Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (23 page)

‘I must go.’ Elliott stood and went out into the hall. Bella could hear him giving orders as the door closed. ‘Send for my horse, Henlow. Jem, all the men off the Home Farm, a wagon, picks and shovels—’

Bella went out into the hallway and tried to appear brisk and cheerful. Her acting abilities were apparently
not proof against the butler’s knowledge of what went on in the household.

‘His lordship will deal with it, my lady. He is the man to have by your side in a crisis. And he will no doubt return in a good mood. I have always observed that hard work balances any inequality of temperament he may be feeling.’

Inequality of temperament, indeed!
That was doubtless a butler’s code for flaming rows and fists thudding on doors. Was that what he thought of her moods, too? Inequalities of temperament?

‘Not that his lordship is much prone to…moods, if I might make so bold, my lady. His late lordship was of a most unpredictable and changeable humour and without his lordship’s sweetness of temper and strength of character,’ Henlow said, looking as though he was sucking lemons. ‘He will come about, my lady.’ As though worried that he had said too much, he turned on his heel and hurried off through the green baize door.

Bella went upstairs. Everything was prepared and now she did not even have the worry of evading Elliott. She put the note she had written on the mantelshelf, donned her warmest pelisse, her bonnet and gloves and went to find Mary Humble, who was dressing the baby.

‘Come along.’ She picked up two of the valises. ‘His lordship has had to take most of the footmen off to attend to some emergency with the mill race, we can take these down ourselves.’

The maid followed, baby in one arm, the bag of necessities for the journey in the other hand. She had listened with sympathy to Bella’s tale of a family emergency
taking her to London urgently. His lordship would follow as soon as he could, Bella had said. But she had to get to her sister.

She repeated the tale in the stable yard and Wilkins, the senior groom left in charge, had no thought of arguing with her ladyship. The coachman came down as the team were harnessed in the travelling chaise, the luggage strapped on behind, all except for the baby’s necessities, and one of the undergrooms swung up behind. With a yap Toby leapt in too.

Bella leaned back against the squabs and let the sway of the carriage lull her as she scratched the terrier behind his ear. She would have to come back, she knew that, but just at the moment all she wanted was to be away from Elliott before she blurted out her love for him, drove him even further from her. That, and to do something, anything, to find Meg and Lina.

‘We will stay at a hotel, Mary,’ she said, producing the London guide she had removed from the library. ‘I will see which sounds the most suitable.’

The carriage began to slow as they turned off the main drive on to the lane that ran down to the bridge and then back up before they reached the turnpike road that led towards London. Bella glanced out at the fog and then back to her book. It was not easy to read.

‘The Pulteney sounds the finest,’ she observed, trying to sound cheerful and positive. ‘But it is probably very expensive.’ The carriage levelled out, the sound of hooves on wood signalled they had reached the bridge. ‘Let’s see which—’

There was a rending noise, a creaking and cracking.
The coachman shouted and the groom up behind yelled back, then the carriage tipped and fell sideways and down. Bella grabbed for Marguerite as they crashed to a halt. Cold water rushed in, but her groping hands met nothing but the folds of Mary’s gown.

It was almost dark, cold, the baby was screaming. They were in the river.

E
lliott splashed out of the river edge, his boots sodden. ‘Too late. The dam’s gone. Nothing we can do here now, we can’t repair it with this much water going down.’

‘We’d better take a look at the bridges lower down, my lord,’ Murrow, the estate carpenter, said, pushing his hat back on his head and wiping the sweat and mist droplets off his face. ‘They’re none too strong. I warned his late lordship about them, often a time, but he wouldn’t spend the money.’

‘We’ll go down now. Who’s that?’ A rider was thundering down the muddy slope. ‘Wilkins?’

The groom slid off the horse he had been riding bareback. ‘It’s her ladyship—the carriage. The bridge collapsed, my lord.’ He pointed downstream.

‘The carriage? Her ladyship is at home.’ But even as he said it the fear was knotting in his stomach. Elliott took the horse’s mane and swung up on to its back.

