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

I am sorry, it began with no salutation. I have been so afraid of exposing you to gossip and censure for what I did. For my sin. And there they were, my worst fear. Not only friends who would be critical of you—but such a beautiful young woman. So eligible. She will know what to do always. She will know how to act and what to say. Not like me. I stood there feeling lumpen and ashamed. Of course you should have married her.

There is no excuse for me losing my temper. I cannot blame it on my condition—it is my insecurity and guilt. My shame. And I should not take it out on you.

But, Elliott, you should have told me about her. I am your wife and I want to be a good wife. And I cannot if you keep things from me.

Do not worry about me. I feel better now I have written this and I will do my best to have long lists of all the tenants’ needs by the time you have exhausted all your invitations and reassured yourself about Fosse Warren.

I will do my best to look after the Hall while you are gone.

It was signed simply A.

Elliott looked at the letter for a long time. He was not even making much of a fist at being the sort of husband Freddie, brought up to this life, would have expected. Arabella was lonely and ashamed and feeling guilty. He picked up his pen and wrote.

I will come home tomorrow. I am sorry too, I should have trusted you with the truth. I find I do not want to look at turnip clamps or attend prize fights. I will come home and we will hold dinner parties if you would like that. And we will go on picnics.

E.

Chapter Twenty

Elliott returned home the next day and discovered that, for a married man, there were interesting ways to make up after a row. They held dinner parties and a card party, Arabella met all the local gentry and faced down the occasional raised eyebrow at her burgeoning figure. The staff, as he suspected, had already guessed well before they were told that their mistress was expecting a happy event, and were quietly delighted. On the surface theirs was a successful marriage.

Anne Baynton and Arabella became fast friends and, as she became more secure and confident, his wife began to blossom in a way that took his breath when he looked at her.

Arabella grumbled about backache and twinges, about feeling too hot and having to disappear at frequent intervals into the brand-new water closet he had ordered to be installed. But she also grew more passionate and adventurous in bed, which delighted him, although, out of the bedroom, she remained slightly distant and reserved. She had not forgotten what he had said about the child and he wondered if she trusted him after he had concealed the truth about Freddie from her.

And he knew he was not reaching out to her as he should. He did not know how to reach her, how to make her trust him without declarations of love that he was sure she would see through. Would he have fallen in love with her if he had been the one to meet her in that country churchyard, if she had looked at him and seen her Sir Galahad on his black charger?

He liked her, he worried about her, he desired her body and enjoyed her mind. Was that not enough without pining away and feeling the need to write poetry and make flowery speeches? As the weeks passed and everything else became better on the surface Elliott found he could not forget, except for a few hours at a time, that the child Arabella was carrying was not his.

Then one morning in the middle of August he found her, her hands clasped over the swell of her belly, her expression intent and inward looking. ‘What is it?’ Elliott knelt beside her. ‘Is something wrong? Shall I send for the doctor?’

In answer she took his hand and laid it on the curve and smiled at him, her face radiant. ‘Feel. The baby is moving.’

And under his hand something shifted, kicked. Arabella’s baby. Rafe’s son. An ordinary miracle that every parent greeted with joy and rejoicing. He felt ill with the violence of his instinctive rejection and furious with himself for feeling that way.

Elliott fought to keep his face clear of expression, but she must have felt his reaction through her hold on his hand. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ he lied. He had to hide it from Bella, she needed tranquillity and reassurance now, not this dishonourable rejection that he should be able to overcome. ‘I was just worried—doesn’t that hurt?’ Another kick came right under his palm as though the child sensed him and his resentment of it.

‘No. It does feel strange that it is so strong. I expect it will be a little uncomfortable when he is bigger.’

‘You are certain it is a boy, then?’

‘Not really—I cannot decide.’ Her colour was high, but all the inner glow seemed to have gone out of her. ‘I am sorry, that was tactless of me, given how you feel.’ But despite her distress at his reaction she was watching him with a tenderness in her eyes that he supposed was a reflection of her feelings for the baby. He was constantly wondering about her true feelings, about what was going on behind those wide hazel eyes, even when her face lit up at the sight of him coming into a room or her arms reached for him in bed.

There was noise from outside and he got to his feet, glad to be away from the intensity of his feelings and the searching look in Arabella’s eyes as she studied his face. ‘Daniel’s here,’ he told her.

Arabella got to her feet and walked slowly to stand beside him at the window. She curled her hand over his arm and the ache inside subsided a little. She always made him feel good, he realised, wondering at it.

‘Perhaps I should find him a nice wife and he can set up his own nursery,’ Arabella said.

Elliott watched his cousin as he jumped down from what looked like a smart new Dennet gig. He liked Daniel and his cousin was a good friend to Arabella, who seemed relaxed with him in a way she never was with Elliott. He wondered why he had never felt jealous, but looking down and seeing the pleasure on Arabella’s face he felt a jolt of something unpleasantly like it now. ‘Matchmaker,’ he said.

She laughed at his accusation, and shook her head at him. Elliott kept his arm around Arabella’s shoulders when they went down to greet Calne. It was strange, he reflected as Daniel showed him his new gig, how very possessive he felt towards Arabella all of a sudden.

Simply territorial instinct and the fact that she was his responsibility, he supposed.

She was stroking the horse, a pretty grey mare, laughing as it blew gustily into her palm in search of titbits. ‘She is sweet, Daniel. Have you had her long?’