Page 159 of Harpy of the Ton
Bella placed a hand on her belly—her empty belly. “Nobody can give me what I need,” she whispered.
“You’ll feel all right again in a day or so,” Connie said. “Some sweet tea will settle your stomach. I can bring you fresh cloths and change the bedsheet. Why don’t I—”
“No!” Bella cried. “There’snothingyou can do, Connie! Why can’t you leave me be?” She sank onto the bed, the tears flowing more freely.
Connie placed a light hand on her arm. “Can’t you tell me why you’re so distressed? I want to help.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Bella said, forcing a hard edge to her voice. “Didn’t you hear me the first time?”
“I know what you said, Lady Arabella, but there’s more to knowing what someone’s saying than hearing the words.”
Bella looked into her maid’s eyes. They were a pale brown—wide, expressive, and filled with compassion.
“Connie…” She hesitated. “I-I hoped… I mean, I believed that I w-was…”
The maid’s blush deepened.
Bella rose to her feet. “It matters not,” she said. “Perhaps it’s for the best. After all, the duke…”
“I understand,” Connie said. Then she spoke more brightly. “Now—how about I fetch your cloths, then get you dressed? You’ve been stuck inside these past few days. Some fresh air will revive your spirits.”
Bella approached the window and looked out. Her heart ached as she spotted the hedge at the back of the garden, behind which was the site of the bonfire.
Perhaps what she endured now was retribution for the sins she had committed.
While Connie dressed her, Bella remained silent, staring out of the window, complying with her maid’s instructions like a meek child. She lifted her arms, stepped into her petticoats, and turned her head from side to side as Connie twisted her hair into curls. Finally, she stood before the dressing mirror, looking every part the haughty heiress she’d always been.
Except for the expression in her eyes.
“There!” Connie said. “You look perfect, Lady Arabella. Nobody would know your health was delicate.”
Bella sighed, and a tear ran down her cheek.
“Oh, miss,” Connie said. “I know I’m behaving out of turn, but you look so sad. Is it because you wish you’d not returned here?”
Bella opened her mouth to admonish her, but the words caught in her throat, and she stifled a sob.
“Oh, miss! Were you happy there with”—the maid lowered her voice to a whisper—“the gardener?”
Bella fought to voice her denial, but she surrendered and nodded her head.
“Why didn’t you stay with him?”
“It’s not that simple, Connie.”
“It is, if you follow your heart.”
“Myheart wasn’t the problem,” Bella said. “He didn’t love me. He pretended,trickedme into becoming his wife, and mother to his children—as vengeance. He must have hated me so much for what I did.”
“You burned all his tools, miss, and his drawings. They may have meant nothing to you, but to him, they were everything.”
“Oh, Connie!” Bella said. “You make me quite ashamed. But, you see, that’s why I can never face him. I grew to love him—I still do—but if he hates me so deeply to have taken such vengeance… I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to be hated by the man I love!”
“I think…” Connie began, then the breakfast gong echoed in the distance. “Heavens! Let’s get you downstairs. Let me tidy you up.”
The maid lifted her hand to Bella’s face and brushed away the tears. Unable to withstand the simple act of kindness, Bella took her maid’s hand and squeezed it.
“Thank you, Connie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
