‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Elliott. And men? I think we should ask Daniel.’
‘Very well. Daniel and John Baynton and my third cousin the Duke of Avery.’
‘Are you close?’ A duke, goodness.
?
??We are good friends. And he is young, rich, influential and everything a young lady needs in a godfather.’ He sighed. ‘I can see I will have one hell of a time as her father, beating the young men off with sticks. She will have her mother’s sweet face—’
‘—and your blue eyes.’
‘And a duke for a doting godfather. Perhaps I had better dower her with a pittance to keep the mob of young men to a reasonable size.’
‘When shall we have the christening?’
‘Not until the New Year, I think,’ Elliott said. ‘People are scattered for Christmas house parties already—the Bayntons have gone up to Yorkshire, Avery will be holding court at Avery Castle in Lincolnshire, Daniel is going to stay with friends in Bristol, he said, and my great-aunt will be setting off to go up to London by easy stages very soon—and coming back just as slowly.
‘We will talk to the vicar about a date, write to the godparents and then when you are up and about, we can decide on a guest list and have a house party of our own.’
‘And we could invite your aunts from London,’ Bella suggested. ‘I would like to meet them.’ How strange to feel happy and confident about the prospect of a house party when a few months ago she would have been appalled at the thought. If only she could invite her father and Meg and Lina.
‘I’ll see if Bishop Huntingford will perform the baptism,’ Elliott continued, sounding sleepy.
‘A duke and a bishop,’ Bella marvelled. ‘How very grand we have become.’ She was answered by snores, a soft little whiffle from the baby and a loud masculine effort from her husband. ‘I think I’ll join you,’ she murmured, closing her eyes and drifting off, more content, despite everything, than she could ever remember being.
6 January 1815
‘Your Grace.’ Bella sank into the low curtsy that Anne Baynton had spent an hour tutoring her in, only to have both hands seized and be pulled to her feet by one of the best looking young men she had ever seen.
‘William,’ said the Duke of Avery, kissing her with enthusiasm on both cheeks. ‘Elliott, how on earth did you find such a beautiful wife? You don’t deserve her, I can tell that just by looking at her.’
‘Put her down, Will,’ Elliott said with a smile and a look in his eye that said he was prepared to floor anyone, dukes included, if they overstepped the mark.
Bella felt a flutter of absurd excitement. She had been dreading this christening party, but now everything seemed to be perfect.
Elliott had been avoiding her bed, out of consideration and to give her time to recover from the birth, she knew, but since Marguerite’s birth he seemed more distant, not closer as she had hoped.
And although he was concerned, and kind, he showed no signs of doting on the baby as she had hoped from his first reaction. It had just been relief that she was a girl, she realised. The child was not his and so Marguerite would not have his love, only his kindness, as she did.
But she had much to be happy about, Bella reminded herself. She had recovered from the birth, Marguerite was flourishing, the guests for their first house party were all arriving and seemed delighted with their welcome and now Elliott was bristling possessively when another man admired her. It was not love, but it was certainly gratifying.
She turned and ushered the duke into the hands of a footman to be shown his room, then rolled her eyes at Anne Baynton, who was chatting to Elliott’s aunts. Anne smiled back as Henlow opened the door again to admit the bishop, Mrs Huntingford, his chaplain and their servants. The ducal curtsy did very well for a bishop, she decided as greetings were exchanged and the new arrivals welcomed in.
Yes, she was very lucky, Bella decided after dinner as the tea tray was brought in. If only Meg and Lina were here everything would be perfect. Bella looked up and found Elliott watching her. He strolled over. Oh, yes, and if her husband loved her. Now that would be perfection.
‘Magnificent, Lady Hadleigh.’
‘You are pleased? I am so glad,’ she murmured. ‘Everyone seems very comfortable. Just listen to the level of noise!’
The house party had been swollen by the addition of several of Elliott’s friends. The unmarried ones were taking advantage of the presence of several single ladies to flirt outrageously and the two married ones had abandoned their wives to discuss the vital matter of the breeding of foxhounds, a debate in which the bishop was engaging with enthusiasm.
Mrs Huntingford was discussing something earnestly with Lady Abbotsbury and the aunts were fussing over whether the unmarried girls were adequately chaperoned.
‘I am more than pleased,’ Elliott said. ‘I am proud of you, Arabella.’
‘Proud?’
‘I never dreamed the wet, exhausted, determined little mouse who turned up on my doorstep in May would turn into such a beautiful, confident viscountess.’