The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(72)

Jasper’s already somber expression darkened. Without another word, he ushered Julia through the arched front door. Made of weather-beaten wood, it swung back on creaking iron hinges, opening into a slate-tiled hall.

Mr. Beecham accompanied them inside. “We’ve not had a chance to get anyone out to patch the leak in the nursery yet,” he said to Jasper in a low voice. “I only received your letter yesterday evening. McCready’s boy delivered it along with your telegraph. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I told Charlie he wasn’t to trouble you while you were in town.”

“Daisy’s not still sleeping in the nursery?”

“I’ve moved her to the adjoining room. It’s dry there, with less of the damp. She might do well to remain there permanently. Even with the money you sent, the repairs will—”

“We can discuss it later,” Jasper said.

“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Beecham replied. “You’ll be tired after your journey and wanting some refreshment.”

Julia’s gaze drifted over the entrance hall as the two men spoke.

An unnervingly steep staircase rose to the right, curving up to the floors above. To the left was a carved stone archway, leading into a sort of drawing room. After divesting her of her bonnet, cloak, and gloves—and removing his own rain-spattered outer garments—Jasper escorted her there, guiding her in front of a cavernous marble fireplace.

Sunk deep into the wall, it was as wide as it was tall. The largest fireplace Julia had ever seen. The roaring fire within its fathomless depths took the chill out of her limbs in record time.

The rest of the room was less imposing. To be sure, there was nothing very gothic about it. It was furnished neatly, if not lavishly, with a plain rug, upholstered sofas and chairs, and heavy draperies shrouding the tall windows.

“I’ve set out a small repast for you,” Mr. Beecham said, following after them. He gestured to a low wooden table in front of the sofa. A tray had been arrayed there, containing a plate of sandwiches, mismatched porcelain teacups, a silver sugar bowl, and a ceramic pitcher of milk. “I’ll fetch the tea from the kitchen. And there’s a cake that should be done soon.”

Julia sank down on the sofa, grateful for the chance to rest. “Do you bake, sir?”

“Aye, I do, Mrs. Blunt,” Mr. Beecham said. “It’s a pleasure of mine, it is. Though there’s little enough time for it when I’m looking after the children.”

Jasper remained standing in front of the fire. His hair was damp, the silver strands at his temples cast into prominence by the bright light of the flames at his back. “They should be helping you.”

“They do help when they’ve a mind to,” Beecham said. “Though I confess ’twere easier when the boys were in school.”

Julia gave Jasper an inquiring look. “They don’t attend school any longer?”

Jasper’s frown deepened. “They did up until three months ago. The schoolmaster’s recently asked that they not return.”

“I’ll fetch the hot water,” Beecham said, ducking out of the room.

Julia hardly noticed his departure. She continued to look at Jasper, brows lifted in question. “Why? Did something happen?”

Jasper heaved a sigh. Moving from the fireplace, he came to sit beside her. “I’d hoped we would have a few hours reprieve before having to deal with all this misery. I might have known that was too much to ask.”

“We needn’t talk about it now if you don’t wish to.”

“I don’t wish to,” he said. “But you’re bound to hear of it eventually—among other misdeeds. The boys have a penchant for getting into trouble, and the schoolmaster, Mr. Filbert, is something of a martinet. At the beginning of last term, Charlie painted a layer of glue on the man’s chair.”

“Oh no,” Julia said.

“Oh yes. And that’s not the worst of it. Filbert sat down unaware during a long lesson. When at last he stood, the seat of his trousers ripped off.”

She pressed her lips together hard to keep herself from laughing. A choked noise emerged nonetheless.

“Don’t.” Jasper’s eyes briefly reflected her merriment. “We cannot be amused by this sort of behavior.”

“No, indeed,” she said soberly.

The humor in Jasper’s expression faded. “It’s bad enough that Charlie should greet you as he did.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Good God. I could box his ears.”

“Should you go and find him?” she asked.

“I will, once he’s cooled off.”

“He seemed dreadfully upset.”

“No more than usual.”

“He must be very angry about you marrying me.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Jasper said. “It’s about me. I warned you about the past casting long shadows.”

Julia waited for him to elaborate, to explain what events from the past had made Charlie so angry at him, but Jasper didn’t offer anything more. “Another secret you’d like to have a reprieve from?”

His mouth hitched in a wry smile. “Something like that.”

“I can wait,” she said. “After all, we have the whole of our lives.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “We do, don’t we?” Lifting his hand, he stroked his knuckles along the edge of her jaw. It was an infinitely gentle caress. Almost as gentle as the words that followed. “How are you, sweetheart?” he asked. “If you’re feeling weary, you must tell me so.”