‘A few weeks. Would you like to come for a drive, Bella?’
‘I would love to, but—’ She looked at Elliott, her face alight at the thought of such a simple treat. He realised that it had never occurred to him to take her out in one of his sporting vehicles. She would be driven to the village or to visit tenants in the gig or the closed carriage and, being Arabella, had not presumed to ask for something more interesting.
‘I will take you driving tomorrow in the phaeton,’ he promised. ‘I would say today, but I promised to meet Henderson to decide on some felling over in Forty Acre Wood.’
‘Of course, thank you,’ she said with every sign of pleasure. But he saw her give the mare a last, lingering caress.
‘But there is no reason for you not to go with Daniel now.’ Why be such a dog in the manger? Calne was a good driver and the mare was prettily behaved and he trusted his cousin. He was rewarded by her smile.
‘Thank you, Elliott.’ She came and kissed his cheek and he felt ridiculously pleased. ‘I will just go and get my bonnet and pelisse, Daniel.’
Elliott waited, chatting to the other man, until she came down with Toby running behind her. He handed her up, watching how the mare reacted, then waved them off and strode away to the stables to have his own hack saddled.
He should have thought to take her out more, spend more time with her alone before the baby came, and then she would not have to turn to his cousin for companionship. It had been easy to enlarge their social circle, but that did not require him to be alone with Arabella, to let her close. Bed was different—he smiled at the thought—but he wished he knew how to make a friend of his wife.
7 December
Sit on the sidelines and be ignored. Doctor Hamilton’s words were all too true, Elliott thought, pacing back and forth across the hearth rug in the study. In the grate a fire crackled cheerfully, outside, the first snows of the winter were swirling against the window panes and the short afternoon was drawing in.
Both Arabella and the doctor had been predicting that the baby would arrive the previous week, but now it was the seventh of December and she had been in labour since the small hours when she had woken him, apologising for disturbing his sleep.
Elliott had run for the stables, woken two grooms and sent them for the doctor, then returned, only to be firmly shown the door by Gwen and Mrs Knight. He stood outside staring at the panels and strained his ears. Silence. He began to pace, counting lengths of the corridor. Twenty, thirty. A cry, sharply cut off, and he lost count, ran back and opened the door. He caught a glimpse of Arabella’s face, white and serious, but not, thank God, distressed.
‘Elliott,’ she said, conjuring up a smile from somewhere. ‘Do go and lie down and get some sleep, my dear. Nothing will be happening yet.’
Sleep? How the devil did she expect him to sleep? Mrs Knight came and took hold of the door handle, her face managing to be both indulgent and severe at the same time. ‘Go away, my lord. This is women’s work now. The mistress needs to concentrate and she can’t be doing with worrying about not upsetting you.’
He retreated to the study, rang for the fire to be made up and tried to fight the image those words conjured up. Arabella wouldn’t want him upset. All the things she would be going through that might upset him were only too vivid. Like him, Rafe had been a big man—the baby was probably huge…
The sound of the door knocker had him at the entrance before Henlow could reach it. The doctor came in, disgustingly cheerful and completely calm as he brushed the snow from his shoulders. Anyone would think, Elliott ranted to himself, that this was not a crisis.
Doctor Hamilton looked at him. ‘There is nothing you can do, there is no cause for concern, my lord.’ He smiled. ‘I would have thought you a man of iron nerve. Now, courage—and don’t start on the brandy too early.’
Elliott was left at the foot of the stairs, feeling bereft and utterly useless. That had been seven hours ago. The doctor had emerged and taken luncheon, reporting slow but perfectly normal progress. Mary Humble, the girl from the village Arabella had hired as nursery maid, arrived, cheerful and kindly. Mrs Knight came out now and again looking flushed, told him there was nothing to worry about and vanished again. He worried.
When the clock struck four he opened the door and strode across the hall and up the stairs. And heard Arabella’s cry. No. He was not leaving her any longer. By the sound of it she was past worrying about upsetting him.
The sheet was tented over the bed, Hamilton at the foot, the housekeeper was rubbing Arabella’s back and Gwen holding her hand. She was white and sweating and her hair was limp about her face and she looked exhausted, but her eyes opened wide as she saw him. Then another contraction took her and she strained against it, her struggle not to cry out obvious.
‘I’m here,’ Elliott said, putting Gwen aside and taking Arabella’s hand. ‘And I am not leaving and you scream as much as you like.’ She turned her head on the pillow and looked at him, then closed her fingers around his in a grip like death.
After that he lost touch with time and any reality other than the woman on the bed. As the intensity of the contractions increased, Elliott simply poured all his strength and will into Arabella and prayed for her and for this to be over.
And then the others went still, there was a moment’s quiet and the doctor said, ‘Now!’ bent down and the indignant cry of a child filled the room. Arabella fell back against the pillows and Elliott took her in his arms, kissing her in utter relief.
‘Oh, sweetheart, Arabella darling. You brave girl. My brave girl.’ She smiled up at him, exhausted yet serene. He had never felt closer to her, never so possessive.
‘My lord, do you not want to see the child?’ It was Mrs Knight behind him.
‘No,’ Elliott said baldly. Ludicrously, he had forgotten for a few moments what had brought them to this crisis. He did not want to see the child who had given Arabella so much pain to deliver. Rafe’s child. ‘I want to see my wife.’
‘Who wants her baby in her arms, not you, man,’ his housekeeper said as she gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. When he sat back she slipped a small swathed bundle into Arabella’s arms. ‘There, my lady. A lovely little girl.’
‘A girl?’ He rounded on Dr Hamilton, who was washing his hands.
‘Indeed yes, my lord. A perfectly healthy daughter.’ He frowned at Elliott and lowered his voice. ‘There’s time enough for sons, don’t be worrying her ladyship about that now. Let her think you are pleased.’
‘I am pleased, damn it,’ Elliott retorted. ‘I am delighted. I couldn’t be happier.’