Beauty in Breeches(16)

When Julius saw her putting up a valiant fight for control, a fight she won, his temper softened. Standing before him, she looked like a proud young queen, her eyes sparkling like twin jewels.

‘And have you come to the sensible conclusion that you don’t suit?’ Lady Standish remarked coldly.

‘On the contrary,’ he replied, bringing his gaze back to her, ‘I think we might suit very well. In the beginning I confess to being shocked by the forfeit your niece asked of me and I did not consider it lightly. I am not usually a man of hasty decision when it concerns a lasting relationship, but I suppose you could say that Miss Fanshaw forced my hand.’

‘Then you are quite mad, sir. Beatrice is no relation of mine, but you do realise that I could prevent this if I so wished?’ Lady Standish rushed in, her temper getting the better of her, pushed beyond the bounds of reason by her niece’s unacceptable behaviour and the scandal that would ensue. ‘Beatrice is eighteen. I am her guardian until she comes of age or I consider it time that she marries.’

The room was as cold as winter in January. Julius stared at the almost demented woman, her eyes feverishly bright, her hands clenched so tightly into fists that her blue veins bulged out. She meant it, he realised. She was evidently so consumed with loathing for her niece that she would subject her to a lifetime of misery for daring to defy her by taking away the man she had selected for her own daughter.

‘Why would you want to do that, Lady Standish? Because you care so much for your niece that you put her happiness first—or for spite?’ he said, overstepping the bounds of politeness. ‘It is obvious to me that she is no favourite of yours.’ He turned his head sharply to Beatrice and studied her face as if he’d never seen her before. His granite features softened and his eyes warmed, as if he understood how humiliated she felt. ‘Do you still want to go through with this?’

Beatrice gazed up into his inscrutable amber eyes and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘That’s all I wish to know.’

Lady Standish’s face whitened at his words. ‘You cannot seriously mean to go through with this—this farce of a marriage!’

A muscle twitched furiously in Julius’s cheek as his angry glare took in the older woman. He loathed her at that moment. The injustice of an innocent being so harshly maligned gnawed at every chivalrous inch of his body, although he did wonder what he was getting into. ‘I intend to do exactly that. From now on Beatrice will be my responsibility.’

‘Then good luck to you is what I say, for you will need it. The girl’s a liar and an ambitious schemer. She’s trouble, a hellion, and you will live to regret taking her on. I will not pretend that I am happy about this ill-conceived marriage. However much it galls me, however much it denigrates my family’s good name, I must accept it. But you’ll get no blessing from me,’ she said, her voice tight with fury and bitterness.’

Julius’s voice was scathing. ‘I think we can manage to live without it.’

Lady Standish glared at her niece, noting the familiar jut of defiance in her chin. ‘I cannot stop you doing this foolish thing, Beatrice. But if you do you will not get my acceptance. I will be forced to cut you off from your family and our connections. You will not get a penny from me. You will be cut off from everything you have known.’

Beatrice managed to raise her head and meet her aunt’s gaze unflinching. ‘I am sorry you feel that way, Aunt Moira, but I do have a right to choose my own life.’

‘Choice you have, girl,’ her aunt replied contemptuously. ‘You have always had it, but the choice to do the right thing. If you leave this house now, you will never return. I will have nothing more to do with you. You have made your bed so you must lie in it. You will not speak with Astrid or George again. You will have no communication with them. Is that clear?’

Beatrice almost choked on the hurt this caused her, but she managed to utter, ‘Yes.’

Julius’s eyes had turned positively glacial during this short exchange. ‘You have my guarantee that as my wife Beatrice will be supported in a manner suitable to her upbringing. It is certain she must no longer live here where she will continue to be subjected to the malice of a woman who calls herself an aunt.’ These words were delivered in a cold, lethal voice, his eyes gleaming with a deadly purpose. ‘Having seen for myself your unfair treatment of your niece, I suspect that, failing to get what you want, you will not hesitate to stoop to slander to soothe your wounded pride. I trust you will think twice before you resort to such vile practice. Beatrice is under my protection now, and believe me, you don’t want to have me for an enemy.’

