Free Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady by Louise Allen Page A

with the country estate he seemed not to have cared for? Without thinking, Bella put her hand over Elliott’s. It was stiff and unresponsive and she lifted her own away, feeling she had erred.
    ‘It was doubtless good for me, as things turned out. I was forced back on my own small inherited estate. I learned to run that and how to invest wisely. Then I turned to speculation—mines, canals, housing—and found I had the knack for it. Rafe felt I dabbled perilously close to trade for one of our class and made that clear whenever our paths crossed in Town.’
    ‘Rafe seemed unused to rural life,’ Bella murmured. ‘He was out of place in the country, I thought.’ Elliott made no response, so she blundered on, ‘I expect he was much happier in Town. He was so sophisticated in our little village. He seemed to be polished, somehow, like a gemstone, all hard glitter.’ Stop talking about him. I don’t want to remember, Elliott does not want to hear this.
    She had been nervous at the thought of London society. Then Rafe had told her that she made rustication in the sticks bearable, that she would convert him to country living, to the fresh purity of the simple life, and she had believed him and been comforted. Now she saw his lies like layer after layer of deceit.
    ‘Oh, yes, Rafe was polished. You will find that I am less so. Less polished, more direct. I belong to the Corinthian set—sportsmen. I box, I drive, I race. I attend prize fights.’ That explained the lean, hard look of him. ‘Do you find the thought of those kind of activities distasteful?’ Bella shook her head. If truth be told, she found the idea rather exciting. The picture of Elliott, stripped to the waist, fists raised, made her pulse race.
    ‘And perhaps I am even more demanding than he was.’ She was unsure how to respond to that—was it a threat or a warning? ‘Here we are at Mr Lewisham’s offices.’
    Bella leaned back against the squabs and stared rather blankly at the passing countryside. Her heart still felt hollow, as though Rafe, wrenching himself from it with his harsh words, had left it wounded. But now his face was becoming mercifully blurred with Elliott’s; his voice was lost in the other man’s. She wished she couldtell Elliott everything, bring herself to talk about that dreadful afternoon in the tithe barn, tell him what Rafe had said and done and how she had felt. But she must hide her deepest feelings from his brother, who had his loss to contend with. Elliott clearly knew how badly Rafe had let her down, but however much Elliott might have been estranged from Rafe, he had wanted to make peace, she was sure. How could she tell him how foul his brother had really been to her?
    And, besides, he did not need the fact that she was plain and naïve and unsophisticated reinforcing. Rafe had made that clear; Elliott had eyes, too.
    She sat up straighter and tried to take an intelligent interest in the scene outside. It appeared they grew a great deal of fruit, hereabouts. She saved that observation up to make conversation later. A lady discussed neutral subjects of interest and she very much doubted that she had as many of those as a viscountess ought to be able to muster.
    It would help if she did not keep thinking about those piles of clothes. Elliott was right, of course, she had to look the part, but even so, he could hardly have been expecting to outfit a wife who did not even bring her own trousseau with her.
    ‘What is worrying you now?’ Elliott asked, making her jump.
    ‘How do you know I was worrying?’ she asked to put off answering.
    ‘Your teeth were caught in your lower lip, and you were frowning. Is there something you want to ask me?’
    ‘I wanted to thank you for all the lovely clothes.’
    ‘I told you, it is necessary that you look the part.’ He sounded a little impatient.
    ‘I know. The gowns and bonnets and so on, I understand about that. But the other things.’ She could feel her cheeks warming.