‘Ah, Arabella.’ Elliott pulled her into his arms and she clung while he rubbed her back gently, wondering how he could ever make this right for her.
‘I will check the Army List while I am in Gloucester,’ he promised. ‘The local militia headquarters will have the current edition. We can find where Meg’s husband is based.’
‘Oh, thank you. His name is James Halgate. I don’t know which regiment he is in, but he went to the Peninsula, I know that.’ She emerged, tousled, her nose pink, her eyes wet. Elliott was surprised to find himself still sitting there; the prospect of any woman weeping on his shoulder would have sent him running just a few weeks ago. Arabella took in a big, shuddering breath. ‘I’m sorry, I am making such a lot of work and worry for you.’ Elliott shook his head in denial. She was indeed a worry, but he wanted to help her. He wanted his wife to be happy.
‘And now two of us have run off with men and the third has gone and Papa suspects there must be a man involved there too. How right he has always been about us,’ she said with an attempt at lightness that made his heart contract with sympathy. ‘No wonder he is writing intemperate letters; he must be beside himself.’
Elliott thought of the plan he had conceived of asking his new father-in-law to stay at Hadleigh Old Hall, once his initial fury had subsided. Now, however he might pity the man, he was not going to allow him anywhere near Arabella. His wife’s desertion had obviously made a domestic tyrant out of a strict father; the loss of all three daughters could well have unhinged him.
‘May I be frank with Bishop Huntingford? I think it might help head off any future problems if he understands that your father is not entirely rational on some subjects.’
‘I suppose so—so long as it would not get back to his own bishop. I would not want his living to be in any danger. I have had no letter from him myself. I am not surprised, I confess.’
Bless her, Elliott thought, squeezing her hand. The man makes her life a misery and she still worries for him. What a very warped model she had of men and how low her expectations must be. She seemed to be learning to trust him—but what would she think if she realised how he was increasingly feeling about the child she carried? ‘Of course, I will ask for his assurance of strictest confidentiality before I say anything.’ He got up and walked to the door.
‘Thank you,’ Arabella said, her smile making something inside him twist with guilt. ‘You look after me so well, Elliott. I feel safe with you.’
‘I will see you later,’ he said from the doorway. ‘I’ll tell Gwen to make sure you rest.’
The day passed surprisingly quickly, Bella found. The morning she spent deep in thought, trying to recall every nuance, every clue of the days and months before and after her mother’s departure. Elliott’s interpretation made more sense, the more she thought of it. She could vaguely recall the arguments, her mother weeping at night. Her eyes had been red when she hugged them goodbye. How miserable she must have been to have left us, Bella thought, her hand straying to stroke gently over her own child. And who was the man? Perhaps Mama was still alive somewhere. But instinct told her not. It was hard not knowing. Harder than believing Mama had died all those years ago. That had been a tragedy, but now, from the vantage point of her own bitter experience, her heart bled for her mother’s unhappiness and desperation.
If only she could talk to Meg and Lina about this. If only she could be certain they were safe. Bella closed her eyes, mourning her mother all over again, imagining her, for the first time, as a young woman in love and bitterly unhappy. Who was she to judge her after what she had done herself?
She felt strangely better after that and sent Gwen for paper and pencil so she could lie in bed making lists of things to be done to redecorate her suite and the nursery. And Elliott’s rooms—was he content to simply walk into the chambers his brother had occupied?
‘Have you used every sheet of paper in the house?’ Bella looked up and realised that the bed was strewn with lists and sketches. Her husband was standing in the doorway, his shoulder against the frame, his coat hooked on one finger over his shoulder. His shirt was open at the neck, rolled up to his elbows and filthy. His hair was in his eyes and there was a long graze up the length of his right forearm. He looked utterly male and quite breathtakingly virile.
Bella swallowed hard. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ She tried to sound like any wife confronted by a filthy, sweaty man who had wrecked his clothes and who had arrived home late for dinner and in dire need of a bath. But she could not feel anything but shamefully aroused by the sight.
‘We’re building a new sawpit.’ Elliott sauntered into the room, shedding sawdust as he came and bringing with him an intoxicating scent of resin and fresh sweat. Any proper lady would shriek and order him from the room—Bella wanted to strip all his clothes off.
‘And I suppose we is the royal we, and means quite literally that you are involved,’ she said severely. ‘You have men to do such things, surely?’
‘I enjoy it,’ Elliott said, unrepentant.
‘And I suppose it was necessary for you to try it out from inside the pit,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Look at the floor.’
He regarded the trail of sawdust. ‘It is good f
or cleaning the carpet.’
‘That is damp tea leaves, not sawdust. Do not sit on the bed!’
Elliott grinned, leaned down and kissed her. ‘How are you now? Any more cramps and twinges?’
‘A few, but, now I know it is only to be expected, they are not so bad. I was just worried about the baby.’
‘I know you were.’
‘Looking at you now, I can only hope it is a boy. The pair of you would have such fun together.’
His face clouded, then he smiled, leaned in and kissed her again, hard and fast, before he straightened up and made for his dressing room, much to her regret. ‘I am not fit for respectable company. I will go and bathe and take dinner up here, shall I? You can have yours in bed and tell me what you have been getting up to all day.’
‘Plans for my rooms and the nursery,’ Bella admitted, part of her mind troubled by that sudden chill in his expression. ‘Elliott, how much may I spend?’
‘As much as you wish.’ He paused at the door, the smile gone again.
‘But you said there were many things wrong with the house and the estate. I do not want to spend money on inessentials.’