Lady Standish drew herself up with dignified hauteur, but exposed her fury by the way her hand gripping the arm of her chair trembled. ‘Please do not threaten me in my own house, Lord Chadwick. Beatrice has only a little knowledge of the kind of man that you are, having stolen her birthright, but I have more. In time she will come to know you, to know how you treat those who dare to cross you, and then she will hate you.’

Observing the puzzled look that crossed Lord Chadwick’s face, she smiled a chilling, satisfied smile, but she would not enlighten him as to what she was referring. She would save that for a later date and enjoy flinging it in his face.

‘Now I would appreciate it if you would leave this instant and take Beatrice with you. Indeed, the more I look at her, the more relieved I shall feel to be rid of a responsibility that is becoming too irksome.’ Seeing how Beatrice flinched under the biting remark, she was glad to know it had hit its mark. ‘I can’t say that she has been a pleasure to have around.’

Bemused by what she had said, Julius was pushed to ask her to explain what she had meant by it, but, impatient to leave, he turned his gaze directly to Beatrice. Only then did he realise the gamble she had taken by taking up his wager, which, once accepted, had started off a chain of events from which there was no going back on.

By asking him to marry her she had risked throwing away not only her reputation, but her family and her home. If he refused to marry her, with no one in the world to lighten her cares, penniless, she would have to leave this bizarre household and fend for herself. As a result of that wretched game of cards, inadvertently, but effectively, her future, like his own, had been destroyed. And yet, as he looked at her, he reluctantly faced the fact that she was a far cry from a pitiable homeless waif.

His mind made up, he said with implacable finality that warned further argument would be futile, ‘It is settled, then.’ Looking at Beatrice, he raised a finely arched brow. ‘If you have anything more to say to your aunt, please do so, then get together whatever you wish to take with you. I will wait in my carriage until you have concluded your business.’

With that he strode to the door, and Beatrice caught a glimpse of his angry, aristocratic profile, then he was gone. Having nothing else to say to her aunt, she followed him. After going to her room and gathering the few possessions that belonged to her, she left Standish House for the last time.



‘Now, then,’ said Julius, lounging against the rich upholstery in his elegant open carriage and crossing his long legs in front of him, ‘now we can relax.’ He smiled at the alarm which entered his companion’s eyes when his driver proceeded to travel along the London road. ‘Why, what is it?’ he asked blandly. ‘Is there something you have forgotten? Do you have something to say? By the look on your face I would wager that you have. Please don’t disappoint me by holding it in. I would hate to see you explode with frustration.’

Perched stiffly on the cushioned seat across from him, and having spent a moment to adjust her skirts in an effort to avoid meeting his gaze, Beatrice now shot him a mutinous, measuring look. ‘Believe me, Lord Chadwick, you wouldn’t want to see me explode. And, yes, there is something I wish to say. I thought…’

Seeming to find amusement in her confusion, he laughed lightly. ‘What? That I was taking you to Larkhill? Surely you didn’t think we would live there. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid not. My companions left Larkhill for London earlier. I have pressing matters of business to attend to and I am in a hurry to get there myself. But take heart. I am sure you will find my country residence in Kent every bit as pleasant as Larkhill.’

Beatrice’s fury, combined with her disappointment, was immense. ‘I doubt it,’ she snapped ungraciously, leaning back in her seat and glowering at the passing scenery. ‘Larkhill was my home.’

‘When we are married you will look on Highfield Manor as your home.’ Withdrawing a thin cheroot from his jacket pocket, he lit it, bending his dark head and cupping his hands over the flame. Unconcernedly he blew smoke into the air.

Beatrice expelled an angry breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and the sound made him glance at her sharply. His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry.

‘Do you mind?’

‘I’ve never seen a man smoke a cigar before,’ she said. ‘They—always smoke in another room.’