Louise Allen Historical Collection

by Louise Allen

  Elliott was not given to bullying anyone. Firmness, fairness and an authority he had learned young worked much better and earned loyalty as well as good work.

  He was not given to deceiving himself either. There was more to his unsettled mood this morning than an over-emotional wife—it was time to face it. His reaction to seeing that nursery had been visceral, a jolt in the guts that had surprised him. He had not been unhappy up there as a small child. He could recall Nanny White’s smiling face and playing soldiers with Rafe and the taste of porridge with honey in it and the longed-for delight of that hour with Mama before bedtime.

  Even when Rafe had moved downstairs he had not been sad, content to play by himself with his toys and in his head. He had missed Rafe, though—he hardly saw him once he had graduated to the world of the schoolroom—and he had looked forward to the day when he joined him downstairs.

  But Rafe at almost eight was different from the playmate upstairs and a small brother was, apparently, an inconvenient nuisance. Elliott learned to keep his hands off Rafe’s toys and Rafe’s books, not to sit at Rafe’s desk, not to ask for their tutor’s attention until Rafe had received all the assistance he demanded.

  When he was twelve he had begun following their old steward around, asking questions, taking an interest in the estate. Everything about it was fascinating and soon he was having ideas of his own that Peters encouraged. One day their father had praised him for his knowledge about the herds within Rafe’s hearing.

  ‘I am the heir,’ Rafe had hissed at him as soon as he got him alone, twisting his arm painfully. ‘You’re just the spare. This is going to be mine—the title, the house, the land. You’re nothing, Mr Calne, and don’t you forget it.’

  And for the first time Elliott had lost his temper, hit his brother, fought him with all the fury and desperation of baffled hurt. And he had won, had routed Rafe, who had taken his split lip and black eye off to their mother so Elliott got a whipping. But Rafe never attacked him directly again and Elliot discovered that he could stand up for himself.

  No, it had not been unhappy memories of life in that nursery that had hit him, but the realisation it was Rafe’s child who would lie in that cradle now and not his own. That was why he had wanted the nursery so far away, he acknowledged. It was as petty and shameful as that. So much for his impassioned declaration to Arabella that in all honour he must be certain that if the baby was a boy it would inherit one day. He had meant it then, he knew that. He had not even had to think it through, he had known it was the right thing to do. It was still right.

  So why was he resenting it now? If he and Arabella had a son together, he would leave Fosse Warren to him. Until a few days ago that had been his only ambition for the land, to leave it to his son, a boy who would grow up to be plain Mr Calne, just as he had. So what had changed?

  Elliott shook his head, frustrated and annoyed with himself. And ashamed. Damn it, he had felt good about himself for doing the right thing, for marrying Arabella, and now he realised he wasn’t the rational, emotionless man he had thought. ‘You smug devil,’ he said to himself. The bay sidled, confused by the voice and the tightening rein. ‘Come on, let’s do some work,’ Elliott told it, using his heels to urge it into a canter. ‘I’ve wasted enough time on the roof and looking at cradles.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Mrs Knight, are you free to go through some of the rooms with me?’ Bella found the older woman in the stillroom, frowning at a list in her hand.

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ She put down the list and smiled at Bella. ‘I was just wondering where all the beeswax polish has got to. I could have sworn we’d got enough made up to last another month, but I can see we’ll be raiding the hives before long at this rate. Now, where would you like to be starting, my lady?’

  ‘The main bedchamber floor, if you please, Mrs Knight.’ Bella picked up her skirts and walked upstairs side by side with the housekeeper. ‘I would like to see what we have available for guests.’ Elliott would have many friends and she was determined that she would be an excellent hostess for him. Surely warm hospitality and goodwill would make up for her lack of sophistication and knowledge of the ton?

  The master suites were in the central block of the house with two wings on either side. Mrs Knight led the way along to the far end of the West Wing and began to open doors for Bella to see the rooms. ‘There are six rooms along here, my lady. Best for bachelors, I always think, for they’ve no dressing rooms.’

