Beauty in Breeches(38)

‘But—this is alarming. Where is George? Did she not confide in him?’

‘George has been in Brighton for the past two weeks. He is due back tomorrow. As yet I have not informed him that Astrid is missing.’

‘Then I think he should be told. But—why would you assume she has come here?’

‘Where else would she go?’ Lady Standish said in an angry tone. ‘Don’t pretend to be ignorant of it,’ she accused scathingly. ‘She is here, isn’t she? You are hiding her. I know it.’

‘Indeed you are mistaken, Aunt Moira,’ Beatrice answered. ‘When I left Standish House you forbade me to see Astrid and I swear I have not.’

‘Do not trifle with me, Beatrice,’ Lady Standish said. ‘You may have married a marquess, but you are still a nobody.’ Her eyes had taken on a wildness as she looked around at the luxurious green-and-gold room. ‘Just look at this place—look at you. Your scheming has paid off admirably.’

Beatrice bristled with indignation at the affront. ‘My father was a gentleman as well you know, Aunt Moira. I do not consider myself beneath Julius. In our marriage we are equal. Astrid is my cousin and I am worried about her.’

‘Astrid is not your concern. Untrustworthy, that’s what you are. You are together in this. I know you have been down to Larkhill. I am also aware that George visited you there. You are all in it together—scheming against me—all part of the same wicked conspiracy.’

‘There is no conspiracy.’

Lady Standish banged her cane with impatient outrage, her voice rising. ‘Do not contradict me. If you know anything at all, then I demand that you tell me. I am entitled to know where my daughter is.’

‘Clearly Astrid doesn’t think so, otherwise she would have told you. If you do not believe me when I say she is not here, then please feel free to search the house. May I remind you that this house also happens to be my home and should Astrid come here for whatever reason, I would not turn her away.’

Lady Standish looked as though she had been poleaxed. Both hands gripped her cane fiercely, the knuckles white, her eyes staring icily at her niece.

‘Perhaps if you had not insisted that she wed Lord Alden,’ Beatrice went on, ‘she would not have run away.’

‘But they are engaged. It is an excellent match and it is my wish that they wed.’

‘Clearly Astrid has an aversion to the match—as great an aversion as she had when you aspired that she marry Julius,’ Beatrice told her tightly, struggling to keep her anger under control. ‘Julius has spoken to Lord Alden on my behalf—since George told me what you intended I have been exceedingly worried about Astrid. Julius has explained to Lord Alden Astrid’s fondness for another man. From what Julius has told me, he is reconsidering the marriage.’

Lady Standish’s face was chalk white, and when she next spoke her voice shook with fury. ‘And you denied there was any conspiracy. Lord Chadwick had no business, no business at all, to interfere in a matter that does not concern him, and neither have you. How dare either of you disregard the arrangements I have made for my own daughter? This is too much.’

‘I did so because I happen to care for Astrid. I was deeply concerned when George told me you were forcing her to marry a man she does not care for. Where have you looked for her? Have you seen Squire Talbot? That is the obvious place. Is Henry at home? If he is absent and his father ignorant as to his whereabouts, then I would say that is a clear indication they have run away together.’

Her aunt’s body was visibly shaking with anger. ‘If that should prove to be the case, then believe me when I say that her ambition will never be gratified.’

‘Astrid’s ambition has always been to marry Henry.’

‘And I forbid it,’ she replied, her voice brittle. ‘Any alliance between Astrid and Henry Talbot will be seen as a disgrace. She will be censured and slighted by everyone connected to us. I will not have it. You do know her intentions, don’t you?’

‘No, Aunt, I do not, and if I did I would not tell you—not if it meant Astrid would suffer further heartache.’

‘Your defiance does you no credit. How dare you address me in this impertinent manner? You will pay dearly for this,’ she warned Beatrice with a fixed stare. ‘God help me, you will pay the price of what you have done to me. I will not be beaten.’ Struggling to maintain her composure, she stood up and crossed regally to the door, where she turned and looked back, her piercingly cold eyes regarding the beautiful young woman, whose eyes were filled with contentment. ‘So it’s true what everyone is saying,’ she sneered. ‘Your union with Lord Chadwick is working out against all the odds. I believe you have put on a little weight, Beatrice. Marriage clearly agrees with you.’