‘No, my lord. She said she was going to London.’

Oh God. Arabella.
‘Murrow, get all the men down
there. Horses, timbers, ropes.’ The carpenter was a good man, he’d know what to do. Elliott turned the horse and gave it its head down the river bank.

When Bella found her footing she was in near darkness and in water. Confusion almost panicked her and then she realised where she was.

‘Marguerite! Mary!’ The carriage resounded with the baby’s screams.

‘Here,’ the maid gasped and Bella twisted to find the girl holding the baby over her head.

‘Give her to me, I am taller than you. Can you find the seat and stand on it?’ The carriage was tilted crazily and there was something massive across the only window she could see.

‘I think so.’ The girl floundered and then rose a little out of the water, her head and shoulders cramped under the roof.

Bella tried for a foothold and managed to get a little higher too. Marguerite’s blankets were wet, but not soaked through. ‘We can put her into the luggage netting,’ she said. ‘If we drop her…’ The maid scrabbled to hold the net open at one side as Bella pushed the wriggling, screaming bundle into it. The net, attached to the inside of the roof, was at an odd angle, but at least it was clear of the water.

For a moment that was reassuring, then she felt the icy cold in her legs and the weight of her waterlogged clothing beginning to drag. How long could they survive in this? ‘Help!’ she shouted. ‘Help!’

The coachman and groom must be hurt or surely
they would be doing something. ‘Are we going to drown?’ Mary quavered.

‘Of course not,’ Bella said. But they could die of cold if someone did not find them soon. ‘Just hold on, keep as much of yourself out of the water as possible. Shh, Marguerite, shh, Mama’s here.’

The carriage shuddered, slid, and she had the sickening realisation that if it moved any more they would be trapped as it sank.
Oh, Elliott, I am so sorry. I love you. Please come, my love, please come.

The wreckage of the bridge loomed out of the fog as a bulky figure staggered towards him, a small, frantically barking dog at its heels. Elliott swung off the horse as Toby leapt for his arms. The sound of a baby screaming in fright and discomfort was clear over the rush of water.

‘Philips, where’s her ladyship?’

‘Inside, my lord. And her maid and the baby. Groom’s a bit battered, but he’s not so bad—he went for help. A big rush of water hit the bridge just as we got on to it.’ He ran beside Elliott to the bank. ‘It’s wedged, but the timbers are giving way, my lord.’

‘I can see,’ Elliott said, putting the dog down and fighting the urge just to hurl himself into the torrent. ‘We need ropes, horses—oh, good man, Murrow.’ The carpenter brought a wagon down the hill at a reckless canter, dragged the team to a halt and men began to leap down and unharness the horses.

‘Arabella!’ he shouted until he thought his lungs would burst and then, faintly, he heard her voice.

‘Elliott! Safe…but slipping.’

‘We’re coming.’ He tied a rope around his waist and pulled off his boots, his coat, grabbed another rope and plunged into the water. Behind him he heard Murrow do the same.

It was not deep, but the current was strong and full of wood and branches torn down by the rains. Elliott fought his way to the carriage and made his rope fast, then clambered over the tilted side to cut the traces. The bodies of the horses broke free and were swept downstream, taking some of the strain off the body of the vehicle.

He clambered back as more men joined the carpenter, tying on ropes. ‘Arabella?’ The window, facing up at the sky, was closed. He dare not break it. There was movement inside and it opened halfway. ‘Arabella!’

‘Is it safe to take the baby?’ she said, her face white; her lips, he saw with horror, were almost blue.

‘Yes, give her to me.’ He reached in and the squirming, furious bundle was pushed into his hands.

‘I’ll be back in just a moment. Hold on, Arabella.’ Elliott slid and scrambled over the tilting carriage, trying not to rock it, trying to hold tight to the baby. When he reached the water there was a chain of men holding the ropes, breaking the flow for him so he would get to land.

‘I’ll take her, I’ve got grandbabies,’ said Philips, reaching for Marguerite.

