yes. And then I look at you—pure, innocent, devoting yourself to your duties—and I see myself for what I am. I wish some of that goodness would rub off on me, Bella.’
‘You just need to want to be good,’ she protested.
‘And you are satisfied with your life?’ he asked her. She could not answer, but she felt the guilty blush and saw him see it too. ‘Not entirely, I think?’
And so she had told him, all about how Papa had changed slowly over the years, how Mama had died on a visit to London, how Meg and Lina had run away, and he had brushed a tear from the corner of her eye and kissed her, just a fleeting, chaste kiss of comfort and her world had shifted on its axis.
He had come to church on Sunday, serious and attentive, head bowed. After that she had seen him every day. He was always careful, always discreet, but the long walks, when she told him about living in the country and confided how difficult Papa was, and sympathised with his stories of London life and how it was turning to dust in his mouth, were like shining jewels in the dull ashes of her existence.
And on the eighth day he had kissed her, not giving comfort, not seeking it, but with a lover’s passion, and she had clung to him, consumed with his heat and power and glamour.
‘I love you, Bella,’ he had murmured against her hair, their breath mingling in the crisp February air. ‘Be mine.’
‘You must talk to Papa,’ she had stammered, dizzily aware that her dream had come true. Her knight had come for her.
‘I must go back to London,’ Rafe said. ‘And speak to my lawyers. I will have them draw up a settlement so your father can see exactly what I will do for you. And I will bring back a housekeeper to look after him until he can choose one that best suits him.’
‘But should we not talk to him first? I do not like to deceive him,’ she protested.
‘My darling, he sounds a most difficult man and I, I will admit, am the kind of rake of whom he will have the deepest suspicions.’
‘But you are reformed now,’ Bella protested.
‘Yes, thanks to you.’ Rafe caressed her. ‘But he will believe it more when he sees the settlement, sees the ring I bring with me, knows his every interest—and yours—will be attended to. Then he might see the benefits of having the Viscount Hadleigh as his son-in-law. Would he like a better parish? I am sure I could influence something.’
‘Oh, Rafe, would you? Perhaps he feels he has failed, never getting preferment, and if he did, he would be happier and less difficult.’
‘For you, my love, I’ll bow to every bishop in the kingdom,’ he assured her. ‘And find your sisters too.’
‘Rafe.’ And she had kissed him, deeply, clumsily.
‘Lady Hadleigh.’ He smiled down, suddenly serious. ‘Will you really take me? I don’t deserve you. Perhaps you will change your mind once I have gone.’
‘No! Never. I love you.’
‘Then be mine, Bella. Show me you love me. Show me you trust me.’
‘But…before we are married?’ she queried, anxious and confused.
‘You don’t trust me, I knew it. But what could I expect?’ he said, turning away, his face stark. ‘I will leave, now. It is better. We cannot marry if you do not trust me. I thought—’
He made a gesture of hurt rejection and she clung to his arm. ‘Rafe. Of course I trust you. Of course I do.’ He swept her up, his mouth hot and urgent on hers, his arms so strong and sure, and strode towards the great tithe barn.
Chapter One
23 May 1814
It was a long carriage drive to trudge up in the drizzle, and the walk gave Bella far more time to think than she needed. Rafe must listen to me, she told herself fiercely. He might ignore my letters, but he cannot refuse to help me, not face to face. It was three months since she had lain with him in the barn on a bed of hay and felt his heart beating over hers.
Now she was apprehensive in her heart, queasy and weary in her body and bitterly angry, both with herself and with him. She had believed him. She had been so desperate to be loved, so sure of what she wanted, that when it appeared right in front of her, reached out for her, she had fallen, hook line and sinker for every lure of an experienced, conscienceless rake. And now she was with child. A fallen woman. Ruined.
No, please, she prayed as she walked. Don’t let him be without all conscience. Please let it be all right soon. Oh, Baby, forgive me. I am so ashamed. And unless he helps me, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how I will look after you. But I will. Somehow.
And she was so tired with the pregnancy, with the travelling, with the fear. Rafe had not been in London; his fine house in Mayfair had been locked up and dark with the knocker off the door, but she was here now at the big estate he had described to her, dazzling her with images of her life with him as his wife. His viscountess. She had asked at the gate house and they said his lordship was in residence.
She pictured him as she walked. For a few blissful days he had made her glow with happiness. Rafe Calne, Viscount Hadleigh. Tall, handsome, brown haired and elegant with blue eyes that had smouldered their way into her heart and soul. Rafe Calne, her love and her seducer. She had tumbled into love and into his arms so easily, with every tenet of virtue and modesty forgotten in the whirl of emotion. She had dreamed of a fairy tale, was desperate for a fairy tale, and when she found herself in one she had believed in it implicitly. And now she was being punished for dreaming.
Ruined women like her were supposed to throw themselves into the river out of the depths of their shame. She had walked down to the Thames when she had found his London house deserted. She had looked at the swirling brown water. But she could not, would not, despair. She was the sensible sister, she reminded herself bitterly. She would come up with a plan.
And she was carrying a child and nothing, if she could help it, would hurt that baby. It did not matter what happened to her, it did not matter how much scorn he poured onto her head, the baby must be provided for.
Her feet were wet and cold. Rafe did not maintain his carriage drive in good order. Bella tugged her hood further over her face and shook the foot that had just trodden in a water-filled pothole. But he was a busy man, he had told her that. Doubtless his estate workers had not been supervised as they might. Rafe had been busy seducing another hapless innocent or flirting with some great lady, no doubt.
Bella’s valise was banging uncomfortably against her knee and it was making her fingers numb. For the day after May Day, this was miserable weather: certainly it was not the day to set out on a three-mile walk through the countryside on an empty, unsettled stomach. It was probably a judgement for travelling on a Sunday, one more sin to add to the one she had so gladly, so recklessly, committed. The drive turned around an over-grown bed of shrubs and there was the house, Hadleigh Old Hall, sprawling low and golden brown and beautiful, even in the rain. It should have been her new home.
Bella straightened her shoulders as she reached the front door and banged the knocker. Deep breath, keep calm. He would be surprised to see her, shocked perhaps that she had travelled alone, angry when he heard what she wanted—of