Beatrice lifted her head and met her stare for stare, reluctant to disclose her pregnancy to this cold woman. ‘Yes. Julius and I are very happy.’

‘And so you should be—after the trouble you caused securing for yourself a most advantageous marriage, you despicable, scheming girl. I know he sent someone to assess Larkhill for its value, which implies he might be going to sell it. It will serve you right if he calls your bluff. You should have thought he might do that when you propositioned him.’

‘Julius no longer owns Larkhill, Aunt Moira. He has made it over to me. So you see, I have achieved everything that I set out to do.’

‘Really? Your scheming is not worthy of congratulations. You think you know Julius Chadwick, don’t you? Perhaps you would not be so cocksure if you knew what the man you married is guilty of.’

Perplexed, Beatrice stared at her. ‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’

‘Ask your lying, two-faced husband,’ she uttered viciously. ‘He knows.’

‘Knows? Knows what, Aunt Moira?’

‘The truth. The truth about how your father died.’

Beatrice laughed a little nervously, then her heart began to beat with a new intensity, as though perceiving she was about to be told something that had been hidden from her. ‘What are you talking about?’

A slow smile stretched the older woman’s mouth, a smile that was pure evil. ‘Why, Beatrice, that your husband is a murderer. After he took Larkhill from your father and found the estate was mortgaged up to the hilt, he killed him.’ Her smile became one of satisfaction when her niece’s eyes widened in deepening incredulity. ‘There, you have it.’

Pain and disbelief streaked through Beatrice and a tiny hammer of panic began to pound in her head. ‘No. You are lying.’ She swallowed past a constriction in her throat. Something inside her had begun to die. ‘This is preposterous,’ she uttered shakily as terror began to hammer through her. Everything in her recoiled from believing Julius was capable of such evil. She knew in her bones he would not do something so wicked as to kill her father and then marry his daughter. None of it made sense. Julius couldn’t do that. He wasn’t a murderer—but then, how would she know?

‘I know you are bitter about what I did, when I challenged Julius, but to say…that—why would you say such a cruel thing?’

‘Because it’s true.’

Her entire body vibrating with horror, a scream of hysteria and denial rose in Beatrice’s throat. But then she recalled what her aunt had said before Julius had taken her from Standish House, that when she came to know the true nature of the man she aspired to marry, how he dealt with those who dared to cross him, she would learn to hate him. Was this what she had meant?

Facing her aunt, she felt each of her enraged words as if it was a blow to her head. ‘I do not believe you. Unable to live with what he’d done, my father killed himself.’

‘If that is what you want to believe, then do so—it’s what your husband wants you to believe—but do you know that for a fact?’

‘Yes,’ Beatrice answered implacably.

‘And I have reason to know,’ her aunt said with equal implacability, ‘that the man you married shot him.’

Beatrice was trying so hard to concentrate and not to give way to the terror of her aunt’s accusation that she dug her nails in her palms. ‘I cannot—will not—believe this. I will speak to Julius. He has to have a chance to deny this—this slander, to explain.’

‘He has no defence. Your mother knew—in one of her more lucid moments she told me when she came back from London, before she took to her bed and turned her back on the world.’

Beatrice’s blood already ran cold, but those words froze her heart. ‘My mother,’ she whispered. ‘She told you that?’

‘She was there. She saw Julius leaving the house. I promise you, Beatrice, I do not lie.’ Her smile was one of venomous satisfaction. ‘Think about it. How does it feel knowing you are married to the man who killed your own father?’

Lady Standish made to leave. Beatrice watched her, feeling quite ill to have confirmation of something she had sensed, but could never put her finger on—that when Julius had opened up to her he had not told her everything. His betrayal of her trust was like a stab in the heart.