Beauty in Breeches(7)

‘Beatrice! How dare you conduct yourself in this manner? How dare you? And to publicly take Lord Chadwick to task over past grievances was outrageous—an absolute disgrace.’

Beatrice’s green eyes flashed, but when she spoke she managed to moderate her tone. ‘I meant no offence, Aunt Moira. Truly.’

‘I know about the wager between the two of you and you forget yourself. Not only do you shame yourself, but me and our good name. I will not have it. You make yourself a disgrace. Such freakish sports are not fitting for a young lady of quality. I will not have the reputation of this family jeopardised by your folly.’

‘I’m sorry if I have upset you, Aunt Moira, but I never could resist a challenge.’

‘A challenge? Beatrice, this is me you are talking to, not a fool. You haven’t the first inkling of social graces. In that I have tried and failed, for you were determined not to learn. By your activities you encourage Lord Chadwick. I see that. Why do you always take such delight in being disobedient?’

Tired of being told what to do, Beatrice averted her eyes, trying to keep her anger and frustration at bay, but rebellion was bubbling away inside her. ‘Because I am old enough to look after myself.’

Lady Moira appeared undaunted. ‘In society no woman is old enough to look after herself in certain circumstances—and you are just eighteen years old.’

‘I am old enough and can look after myself. There’s not one weak bone in my body.’ Her fingers curled tightly into her palm as she tried to remain calm. ‘I have enough good sense in my head to know what I am doing.’

‘That is where we differ, Beatrice. Had you any sense at all, you would not have entered into this disgraceful wager with Lord Chadwick.’ Her eyes narrowing, she thrust her head forwards and glared knowingly at this disappointing niece of hers. ‘What do you hope for? To push Astrid out of her place? To supplant her in Lord Chadwick’s attention? Though this was supposed to be Astrid’s birthday party, you have stolen her attention. In fact, you have eclipsed Astrid in success. There is some doubt that Lord Chadwick will offer for her now. Are you jealous of your cousin, Beatrice? Is that it?’

A frown crossed Beatrice’s beautiful face, then her anger fled and she knew a moment of shame. ‘I am not jealous of Astrid. Please do not think that. I love Astrid as a sister and I would never do anything that would cause her pain. Astrid doesn’t have a place in Lord Chadwick’s affections, Aunt Moira, that is plain to see. You wanted him to notice her. He was polite. You saw what you wanted to see.’

‘And you hate him—remember?’ she pointed out coldly.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Then I would have thought you would have wanted to steer well clear of him. And the wager? I do not believe in flouting propriety in this way. It is the most disgraceful thing I have ever heard in my life.’

‘I am sorry if it has caused you distress, Aunt, but the wager is made. I cannot go back on my word.’

‘And what do you hope to get out of it—if you win, that is,’ she sneered, ‘which I very much doubt, since by all accounts no one handles a horse quite like Lord Chadwick?’

‘Then perhaps he has met his match. I accept that what I am doing is a risk.’

‘Risk?’ Lady Standish gave her a thin, sarcastic smile. ‘I think that is putting it mildly, Beatrice.’

Beatrice lifted her head and looked squarely into her aunt’s eyes. ‘If I win and Lord Chadwick agrees to my forfeit, not only will I be able to return to Larkhill, I will also have the means to make it one of the finest houses in the county. You will also have me off your hands for good, which I know you will look on as a blessing.’

‘That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard. This time you have gone too far. You will not do it. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare disobey me. I will not have it. I will not be accused of being unable to keep my niece in check and made a laughing stock. Now go to your room and think good and hard about what I have said.’

‘I will, Aunt Moira.’ On that note Beatrice excused herself, leaving a thoroughly shocked Aunt Moira staring after her.



Beatrice returned to the party as dusk was beginning to fall. After an hour spent talking to friends and acquaintances, she went in search of Astrid. She found her listening to the musicians. They were all dressed alike in crimson coats and white trousers, seated on a rostrum hung with coloured lanterns. Astrid turned her head when Beatrice stood beside her and smiled. Her eyes sparkled and a pretty flush coloured her cheeks as she sipped a glass of lemonade cooled with crushed ice.

