The Devil May Care

by Emma V. Leech

  Beau shook all of their hands and turned back to Milly as the children crowded around him to see her laughing helplessly.

  "You look just like the Pied Piper," she said, gurgling with mirth.

  He snorted and shook his head. "Alright then," he said, resigning himself to the inevitable as the butler made an exclamation of alarm.

  "Your Grace!" he said, with deep disgust. "You cannot be thinking of letting those ... those filthy creatures ride in the carriage with you to Greythorpe? You'll likely be murdered and robbed!"

  Beau turned and silenced the butler with a quelling look before taking Milly's hand. "This is my wife, Lady Ware," he said to the boys. "You will be polite and mind your manners in front of her."

  "Yes, mister Grace," they replied as the older boy swiped grubby hats from their heads.

  "Your Grace," Beau said, shaking his head. "You address me as your Grace, not mister Grace." He wondered just how many times he would need to repeat that advice over the coming weeks and handed Milly into the carriage. He turned back to the boys. "Well come along then, I don't have all day," he tutted, and then gave a rueful grin at Milly as he realised his carriage ride was likely to be entertaining but not at all in the way he'd imagined.

  ***

  The journey was indeed entertaining. Ten minutes along the road their ears were assaulted by the loud rumbling of empty bellies and Beau instructed the carriage to stop and food be found for them. The next half an hour was quieter while they watched the boys devour apples, fresh bread and cakes, and scatter crumbs all over the plush carriage.

  The little of the boy's history that could be gleaned from them made Milly's heart ache. Fred had never known his mother and his father had been a drunkard too handy with his fists. One day the man simply hadn't come home and Fred had found himself on the streets. Little Robbie had been born in a brothel and turned out when his mother died of syphilis. Fred told silent Charlie's story as apparently the boy rarely spoke at all. He'd come from a good family by the sounds of things, he was about ten years old and could read and write a little. His parents had died of influenza and with no other family he'd been sent to the workhouse. Conditions there, however, had been cruel and so appalling that he'd run away.

  Milly looked over at the boys and felt her heart lift at the hand fate had dealt them in running to find Beau. She couldn't help but smile. Her husband undoubtedly had a very good heart, though at this rate they'd be housing half of London by the end of the week. Now their stomachs were full and with no threat of danger hanging over them the smallest boy was snoring with soft little huffs, the other two catching flies with their heads resting against the squabs.

  "What now?" she asked, glancing up at Beau who was staring at his young charges and looking thoughtful.

  "You know I said I wanted to chase the ghosts away," he said, turning to look out of the window as the glowering outline of Greythorpe's rooftops became visible against the bright blue of the afternoon sky.

  "Not in front of the children!" she scolded, tutting as he turned back to her. He laughed, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. "Very well but I meant it," he said, the threat that he would make good on his words glinting in his eyes. "And I mean to embark on that plan as soon as possible," he added, tilting her chin and pressing his lips to hers. He looked back at the boys and gave a sigh of frustration. "However, that wasn't all I meant."

  Milly looked up at him with interest and found he looked strangely unsure of himself.

  "So," she pressed, as he looked back at Greythorpe again, the towering chimneys and dark windows giving the place a rather menacing appearance as it appeared through the trees.

  He sighed and took hold of her hand, curling his long fingers around hers. "My father was not considered good ton," he said with a twisted smile. "And as I'm sure you are only too aware my own reputation is rather ... colourful."

  She made a sarcastic noise of amusement and then regretted it as doubt flickered in his eyes. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "I'm sorry, Beau, go on."

  He sighed and for a moment she feared that he wouldn't confide in her after all. She waited, hoping she hadn't made him reconsider and was rewarded when he looked down at her, his eyes grave. "I told you once that my whole family was littered with madmen and murderers."

  "Yes," she said, nodding and wondering if she would ever be able to help him chase the dark memories of his past away from his home.

  "And so it is, and I'm sick of living with it. I'm tired of feeling that everything around me is tainted and ..." He paused and she could see him trying to put it into words. "I used to think I was destined to be as vile as my father. Because of our bad blood, but maybe ... maybe something of my mother won out after all because I want to change that." He lifted her hand to her lips and kissed it, smiling at her. "I've never told you about my mother have I?"

  She shook her head and he glanced at the children. "I want to, and I will, but not now. But, Milly, I want to do something good. I want the name of Ware to be remembered for something other than all the black deeds that have gone before, to leave something behind that ... that our children could be proud of."

  He looked back at her and she felt her breath catch, quite unable to disguise the look of shock in her eyes.

  His face fell. "You thought I said it just to get you into bed didn't you?" he murmured, his tone dejected.

  Milly felt a rush of remorse, because yes, she had believed exactly that. He had been so adamant that the name should die out when they first met. It had never occurred to her that he really might change his mind.

  He snorted and shook his head. "Well, I can't exactly blame you I suppose."

  She was silent for a moment, trying desperately to process the information that he wanted them to have a family. The idea made something inside her ache with longing.

  "Does the idea appal you?" he asked, his voice quiet and avoiding her eyes.

  "No!" she exclaimed, pulling his hand into her lap and holding it between hers. "How can you think it would?"

