Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady. Louise Allen

had known for less than twenty-four hours, wearing a fashionable bonnet and expecting to visit a bishop. This was the sort of thing—without the bishop, of course—that she had once dreamed of doing with Rafe. The room blurred and she swallowed, disciplining her thoughts.

      Chapter Five

      ‘Is everything all right, Arabella?’ Elliott enquired. ‘Have you finished your shopping?’

      ‘Thank you, yes.’ Bella struggled between politeness and honesty. ‘I cannot help but feel that this has been an entirely too-extravagant morning.’

      ‘Did you not enjoy it?’ Elliott watched her over the rim of his cup and she could not decide whether he was amused or displeased at her lack of enthusiasm.

      ‘Of course not.’ I have a mind above such frivolity. But honesty won. ‘No…Yes, I did. Most of it. It was very pleasant to choose nice things.’ She felt herself colour up and his eyes crinkled at the corners in response. Elliott appeared to like her blushes, which was disconcerting. They had amused Rafe too, she reminded herself, sobering instantly.

      ‘It is the bare minimum, of course. But I thought that you would wish to have the modiste call privately at the Hall so you can discuss your requirements when…’ he waved a hand vaguely in front of himself ‘…your figure changes.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ Something else to blush about. Perhaps it was better to abandon all pretence of modesty. ‘I think that will happen soon, but the current mode is helpful in disguising things.’

      There was a tap at the door and a waiter began to bring in food. Bread and butter, some cold meats and cheese, fruit cake. ‘You have to eat properly,’ Elliott observed, buttering bread for her when she sat and just looked at the table.

      ‘I know. I was thinking about something else.’ Bella added a little chicken to her plate and told herself that the baby needed the food and she needed her strength. So far, thank goodness, she had developed none of the cravings for strange foods that Polly the laundry maid had reported. Coal and honey had been one messy result.

      But men were not interested in such feminine things, she knew. Elliott was being very forbearing, even discussing her morning sickness. Years of subduing her own feelings and desires came to her rescue as she searched for acceptable conversation. ‘Who will be at the wedding?’ she asked.

      ‘Cousin Dorothy, my great-aunt Lady Abbotsbury, if she feels up to it, and my friend and neighbour John Baynton, who will be my groomsman.’ He frowned. ‘Who can give you away?’

      ‘Miss Dorothy?’

      Elliott laughed, the first time she had heard him do so out loud. The sound made her smile, it was so infectious. ‘She would love that, I am sure, but it would cause even more talk if we do something so unconventional.’ His amusement vanished as he studied her face. ‘What is it?’

      ‘You sound just like Rafe when you laugh. It was the only time his voice was as deep as yours.’ Rafe had laughed a lot. All the time, except when he was suddenly intense, gazing deep into her eyes, his own so blue. She had thought they must be the bluest eyes in the world until she saw Elliott’s, darker, more vivid, like deep ocean water with cold, dangerous currents beneath the warm surface.

      ‘I am sorry. I must be a constant, painful reminder.’ His lips thinned as he helped himself to a slice of beef and added mustard lavishly from the pewter pot. She must stop this, he did not need her throwing her memories of his brother in his face at every turn.

      ‘No, not at all. I will become accustomed. It is simply a matter of self-discipline and I will learn to forget my experience with Rafe,’ she added bleakly. Soon, surely, she would be able to look at him and not see Rafe’s face like a translucent mask overlaying Elliott’s? She had to remember that this was another man altogether, one she could trust, one who would not abuse her. She had to believe that.

      ‘In the meantime I will endeavour not to laugh.’

      Was that said sarcastically or was he in earnest? She would have to learn to read him if she was to be a good wife.

      ‘Thank you, but that will not be necessary,’ Bella murmured, fighting down the panic at the thought of everything she must learn. A good wife, a good mother and a good viscountess: three new roles to learn and so many things that she could do wrong. She ate another slice of bread. She was a competent, experienced housekeeper, so the domestic side of things held no terrors. She would love the baby, so she could trust her instincts there. Elliott would tell her what she needed to do to be a proper viscountess. But how was she to learn to be a good wife to a man she did not know and did not love without blundering, hurting them both—assuming he ever cared enough to be hurt by her clumsiness?

      ‘Have you finished, Arabella?’

      ‘Thank you, yes.’ How long had she been sitting there brooding? ‘Is it time to go and see the bishop now?’

      ‘It is.’ He stood up and held out his hand to her. ‘Just curtsy, call him My lord and leave the talking to me. If he asks something difficult, simply look to me adoringly and I’ll deal with it. Can you do that?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. It was becoming quite easy to think that Elliott was someone she could look to for help. Whether or not she could manage a look of adoration, she was less sure. She must remember that for him, this was strictly a matter of honour and duty, she must not come to rely upon him emotionally.

      ‘Thank you, my lord.’ Bella managed a creditable curtsy and took Elliott’s arm. In his other hand he held a wedding licence. Soon, she thought, soon you will be safe, Baby. Resisting the urge to back away, as though in the presence of royalty, she preceded Elliott out through the door, keeping silent because of the liveried footmen and a passing cleric with an armful of papers.

      ‘That went very well,’ Elliott observed as they walked across College Green behind the cathedral.

      ‘Yes,’ Bella agreed. To her relief the bishop had shown no surprise at Lord Hadleigh arriving with a redeyed, drab female on his arm and requesting a special licence. Elliott sounded quite pleased, not at all as though he was merely resigned to this wedding. Her heart lifted a little. ‘Elliott, do you mind so very much?’

      He caught her meaning and his lips firmed, making him look rather formidable. ‘I mind a lot less than I would having you and the child on my conscience. I told you, Arabella, this is my duty; you need have no fear that I will not perform it to the best of my ability.’

      It was not his duty she was worried about, it was his feelings, but the wretched man seemed ready to discuss anything rather than those. ‘No, I was not—’ she began.

      ‘Elliott!’ The man crossing the greensward was as tall as Elliott, but darker, slimmer and, as a ready smile creased his face, apparently more light-hearted at the moment.

      ‘Daniel.’ Elliott held out his hand and as the other man shook it enthusiastically she saw he bore a resemblance to both Elliott and Rafe.

      ‘Good to see you out and about after the funeral. Who would have thought it? In his prime, poor Rafe. I am having trouble believing it. Difficult for you.’

      ‘You could say that. Arabella, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Mr Calne. Daniel, Miss Shelley.’

      Bella smiled and shook hands. They were friends, she could tell at once. Elliott and his cousin had exchanged looks that said more than they had put into words. Why had he not told Mr Calne at once that they were to be wed? Surely the more relatives present, the more normal the whole thing would appear, not that she wanted to face them. Perhaps he thought she would be embarrassed. She nudged Elliott’s booted foot with her toe and he looked down at her. ‘I wonder if Mr Calne might not be free tomorrow?’

      ‘Of course. Our interview with the bishop has sent my wits wandering, obviously.’ He smiled. ‘Daniel, you must congratulate me. Miss Shelley and I are to be wed.’

      There was a moment while his cousin stared