Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 2)

‘Oh, yes, please.’ The prospect of having a female friend who could explain the mysteries of childbearing was almost overwhelming. ‘Thank you, Elliott. I am c

onscious of how much trouble I must be to you.’

‘Not at all. I am beginning to see the advantages of having a wife,’ he said. What those were for him she could not imagine; just now she seemed to be causing him nothing but problems. Perhaps he thought that after tonight…His smile with its wicked edge sent little flutters of alarm through her. ‘You must let me know whenever you want to go into Worcester for more shopping—clothes, refurnishing your suite. Perhaps you and Mrs Baynton would like to have an expedition one day?’

‘I am not sure the bills I might run up will count as advantages.’

‘We need to make this our home,’ Elliott said. ‘That will cost money—I am quite resigned. I have put repairs in hand to deal with the damp and the cracked windows.’

‘Well, in that case…what are your views on water closets?’

Elliott gave a gasp of laughter. ‘I hardly dare enquire why you ask. Where were you considering locating such an object? And how the devil do we get the water to it?’

Bella launched into a description of her reading on the subject and they were well into considerations of water tanks, lead pipe and ventilation by the time the tea arrived.

‘I can just imagine what Daniel would say if he could hear us,’ Elliott observed as Bella poured, nervously aware of the age and beauty of the Worcester tea service she was expected to deal with. ‘If he thought us unromantic before, can you imagine his comments on sanitary engineering as a honeymoon topic?’

‘I would not dream of discussing such things with anyone else present,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘I know it is not something ladies should speak about, but I do feel I can talk about anything with you.’

‘Thank you.’ Elliott’s expression of satirical amusement softened. ‘Now that is a romantic observation, Lady Hadleigh.’

Bella wondered just how romantic Elliott was feeling an hour later as she sat at her dressing table while Gwen brushed out her hair. Such dull hair, she thought. Straight and brown and ordinary despite rosemary rinses. Did men notice such things, or did the fact that she was not a beauty mean that details such as the colour of her hair or the shape of her nose were ignored? Perhaps it was best not to brood on what men found attractive, not with her husband expecting her to…In fact, best not to think at all, about anything, if that could be managed.

‘Which nightgown tonight, my lady?’

‘The fawn one with the copper ribbons,’ Bella decided at random. At least it did not clash as unpleasantly with the pink draperies as the green had done.

It was, if anything, more revealing than the green. There seemed to be an inadequate amount of fabric in the bodice and very little substance in the skirts unless she stood stock still. ‘And the négligé, please, Gwen.’

The maid brought the robe, which did little for decency other than add another filmy layer, and placed the slippers on the floor by Bella’s bare feet. ‘Scent, my lady?’

‘I do not have any.’

‘There was this in the cupboard, my lady.’ Gwen produced a gilded flask and took out the stopper. Both women bent over to sniff.

‘Phew! Certainly not that, it belongs in a—’

‘It certainly does.’ Gwen wrinkled her nose. ‘One of his late lordship’s fancy pieces left it, I’ve no doubt. I’ll pour it away outside, shall I, my lady? The flask is pretty, though.’

‘Yes,’ Bella said. Fancy pieces? They were back to the orgies again. Would Elliott like this scent? She decided she did not care whether he did or not, she was not going to wear it. ‘Keep the flask, Gwen. You may go now.’

‘Thank you, my lady. Goodnight, ma’am.’

Bella sat and wrestled with the images that the perfume and this chamber conjured up. A man would have certain expectations of a woman dressed as she was in a room like this one.

‘Arabella?’

Elliott had come into her room without her hearing him. She shot to her feet like a startled partridge with an entire shooting party after her.

‘I beg you pardon, but I did knock.’ He was smiling slightly at her discomfiture as he stood there in the same blue silk robe he had worn two nights ago. Only there was no glimpse of nightshirt at the throat and his feet were bare. Now under the thick silk he was naked, she realised, feeling as though all the breath had been sucked out of her lungs.

She had to say something. ‘I was thinking about clothes and wondering if you would like this ensemble.’ She twitched the skirts a little. ‘I think the colour very pretty, don’t you.’

‘I think the wearer very pretty too,’ he said, walking up to her and putting his hands on her shoulders.

‘Oh, Elliott, you know I am not!’

‘I must confess that cold, hungry, frightened and feeling sick, you can look a trifle drawn and wan,’ Elliott admitted. ‘I did not see the true you. Our wedding day was a revelation and I should have told you so. Now I see big hazel eyes, with long lashes, perfect skin, a mouth that was made for eating strawberries—’