Beauty in Breeches(15)

‘That’s because your head is always filled with other things and you walk about in blinkers, seeing nothing but what is ahead of you.’

Beatrice lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry, Astrid. I don’t mean to. And please don’t be ashamed of me for what I am about to do. Where Larkhill is concerned, I am prepared to throw everything—even my immortal soul—into the battle to get it back.’

‘Your desire to have your home returned to you must be very powerful indeed if you will go to such lengths as to marry the man who took it away from you in the first place.’

‘You will never know how powerful. And as for you, you must talk to your mama. When she realises how things really are between you and Henry, perhaps she will relent.’

‘Thank you, Beatrice, but somehow I don’t believe Mama will consent to a marriage between us.’

‘Get George on side. He might be able to talk her round.’

At that moment the door opened and Aunt Moira came in. Her face was like a stone. Beatrice breathed in deeply. Best get this over with, she thought.





Chapter Four


‘Well?’ Lady Standish demanded. ‘What have you got to say for yourself, Beatrice? Too ashamed, are you? I am simply astounded that not only did you ask Lord Chadwick to marry you, but you practically demanded that he do so. You have behaved in a thoroughly deceitful manner and I will not have it. In one fell swoop you have broken all the rules.’ Beatrice raised her head and looked at her aunt defiantly, which increased her wrath. ‘How dare you humiliate me and make me look foolish in society? How dare you?’ She was puce with anger and her voice rose until she was almost screeching.

‘I understand that your feelings are hurt and I am sorry to have caused you so much distress, Aunt Moira,’ Beatrice uttered stiffly.

‘Distress? That is putting it mildly,’ Lady Standish said, her aristocratic voice dripping with disdain. ‘Of course as your guardian I can stop this. You do realise that, don’t you?’

‘But why would you want to?’

‘To stop you making a fool of yourself and this family. What will you do if I don’t allow it?’

Both women were facing each other. Beatrice refused to be bowed. Her sense of outrage kept her anchored to the floor.

‘I’ll do as I wish. You cannot stand in my way. Of late I’ve done a lot of thinking. I am eighteen years old—a woman—and I shall decide my own destiny. Ever since I came to live here you have wanted me off your hands. I am happy to oblige you.’

‘Enough,’ Lady Standish ordered. ‘I am your aunt! How dare you speak to me in this disgraceful manner? I have indulged you overmuch. What other reason can there be for such behaviour? You owe me your respect. For shame! Must you always think of yourself, you insolent, ungrateful girl? You have planned this from the start. Oh, I am not deceived by you, Beatrice. You have wanted him for yourself ever since we returned from London. You seek to deny Astrid the privilege of winning his favour.’

‘Lord Chadwick never had any intention of offering for Astrid. And Astrid would not favour a proposal from him anyway, feeling as she does about Henry Talbot.’ She looked to where her cousin sat shrinking in a chair, watching and listening to the heated words between her mother and her cousin. ‘Is that not so, Astrid?’

‘I—I do have feelings for Henry,’ she confessed, which was a brave thing for her to say, for, like all young ladies of her social class, Astrid had been taught since childhood that her duty as a daughter was to marry in accordance with her parents’ wishes. ‘I don’t want anyone else, Mama,’ she said in a tear-clogged voice. ‘I want Henry.’

The admission was made with such humble, hopeless misery that anyone but the hard-hearted Lady Standish would have been moved by it. Instead she glared at her. ‘I think Henry Talbot presumed on your friendship and the freedom his parents have allowed him to dally at Standish House in the hope that something would come of his association with you. He is naïve to think so. That will never happen. You would be marrying beneath you.’

‘I do not think Squire Talbot would care to have his son regarded as just anyone,’ Beatrice dared to say. ‘Henry is a fine man. He may look naïve, but I’ll wager he’ll make the best husband for Astrid.’

Lady Standish fixed her ice-cold eyes on her niece, her mouth twisting with derision. ‘A farmer? I don’t think so.’

‘There is nothing to be ashamed of in that,’ Beatrice argued. ‘Henry loves the land and farms his father’s acres tirelessly.’

