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

‘There are many things to put right.’ For a moment Elliott looked almost grim, then the smile was back. ‘But nothing so dire it will condemn you to pink frills.’

‘Thank you. Elliott—will you get me some fabric patterns in Worcester if I tell you what colours I am looking for?’

With a groan he vanished into his dressing room and his voice drifted back to her. ‘Bishops and silk warehouses. No one warned me marriage would be such a trial.’

There was the sound of Franklin, his valet, asking a question and Elliott laughing in response, then the door closed behind him, leaving Bella prey to disturbing imaginings of bath tubs and Elliott’s hard-muscled body dripping with water.

When her husband returned clean and elegant in evening dress, Bella was almost disappointed. And uneasily confused by her own responses. She was married to Elliott, she was trying to be a dutiful wife. And yet—what she felt for Elliott was not dutiful. She had a lowering suspicion that it was, in fact, lust, plain and simple.

Elliott wanted her to enjoy their lovemaking, but a decent married woman was not supposed to take such pleasure in sex, was she? And certainly not with a man she did not love, however much she liked and respected him. Giving her pleasure seemed important to Elliott. She suspected he would think less of himself if he did not. But did her growing enthusiasm make him respect her more, or less? Is he going to stay tonight? she wondered as he directed the footmen to set up a table for him by her bed and organised her own tray.

They spoke of sawpits and farm improvements, colour schemes and fabric swatches, the Bayntons’ visit and whether the new blend of coffee was entirely to Elliott’s taste. Bella found herself relaxing, confident that she could contribute something on all these subjects, even if it was only by asking questions and giving encouragement when Elliott spoke of the estate matters.

Dinner was good and the glass of claret he coaxed her to drink, smooth and full. By the time he lifted her tray away and rang for the dishes to be cleared she was hiding a yawn behind her hand.

Or, trying to hide it. Not a lot escaped Elliott’s eye, as she was beginning to discover. ‘You are tired, I will leave you to sleep.’

‘No! I mean, how can I be tired? I have done nothing all day,’ she protested.

‘You had a scare, a revelation about your mother that can only have been emotionally draining, you have been working hard, even if you have been lying in bed, and now you have eaten a very good dinner. I am surprised you are not asleep already.’ He was on his feet and not, she realised, in order to take his clothes off and join her in bed.

‘You aren’t coming to bed with me?’ She knew she was blushing, yet she still found the courage to ask because the disappointment was intense.

‘I want your full attention when we are in bed together, and for you to be very much awake,’ Elliott said, his eyes darkly intense as he looked at her. ‘I will be gone early tomorrow.’ He came and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, making her shiver. ‘I will see you Monday afternoon, assuming I am not trapped in the drapers’ and the upholsterers’ shops. Sleep well, Arabella.’

On Saturday Bella realised that not only was she thirteen weeks pregnant but it was finally beginning to show in more than her mood or the state of her insides. Her waist was definitely thickening and her stomach was more rounded she discovered as Gwen tugged on her corset strings.

‘Not too tight, please, Gwen.’

‘Yes, my lady. With your back it’s best to be careful.’

Had she guessed? It was going to be impossible to keep the secret for much longer, not from a bright young woman in such a close relationship with her. Oh well, all the staff and most of the neighbourhood would know soon enough that the new Lady Hadleigh had anticipated her marriage vows. Would they think of Elliott admiringly as a bit of a dog or would they disapprove, look down on him because of her folly?

But there was nothing she could do about it except be a model viscountess. Today, Bella resolved, she would talk to Cook about the meals to be served when the Bayntons came to visit. It would be wonderful to have another woman to talk to. Bella found she was missing Lina and Meg in ways she had never imagined.

But Cook and Mrs Knight seemed more than capable of looking after the arrangements and Bella felt rather at a loose end. She should have asked Elliott which of the remaining tenants he wished her to call on as a priority.

But she could call at the Dower House and thank Lady Abbotsbury and Miss Dorothy for their hospitality. And she could take flowers, if she could find any. The lawns around the house were bare of ornamental beds.

‘Is there a flower garden, Henlow?’ she asked the butler who was supervising two footmen as they moved a vast and ugly epergne that Elliott had banished from the dining room.

‘Of sorts, my lady. It is not what it was in his lordship’s mother’s day.’ He opened the front door. ‘Shall I show you, my lady?’

‘Thank you, but I will explore a little by myself. Just give me directions and tell me the head gardener’s name.’

‘Johnson, my lady. A cantankerous old man, I am sorry to say, but a good gardener. If you go left around the side of the house, follow the high brick wall along, there’s a green door.’

Bella tied on one of her old straw bonnets and set out with Toby at her heels, trying to make herself believe that she was now mistress of all she could see. Mostly, on this side of the house, it appeared to consist of an overgrown shrubbery, expanses of rather lumpy lawn and trees that to her inexpert eye needed pruning. The long wall looked promising, she decided—surely it must shelter a walled garden?

The green door was unlocked and Bella opened it. The terrier shot through the gap as she peeped in. What wonders would it reveal?

‘Vegetables,’ she said flatly, knowing that as mistress of the house she should be pleased at the expanse of well-tended crops, the peach house, the cold frames and the orderly stacks of manure and compost.

‘Aye, and good vegetables they do be and if that pesky dog digs up my asparagus bed again I’ll take the rake to ‘im.’

She turned and found a red-faced old man glowering at her. ‘Good morning. You must be Johnson. I am Lady Hadleigh.’ He grunted and made a move as though to lift his battered billycock hat. ‘This is a most admirable vegetable garden and I look forward to seeing round it another day, but just now I am in need of some flowers for Lady Abbotsbury.’

‘Had the flowerbeds all turfed over, ‘e did,’ the old man said dourly. ‘Said it was a waste of money employing men to grow flowers. Can’t eat ‘em and the wages cost ‘im.’