‘There you are, Beatrice. I thought you had disappeared for good.’

‘Are you enjoying your party, Astrid?’

‘Oh, yes. Mama has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make it right. Although I do find it all rather awe-inspiring,’ she admitted, envious of her cousin’s self-assurance.

Beatrice nodded in agreement. Looking around, she saw couples wandering away to indulge in a little starlit privacy. Lord Chadwick was watching her from across the stretch of lawn that lay like a rich velvet carpet between them. He raised his glass and bowed briefly, his smile both approving and challenging as his gaze from beneath hooded lids swept over her with practised scrutiny. She turned away to listen to what Astrid was saying.

‘George is paying a good deal of attention to Leonora Fenton, Sir Philip Fenton’s daughter. He always does. He’s never said anything, but I think he’s quite taken with her. What do you think, Beatrice?’

Beatrice glanced towards where George conversed with a slender, extremely attractive young woman in a yellow high-waisted gown. ‘She’s very pretty. But I wonder if your mother would agree to a match between them.’

‘I don’t see why not. George is of an age to choose his own wife. Miss Fenton has all the required requisites—title and money—so I don’t see why Mama should have any objections. But come, Beatrice,’ she said, linking her arm through her cousin’s, ‘I care nothing to standing still. Let’s circulate. I want to have a word with you about this wager you have made with Lord Chadwick. It is quite insane—you know that, don’t you? Mama is furious.’

‘She’s already spoken to me about it, but I know what I am doing. I will not be bullied out of it. I have no intention of backing out.’

‘But—you could get hurt. Lord Chadwick is not the sort of man to take kindly to being bested by a woman.’

Beatrice stared at her. ‘Bested? Yes, I might well beat him. I certainly intend to try. But does the forfeit I will demand of him not concern you?’

‘No. When you accepted his wager I heard you tell him that you will not ask him to return Larkhill to you, but I suspect it features somewhere in the forfeit.’

‘Yes it does. I wanted to speak to you about the race, Astrid. Your opinion matters to me very much. Aunt Moira has her sights set on Lord Chadwick as a serious contender for your hand in marriage. Will it upset you very much to see us together, racing hell for leather against each other?’

Astrid paused and turned to her cousin, her attitude one of calm resolve. ‘Be assured, Beatrice, that whatever aspirations Mama has of my future husband, it will definitely not be Lord Chadwick. I will not marry him, not even to appease Mama.’

They carried on walking. Astrid said nothing else. Beatrice had expected something—a word of blame, of disappointment, of condemnation for the manner in which she had asserted herself in Lord Chadwick’s eyes, but she had nothing from Astrid but a calm look which was somehow full of relief…and gratitude.

Why, Beatrice thought, seeing her gentle cousin truly, as if for the first time, I have done her a favour. Astrid really didn’t want to marry Lord Chadwick. She never did. She was being pushed into it by her forceful mama, and she, Beatrice, was giving her a way out.

Astrid glanced across at a young man sitting on a bench in the shadow of a spouting fountain. ‘Will you excuse me?’ she said a little breathlessly, excitement leaping to her eyes and brightness lighting her face as she spoke. ‘I can see Henry and I simply must speak to him.’

Beatrice watched her hurry away. Normally Astrid was always far too timid and serious to be giddy. And yet when Henry Talbot was near it was like the sun coming out after a dark period and she suddenly became light-hearted, foolish and gay. With a smile Beatrice turned and sauntered in the direction of the house. Her step was light as she walked slowly along a walkway lined with a profusion of fragrant pink roses that clambered all over trellising. It was a tunnel of shadow, broken at intervals by warm squares of light from lanterns hanging in the trees. With a contented sigh she closed her eyes and listened to the murmur of distant voices, a wistful expression on her lovely face. It was a warm night, heavy and sweet with summer scents.

She intended to find a quiet shady place on the terrace to sit a while before going to her room. The warmth of the evening caressed her bare shoulders and a light breeze stirred the skirts of her gown.