James’s eyes narrowed at Rupert’s malicious threat. “He’d never succeed. It’s one thing to threaten a vulnerable widow, but quite another to threaten my soon-to-be bride, a future duchess.” He placed a finger under her chin until she met his gaze. “Don’t you know, Bella? I’d never let anyone harm you.”
She pulled his head down and kissed him hungrily.
He groaned. “That is not the way to get me to leave this bed tonight.” He stood and slipped on his trousers.
She lifted her head from the pillow. “Where are you going?”
He held up her ripped nightgown. “This is torn beyond repair. Let me fetch you another.”
Taking the bedside candle with him, he entered the sitting room and went straight to a trunk in the corner. It was a small trunk with a lid with a curved top inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. It was a good guess as to where a maid would store a lady’s nightdresses. He lifted the trunk’s latch and looked inside to find a miniature portrait of a couple he assumed were her parents, Bella’s books and writings, other papers bound with brown string, and a pair of jeweled combs that he recalled her wearing. Not a stitch of clothing was stored inside.
As he was closing the trunk his hand halted in midair. It wasn’t the contents that grabbed his interest, rather a pinch that felt like a pinprick on the tip of his forefinger as he tried to close the lid. Raising the lid once more, he studied the interior with renewed interest.
Both the interior and underside of the lid were lined with luxurious, crimson velvet. He’d seen one of these before. A client had been accused of stealing his aunt’s trunk, not for the expected contents inside, but because of a false lid that held a secret compartment storing banknotes.
James felt along the velvet lining of the underside of the lid. At first there was nothing, but when he tore a small section of the velvet, he felt a faint ridge along one side. Pressing on the ridge produced a slight click, and the bottom of the lid opened to reveal an inner compartment. Heart pounding, he reached inside and removed a bound sheath of papers.
The ledger.
“I found it!”
A muffled voice sounded from the other room. Seconds later, Bella appeared in the doorway, the sheet wrapped around her slender frame. Dark red tresses covered her bare shoulders and the tops of her breasts.
He grinned and held up the ledger.
“Oh, my!” She rushed forward. Her gaze flew from the ledger in James’s hand to the open trunk. “All these years I had no idea my mother’s trunk had a secret compartment. And Roger had hid the ledger right beneath my nose.”
“We have it now, Bella.” James scanned the pages and whistled through his teeth. “Solid evidence of treason. I shall turn it in to the authorities. Rupert Sinclair is doomed.”
She flew to his side and embraced him. “Oh, James,” she breathed. “I do love you.”
Chapter 32
Waking alone, Bella stretched in the large bed, her limbs sore after last night’s delicious bout of lovemaking. She rolled to the side and inhaled James’s scent on the feathered pillow. She knew he had departed her bedchamber late last night to preserve an appearance of propriety. But she missed him and longed for the mornings after they were married when she could wake in his arms.
She still couldn’t believe he had found the ledger and that it had been hidden in her mother’s trunk all along. How could she not have known of the secret compartment?
Looking back, she wasn’t surprised Roger had discovered the compartment. He’d had five locked drawers in his desk, and two safes in his library that she had been aware of, and she suspected there were others. A man as devious as Roger had need of many hiding places.
Bella rose and dressed quickly. Hoping to catch a glimpse of James before he departed for the day, she rushed into the breakfast parlor, where the smell of cooked bacon wafted to her. The room was empty but a sideboard was laden with chafing dishes heaping with eggs, toast, biscuits, and yes ... bacon.
Instantly, bile rose in her throat and she feared she would be sick on the expensive Brussels carpet. She turned and fled back up the stairs, racing down the long hallway to her room. She made it to the chamber pot just as nausea overtook her. She wretched, her stomach contracting painfully. A sheen of sweat rose on her brow, and she felt faint.
Bella pulled the bell cord and sat on the edge of the bed. A maid arrived, and Bella instructed her to fetch Harriet.
Minutes later Harriet entered the room, her eyes flying from Bella’s pale face to the chamber pot.
“When was your last monthly flow?” Harriet asked.
The question alarmed Bella, and her mind raced back. She had not had her courses since ... since before she had been intimate with James at Wyndmoor Manor, well over a month ago. She had always been as regular as clockwork.
“You could be pregnant,” Harriet said.
Bella shook her head numbly. “I could be ill.”
“Have you been tired of late? Your breasts sensitive?”
She was and they were.
“I never conceived with Roger. I’m most likely barren,” Bella argued.
