Chapter Forty

“T here’s the chimney of Ivy Cottage above the trees—we’re almost home!”

Bella turned to Lawrence, her face illuminated with her beautiful smile, and his heart swelled with love and pride—pride in the woman he loved more than his own life. And her love for him shone from her eyes.

Would they still shine with love when he told her the truth?

Tell her, Baxter. Tell her before someone else does.

Trelawney’s voice echoed in his mind. He’d taken Lawrence aside after breakfast that morning, issuing a warning. Whitcombe—the imposing, arrogant creature who’d insulted Bella yesterday—had recognized her. It was only by virtue of the man “not wishing to sully his hands with a woman he despised,” as Trelawney put it, that he’d said nothing in public. That and Whitcombe’s friendship with Trelawney.

A friendship Lawrence had hoped to take advantage of, seeing as Trelawney had been recommending Lawrence’s skills to all his acquaintances.

He sighed. Yet again, his hopes had been thwarted. But this time not at Lady Arabella’s hand, but that of a man who despised her.

“My love?”

Concern clouded Bella’s expression. She steered her mount alongside his and leaned forward, offering her lips for a kiss. How she managed to maintain her balance, he couldn’t fathom. But in her former life she must have ridden all the time—and her body remembered.

Sooner or later, her mind would follow suit.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

“No, love.” He forced a smile.

“Is it to do with what you said yesterday—about needing to tell me something?”

He nodded, and his gut twisted at the flicker of pain in her eyes.

“Then we’ll discuss whatever it is once we’ve returned the horses to the inn and are settled at home. We can open that bottle of port Mr. Trelawney gave us, if you like. He wouldn’t stop telling me how special it is. He must think a lot of you.”

They passed the fork in the road leading to the inn, but Lawrence steered his horse toward Ivy Cottage.

“Shouldn’t we return the horses first?” Bella asked.

“I’ll do that once I’ve got you settled at home,” Lawrence replied. “There’s no need for you to overtire yourself. You’re still suffering from your headache. And don’t go denying it, woman—I can see how pale you are.”

She smiled. “You take such good care of me. What would I do without you in my life?”

They rounded a corner, and Ivy Cottage came into view.

“My home,” Bella said. “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t like it at first—but now I love it. And do you know why?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“Because you’re there. You and the children. You’re all I need to be happy.”

Dear God, I hope so…

He lifted his gaze to the heavens as he uttered the silent prayer.

“Oh, look!” she cried. “An enormous carriage.”

Lawrence lowered his gaze. A coach-and-four stood beside the front gate, with a driver and two footmen dressed in red and gold livery.

Very familiar red and gold livery.

His heart plummeted as a chasm opened up in the pit of his stomach.

“Bella, stop,” he said. “I’ll see who it is.”

Ignoring him, she approached the coach and dismounted.

“Are you lost, sir?” she asked. “The inn’s back the way you came.”

“We’re not lost, your ladyship.”

She frowned. “ What did you call me?”

As Lawrence dismounted, the carriage door opened. A footman jumped down from the back and set a block on the ground. Then a man climbed out, heaving his body through the door. He stepped on the block and stumbled against the footman. “Out of my way, damn you!”

Bella froze as the man righted himself and brushed down his jacket—a bright-blue silk, embroidered at the edges in gold thread. Then her eyes widened in recognition.

“Dunton!” she cried. “Your Grace—what are you doing here?”

Lawrence took a step forward. “Bella…”

A second footman climbed down from the coach and blocked Lawrence’s path. “That’s far enough,” he said.

“Lady Arabella.” Dunton issued a bow and offered his hand. Bella took it, then her face broke into a smile.

“I remember!” she cried, her voice filled with joy. “Sweet Lord—I can remember! Arabella… I’ve heard that name in my dreams at night. And now I remember. Arabella, Mariah…” She shook her head. “No! It’s Lady Arabella—Arabella Mariah Ponsford. I’m right, am I not?”

“Yes, my dear,” Dunton said, his fleshy face swelling into a leer. “And you’re the future Duchess of Dunton.”

She nodded. “Yes—that’s it! A duchess—I’m a lady , a-and I’m to be a duchess.”

She turned to Lawrence.

“Oh, Lawrence, isn’t it wonderful? I-I can remember. I know who I am. I…”

“Mama! Papa!” excited voices shrieked from inside the cottage, then the door burst open and the children rushed out.

“Billy!” Bella cried. “Bobby, Jonathan—I can remember who I am. I’m—”

“Thomas!” Dunton roared. “Keep those brats away from my fiancée.”

The thickset footman strode toward the children, fists raised.

“Stop!” Lawrence cried. “Lay a finger on my children, you devil, and you’ll regret it.”

“He’s not the devil,” Dunton sneered. “ You are.”

“Papa, who’s that man?” Roberta asked. Then she turned to Bella. “Mama?”

Bella drew in a sharp breath. “Bobby…” she whispered. Then she frowned and lifted her hand to her forehead.

“Bella, are you all right?” Lawrence asked.

“Don’t you dare speak to her!” Dunton snarled. He drew Bella toward him. “Are you well, Lady Arabella?”

“M-my head hurts.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they glistened with tears. “I-I’m here with…”

She shook her head and glanced toward Lawrence.

“A-are we married? You said you’re my husband. A-and the children…”

“Mama?” Roberta stepped toward her.

“Leave her be, Bobby, love,” Lawrence said.

“Th-they’re not my children, are they?” Bella shook her head. “How can they be my children? M-my accident was…”

“Four months ago,” Dunton said.

“Th-that can’t be true,” she whispered. “No—w-we’ve been…” Her voice trailed off.

