The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(71)

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I want it, too.”



* * *





?An hour later, amid a pounding rain that fell sideways as much as downward, they passed Hardholme. Another five miles, jolted in the carriage as the wheels rolled over the deserted scrap of uneven road that cut through the North York Moors, and the tall iron gates of Goldfinch Hall appeared in the distance.

Jasper drew back the curtain for his wife to see. “There. Is that gothic enough for your romantic sensibilities?”

Julia leaned across him to get a better look, bracing one hand on his thigh. “Gracious. How sinister they look! And they’re standing open, too.” She glanced back at him. “Do you suppose that means Mr. Beecham and the children are waiting for us at the house?”

“Possibly.” Or it might mean that the last person to go through them had failed to shut them. The Hall housed a veritable collection of savages—Daisy among them. For all Jasper knew, the gates had been standing open for the entirety of his absence.

She sat back in her seat. Her face was anxious. “I wish I’d had time to buy gifts for the children.”

“Your presence will be gift enough,” he said gallantly.

She gave him an amused look. “If that’s what you think, you must not remember your own childhood very well. A new toy or a book means the world to a child.”

“They have books,” he said.

If only she knew how many.

A part of him was eager as a lad to show her. To share it all with her—this remote, ramshackle place that would soon be her home. A place where she would remain, to be his own and to live with him for the rest of his life.

“You can never have too many books,” she said. “That’s a fact.”

He refrained from comment.

Julia didn’t notice his lack of reply. She was too busy straightening her skirts and smoothing her hair.

He watched her with possessive attention, learning all her various fidgets and idiosyncrasies. Committing them to memory.

She had nothing to be concerned about. Wearing a carriage dress of lobelia blue silk, her ebony hair swept back in a black velvet–trimmed net, she looked beautiful, just as she always did. It was a beauty that shone out of her like a beacon, irrespective of outward trappings, warming whoever was fortunate enough to fall within its proximity.

It warmed him, even now. Even though he was fully aware of what was to come.

But there was no prolonging his pleasure.

Inevitably, the carriage turned the familiar corner, advancing up the sloping drive. The same corner Jasper had turned six years ago, the future stretched before him, seemingly endless with possibility.

He pulled back the curtain once more. The great stone house loomed ahead against a slate-gray sky, as hateful to him now as any fairy-tale castle might be to the creature cursed to exist within its walls.

“There it is,” he said grimly. “Goldfinch Hall.”





Twenty-Two





Julia held tight to Jasper’s hand as he assisted her out of the carriage. It took an effort not to gape at the house.

The monstrous edifice was built of granite that had severely weathered in places, giving the surface a look of perpetual shadow. A mad tangle of heavily thorned wild roses climbed the high walls, encroaching on the arched windows and doorways in an oddly sinister fashion. Only a few rain-battered blooms were evident among all the prickly leaves and spikes, their overblown petals as red as freshly spilled blood.

No wonder people said it was haunted. With its imposing facade and air of derelict grandeur, it appeared like something from a gothic story. All gloom and decay and lingering mystery. A castle under an evil fairy’s curse. Heavens. There was even a tower!

Stepping down onto the muddy drive, she took Jasper’s arm. He shepherded her through the rain and up the moss-covered stone front steps. An aged gentleman awaited them at the top, sheltered beneath a stone outcropping. His eyes were keen with intelligence; his gleaming bald head complemented by a profuse white beard.

A boy stood next to him—young and slim, with a mop of black hair, and a scowl etched so deeply into his narrow face it might have been carved there with a chisel.

“My dear,” Jasper said, “this is Mr. Beecham. And this young man is Charlie.” He set a hand at the small of Julia’s back. “Beecham, Charlie. This is my wife. I trust you’ll make her welcome.”

“Mrs. Blunt.” Mr. Beecham bowed. “Welcome to Goldfinch Hall.”

“Mr. Beecham.” Julia inclined her head. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.” She turned a smile on Charlie. “And I’m very pleased to meet you, sir. Your father’s told me so much about you.”

The boy’s features hardened. “He’s told us nothing about you.”

“Charlie.” Jasper’s voice held an unmistakable note of warning.

Charlie didn’t heed it. Without another word, he bolted off into the house.

Jasper’s muscles tensed as if he might follow him.

Julia squeezed his arm. “It’s all right.”

Jasper’s jaw tightened. It plainly wasn’t all right. Not as far as he was concerned. “Where are Alfred and Daisy?”

Mr. Beecham was shamefaced. “Run off, sir. I haven’t seen either of them since breakfast.”