Chapter 28

Over the next few days, Bella hardly saw Simon. He seemed to be quite taken up with business, always leaving abruptly in the middle of the day for mysterious meetings around town. He returned late at night on more than one occasion, and she grew used to his absences at her evening meal.

She thought about going out into the world again—greeting society as the new Mrs. Lyndon—but had not the courage without Simon at her side. He made her feel that everything would be alright in the end whenever he was near. When he was away, she grew nervous about the choices that had led her to this little flat with a husband who was absent more than he was present.

The flat itself was a pleasant enough place. Bella had no qualms about the location or the decoration. In fact, she found it peaceful to be left to her own devices in a world that gave her so many reminders of the man she desperately loved. It smelled like Simon—a mixture of pipe smoke and fresh pine needles—and everywhere she looked about the room she saw his touch.

His library was excellent, though small. Each book was clearly chosen for a purpose. She liked to run her hands along the spines and pause at intervals to investigate this novel or that, wondering what sliver of Simon's personality the book revealed.

There were also odds and ends that clearly held meaning for her new husband but seemed entirely foreign to Bella.

A box atop the mantel was completely empty but for an engraved watch, but when Bella lovingly touched one of the gold filigree pieces on the side a hidden door popped open beneath the velvet lining. The compartment was empty at present, but its existence told Bella this box, like Simon, had allegiances and uses she did not fully understand.

His decorative style was also strange. It took Bella all of three days to determine what it was about the room that felt odd.

"It's French," she realized at last. But so subtly that I did not notice until now. The furniture and pieces were all staunchly English—sturdy and well-made—but they were arranged at odd angles and in peculiar clusters that showed the fashionable mind of a Frenchman. The paintings, too, had English content but a looser and more engaging style.

Bella wondered yet again if she fully knew her husband. He seemed English through and through, patriotic to the extreme and loyal, yet his surroundings looked as though they had been collected over the year from France and the Continent instead of London. Perhaps he had spent more time across the channel than she realized.

Aside from the occasional walk, exploring the flat, and avoiding the public eye, Bella found herself spending more and more time with Mrs. Smith. The housekeeper was a pleasant sort of woman, not at all like the servants with whom Bella had grown up.

Bella's own lady's maid came over every day for a few hours to assist Bella, but there was no place in the flat for a woman of her training to live. Clearly finding this below herself, the lady's maid split her time between Bella's minimal needs and the Collingwood estate.

Mrs. Smith, on the other hand, was well-used to wearing many hats and serving a smaller household. She did not find much offensive by way of her duties, and did not consider it scandalous to chat with her mistress on occasion about the running of the house or harmless ton gossip.

"I must say, my lady," Mrs. Smith said one day, pouring a hot cup of tea for Bella in the kitchen. Bella had wandered in to ask a question about the household accounts, and ended up settling into a wooden chair by the hearth while the housekeeper puttered about the kitchen. "It is good to have another lass around here. Mr. Lyndon is so rarely in, as you well know, but when he is here, Georges is the only other person we see around here. I feel quite out of place."

"You take care of us very well," Bella assured her. She waited for the ribbon of cream to overtake her cup and then took a tentative sip. "Is he always gone like this?"

"As a matter of fact, I've seen more of him since your marriage, not less." Mrs. Smith settled herself into the opposite chair and picked a bit of mending out of a basket at her side. "Before, he was so often at his parents' house or gone from London altogether, at least now he comes back in the evening."

"He seems quite committed to his job," Bella said, uncertainly. "I confess I am not altogether certain what it is. He is a soldier, of course—but what soldiers spend their leave time running off to one meeting or another? The Crown seems to hold an inordinate sway over his schedule."

Mrs. Smith shrugged amiably. "I don't ask questions, my lady. Who am I to comment on a soldier's lot? He hardly wears his uniform, though. I pressed it when he first returned from the continent and haven't had to tend to it again since."

Bella took another sip of tea and soaked up the companiable silence. This woman reminded her, strangely, of Aunt Nellie. Both easy to be around, and good-natured. Aunt Nellie would be shocked by the comparison, but it comforted Bella.

"I hope you're not feeling too… neglected," Mrs. Smith said after the silence had stretched beyond her comfort. "He is a good lad, I assure you. I do not imagine he means to spend so much time away from his young bride."

Bella considered this honestly. She had not felt neglected. To feel neglected, one had to first feel they deserved the time and attention of the offending person. She did not feel thusly about Simon. She expected him to stay away. Whatever was keeping him busy was likely providing a reprieve from the knowledge that he was tied, perhaps forever, to a wife he had not chosen out of love.

Bella did not fault him for this. His choice to marry her had been gallant enough, and when they were together there was an easy friendship in their conversation, but he was careful never to follow things to a romantic conclusion.

Every night since they'd returned to London Bella and Simon had split ways at the little sitting room between the bedrooms. He went to the guest room, and she went to sleep in his large bed…alone. There was no further conversation about this. As far as Bella could see, Simon was happy to keep up the arrangement as long as was necessary.

"I do not feel neglected," she said, forcing a smile. "Mr. Lyndon is nothing but good to me."

Mrs. Smith pursed her lips together as though she disagreed, but did not press the subject further.

It was a full ten days after the wedding before Bella had a visitor other than Simon. She had visited her parents on one occasion, for a brief but cordial tea, but had otherwise kept mostly to herself. Mrs. Smith showed the visitor in with a smile spreading across her rosy complexion.

