The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(109)

“But my fortune—”

“To hell with your fortune.” He came to her, sinking down on his haunches in front of her chair. “If it must come between having you and having your fifty thousand pounds, my choice is clear. Let your father have the money and be damned.”

His words should have reassured her.

They didn’t.

“What about my choice?” she asked.



* * *





?Mr. Piggott’s letter had unsettled Jasper deeply. Standing in the drawing room, poring over its contents, he’d recognized at once the very real danger to their lives here. The legitimate risk to the children, and to himself.

And not just to them.

He had a wife to think of now. The mere idea of losing her—of giving her up—was enough to make his blood run cold. By the time he’d finished reading the solicitor’s words, the paper those words were written on had been crumpled in Jasper’s fist. It had taken a herculean effort to bring his anger under control.

And now this.

He stared at Julia, unable to comprehend her meaning. “What choice?”

“It’s my fifty thousand pounds,” she said. “I won’t relinquish it to my father.”

“Do you think I want you to?” he replied. “It’s Piggott who advises it. He believes it’s the only way to get your father to leave us alone. If we don’t let him have the money, he’ll make a nuisance of himself, digging around in our private affairs until—”

“Let him.”

“What?”

“Let him,” she said again. “What care we for his slander? I already know the worst of your history. And it isn’t as though the children will be surprised by it.”

He shook his head. She didn’t understand. She never would, not without knowing the whole of it. And that was something he couldn’t share with her. Not now. Not ever.

“No,” he said. “It’s out of the question.”

“My aunt Elinore left that money to me, not to my father. And we need it, don’t we? We have our plans for the roof and for the tenants’ cottages—”

“None of that matters now. Not when—”

“How can you say that when it’s the whole of the reason you came to London? You were in need of an heiress.”

“I married you believing you penniless.”

“Yes, but—”

“And it’s all beside the point!” He surged to his feet. “If your father insists on delving into my past, no amount of money in the world will be enough to hold on to any of this.”

Her eyes widened. He’d never before raised his voice to her.

He turned from her to move back to the fireplace, feeling like the veriest brute. “Listen to me.” He made an effort to moderate his tone. “I don’t propose this lightly. I know what that money could mean. But no amount is equal to the well-being of our family. If we make a legal dispute out of this, it could ruin us.”

Indeed, it could ruin everything.

He’d known that from the beginning. It was the reason he’d restricted his search for a wife to ladies whose relatives would ask no questions. Ridgeway had claimed the Wychwoods were such a family. Invalids anxious to marry off their wallflower daughter to any respectable gentleman who would have her.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

Nothing about Julia had been what it seemed, least of all her sickly parents, who—it transpired—wanted nothing more than to keep their daughter as close to them as possible, even at the sacrifice of her own happiness.

“Will it truly be so expensive?” she asked. “To have Mr. Piggott oppose my father’s attempts?”

“Piggott doesn’t stand a chance against Birchall, Crawley, and Micklethwait. We’d have to hire someone better. Someone more expensive.”

“What about Mr. Finchley? You told me he’d be your first choice if—”

“It isn’t an option,” Jasper said. “Not just because of the money. Because of the notoriety it would bring. I won’t subject the children to it. I’m sorry, but that must be my final word on the subject.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes. It took her a moment to rally. “Naturally, I don’t wish to expose the children to anything unpleasant, but . . . I have my rights. I can’t permit someone to take them away from me. Not my father.” She paused before adding, “And not you, either.”

Jasper’s jaw hardened. He rested his fist on the mantelpiece, hating himself for what he must do. “How do you propose to go about securing those rights?” he asked. “You haven’t the means to hire a solicitor of your own, and I’ve no intention of providing you with them.”

She stiffened in her chair. In the space of but a few words they’d gone from allies to combatants. “I shall start by writing to Hoares Bank again, and this time in the most severe terms.”

“Yes, that should solve things,” he said dryly. “A strongly worded letter.”

She continued, undeterred, “I shall write to my father as well. I can’t believe he’d stoop to causing a scandal. He deplores the very idea of gossip. Besides, he doesn’t need my fortune. If we relinquish it, there’s no guarantee he’ll alter his course.”