Beauty in Breeches(29)

Her husband looked at her. Wearing a new morning dress, a creation of apple-green twill that emphasised her slender shape and set off the copper and gold of her hair, she looked like an alluring, enchanting temptress. He looked into her green eyes and his hands clenched at his sides as he fought the impulse to rebuke her for holding herself from him after their lovemaking, as though she could not bear for him to touch her again. And yet there had been moments in their second union when he had heard her sigh and her lips had been soft and she had returned his kisses, her hands caressing and clinging instead of clawing as though to steady herself as the climax washed over her. At that moment she had been totally his, dazed and submissive, a woman—his wife.

The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and wrap her around him like a blanket and lose himself in her, to kiss her and tell her that he needn’t leave her, that all she had to do was tell him she didn’t want him to go, that she wanted him to stay with her, was strong, but, knowing the chances of her doing so was remote, without another word he turned on his heel.

His composure held tightly about him, raking his fingers through his hair and Beatrice’s heart, he went out.



Restless in spite of the desultory mood which had gripped her ever since Julius’s departure, over the following days Beatrice wandered about the house. It was the most opulent she had ever seen. Julius had bought it ten years ago with his newly acquired fortune. No expense had been spared. It had been decorated and furnished to his taste with every kind of luxury.

She did her best to acquaint herself with the servants and to familiarise herself with the running of the house, and the sphinxlike butler and Mrs Keeble were patience personified in telling her all she needed to know. Never having involved herself in domestic matters at Standish House, which she had considered tiresome and of little consequence anyway, and having no idea of what overseeing a large house and servants entailed, Beatrice was quite out of her depth.

She worked harder than she had ever worked before, but the multitude of responsibilities and tasks that confronted her daily as mistress of the house, rather than wearing her down, left her pleasantly exhausted and satisfied. She could not help, however, thinking of Julius, and missing him, very much aware how much he had got under her skin. Lady Merrick, who called on her most days, assured her that time would soon pass and he would return, but the confidence with which she spoke, while comforting, also left Beatrice more than a little fearful.

What would happen when he came back? Would the emotional chasm between them become an insurmountable obstacle? Was it possible that they could find a way of living together, or was there nothing there on which to build? There was little time for such thoughts until the day was done. But then, in the solitude of her bed, in the quiet of the night, her thoughts turned on themselves in a confusing mix. At these times she could stand the constriction of her room no longer and walked through the connecting door to pass a lonely vigil lying on his bed, wishing desperately for his return and the touch of his hands.

When she was not involving herself with household matters, Lady Merrick would whisk her away on excursions to the popular tea gardens of Vauxhall across the river and Pancras Wells. Beatrice went on her first river boat and went to admire the flowers at Kew and visited the museums and art galleries. In the afternoons they sometimes took advantage of the clement weather and drove in Hyde Park in the Merrick barouche to see and to be seen, often descending to join the numerous people fashionably strolling the lawns.

Shortly before her husband was expected to arrive home, a letter arrived addressed to her. It was from Julius. She stared at the bold handwriting in surprise, wondering what he could have to say to her that was so important he had to write to her. The letter was brief and to the point, its content making her heart plummet. Circumstances had arisen that meant he had to leave for Portugal on a matter of urgent business. He had no idea how long he would be gone—possibly weeks—and she was to remain in London until such time as he returned.

Beatrice was unprepared for the desolation that overwhelmed her, but she refused to be downhearted. And if Julius thought she was calmly to remain in his house doing whatever wives were supposed to do, then he could think again. Already she was tired of London and longed for the freedoms of the country where she could lose herself in the joy of riding a decent mount—and Larkhill wasn’t all that far away. Suddenly elation swelled inside her and she smiled audaciously as she was presented with a new objective. Half of her was glad Julius wasn’t here so that she could claim back her old home, and that half was starting to enjoy her new status and married life.

And so, the day after she had received her husband’s letter, with a small contingent of servants and having sent a note to Lady Merrick informing her of what she intended, she left for Larkhill.



The days Beatrice spent in her old home were like the golden days of her childhood. The main rooms were furnished with pieces Julius had had sent down from London. She was like a child as she wandered from room to room, beset by so many wonderful memories. The house was filled with shadows, all hazy, dreamlike as she moved about. How wonderful it would be, she thought, if she could remain at Larkhill for ever, but realistically she knew this was not possible. When Julius returned he would take her to Highfield, which was to be her home, but as long as she could visit Larkhill she would be content.

On her third morning while the dew was still on the ground and brilliant rays of early morning sunlight spilled across the lawn, she was pleasantly surprised when George paid her a visit. She met him on the drive, delirious with joy when she saw he had her precious Major in tow. After she had reacquainted herself with her mount, she turned her attention to her handsome cousin.

‘Aunt Moira forbade me to have any further contact with either you or Astrid, George. I shudder to think of her displeasure should she discover you have been here.’

George shrugged, unconcerned. ‘It was most unfair of her to do that. And anyway, I came to see you, not the other way round. We’ve missed you at the house. It isn’t the same without you. You really did put Mama’s nose out of joint when you up and married Chadwick. She accuses you of stealing him away from Astrid.’

‘I suppose it must look like that to her, but in reality it wasn’t. The whole Lord Chadwick affair was your mother’s scheme from the start, a brazen bit of matchmaking in her eagerness to secure for Astrid only the best. It was unfortunate for her that Julius never had any intention of offering for Astrid, so I cannot be accused of stealing him away.’

George frowned, his expression anxious as he studied his cousin’s face. ‘You are happy, aren’t you, Beatrice? You’ve no regrets about what you did?’

‘No, none, George, truly. How can I not be happy when I have all this?’ She opened her arms wide to embrace her beloved Larkhill, laughing joyously. ‘I may not live here since Julius’s home is in Kent, but I can still visit.’

‘You do look radiant, Beatrice,’ George said on a serious note. ‘Chadwick must be doing something right.’

She flushed prettily, remembering her wedding night and all that had transpired. She was impatient for Julius to return so they could live like a properly married couple. ‘Julius is a most attentive husband,’ she said softly. ‘He is away just now—searching for one of his ships that disappeared during a storm in the Bay of Biscay, which is the reason why I’m here now. How is Astrid? Well, I hope?’

‘You will be surprised to learn that my dear sister is soon to follow you up the aisle.’

Beatrice stared at him. ‘You mean Aunt Moira is to allow her to marry Henry Talbot after all?’

George wasn’t smiling anymore. His concern for his sister was plain. ‘Don’t you believe it—no one so lowly. She’s to wed Lord Alden of Alden Hall in Essex—before Christmas, if Mama has anything to do with it. She’s determined not to let him slip through the net. You must have heard of him since he was a friend of Father’s.’

‘Lord Alden? But—he’s an old man—an extremely stout, lecherous old man as I recall.’ Beatrice remembered how Lord Alden had a tendency to grope the female servants if they ventured too close. ‘He’s old enough to be Astrid’s father.’

‘Exactly. Fifty-five, to be precise—and far too old for Astrid. Naturally she is averse to the marriage and spends most of her time weeping in her room.’

‘Poor Astrid. Then she mustn’t marry him. She’s in love with Henry—and he with her. As head of the family, it is within your power to stop her marrying Lord Alden.’

George shook his head. ‘I’ve tried, but you know Mama. Since you left her temper has become much worse. She will not be crossed or argued with and refuses to listen to reason. She’s determined to do this, Beatrice.’

‘But she cannot force Astrid to marry him.’

‘You’re wrong there. When Mama has a bee in her bonnet about something, she’s as immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar. She won’t pass up the chance of Astrid being a countess. Losing her game with you has increased her determination.’