  ‘This little chamber at the end would make a good location for a water closet,’ Bella suggested. She had read about such luxurious indoor plumbing and was determined to persuade Elliott to invest in some.

  ‘Running water, my lady? In the house?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Mrs Knight. And more than one of them, if possible. So much more pleasant than the old earth closets, don’t you think?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, my lady, I’m sure.’ It was obviously a radical thought, but Bella, although grateful for the indoor earth closets after a lifetime of the vicarage’s privy in the garden, was inspired by the idea of modern plumbing. ‘It will be an awful lot of disturbance, won’t it? All those pipes?’

  ‘And I think we will need a tank, so that the closets can be flushed.’

  ‘It’s a good thing his lordship’s a progressive man,’ Mrs Knight said, still dubious. ‘His last lordship wouldn’t have stood for it and that’s a fact.’

  ‘No?’ Bella was surprised. Rafe had struck her as a man who would have wanted the latest comforts. ‘I hope we will be having house parties here before long,’ she added, changing the subject. She did not want to talk about Rafe any more than it seemed Mrs Knight did.

  ‘That will be nice,’ the housekeeper said, and sounded genuinely pleased at the thought of all that extra work.

  There did not seem to be much wrong with these rooms, they could certainly wait until she had dealt with the pink draperies in her own suite. They were almost back to it now. ‘What is this?’ The door opened onto a sitting room with furniture under dust cloths.

  ‘A sitting room for guests in this wing, my lady. It was a suite at one time, I think; there’s a dressing room off it that is used for storing things now.’

  Which would be perfect for the nurse’s room. And it was next to Bella’s own sitting room. All it would take would be a door knocked through. She had found her nursery. But she could hardly tell Mrs Knight that. Although she itched to have it converted immediately, it must wait until her pregnancy was acknowledged fact.

  ‘Shall we look at the other wing, Mrs Knight?’

  ‘There are the rooms we use for married couples and single ladies, my lady. They’ve all got dressing rooms.’

  ‘There are a lot of rooms,’ Bella commented. ‘But not so many large ones for couples.’ Perhaps some rearrangement could be carried out to create better dressing rooms and make small suites?

  ‘Oh, yes, my lady. The rooms are rather old fashioned. But his late lordship did not give that much mind—his house parties were mostly single gentlemen and females.’

  ‘Females?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ The housekeeper fiddled with her keys. ‘Not ladies, if you get my drift.’

  ‘Indeed.’ My goodness, Elliott might have had a mistress, but at least he does not bring loose women home. Then it struck her that he could have been holding veritable orgies at Fosse Warren and Mrs Knight would not have known. She doubted it somehow, even though Elliott obviously had a healthy interest in sensual matters. ‘Thank you, Mrs Knight. I will go back to my room and rest now. Could you ask someone to bring me up a tea tray?’

  ‘My lady.’ The housekeeper bustled off, her bunch of keys swinging at her side, and Bella went to her sitting room, making a conscious effort not to drag her feet. Elliott had told her to rest, and she should obey him, she knew. And now she was tired, so there was no virtue in her obedience, she acknowledged wryly. Marriage was not easy, especially if one had a conscience.

  The next morning
, as soon as Elliott had gone out, Bella went straight back to the room she was already thinking of as the nursery. They had enjoyed a very civilised breakfast together with no reference made to the fact that he had not come to her room last night, saying that she seemed tired and should get a good night’s sleep. How long such forbearance would last she was not sure, but thinking of something else was decidedly more comfortable than speculating on when Elliott might return to her room and demand that she work harder at satisfying him. The very thought filled her with alarm for she knew that nothing had happened to make her any more likely to please him.

  Bella stood in the middle of the space and half-closed her eyes, imagining the chairs and tables replaced with a cot and a nursing chair. There would be light curtains at the window and soft rugs on the floor. Toys would be scattered about… ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Perfect?’ said Elliott’s voice behind her.

  ‘This room, for a nursery,’ Bella said as she turned. But it was not Elliott, it was Daniel Calne standing there in breeches and riding coat, looking windswept. And almost handsome, she thought, making the comparison with Elliott and finding that Daniel did not quite match up to his cousin in looks.