‘But as a younger son it will never be his. I do not like speaking ill of Squire Talbot for we have been friends and neighbours for more years than I can remember, but you deviate, Beatrice. This is not about Astrid, but about you.’ Beatrice moved towards the door, but Lady Standish barred her way. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To my room.’ With defiance Beatrice walked round her.

‘And Lord Chadwick? I warn you, Beatrice. You go to him with nothing. I will not provide you with a dowry. You are a nobody and as such he will regard you like a plaything and soon tire of you and marry someone else.’

Beatrice turned from the doorway and looked back at her aunt, her brows raised in questioning sarcasm. ‘Will he? And you are sure of that, are you, Aunt Moira? And this is the man you wanted for Astrid, is it—for your own daughter? Then consider yourself fortunate that he is marrying me instead.’



Beatrice was in the hall when Lord Chadwick was admitted the following morning. Their eyes met. His mood was again mocking, his eyes devouring, hers nervous and uncertain. Under his openly admiring regard, she flushed crimson. She heard his soft laugh, then he turned and went into the drawing room for his meeting with her aunt. As she followed him she noted that he was completely at ease and terribly confident of himself.

Lady Standish was seated in her usual chair by the hearth and did not trouble herself to rise when he entered. The turn of her head and the coldness of her smile conveyed very clearly that she did not approve of this marriage and that he should refuse to have any part of it.

‘I think you are expecting me, Lady Standish,’ Julius said in crisp tones, seeing Beatrice take a position away from her aunt.

‘I am. Please be seated.’

‘No, thank you,’ his hard, confident voice replied. ‘I am content to stand.’

‘As you wish. I am interested to know your opinion about this outrageous situation concerning my niece. I am sure you will agree that her conduct is shocking.’

‘I do agree, Lady Standish.’ He glanced at the young woman in question with a mocking smile lightly curving his lips, wondering how she would react if he were to tell her how he had been unable to wipe her from his mind. Memories of the way she had felt in his arms, the heady sweetness of her kiss, had kept him awake all night. What a proud, spirited beauty she was. She excited him, she shocked him, and while he did not consider himself remotely in love with her, he was in her thrall.

He was aware of what she wanted and was tempted to refuse her, but the prospect of his safe, orderly life without her horrified him. It was as if she’d bewitched him, this wicked, beautiful creature, and he could not break away.

Julius had suffered hardship and tragedy throughout his life and his emotions had been stunted, which was why he had never married. His relationships with women were about sex. Just the same, he mused as he looked at Beatrice Fanshaw, life could still deliver surprises.

It was a difficult moment for Beatrice, who did not know what to expect. She wanted to maintain an air of cool disdain, to face Lord Chadwick in calm defiance, but her mauled pride and an aching distrust of the future assailed her senses. Momentarily blinded by a rush of tears, she lowered her head, but, furious with herself that she should display such weakness, lifted it again and found his amber eyes resting on her with something akin to compassion or pity. It was almost too much for her to bear.

‘Beatrice always was an underhand, quarrelsome girl,’ Lady Standish went on coldly. ‘She has a tendency to deceit and does not have the character and disposition of my own dear daughter, Astrid. You have given some thought to her—her idea,’ she said, for want of a better word.

Beatrice knew then why she disliked her aunt so much, for it was in her nature to wound her cruelly. No matter how she had tried to please and obey her when she had come to Standish House, all her efforts were repulsed and repaid by such words as Lady Standish had just uttered. The accusation cut her to the heart, especially as her aunt had voiced it before Lord Chadwick. The unkindness painted her as some kind of artful, obnoxious creature, tainting any future happiness she hoped for.

Julius considered Beatrice a moment before replying to Lady Standish’s question. ‘As a matter of fact I have given it considerable thought.’

He stared rigidly at Beatrice, his profile harsh and forbidding. With a sinking heart she knew he was thinking hard for some way out of marrying her; she also knew that behind that tautly controlled façade was a terrible volcanic rage. With the silence grating on her nerves, she held herself still and waited for him to speak, his expression becoming darker and more ominous by the second.