And now, just when he’d wanted—no, needed—to have a frank, firm discussion with her she had become weepy. That at least was down to the pregnancy, he was certain; Arabella had seemed as surprised to find herself so emotional as he had been. But even so, it was enough to make him feel like a bully.
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 kee
p 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?’