  He didn't answer but they sat together as the carriage made its way up the gravel drive toward the house.

  "So what is it you want to do, Beau?" she asked, still reeling from the idea of having his child but keeping her voice gentle in the hope he would tell her what plans he'd been making.

  He turned towards her, those dazzling blue eyes making her catch her breath. "A school," he said, grinning at her. "Mrs Buss will probably never speak to me again, but ... I want to open a school for boys."

  Chapter 26

  "Wherein our heroine works on the element of surprise."

  Milly watched as Beau escorted his ragtag band of boys around to the stables to be reunited with Jimmy. She wondered if he had any idea what he was getting into, but even if he did, she knew he wouldn't back down. He kept his promises. Even rash ones like marrying a strange, frightened female no one else would touch. She frowned as she remembered just why that was and felt her heart clench with fear.

  She had never allowed herself to believe she could have a husband and children. Mr Brownlow had always been very clear in explaining to her how she was worthless to any man. For who would risk marrying a woman who could pass on such a terrible and stigmatising condition? It had been such a time since her last attack that she had begun to allow herself to forget it. Now she remembered.

  Milly felt her breath catch, pain lancing through her as she realised Beau couldn't have considered, couldn't really have thought it through. Because any children she bore could well inherit her condition. How could she condemn their children to that? How could she pass on the possibility that a sudden fit could take his son or daughter from him just as his brother had been taken? It was too cruel.

  She walked through the great doors of the house without really knowing what she was doing, where she was going.

  "It is good to have you back, your Grace."

  She looked up and pasted a smile to her face as Rexom greeted her and was
soothed a little by the warmth in the old man's eyes. He did seem pleased to see her.

  "It is good to be back, Rexom. We missed you, you know."

  She smiled for real at the look of surprised pleasure in the butler's eyes as he handed her spencer and gloves to the footman.

  "Well, I cannot imagine why but I am most gratified to know that. Thank you, Madame."

  She leaned towards the old man and whispered. "We don't like the butler at the town house."

  There was the fleeting glimpse of a smile before Rexom returned to his professional demeanour. "I am most sorry to hear he isn't ... satisfactory. I will make enquiries and see if something else could be arranged for you."

  Milly thanked him and walked towards the parlour to check on progress since she'd been gone. Opening the doors to the room she caught her breath and couldn't help but feel a little proud.

  Gone were the dark, sombre greens and blood red that had given it such a forbidding atmosphere. The panelled bottom half of the walls had been painted a soft butter yellow to the chair rail and above this the pretty wallpaper she had chosen filled the room with a light feminine feel. The pin print background was a soft grey blue with a bold, trailing floral print in the same yellow as the paintwork climbing around the walls. The curtains were the same soft grey, blue as the background, shot through with silver thread that glinted in the sunlight.

  Many of the chairs had been recovered in the same fabric with others in a slightly brighter yellow. The room was at once flooded with light, elegant and as far removed from how it had previously looked to be almost unrecognisable. Milly looked up at the portrait over the fireplace and wondered what Beau would think of her having put it there.

  She didn't have to wait long to find out as he opened the door and stepped in, stopping in his tracks as he looked about the room in astonishment.

  Milly watched his expression with anxiety.

  "Y-you did say you wanted it to look different," she said, sounding a little defensive.

  He walked into the room and closed the door behind him, looking around until his eyes fell on the portrait. For a moment his eyes darkened and she felt certain he would order her to have it removed and taken back to the gloomy bedroom where she had found it.

  "That's your mother isn't it?" she asked, taking a hesitant step closer to him.

  There was no possible way it wasn't. She was stunningly beautiful and the image of her son. Milly had felt her heart turn in her chest when she'd looked into those sad blue eyes. She'd felt just as if she was looking into Beau's eyes when his guard was down.

  He was silent for a moment and then looked back at Milly.

  "I've never been able to bear looking at her," he admitted, his gaze drawn back to the painting once again. "But she looks perfect here and ... and she shouldn't be shut away any longer. Not her and not Edward."

  "Tell me about her. You said you would," she reminded him.

  He nodded and held his hand out to her and she could do nothing but walk to him and take it.

  "According to Mrs Buss she was a sweet girl, and she was only a girl really," he said, his voice full of sorrow as he looked up at her again. "She'd refused an offer of marriage from my father, as quite rightly she thought him too old and ... and I believe she was afraid of him. My father, however, had never been one to take no for an answer. He abducted her," he said, his voice dull.

  She noticed that he turned his back on the painting as he spoke. "He raped her and as she was ruined and her family wouldn't take her back she was forced to marry him." He looked up and she saw the guilt in his eyes. "That was painted a few weeks after they were married. She was already pregnant with me and Edward. She died having us."

  He let go of her hand and walked to the window, his fingers caressing the thick, luxurious fabric of the new hangings.

  She followed him and slipped her hand into his once more. "I'm so sorry, Beau, but she would have been proud of you. I know she would."

  He shook his head and the pain his expression made her chest ache.

  "How could she? I was a result of his violence and cruelty. How could she ever look on me with anything other than disgust?"