  ‘You sound so like Elliott.’

  ‘People often remark that we sound alike—he and Rafe and myself.’ Daniel came into the room, big and amiable and smiling. He was restful to have around, she thought. She felt quite safe with Daniel, a friendly man who wanted nothing from her she could not give. ‘A nursery, two days after the wedding? You are obviously a planner, Bella.’

  She knew she was blushing, knew her hand had gone betrayingly, to her stomach. ‘I…’

  Daniel Calne’s face changed from cheerful greeting to what, under other circumstances, would have been amusing astonishment. Then he had his expression under control again. ‘You are with child?’

  ‘Yes, I am. And I would be obliged if you would keep that in confidence, Daniel.’ All she had to do was be calm, he could not possibly guess it was Rafe’s child, Bella told herself. ‘You may imagine I am a trifle embarrassed about it, as well as delighted, of course. I will not be able to conceal it for much longer.’

  ‘I will be discreet.’ He had gone positively pink. ‘I was momentarily taken aback. I was convinced Elliott was cour—convinced he had no notion of marriage in mind… I am delighted, of course.’

  What had he almost said? Not courting, surely? Elliott had told her he was not in love with anyone. She felt uneasily that it had not been the entire truth.

  ‘I have been clumsy, I am so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. I felicitate you on the forthcoming happy event and I will be suitably surprised when I hear about if officially, so to speak.’ Bella turned her head away, still worrying about that unfinished word. ‘Bella, forgive me. I will not speak of this to anyone, I swear.’

  ‘Thank you. I would not have Elliott embarrassed for the world. And there is nothing to forgive.’ She should ring for tea. It still had not quite sunk in that she was mistress of this house and could order the staff as she wished.

  ‘And what is Daniel to be forgiven for?’ How could I have ever mistaken someone else’s voice for Elliott’s? Bella wondered. His was deeper than Rafe’s, more flexible and expressive than Daniel’s.

  ‘For making Bella jump out of her skin just now,’ Daniel answered before she could think of anything to say. ‘She was lost in thoughts of wallpaper and curtains and I walked in and startled her.’

  ‘I was just going to ring for tea,’ Bella interjected. Now she was committed to a lie, Daniel was taking her request for discretion to include mentioning it to Elliott. It seemed she had done nothing but deceive him recently and it made her miserable. Or perhaps she was refining too much upon it and it was simply her unsettled emotions that were to blame.

  ‘Daniel has just got here—I did not realise that you two had a meeting.’ Elliott stood back punctiliously as she went through the door, then they both followed her along to her own sitting room and waited while she rang the bell and sat down.

  ‘We do not have a meeting,’ Elliott said. ‘I came back because I had forgotten some paperwork. You’re a fair ride from home,’ he remarked to his cousin. ‘But it is good to see you.’

  ‘I have a new hunter I wanted to try and I dropped by on the off chance. But there is a matter of business, if you have the time. Perhaps I can ride with you a little when you go out again.’

  ‘Discuss it now,’ Elliott said as the maid came in and was sent away for the tea.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Bella said, remembering that a dutiful wife would not want her husband to be drinking tea with her when he could be attending to business. ‘The girl can bring your tea down to the study.’

  ‘I meant here. I would not miss your first tea party, my dear.’ He smiled at her and Bella felt a rush of pleasure.

  Daniel looked doubtful. ‘I do not wish to bore Bella with such things, but if you insist… I was wondering if you are going to lease Fosse Warren. Or sell it, perhaps.’

  ‘One of your clients interested?’ Elliott enquired and Bella recalled that Daniel was a lawyer.

  ‘No. I am.’ Elliott stared at him and Daniel shifted, colouring up. ‘I thought I would try farming myself. A sideline, you understand. I don’t intend giving up the law.’

  ‘I had no idea the practical rural life held any appeal for you. Well, I am sorry, but I only intend to lease the house and pleasure grounds. I have hopes of a returning nabob or some cit wanting a country retreat. I shall retain the estate and the farms. But feel free to come and talk farming any time you want.’