Elliott brushed back the blanket off her face and she stared at him, big blue eyes in a red, indignant face and his heart turned over. ‘I love you,’ he murmured and
pushed her into the gnarled hands. ‘Get her dry and warm,’ he said as he turned back to the water.

‘We’ve got ropes on it, it won’t shift now,’ Murrow told him. ‘If we can just get that baulk of timber off we can open the door.’

It took three of them, balanced on the carriage, to shift the timber and force open the door. Arabella pushed Mary Humble out, then held up her arms for Elliott.

‘I knew you would come. I knew it. I only had to be strong enough to hold on until then.’

‘I will always come for you,’ he said, pulling her into his arms almost roughly. ‘I’ll always come for both of you.’

Somehow they reached the bank. Servants from the house were there now with towels and blankets and hot water. ‘How do you feel?’ He stood there, half-naked, the fog wrapping chill tendrils round him and felt only the touch of her presence. He lifted a hand and stroked his fingers down her cheek and Arabella turned her face into the hollow of his hand and kissed it.

‘I am so sorry, Elliott. I just wanted to find Meg, to get away and think.’

‘And I should have listened to you. Don’t fret, everyone will be all right.’ He swept her up in his arms and walked with her to the carriage where Gwen was waiting to envelop her in towels and rugs. Mary Humble was already there, cradling the baby, but she gave her to Arabella as she reached for her.

‘Hot baths, Gwen,’ he ordered. ‘Hurry, now.’

A rapid check that the men were all safe and the groom was being taken care of and Elliott was on horse-back
again and galloping in the wake of the carriage. He had nearly lost Arabella. Nearly lost both of them. The terror of it clawed at him like a creature, the fear that they might still be in danger from the cold racked him.

Arabella was in the bath when he strode, dripping, into her bedchamber. Gwen tried to shoo him out, but Elliott simply sidestepped her and went round the screen.

‘Oh! Oh, Elliott. Marguerite is quite all right. She’s warm and none the worse and tucked up.’

He knelt by the tub and reached for the big sponge that she was trying, very ineffectively, to hide behind. Gwen had washed her hair and swathed it in a turban of towelling and she was already turning pink from the effects of the warm water.

‘We need you dry and in bed. Look at these washerwoman’s fingers.’ He held up her water-wrinkled hand to show her. Then, suddenly, the shock of it ambushed him, knocking away his strength and his defences.

‘Arabella—’ His voice cracked.

‘I know. It is all right now,’ she soothed, pulling her to him, muddy and sodden as he was. ‘It is all right.’

He could feel the hot tears on his cheeks and hoped she would think it was his hair that was dripping on her as she held him, rocking him as best she could, as though he was the one needing looking after, not her.

Arabella, I love you. Darling girl, I love you.
The words sounded so loud in his head that for a moment he thought he had spoken them. Elliott turned away abruptly to snatch up a towel and scrub his betraying face with it and heard her gasp. He
had
said it out loud.

‘Elliott? You love me?’ He swivelled back and met the wide hazel gaze that seemed to reach right down into his soul. ‘I love you,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Elliott, I can hardly believe that you can love me too.’

He bent to take her lips as his mind reeled.
She loves me? Arabella loves me.
‘I only just realised. I could have lost you and I didn’t know…I didn’t understand what I was feeling. Arabella, how could I have been so blind?’

‘I was blind, too, you know,’ Arabella murmured, reaching out to touch his face. ‘I realised when I was in the family chapel that what I felt for you was so different from what I felt for Rafe, so strong, that it had to be love.’ She blushed a little, ‘And in bed…’

‘It did not occur to me that a woman like you only gives herself with that trust and desire, night after night, when she is in love with the man,’ Elliott said. He felt as though he was drunk and yet utterly clear-headed. It was wonderful and terrifying. ‘I just thought I was fortunate that at least I was able to make you happy in bed.’

A little laugh escaped her. ‘Oh, Elliott. Do you realise we have never made love knowing that we love each other?’

Elliott looked at her thoughtfully, his eyes heavy with unspoken desire and Bella’s insides became hot and liquid with longing. ‘What a very provoking idea, my love. We are going to have to give it so much thought—and probably a great deal of attention—to make certain we express our feelings fully.’

