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

Now Bella could not imagine what else there was to do except get dressed and that would take half an hour at most. She did not relish the thought of sitting around in all her finery for an age with nothing to do but think.

‘We barely have time,’ the dowager said. ‘Eat! There’s your hair to dress, that will take almost an hour. No macquillage these days, more’s the pity, all you whey-faced modern misses—powder and patch and rouge, that’s what you need. Then your corsets—good and tight, that takes time. A man likes a small waist and a good bosom on display.’

Bella picked up a slice of bread and butter and made herself chew. Her real fear was that this alarming old dame would start lecturing her on the marriage bed. She knew she needed some frank advice, but she also knew she would never dare ask, however much some reassurance would help calm her nerves.

By the time Mr Calne arrived a glance in the mirror told Bella that she was white as a sheet. She stood in the drawing room when he was ushered in, too afraid of crumpling her gown to sit.

‘Well, now!’ Mr Calne stopped on the threshold, eyebrows raised, his hands full of yellow-and-white roses. ‘Elliott has caught himself a beauty, and no mistake.’

Bella blinked at him, then risked a second, longer glance at the overmantel mirror. She stared back at herself, eyes huge, lips deep pink against her pale skin. She was, if not a beauty, prettier than she had ever looked.

‘Mr Calne, thank you.’ She recalled her manners and went forwards to shake his hand, only to have the roses placed in hers. ‘You’ve brought me my bouquet, how kind!’

‘Elliott arranged that,’ he protested, waving away her thanks. ‘I am just doing my duty as the surrogate brother who will give you away. Which reminds me, I have something else from the bridegroom.’ He delved in an inner pocket of his elegant tail coat and produced a flat blue morocco-leather case.

‘For me?’

‘But of course for you. Here, give me those flowers back and open it.’ They managed the transfer and Bella stood staring at the case. ‘Go on, it won’t bite.’

His teasing tone broke her paralysis and she clicked the catch. Inside, on a bed of satin, was a double rope of pearls and a pair of pearl drop earrings. ‘Oh, but they are lovely.’ Elliott has given me these? Her immediate reaction was surprise and delight and then she realised: she was about to marry him, to become a viscountess. She would be required to wear appropriate jewellery at all times. The gift was merely protocol.

‘The Hadleigh pearls,’ Daniel said, reminding her that he was Elliott’s cousin and might be expected to know these things. ‘Brought into the family by a seventeenth-century bride.’

‘Good.’ Lady Abbotsbury approved. ‘The rest of the Hadleigh gems are in the bank in London, I expect, unless Rafe pawned the lot of them, which would not surprise me in the slightest. The diamond parure will suit you, but this is more suitable for the occasion.’

But wealth and glitter did not concern her. Diamonds, indeed! She would look ridiculous, the church mouse in the borrowed finery, but she must try to live up to Elliott’s expectations. Society’s expectations. It was her duty. The thought of living up to his expectations in the bedchamber was another matter altogether. You could not learn to satisfy a man in bed by careful study of etiquette, only by practice and intimacy.

‘My ears are not pierced,’ she realised in dismay, dragging her thoughts back to the present.

‘Pink silk,’ Miss Dorothy suggested, producing a handful of skeins from her bulging embroidery bag.

Mr Calne insisted on fastening the necklace for her while Miss Dorothy, after carefully matching skin tone to silk, managed to secure the pearl drops.

He offered his arm. ‘Now are we ready? I fancy we will be the desirable ten minutes late at the church.’

‘Mr Calne—’

‘Daniel—we are to be cousins, are we not? And I stand in the place of a brother today.’

His smile was charming, his good spirits infectious. Bella smiled back. Somehow she would make this work. She must, for the child’s sake. ‘Daniel. And I am Bella. Thank you for helping us today. It means a great deal to me that Elliott’s family are not offended by the suddenness of this match.’

‘Come then, Bella.’ He checked over his shoulder that Miss Dorothy and Lady Abbotsbury were attired in their bonnets, the dowager leaning heavily on the arm of the tallest, and best-looking, footman. ‘Off to church we go.’

The church was full of the fragrance of roses and lilies from the estate hothouse. Elliott felt his head swim as he stood at the altar steps, taking deep breaths. Unexpected butterflies were making free with his stomach and he needed to calm them. Just what was he getting himself into? Whatever it was, it was too late now to step back from it.

Beside him stood John Baynton, stolid and reliable as ever, reading through the form of service. He had already checked that the ring, a band of plaited gold that had belonged to Elliott’s grandmother, was safe; now he looked up and ran a critical eye over Elliott.

‘You are as white as a sheet,’ Baynton whispered. ‘Very correct behaviour in a bridegroom. I am impressed.’

‘I always endeavour to do the correct thing,’ Elliott whispered back, making a joke of it. What was there to be nervous about? He was doing what he must for the family honour. And he was marrying a young lady who appeared pleasant, well mannered and dutiful.

True, there was the small matter of the baby on its way, his own brother’s child. And the fact that he now had a vastly increased estate to manage—and drag back from neglect. And his new viscountess had never experienced life beyond a Suffolk village. And he suspected that the Earl and Countess of Framlingham were not going to be best pleased to discover that, far from courting their daughter Frederica, he had spent his period in mourning getting married to a nobody.

Ah, well, a challenge is always welcome. Elliott smiled grimly, saw the Reverend Fanshawe’s startled expression and modified his own into what he hoped was reverent anticipation. There was the tap of a cane, the small flurry as his great-aunt and cousin took their places. Then the organ struck up. He kept his eyes forward until he heard the rustle of silk and the sound of Daniel Calne’s shoes on the stone slabs, then he turned.

Arabella was veiled, of course. There was no clue to her emotions behind the cream lace that fell from the bonnet, although the bouquet of roses trembled slightly. She came to a halt by his side and then glanced round as if confused. Elliott braced himself, almost expecting her to bolt, but Dorothy, more familiar with the details of weddings than he, was already coming forwards to take the flowers.

Mr Fanshawe gave them a moment to collect themselves, then began. ‘Dearly beloved…’