  "Because it wasn't your fault, Beau. You are not your father," she said clinging to his hand and willing him to listen to her. "You're a good man. Look at what you're doing for those boys. Your father would never have considered such a thing."

  "But it's deliberate!" he exclaimed, letting go of her hand. He turned away from her, his face dark and full of the weight of his past.

  "What do you mean?" she asked, not understanding what it was that frightened him so much.

  "I mean that I'm deliberately trying to do something good to ... to make amends. Bad people can do good things, Milly. It doesn't make me a bloody saint!" He was shouting now and she stepped away from him, a little startled by the violence of his anger. "I abducted Georgiana so that she couldn't marry my best friend," he threw at her, his fists clenched as he paced the room. "Or had you forgotten that? Because I hadn't. I would have taken her to Gretna Green so that she was ruined and unable to marry the man she loved."

  "But you didn't," she protested, suddenly afraid as she saw how deeply he feared his own nature.

  "Because Sebastian shot me!" he flung back at her. "And just weeks earlier a woman tried to kill herself because I'd broken her heart ... What kind of callous bastard does that? And it wasn't like she was the first, Milly. I've been just as vile as he was ..."

  He stared at her, his eyes blazing like salt blue flames and then he turned and sat down, putting his head in his hands. His fingers were clenched in his thick hair and Milly hesitated, not knowing what to say to him. Just how to comfort him.

  She took a breath and crossed the room, sinking to her knees in front of him. He looked up, surprise in his eyes as though he'd expected her to leave in disgust.

  Taking hold of his hands she pulled them towards her and turned first one and then the other and raising the palm to her lips. She pressed a soft kiss to each in turn and then looked up at him.

  "I know you're no saint, believe me. You have been cruel, Beau. I read all the stories of your exploits, you know I did. I have no illusions, I promise you. But there is no violence in these hands, and none in your heart. You would never have hurt Georgiana, I know you wouldn't, and I don't believe you would have gone through with it. Even if Sebastian hadn't come, you'd have done the right thing. I know you would."

  He looked away from her, shaking his head and she pulled one of his hands towards her, placing it over her heart. "I know it in my heart, Beau." She pulled his other hand to her face, holding it against her cheek and kissing the palm. "You are not your father. You never were and you never will be. You're a good man because you're trying to be a better one, and ... I believe in you."

  The look in his eyes made her heart skitter in her chest.

  "That's all I care about, Milly," he whispered and for once she believed he was sincere. "I've wanted to tell you something, little bird. I need you to know that ..."

  They both jumped as a frantic knock sounded the door and Beau cursed.

  "Go away!"

  Milly gave him a sympathetic look but was worried by the tone of that knock as all the servants were accustomed to giving a quieter scratching sound that was easier on the nerves. She got up despite Beau shaking his head and clinging to her hand. She smiled at him but detached herself from his hold and went to the door to find Mrs Buss on the edge of hysteria.

  "You tell his Grace, it's them or me! I can't stand it. The little devils have turned out all the flour, broken the big soup tureen and eaten all of the blackberries I was going to make jam with."

  "Oh, goodness!" Milly exclaimed, turning back to send a panicked look to Beau who gave a frustrated groan. "Oh, dear, poor Bustle, what a day we've given you. Come now, let me sit you down and give you a glass of brandy. You'll feel much more the thing then. Beau will go and sort the naughty boys out, won't you, Beau?"

  She sent
him a pleading look, smiling at him and letting go of a breath as she saw the answering smile reflected in his eyes.

  "Yes, Milly, love, I'll go."

  ***

  By the time Beau had overseen the righting of the kitchen to order and returned the boys, suitably chastened, to their lodgings above the stables, he felt drained. It had obviously just been high-spirited excitement at being together again in such circumstances that had got rather out of control. However he had no doubt that such occurrences could become a regular thing if he didn't get them some kind of settled routine and kept the little blighters busy.

  The sooner he could provide school and teachers to keep them in line, the better. Accommodation too was an issue. The room over the stables was dry and clean, and in the summer months far better than anything they'd been used to, but it wouldn’t be suitable for the winter. His head buzzed with the challenge ahead of him and for a moment he felt rather daunted. What in the name of God had possessed him?

  And then he remembered Milly looking him in the eyes and telling him she believed in him and his heart seemed to shift in his chest. That was why. He wanted Milly to be proud of him. He wanted her to look at him and find something worth loving, something worth holding on to. Not just a handsome face or a talented lover that she enjoyed taking to her bed. He'd been that for far too many women, and they had never been anything more than that to him. Selfishly he wanted more now - he wanted everything she had and more, for him and him alone. The thought that he might never deserve it made his chest tight.

  He'd meant what he'd said, though. He did feel like he was playing at it, pretending to be Lord Bountiful when at heart he was really as rotten at the core as the rest of his bloodline had been. But then he remembered Edward. His brother hadn't been tainted. He'd been the kindest and most loving child, generous too.

  With every reason to be bitter and resentful Edward had never made Beau feel bad for everything he had and that Edward had been denied. The thought shamed him further and made him more determined. The school would be built for Edward's sake, so that his name might live on and his thirst for knowledge instilled in boys who might never otherwise get the chance.