Harriet clucked her tongue. “Roger was much older. And he had not successfully bedded you after the first months of your marriage.”
Bella rested her head in her hands; the harder she tried to ignore the signs the more they persisted.
“Sweet Lord,” Bella gasped. “What am I to do?”
“Nothing, luv. You’re to be married. Tell Blackwood.”
“Tell me what?”
Bella and Harriet started at the sound of the deep, masculine voice in the doorway. In her haste to aid Bella, Harriet had left the door open. James now stood in the entrance of the room, his brows drawn downward.
“Your Grace.” Harriet bobbed a curtsy, then snatched the chamber pot and fled the room.
James came and sat beside her on the bed, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words. Dismayed, Bella shut her eyes. She didn’t want him to witness her ill, didn’t want to tell him this way.
Yet slowly she felt the tension ease from her shoulders. James poured her a glass of water from the pitcher beside the bed and wiped her brow with a clean cloth.
“Are you unwell, Bella?” he asked.
“I’m with child,” she whispered.
He captured her eyes with his. “Are you certain?”
“I believe so. I went downstairs to the breakfast parlor only the find the smell of bacon suddenly repulsive. I’ve always loved bacon.”
James smiled as if her explanation made perfect sense. “When Evelyn was with child she could never stand the smell of certain foods. In the beginning of her pregnancy, Jack was desperate to get her to eat.”
“Are you displeased?”
He cradled her in his arms. “I’m pleased, Bella.
Very pleased,
to be precise. Even more that we are to marry.” His voice took on a serious tone. “No child of mine will be raised with the stigma of illegitimacy.”
“The dowager shall have her heir after all,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“If I have my say, it will be a girl.”
She raised her head. “Truly? A girl?”
He grinned. “Yes, a little girl with rich auburn hair the same glorious shade as her mother’s. A little girl I can cherish and spoil and bounce on my knee as I read to her every night.”
Her heart lurched. She was reminded of Wyndmoor’s tenant children. All had adored him. Without a doubt, she knew James would be a wonderful and loving father to his own child.
She was relieved he wanted the child, but at the same time she was flooded with uncertainty. The undeniable truth was that he had mentioned duty and devotion to the child, but not love for her.
The following week was spent in a flurry of activity. The invitations for the ball were sent out, and Bella had begun her fittings with the modiste for a new wardrobe suitable for a future duchess.
As for James, she rarely saw him. His days were spent transferring his remaining cases to his friends at Lincoln’s Inn or in his library office poring over the books alongside the stewards of all the ducal properties he had inherited.
His training as a barrister was evidenced in his handling of his new responsibilities. He was a shrewd businessman who refused to allow others to handle his newly acquired estates without his involvement. As for the nights, he sensed her concern and desire for propriety. She was nervous sharing a bed beneath the same roof as his grandmother. James had respected Bella’s wishes and had not knocked on her door in the middle of the night.
She missed him. Lord, did she miss him.
Two days before the ball, the dowager accompanied Bella to the modiste for the final fitting of the gown Bella would wear to the event. Harriet came along, for the sole purpose, the dowager said, of learning how to properly dress her mistress.
The women entered the Bond Street dress shop. As soon as the owner saw who had walked into her salon, she rushed forth. A middle-aged French woman with a large bosom, Madam Marie had dark hair slicked back in a knot at her nape. She clapped her hands and a young assistant appeared holding an exquisite gown of silver satin.
“Ah, you are pleased with the gown, no?”
Bella’s breath caught as she touched the fine fabric. When she had first learned the cost of the gown, she had been shocked. She could feed a small household for a full month for such an enormous amount. The dowager was quick to point out that James had insisted she was to purchase whatever she desired.
“If you’ll follow me into the fitting room.” Madam Marie escorted Bella through the salon to the fitting room and pulled back a blue curtain. The dressmaker pulled the curtain closed and helped Bella into the gown.
Bella walked to the two mirrored panels mounted on the wall that allowed the shop’s customers to view both the front and back of their clothing. She turned in a circle, noting the seamstresses’ work. The gown fit like a glove, from the tight bodice to the nip at the waist, to the slender flare of her hips. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of James’s reaction when he first spotted her at the ball.
“It’s stunning, no?” Madam Marie said.
Bella twirled the flowing skirts about her legs. The silver satin felt light as air. She’d never owned anything so luxurious, so costly.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“You will make a lovely bride for your duke.”