"Lady Grace," she said, bobbing into a quick curtsy. "I'll fetch some tea."

There was nothing at all ladylike about the way Grace flew into the room when Mrs. Smith vacated the doorway. She hurled herself at Bella, who rose to meet her embrace with surprise and delight.

"You are back from you honeymoon already?" Bella asked, a little breathless.

Grace hugged her tightly and only released her to catch up her hands and kiss them. "Yes, but we shan't dwell on that at present. There is a lifetime to speak about my honeymoon, Bella, but I simply cannot bear to go another second without talking about this news I heard upon returning. You and Simon are married!"

Bella smiled shakily. "Yes, it was quite a sudden thing. I hope it did not distress you—"

"Distress me? Do I look distressed?" Grace laughed aloud. "I have been hoping for just this arrangement for some time now. I hardly imagined Simon would work so quickly… but here you are! We are sisters at last… how utterly delightful."

"Did he… did Simon tell you how we came to be married?" Bella kept her smile carefully in place. "Have you heard the whole story?"

"I haven't seen Simon at all," Grace babbled on. "I haven't had a chance. I returned home late last night and woke this morning to hear the news from Mother. She told me that the marriage was sudden, but she has not had a chance to meet with you both yet. Simon's been busy, as he always is." She waved her hand dismissively at this. "But I hardly waited to hear the rest. If there is a story to be told, I shall hear it from the lips of my dearest friend in all the world."

Ah. So she does not know. That explained the unbridled joy. "Then sit," Bella directed kindly, "and I shall tell you the whole story."

She began with Lord Ramsgate's proposal at Grace's wedding, then explained her meeting with Amelia in the park and the subsequent loss of consciousness that led to her in the carriage with Lord Ramsgate rattling towards Gretna Green.

As she spoke, the smile faded from Grace's face. She looked a little ill. "I had no idea," she murmured. "And I encouraged you to give Lord Ramsgate a chance, on more than one occasion. He is a ruffian."

"Indeed," Bella said grimly. She went on to outline the details of her arrival in Gretna Green, her flight from Lord Ramsgate, and Simon's intervention in the nick of time. When she finished, Grace was sitting in rapt attention with her hands clasped at her lips, eyes wide.

"How on earth did Simon know that you were in danger?" Grace asked.

"He got a suspicious letter from me," Bella explained, "and put together the pieces. It still astounds me, Grace. He seems to have a skill for puzzling out things that other people find perfectly innocuous."

"What did he do with Lord Ramsgate?"

"He gave him a sound thrashing there at the river's edge and then the next day we took him back to London. The cad is now awaiting trial, safely away from other na?ve young ladies such as myself." Bella cleared her throat. "As for Lady O'Mara, I have still not had a chance to speak with her. I am reluctant to make accusations that are incorrect. It could endanger both her reputation and mine."

"This is a wild tale indeed," Grace mused, "but you have yet to tell me how this all resulted in the happy state of marriage between Simon and yourself."

Bella bit her lip. "That's just it, Grace. He married me in Gretna Green to preserve my reputation. Lord Ramsgate, in a bid to control my actions at the altar, fed a false narrative to the London scandal sheets that he and I had eloped together willingly. He made it so that I could not return from Gretna Green as a single woman. Otherwise, the ton would assume my honor had been compromised."

"But married to Simon, you have a shield against such rumors." Grace nodded. "Lord Ramsgate was foiled again, I see."

"Yes," Bella acknowledged, smiling weakly. "Your brother is very kind."

For the first time, Grace seemed to pick up on her friend's reticence. She frowned at Bella. "And yet, you do not look like a blushing bride. Are you unhappy with the match?"

Bella chose her words carefully. "I am grateful for the rescue, but I regret that Simon had to sacrifice his own freedom to achieve it. A man should be able to choose the woman he marries for love. I have stolen that choice from him."

Understanding flooded Grace's face at last. "You think he does not love you."

"I have no reason to suspect he does," Bella said earnestly, "and I do not fault him for it. Grace, he does not owe me his love. He has already offered me protection and kindness. I would not have him think I required more."

Grace opened her mouth as though to say something, and then snapped it shut quickly. When she spoke, she was guarded. "Bella, do you love my brother?"

Bella sat very still, her fingers clenched together in her lap. "Do not ask it of me."

"I will, and you should answer." Grace's voice was firm.

Tears sprouted in Bella's eyes. "I… I shouldn't… I have tried…" She trailed off and stared at her lap for a long moment. Grace had the presence of mind to stay silent, letting the truth come out at its own pace. "Yes," Bella whispered at last. "Yes, I love him. I think I've always loved him. It breaks my heart to see him settling for me, when I know that he deserves the world."

"How do you know he is settling?" Grace asked. "How do you know he doesn't… return your affections?"

Bella looked up sharply. "He has never said as much."

Grace hesitated. "I think you should speak with him again. I know that Simon is not always open with his feelings. Perhaps you did not correctly read his feelings for you."

Bella doubted it. The love she felt for Simon was strong. She had always looked for a sign of attraction from him—just a word or a glance—but since their marriage she had seen nothing. Before that, perhaps there had been a stolen look or two… but now she knew she had manufactured those glances to feed her own desperate desire to be loved in return.

"I do not know," she said noncommittally, not wanting to disappoint her friend.

"I do." Grace levelled her with a pointed gaze. "Talk to him, Bella. The truth is better to know straight-out."