that this was another man altogether, one she could trust, one who would not abuse her. She had to believe that.

  ‘In the meantime I will endeavour not to laugh.’

  Was that said sarcastically or was he in earnest? She would have to learn to read him if she was to be a good wife.

  ‘Thank you, but that will not be necessary,’ Bella murmured, fighting down the panic at the thought of everything she must learn. A good wife, a good mother and a good viscountess: three new roles to learn and so many things that she could do wrong. She ate another slice of bread. She was a competent, experienced housekeeper, so the domestic side of things held no terrors. She would love the baby, so she could trust her instincts there. Elliott would tell her what she needed to do to be a proper viscountess. But how was she to learn to be a good wife to a man she did not know and did not love without blundering, hurting them both—assuming he ever cared enough to be hurt by her clumsiness?

  ‘Have you finished, Arabella?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’ How long had she been sitting there brooding? ‘Is it time to go and see the bishop now?’

  ‘It is.’ He stood up and held out his hand to her. ‘Just curtsy, call him My lord and leave the talking to me. If he asks something difficult, simply look to me adoringly and I’ll deal with it. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. It was becoming quite easy to think that Elliott was someone she could look to for help. Whether or not she could manage a look of adoration, she was less sure. She must remember that for him, this was strictly a matter of honour and duty, she must not come to rely upon him emotionally.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ Bella managed a creditable curtsy and took Elliott’s arm. In his other hand he held a wedding licence. Soon, she thought, soon you will be safe, Baby. Resisting the urge to back away, as though in the presence of royalty, she preceded Elliott out through the door, keeping silent because of the liveried footmen and a passing cleric with an armful of papers.

  ‘That went very well,’ Elliott observed as they walked across College Green behind the cathedral.

  ‘Yes,’ Bella agreed. To her relief the bishop had shown no surprise at Lord Hadleigh arriving with a red-eyed, drab female on his arm and requesting a special licence. Elliott sounded quite pleased, not at all as though he was merely resigned to this wedding. Her heart lifted a little. ‘Elliott, do you mind so very much?’

  He caught her meaning and his lips firmed, making him look rather formidable. ‘I mind a lot less than I would having you and the child on my conscience. I told you, Arabella, this is my duty; you need have no fear that I will not perform it to the best of my ability.’

  It was not his duty she was worried about, it was his feelings, but the wretched man seemed ready to discuss anything rather than those. ‘No, I was not—’ she began.

  ‘Elliott!’ The man crossing the greensward was as tall as Elliott, but darker, slimmer and, as a ready smile creased his face, apparently more lighthearted at the moment.

  ‘Daniel.’ Elliott held out his hand and as the other man shook it enthusiastically she saw he bore a resemblance to both Elliott and Rafe.

  ‘Good to see you out and about after the funeral. Who would have thought it? In his prime, poor Rafe. I am having trouble believing it. Difficult for you.’

  ‘You could say that. Arabella, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Mr Calne. Daniel, Miss Shelley.’

  Bella smiled and shook hands. They were friends, she could tell at once. Elliott and his cousin had exchanged looks that said more than they had put into words. Why had he not
told Mr Calne at once that they were to be wed? Surely the more relatives present, the more normal the whole thing would appear, not that she wanted to face them. Perhaps he thought she would be embarrassed. She nudged Elliott’s booted foot with her toe and he looked down at her. ‘I wonder if Mr Calne might not be free tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course. Our interview with the bishop has sent my wits wandering, obviously.’ He smiled. ‘Daniel, you must congratulate me. Miss Shelley and I are to be wed.’

  There was a moment while his cousin stared at Elliott blankly. Bella had the fleeting impression that he was very surprised indeed. Then he seemed to pull himself together. ‘My dear fellow!’ Mr Calne slapped Elliott on the back and beamed at Bella. ‘My felicitations. And am I to guess from your reference to Bishop Huntingford that the ceremony is to be soon?’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow. Miss Shelley’s father does not approve the match, although she is of age, and things were becoming a trifle uncomfortable for her at home, so we have expedited matters.’

  Bella took a firmer grip on Elliott’s arm and smiled warmly, trying to look like a loving fiancée. ‘Perhaps Mr Calne could solve our problem, dearest.’

  Elliott’s eyebrows rose a trifle at the endearment. ‘Which one, my love?’ he countered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  There are so many, Bella thought, fighting the impulse to smile back. ‘Why, someone to give me away, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled at her; obviously she had said the right thing. ‘Daniel? Will you do that duty?’

  ‘I would be honoured!’ Mr Calne beamed at both of them and Bella found herself smiling back. Elliott was pleased, at least one of his family was pleased and she liked the enthusiastic cousin.

  ‘Come for luncheon,’ Elliott said. ‘The ceremony will take place at three. You’ll stay the night?’

  ‘That would be delightful, if the new Lady Hadleigh has no objections. I have concluded my business in Worcester and I will be returning to my home, which is some way beyond Hadleigh Old Hall,’ he explained to Bella. ‘It would be most pleasant to break my journey. Now, I will bid you farewell—I am sure you would much prefer your own company just at the moment. I will see you this evening, Elliott. Until tomorrow, Miss Shelley.’ He resumed his hat and strode off.