‘Now, Elliott. Please.’

‘You should rest.’ But his eyes burned into her.

‘Help me out of the bath and I will go and see Marguerite again and then, if she is well, we will both go and rest…together.’

He let Gwen come back and dry her, dress her in nightgown and robe while he went and washed and changed. He found her again standing by the cradle and put his hand over hers as she stoked the baby’s cheek. ‘Both my loves, safe and sound.’

When she straightened up from kissing the soft little cheek he took her hand and just walked straight through the intervening rooms and into his bedchamber. He closed the door and leaned against it.

‘Elliott, are you sure you are not too tired?’

‘I would have to be unconscious to be too tired to make love to you, Arabella.’ Elliott’s eyes were dark with desire and something else that made her want to laugh with sheer delight.

She laughed, breathless with happiness. ‘I love you so much, I want you awake to tell you,’ she said as he pulled her to him, his fingers urgent with ribbons and ties.

‘I like undressing you from all these fripperies,’ he admitted, tossing the négligé into a corner before running his hands gently over her breasts so that the nipples peaked hard against his palms. ‘Those nightgowns are like unwrapping a very intriguing parcel.’

Bella tried to sound indignant. ‘Parcel? Well, allow me to unwrap you then, my lord.’

‘Arabella.’
It was a groan as she struggled with buttons and shirttails. ‘Hurry.’

The fastenings of his breeches gave way to her fingers and she felt the muscles of his stomach contract as she slipped her hand down and circled him. He thrust into her hand, hot and hard and ready for her. They stood, locked together, not moving, his hand cupping her breast, hers encircling the powerful length of him. Bella tightened her hold.

‘No. Arabella…Wait.’

‘Your boots,’ she managed as he swept her up and dropped her on the bed.

‘My boots be damned.’

‘The covers…Oh! Oh, Elliott. Oh, my love.
Yes.
’ Boots, bedding, everything vanished from her consciousness as he came into her with a certainty and a possessive passion that eclipsed everything that had gone before. She was his and he was hers and nothing, it seemed to her through a daze of mounting, aching urgency, would ever be the same again.

He drove her up, beyond breaking point into a sudden, all-consuming climax, then held her, murmuring as he moved gently within her until she was aware again, her fingers tightening on his shoulders as she said against his mouth, ‘Love you, I love you.
Elliott.
’

‘Arabella. My love.’ Elliott kissed her back, claiming her, feeling that this was somehow the first time for them, the first time it had ever mattered so much. He forced control on himself, aware of her body, her breathing, the rising need sweeping through her again, and held on until he felt her begin to break again. ‘My love, for ever,’ he heard himself say as the passion swept him away. ‘Always.’

26 March

‘Those beds will be a mass of bloom by summer.’ Arabella leaned against Elliott as they looked out of the drawing-room window on to the new flowerbeds Johnson and his men, including young Trubshaw, had cut out of the turf and were just beginning to plant up with the hardier shrubs.

‘It is almost the end of March, spring is in the air, Marguerite is flourishing,’ she continued. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her more tightly. It was still a shock, a joy, to know that she was his and he loved her. ‘Is it possible to be happier, do you think?’

‘In general, no,’ Elliott agreed, loving the way she wriggled with sensual responsiveness as he bent to nibble her earlobe. ‘I could think of ways to increase the intensity of the feeling, of course.’

‘You always can,’ Arabella said. As usual when she remembered that she was supposed to be a respectable viscountess she was trying to sound disapproving and failing completely. ‘It so happens that we have absolutely no commitments this afternoon, or this evening. I kept today free because of packing tomorrow for London.’

‘Your very first Season, Lady Hadleigh. Are you nervous?’ He was glad he had delayed travelling until the weather was better. The time to themselves had been precious. It had taken Arabella a long time to forgive herself for running away from him and to believe that the accident was somehow not her fault. He had tried to find out more about her missing sisters, to no avail, but
she had turned to him for comfort and sharing the search and the emotion had brought them closer together.