sophisticated, wonderful man who was powerful enough to take her away, whatever her father said to the matter. She had tumbled headlong into love with Rafe. She had loved with her heart and not her head and she had given herself to him because of that, but somehow she had never been as physically aware of him as she was with Elliott, even when they had lain together.
In Elliott’s masterful kiss she had discerned respect and the desire to please her even as he had demanded and taken. And he had ignited feelings in her that were entirely novel. It was alarming and humiliating and left her in a confusion of guilty sensation. What would he think of her if he realised how one kiss had made her feel? He would think her even more abandoned than he must do now, she decided. Or perhaps he would be pleased—and then very, very disappointed.
‘Have a cup of tea and some bread and butter,’ Miss Dorothy coaxed. ‘We must start getting you dressed by one at the latest and it is twenty to the hour now.’
‘Mr Calne will not come until a quarter to three,’ Bella protested. She had bathed—fortunately without an audience—and then the maid rubbed her all over with some deliciously lavish cream that smelled of roses and came, apparently, from Lady Abbotsbury’s private hoard. Then her hair had been washed and rinsed in rosemary infusion, at which point Elliott’s great-aunt and cousin had arrived to direct the drying and brushing.
The maid had trimmed her nails and buffed them with a kidskin polisher, then her gown and undergarmentsand shoes had been laid out and inspected minutely while she was ordered to rest with her feet up, attired in one of the extravagant négligés she had bought the day before. Lady Abbotsbury expressed complete, and embarrassing, approval of it.
Now Bella could not imagine what else there was to do except get dressed and that would take half an hour at most. She did not relish the thought of sitting around in all her finery for an age with nothing to do but think.
‘We barely have time,’ the dowager said. ‘Eat! There’s your hair to dress, that will take almost an hour. No macquillage these days, more’s the pity, all you whey-faced modern misses—powder and patch and rouge, that’s what you need. Then your corsets—good and tight, that takes time. A man likes a small waist and a good bosom on display.’
Bella picked up a slice of bread and butter and made herself chew. Her real fear was that this alarming old dame would start lecturing her on the marriage bed. She knew she needed some frank advice, but she also knew she would never dare ask, however much some reassurance would help calm her nerves.
By the time Mr Calne arrived a glance in the mirror told Bella that she was white as a sheet. She stood in the drawing room when he was ushered in, too afraid of crumpling her gown to sit.
‘Well, now!’ Mr Calne stopped on the threshold, eyebrows raised, his hands full of yellow-and-white roses. ‘Elliott has caught himself a beauty, and no mistake.’
Bella blinked at him, then risked a second, longer glance at the overmantel mirror. She stared back at herself, eyes huge, lips deep pink against her pale skin. She was, if not a beauty, prettier than she had ever looked.
‘Mr Calne, thank you.’ She recalled her manners and went forwards to shake his hand, only to have the roses placed in hers. ‘You’ve brought me my bouquet, how kind!’
‘Elliott arranged that,’ he protested, waving away her thanks. ‘I am just doing my duty as the surrogate brother who will give you away. Which reminds me, I have something else from the bridegroom.’ He delved in an inner pocket of his elegant tail coat and produced a flat blue morocco-leather case.
‘For me?’
‘But of course for you. Here, give me those flowers back and open it.’ They managed the transfer and Bella stood staring at the case. ‘Go on, it won’t bite.’
His teasing tone broke her paralysis and she clicked the
In Elliott’s masterful kiss she had discerned respect and the desire to please her even as he had demanded and taken. And he had ignited feelings in her that were entirely novel. It was alarming and humiliating and left her in a confusion of guilty sensation. What would he think of her if he realised how one kiss had made her feel? He would think her even more abandoned than he must do now, she decided. Or perhaps he would be pleased—and then very, very disappointed.
‘Have a cup of tea and some bread and butter,’ Miss Dorothy coaxed. ‘We must start getting you dressed by one at the latest and it is twenty to the hour now.’
‘Mr Calne will not come until a quarter to three,’ Bella protested. She had bathed—fortunately without an audience—and then the maid rubbed her all over with some deliciously lavish cream that smelled of roses and came, apparently, from Lady Abbotsbury’s private hoard. Then her hair had been washed and rinsed in rosemary infusion, at which point Elliott’s great-aunt and cousin had arrived to direct the drying and brushing.
The maid had trimmed her nails and buffed them with a kidskin polisher, then her gown and undergarmentsand shoes had been laid out and inspected minutely while she was ordered to rest with her feet up, attired in one of the extravagant négligés she had bought the day before. Lady Abbotsbury expressed complete, and embarrassing, approval of it.
Now Bella could not imagine what else there was to do except get dressed and that would take half an hour at most. She did not relish the thought of sitting around in all her finery for an age with nothing to do but think.
‘We barely have time,’ the dowager said. ‘Eat! There’s your hair to dress, that will take almost an hour. No macquillage these days, more’s the pity, all you whey-faced modern misses—powder and patch and rouge, that’s what you need. Then your corsets—good and tight, that takes time. A man likes a small waist and a good bosom on display.’
Bella picked up a slice of bread and butter and made herself chew. Her real fear was that this alarming old dame would start lecturing her on the marriage bed. She knew she needed some frank advice, but she also knew she would never dare ask, however much some reassurance would help calm her nerves.
By the time Mr Calne arrived a glance in the mirror told Bella that she was white as a sheet. She stood in the drawing room when he was ushered in, too afraid of crumpling her gown to sit.
‘Well, now!’ Mr Calne stopped on the threshold, eyebrows raised, his hands full of yellow-and-white roses. ‘Elliott has caught himself a beauty, and no mistake.’
Bella blinked at him, then risked a second, longer glance at the overmantel mirror. She stared back at herself, eyes huge, lips deep pink against her pale skin. She was, if not a beauty, prettier than she had ever looked.
‘Mr Calne, thank you.’ She recalled her manners and went forwards to shake his hand, only to have the roses placed in hers. ‘You’ve brought me my bouquet, how kind!’
‘Elliott arranged that,’ he protested, waving away her thanks. ‘I am just doing my duty as the surrogate brother who will give you away. Which reminds me, I have something else from the bridegroom.’ He delved in an inner pocket of his elegant tail coat and produced a flat blue morocco-leather case.
‘For me?’
‘But of course for you. Here, give me those flowers back and open it.’ They managed the transfer and Bella stood staring at the case. ‘Go on, it won’t bite.’
His teasing tone broke her paralysis and she clicked the
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