Beauty in Breeches(42)

Beatrice gazed at him, warding off an icy chill. ‘I sincerely hope so, Julius. You didn’t kill him, did you?’

‘No. And before we go any further I want to tell you that Constance was right. I never gamble. I never have—only with business investments. The game of cards that was to be the destruction of both of our fathers took place at a private gentlemen’s club. There were few present to witness the outcome. Your father lost Larkhill to my father—not to me.’

‘I see. Were you present?’

‘I arrived when the game was over. My father was more excited than usual. I didn’t know why until later. I was deeply shocked and wanted him to return it. He wouldn’t hear of it and told me not to interfere.’

‘You should have told me this. I’m sorry that I made you suffer for it. My father should never have put Larkhill on the table.’

‘Don’t forget that he, too, was desperate. Nor did I kill your father, Beatrice. My father did.’

Beatrice didn’t say anything. She simply sat on his knee, listening as the words began pouring out of him.

‘My father couldn’t believe his good fortune when he won Larkhill. He genuinely believed it would be the answer to all his problems. When he checked its value and found it was heavily mortgaged he became demented. He began drinking—in fact, he became a walking, drunken nightmare. He swore revenge on your father. I arrived at the house when he was about to leave with the intention of confronting your father with a loaded gun. He was so drunk he didn’t know what he was doing. He became violent, so violent that I had to lock him in his room. I don’t know how he got out—his valet, I suppose, though he denied it.’

Combing his fingers through his dishevelled hair, he looked at Beatrice. He must have seen the horror in her eyes, for he said, ‘I think you can guess what happened next. I knew where he had gone and hurried after him. Your parents had rented a small house in Charing Cross. The hour was late and when I arrived the deed was done. Your father was dead, shot in the head, and my father stumbling out of the door. He had thrown down his gun. I left it there. The house was quiet—I had no idea your mother saw me and would naturally believe I had killed him.’

‘That was what she told Aunt Moira, on one of the rare occasions that she spoke. She had found my father’s body, you see, and so deep was the shock that it affected her health.’

‘And your aunt told no one?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Why she kept quiet about it is a mystery—unless she meant to use the knowledge against you at a later date.’

‘She could try, but there are people who would testify that your mother was an ill woman, that her mind had become somewhat unstable following the suicide of her husband. I have restored the Chadwick good name, earning the respect of those in the upper echelons of society. I doubt anyone would listen to the rantings of an aged and bitter woman.’

‘I sincerely hope not. Now that we have resolved matters between ourselves, I would hate to have you cast into prison.’

Julius kissed her forehead. ‘I am not going anywhere, my darling, I promise you. After leaving your father, when I got back to the house, James and Constance were there. They had seen my father arrive home and were worried by the blood on his clothes and the state of his mind. He was quite demented, almost boasting of what he had done to your father. I told them everything that had happened and swore them to secrecy. The next day when my father was sober, he remembered nothing. I did. It was like a nightmare, like a dream in a delirium, so infamous I could scarcely believe it.’

Beatrice stared at him in horror, hardly able to take in what he had told her. ‘I knew there was something you weren’t telling me, but I had no idea it was anything as shocking as this,’ she whispered. ‘But—I don’t understand. Why did you let me go on thinking it was you? Why did you let me go on thinking the worst of you?’

‘Because I was ashamed of what my father had done,’ he answered, choosing his words with care, his conscience smarting with the irony of trying to protect the reputation of his undeserving father while—at least where Beatrice was concerned—damaging his own. ‘Everyone believed your father had shot himself because he could not bear the shame of losing Larkhill. No one stopped to question whether or not the weapon found at the scene might not be his. It was assumed that it was. Nothing on earth would have compelled me to reveal the truth about what had happened and only my determination prevented an almighty scandal at the time of your father’s death. Some scandals dim with time—that one wouldn’t.’

‘So you covered it up and were prepared to let me—and my mother—live the rest of our lives believing my father had killed himself.’

‘In that, my love, I am guilty—and deeply ashamed for my weakness. I am truly sorry and beg your forgiveness.’

‘You have it, Julius, for I understand why you acted as you did. But do you realise what could have happened to you had my mother spoken out?’

He nodded grimly. ‘I can only thank God that she didn’t. I couldn’t tell you. I thought you’d be better off not knowing the burden that lay heavily on the man you married.’

‘What I don’t understand is why you felt you had to protect your father, after all he had done to you and your mother? He was undeserving of your sacrifice.’

‘Like I said, I was ashamed—and at the end of the day he was still my father,’ he said, speaking quietly, the pain of his father’s crime evident in his eyes. ‘It was hard enough for me to accept he had been a failure, without having to tell the whole world he was a murderer. Shortly after that he, too, was dead. As far as I was concerned it was over—I had no wish to resurrect a time that was painful for me. I saw no harm in letting the world go on believing I was the culprit who stole your home—things might have been different had I known about you. As things turned out, it was fortunate for you that Larkhill was one of the few properties I managed to save being taken over by the bank. That was the only good thing that came out of it—and meeting you.

‘The behaviour of my forebears—their addiction for liquor and gaming—has been difficult for me to take. I hoped it was not hereditary—that I would not turn out like them or any offspring I might sire. When I agreed to marry you I knew you were entitled to know all this, but dear God, Beatrice, I could not tell you. I cannot blame you if you hate me for what I’ve done. I deserve it.’

With tears clogging her throat, Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘I don’t hate you, Julius. Never that. I know I said I did, but I didn’t mean it. I love you so much—more than anything on earth.’

When she drew back her head, Julius reached out and wiped a rogue tear away with the tip of his finger. ‘Bless you for that.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I can’t remember when I came to love you. I think it was from the very start—when you challenged me to that damned race. You were feisty, stubborn, an outrageously brave and gorgeous girl who challenged my spirit, blithely incurred my displeasure and refused to yield to my authority—and, much, much worse than that, you mocked my equestrian skills. That was unforgivable,’ he said with a teasing smile. ‘But despite all this your smile warmed my heart and the touch of your lips heated my blood. So you see, my love, I have loved you from first sight and cannot imagine my future without you.’

Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him and smiled tremulously. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me at last. I wanted so much to believe you were innocent. I wanted it so badly to be true, and in my heart I knew it. I love you, Julius Chadwick, and I don’t know what I would do without you.’

‘I’ll see that you never are, sweetheart.’

Suddenly she moved slightly and a look of wonder lit her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach and a smile touched her lips. ‘Oh,’ she whispered, ‘how odd.’

Julius frowned, bewildered by her remark. ‘What is?’

‘Our baby. Oh, Julius, I do believe it moved—like a butterfly fluttering its wings.’

A lump of emotion swelled in Julius’s chest as she took his hand and pressed it against her stomach. With a feeling of awe, he, too, felt the gentle movement of their child.

With her cheek against his chest, she whispered, ‘Now will you take me to bed?’

Without saying a word he swung her into his arms, cradling her tenderly against him, brushing his lips against her forehead. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, intending to give her so much pleasure that she’d be able to forget the misery he’d caused her.



As dawn settled its pinkish shroud upon the land, the circling, confused wind that had battered the earth with a sheeting rain for most of the night had abated. The countryside grew quiet in hushed relief. The very air seemed to hang in breathless suspense, while wraith-like vapours shifted aimlessly among the trees and shrubs and filled low hollows on the land. The house, bounded on three sides by tall, gaunt trees, seemed to merge with the landscape. Apart from a tired, thin spiral of grey smoke rising from the outbuildings to the rear, nothing moved and nothing stirred, not even the lovers, their bodies entwined beneath the covers.