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

Chapter Thirteen

Take me. Could she? Dare she? Of course not, she would be utterly inept, laughable. All the magic drained away, leaving her mortified and awkward. ‘No,’ Bella muttered, wriggling free. ‘Not here, in broad daylight.’ She was blushing, she could feel it. How she must disappoint him after his mistresses, chosen, of course, for their sensual expertise.

‘Later?’ Elliott sat upright as she landed inelegantly on the other end of the sofa. He did nothing to disguise the bulge in his breeches.

Bella looked away. She had to try to respond sooner or later, even though it would be a disaster. ‘Tonight?’

‘Tonight,’ Elliott agreed. He sounded as though they were discussing whether or not to have fish for dinner. Was that simply good manners or was he hiding anger and frustration under the civil tone? Of course he was.

There was a silence while Bella regarded her toes and wondered what to say next. Her mind appeared to have gone numb and her body was a confused riot of sensations, most of them urging her back into Elliott’s arms.

‘What were you doing in that sitting room?’ Elliott asked. He crossed his legs, so she felt it was safe to look at him again. ‘I thought you would want to start any decoration with your own rooms.’

‘It will be ideal for the nursery,’ Bella explained. It would have been better if she could have given this more thought before springing it on him, she thought as his brows drew together. ‘A door could be knocked through to my sitting room and there’s a small room for the nurse to use.’

‘You will never get any peace.’

‘I will. The nurse will be there and my own sitting room is between my bedroom and the nursery.’

‘Very well.’ He agreed so suddenly that she was taken aback. ‘But we had better wait until your pregnancy is official before we start knocking holes in walls.’

‘Of course. Thank you, Elliott.’

He made a dismissive gesture and, just for a moment, Bella thought she saw something almost like shame in his eyes. Then it was gone. He was good at hiding his emotions, but she thought it was because he valued self-control, not because he had set out to deceive her.

Elliott had a certain dangerous edge of physicality to him that made her wonder if he was exactly comfortable in the high ton. She imagined him stripped to the waist boxing, or fencing, driving home an attack with a flashing blade, and swallowed hard.

‘I must go,’ Elliott said. He stood and looked down at her and his voice deepened, sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Until dinner, my dear. I look forward to it—and to later.’

Bella got through dinner somehow. Elliott must have spoken to Henlow, for the meal was formally served, even though there was only the two of them. Elliott was teaching her, she realised, demonstrating the etiquette she must learn in the safety of their own dining room without guests.

All the leaves had been taken out of the table so they could converse, he at the head, she at the foot. An array of cutlery hedged her plate, glasses were ranked across the top of it. There was a vast starched napkin to control on the slippery silk of her evening gown and a succession of dishes to identify the correct flatware for.

And Elliott kept up a constant stream of conversation, mostly on subjects she knew nothing about, so she had to deal with a quivering aspic mould while finding something sensible to say about the fact that there would be a by-election next month for the Evesham constituency.

Then, just as she was trying to decide what to do with the saddle of lamb and the tiny, highly mobile white onions she was being offered, he asked her opinion about Napoleon’s abdication. ‘I am afraid I have no idea whether Elba is a sensible place to put him or not, my lord. This lamb is excellent. Is it from your…our own flock?’

‘Oh, yes, Lady Hadleigh, it is ours.’ She decided he was pleased with her reference to the farm. ‘I feel Napoleon would be safer further away—Elba is too close to France for my liking.’

‘You think he might escape and we would have war again?’ That was an alarming thought after only a few weeks of peace. ‘Perhaps wiser counsel will prevail and he will not be sent there.’

‘Perhaps.’ Elliott went on to talk about the government’s views on the subject; the names of ministers and opposition politicians made her head spin. She strongly suspected him of trying to distract her from what would take place later in her bedchamber, but she tried to keep up with him. It was obvious that she would have to start reading the newspapers if she was not to appear a complete dunce when they had dinner parties.

Somehow she managed five courses and remembered to leave Elliott to his port without needing to be reminded. She sat and pretended to read until he joined her and then braced herself for at least another hour of scrupulously polite and highly educational conversation until the tea tray was brought in.

‘Lady Hadleigh.’

‘My lord.’ He was going to say something about her reluctance this afternoon, or what he expected when they went to bed, she knew it. Bella sat up straight, put on her best, brightly interested, face. She could do this. She must do this, and the longer she put it off, the worse it would be. Elliott was her husband now, she owed him a duty. And another, more cynical, sense nagged her that she must attach him for the sake of the child. That the happier he was with her as his wife, the better he would accept the little cuckoo in his nest.

‘You preside over the dinner table with great grace.’

‘Thank you.’ Oh, thank goodness, he did not want to talk about bed yet. Then what he had said sank in and she bit her lip to control the smile that was in danger of becoming an unladylike grin of delight. ‘It is such a relief to hear you say so—I was well aware that you are doing your best to make me familiar with the etiquette.’

Elliott sat down, crossed his legs, steepled his fingers and regarded her over the top of them. He should have looked formidable, instead he seemed reassuring. ‘I hope I can help; it cannot be pleasant to be pitchforked into this.’

‘I never thought of the practical implications of being married to a viscount,’ she admitted ruefully.

‘I imagine not,’ Elliott said wryly, then, to her great relief, changed the subject instead of observing that she had not appeared to have given much thought to anything but her infatuation or she would not be in this position now. ‘Shall I invite the Bayntons to spend the day soon? If the weather is fine John and I will ride out—I want his advice on some woodland—and you and Anne can have a comfortable time together.’