Bella’s heartbeat skyrocketed. She may not have initially planned to marry, but her future seemed as bright as the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. She was marrying a man she loved, a man as different from Roger as night from day. She had finally escaped her bad memories—memories that had been built over the seven horrific years of her marriage.
She need not fear her wedding night or the years thereafter, waiting for his touch to turn into a brutal assault. Rather, thoughts of the coming nights with James were exhilarating, exciting.
The dressmaker removed a pin from a pincushion at her waist. “The hem needs work. Head up, shoulders back for me.”
Bella complied. Madam Marie was in the process of pinning the hem when the curtain was swept open. The dowager stood in the doorway, her gaze raking over Bella’s figure in the silver gown.
“It will do just fine for the ball,” the dowager said. Her eyes snapped to the dressmaker. “I require a moment alone with the lady.”
Madam Marie’s lips tightened around a mouthful of pins. She stood, grabbed her pincushion, and rushed out. She was clearly accustomed to taking orders from her aristocratic customers.
The dowager stepped inside and pushed the curtain back in place.
The elder woman’s hawklike gaze made Bella nervous. “Is something wrong?” Bella asked.
“James was successful in obtaining a special license from the bishop. It helped that I was always very generous with my donations to the church in the past, you see. You can be married immediately after the ball,” her ladyship said.
Not for the first time, Bella wondered why the dowager had been so quick to accept her. Bella knew the woman wanted a grandchild, but at the same time, Bella was not a titled heiress. The only money she had in her possession was what James had paid her for Wyndmoor Manor.
Just as Bella was pondering these thoughts, the dowager sagged against the door frame. Her posture was awkward, her upper body bent slightly at the waist. Her face went pale, her lips parted, and her breathing came in quick, little gasps.
Bella rushed forward. “Your Grace?”
The dowager held up a shaky hand. “It’s nothing.... It will pass.”
Bella took the woman’s arm in a firm grasp and guided her to a chair in the corner. “How long have you suffered from these chest pains?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I beg to differ. It’s your heart.”
The dowager lifted her head. “How ... how do you know?”
“My father suffered from a weak heart.”
The woman’s voice was fragile and shaking. “I thought ... your father died in a carriage accident.”
“He did, but he often experienced a painful tightness in his chest.”
“My son, the old duke, died of a weak heart. I ... I must have passed it to him.”
Bella stood. “Let me call for help.”
“No!” The dowager grasped Bella’s wrist like a claw. Her cobalt eyes blazed in her face with desperate determination. “No one must know.”
Uncertainty flooded Bella. She wanted to summon aid, but the dowager was adamantly against it. She knelt by the woman’s side and held her hand.
“It will pass soon,” the dowager said in a weak voice.
Thirty seconds, then a full minute, passed as the pair remained in the fitting room. Bella glanced at the closed curtain, torn by indecision. She had made up her mind to call out when the dowager’s pain subsided, and the woman could speak easily once again.
Thank the Lord!
Bella thought. She experienced a flooding relief, a numb comfort that death had been avoided. It was the same when her father had suffered through an “episode.” What could be worse than complete helplessness?
The dowager released her grasp on Bella’s wrist. “You must think my treatment of James as a boy was abominable.”
Bella hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. “He was your grandson, no matter his birth mother.”
The dowager’s face crumpled. Gone was the haughtiness, the superior aristocratic air, and in its place was an old, frail woman.
“I have my regrets,” the dowager said. “You must understand when my son, James’s father, came home from Oxford on holiday he was a hellion. Fathering a child with a parlor maid was one thing, but then he claimed he loved her and disappeared with the chit. I was furious. I’d not have my son, the heir to the dukedom, make a laughing stock of the family. He eventually came crawling home, saying the maid was dead and an infant son born. I provided for the child, and my son settled into his role as a proper duke. I never knew they had married.”
“But James was innocent.”
“Yes, I made a mistake. Gregory was spoiled and indulged. I’ve turned a blind eye to his habits, but truth be told, I’m relieved James is legitimate. He’ll do the title justice. I fear my time is running out to make amends and see his heir,” the dowager said.
A tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed Bella. Should she confess her secret? Consummating their union before marriage was not something any woman would want to tell her grandmother-in-law.
But the dowager was dying.
Bella took pity on the woman. “You may see your heir sooner than you believe,” she said.
Her face lit. “You’re with child? I knew the moment James carried you into my party that my prayers had been answered.”