  ‘Thank you, I will take you up on that. You’ll be putting a manager in?’

  ‘My steward is very competent, but I will be keeping a hand on it. I don’t want it neglected while I bring this estate around.’

  ‘Rafe was never one for rusticating, he always said the country was a dead bore,’ Daniel remarked as the maid brought in the tray.

  ‘A pity he did not delegate sufficient authority to Jim Turner for him to keep things running, in that case,’ Elliott said. ‘He’s a good man. If Rafe had trusted him, the land and the buildings wouldn’t be in the state they are now. Thank you, Arabella.’ He took the cup she passed him and smiled, a sudden flicker of warmth breaking through the intensity. He was still unhappy about leaving his own home, she thought with a sudden flash of insight. ‘The tenants’ cottages are a disgrace from what I’ve seen so far,’ he added, serious again.

  ‘I must start visiting the tenants,’ Bella said. Perhaps she could be helpful to Elliott in pointing out which were the priority cases if repairs were needed.

  The two men moved on to speak of a local political scandal and Bella studied the two faces, so obviously related and yet so different. She was becoming used to seeing the likeness to Rafe in both men, although she was finding it harder and harder to recall his exact appearance, to remember his voice when Elliott’s deeper tones were in her ears all the time. Perhaps all her memories of those few days would blur mercifully, in time.

  ‘Where is Rafe buried?’ she asked and both men turned to face her, their faces as alike as brothers in their shared surprise. She should not have blurted it out, she realised, but she needed to know. She did not want to come across the grave unexpectedly and betray any emotion that might betray her.

  Elliott recovered first. ‘In the family vault in the church where we were married,’ he said. ‘You will see it on Sunday, although the memorial is not finished yet, of course.’

  ‘Just a plain plaque?’ Bella enquired, trying to sound as though she was taking an interest in a total stranger’s grave. Rafe had lain so close to her when she had married Elliott. The thought made her feel cold. Perhaps it was best that she had not known.

  ‘I thought a plaque, yes. Name, dates, title and the family crest. White marble,’ Elliott added. She saw the way he was studying her face and wondered if she had said something that might betray her feelings to Daniel.

  ‘Wha
t, no statue of Rafe in heroic pose showing his best profile and with scantily clad maidens mourning at his feet?’ Daniel joked. ‘He’d have appreciated those.’

  ‘Calne.’ Elliott frowned.

  ‘My apologies, Bella.’ Daniel’s smile was rueful. ‘And I must be going. I keep forgetting that you are on your honeymoon, such a practical pair of love-birds that you are—curtains and agriculture are most unconventional entertainments two days after the ceremony.’

  He took himself off, leaving Elliott audibly grinding his teeth. ‘He is not usually tactless.’ He sat down next to Bella on the sofa. ‘I am sorry, did that disturb you?’

  ‘Talking about Rafe’s tomb? No, and I raised the subject after all, which was foolish of me. I did not want to come across it unexpectedly, that is all. I should have waited and spoken to you when we were alone. My thoughts and emotions are all over the place—is it my condition again, do you think?’

  ‘I imagine so.’ Elliott smiled and her heart warmed. He was so kind to her. ‘Not that I would know. I have considerable expertise with brood mares and pointer bitches, none at all with wives. Perhaps if you were to develop a wet nose, a glossy coat and a tail I might be better able to advise.’

  ‘Oh, Elliott.’ Bella dissolved into laughter. ‘Would you tell me sit if I did?’

  He caught her in his arms and pulled her on to his lap. ‘Certainly—sit! I have never seen you laugh before. It suits you.’

  Her giggles died away as she found herself held very close. There were laughter lines at the corners of those blue, blue eyes and Elliott’s lashes were dark and indecently long for a man. His arm was firm around her and she balanced securely, one hand pressed to his waistcoat, conscious of the strength of his thighs beneath her, the occasional flex of the muscles and the alarming realisation that Elliott was finding this arousing.