“Bella—” Lawrence began.

“Do not presume to address my fiancée!” Dunton boomed.

“Papa,” Jonathan said, “is Mama leaving?”

“She’s not your mother, you vile urchin!” Dunton said.

Lawrence’s heart cracked as Jonathan let out a whimper and clung to his leg. “Papa, has this man come to take Mama away?”

Bella stared at Jonathan—the child she’d taken into her arms before they left for the Trelawneys’ house and called him her most precious boy. But the love Lawrence had once seen in her eyes had been replaced by confusion.

Then the confusion turned into horror.

She lifted her gaze to Lawrence, her sapphire eyes hardening.

“I-I’m not Bella Baxter,” she whispered. “I’m Lady Arabella Ponsford. Who are you?”

Then she let out a low cry.

“Y-you’re the gardener. The one who…” She shook her head, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Y-you said I don’t matter enough to hate.”

“Bella, I didn’t mean it.”

“You did ,” she said. “You said I’m nothing. To you, I’m nothing . Y-you said I inflicted misery on others to satisfy my own joyless life.”

A dark ache swelled in his heart. “Oh, Bella, no…”

“Did you not mean it?”

“Bella, that was then,” Lawrence said. “I—”

“No!” she cried. “Do me the honor of speaking the truth, for once. Did you mean it?”

Lawrence dug his fingernails into his palms to draw his attention from the raw ache in his heart.

“I see,” she said quietly. “You’re not man enough to voice the truth, but I see it in your eyes.”

She tilted her head up, the emotion draining from her eyes, until the fire, the essence of his Bella, faded—doused by the ice-cold soul of Lady Arabella. Though dressed in the same plain muslin gown, she now carried it like a lady. The woman standing before him now was not his Bella.

Nor had she ever been.

“Bella, please,” he said. “Hit me, scream at me…anything to show me how you’re feeling.”

Her lips trembled. Any moment, she would crumple and cry, and reach out in her need for him.

Then she shook her head.

“No,” she said. “You deserve no such consideration after what you did.”

“What did he do?” Dunton asked. “Did he defile you?”

She glanced at Dunton, not quite disguising the fear in her eyes. “No,” she said. “At least, in no way of consequence.”

“Then come with me now, Arabella. This brigand has damaged your reputation. We must be married as quickly as possible to restore it.”

“Don’t go with him!” Lawrence cried. “He’s deceiving you.”

Her smooth demeanor crumpled, and she let out a bitter laugh.

“ He’s deceiving me? What about you ? Reducing me to the life of a kitchen maid—and for what? Vengeance? Hatred? Pray tell me, Mr. Baxter, how would you define deceit?”

Dunton offered his hand, and she took it.

“Papa!” Jonathan said. “Don’t let her go!”

Lawrence moved forward, but the footman raised a thick, fleshy fist.

“Now, mister—don’t be making a fuss. It’ll be the worse for you if you do, and you don’t want them brats of yours without a father, do you? Who knows what might befall them?”

Lawrence’s gut twisted as the footman leered, exposing a row of yellowing teeth punctuated by several gaps.

Dunton placed a possessive hand on the small of Bella’s back. “Get yourself inside, my dear—you look like a common harlot.”

“B-but I must collect my things,” she said, taking a step toward the cottage. Then she hesitated.

“My dear?” Dunton said.

She shook her head. “It matters not. There’s nothing of mine in the cottage. At least, nothing I care to take home.”

Jonathan let out a wail, and Roberta took him into her arms.

“Mama!” William said. “Don’t go!” He ran toward her, but the footman caught his arm, yanking him back. William gave a cry of pain, and Lawrence charged forward.

“Keep your filthy hands off my son!”

The footman let out a laugh, then released William, pushing him aside.

“Papa—please stop her from leaving!” the boy said.

“There’s nothin’ I can do, lad, if she’s wantin’ to leave us.”

For a moment, Bella looked as if she was going to wrench free of Dunton’s grip and rush toward the children, arms outstretched, professing her love for them. Then she turned away, and Dunton led her toward the carriage, pushed her inside, then climbed in.

The footman closed the carriage door then clambered onto the back. With a crack of his whip, the driver set the horses in motion.

“Papa!” Roberta cried. “M-make them stop—please!”

Jonathan wriggled free from Lawrence’s arms and chased after the carriage. “Mama!” His screams of anguish ripped through the air and tore at Lawrence’s heart. “You said you’d stay forever. You said mothers never leave their children!”

The driver cracked his whip again, and the carriage gained speed. Jonathan tripped and tumbled to the ground, shaking with sobs.

“Jonathan!” Lawrence ran to him and tried to scoop him up, but his son pushed him back.

“No, Papa! It’s your fault!”

“Jonathan, I—”

“Bobby!” the child wailed, and Roberta ran over then embraced him, stroking his hair, as Bella had done. William joined her, and the three children sat in the middle of the lane, comforting each other.

“Children, I—”

“Go away!” Roberta said. “We don’t want you—we want Mama.”

“She’s not your mother,” Lawrence said. “She never was.”

“Yes, she was,” William replied. “And we love her, even if you don’t!”

“I do love her,” Lawrence said. “I love her more than anything.”

“But n-not enough,” Roberta said. “If you loved her enough, she would have stayed with us.”

“Mama!” Jonathan let out another wail.

“Come on, Jonny,” William said, “let’s get you inside. Roberta and I can make you some hot chocolate, just like Mama did.”

Between them, the twins helped their brother up. Roberta brushed the dust from his breeches, William took his arm, and they led him inside without even a backward glance.