Beauty in Breeches

by Helen Dickson

  Her expression was innocent, but her eyes were hard to read. She raised her brows slightly, and said, ‘I intend to hold you to that.’

  ‘So the wager is made—but your forfeit? I think I have guessed, which wasn’t too difficult considering the circumstances. Though it is immaterial since you cannot win.’ Julius’s grin broadened and he looked at her knowingly, holding up one hand. ‘Don’t tell me. Larkhill.’

  Beatrice gave him a level look. ‘Oh, no. Believe me, Lord Chadwick, nothing I could ask from you would be as fine or as grand as Larkhill.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I am intrigued. Tell me.’

  ‘Like I said, not until after the race—although if your horse is as splendid as you would have everyone believe, then I might well be tempted to take it from you.’

  ‘Oh, no, lady—my horse is an exception. I have waited too long to get a horse by its sire—a winner of some top races—and I am not about to lose him now. But why are we discussing this? I shall win.’

  Beatrice smiled almost sweetly. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about, have you, Lord Chadwick?’

  ‘You must be confident, to accept my challenge.’

  ‘I would not be doing this if I wasn’t confident that I could beat you.’

  Beatrice would make sure that Lord Chadwick could not refuse the forfeit she would ask of him if she won the race, even while telling herself that what she was doing was foolish. Her eyes held his and she knew he would read her absolute determination to go ahead with this wager—foolish or not.

  ‘Cousin Beatrice is no docile, ordinary young lady,’ George laughingly told Lord Chadwick. ‘She is a mannerless hoyden—a dark horse if ever there was is how I would describe her.’ He paused with a small private smile and a playful wink at Beatrice. ‘Dark horse, maybe, but she is also clever and cunning and always dangerous.’

  ‘Really,’ Julius uttered quietly. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

  Beatrice was so close, she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. ‘Oh, no, Lord Chadwick,’ she countered coldly. ‘You can keep your heart. That is the last thing I want from you.’

  He regarded her long and hard before replying. ‘I shall. My heart has always been in my own safe keeping, and there it will remain. Safe. But you intrigue me, Miss Fanshaw. Already I am wondering what I have let myself in for. And I was beginning to imagine you would become unseated at the first hurdle.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ George told him. ‘Beatrice has the best pair of hands I’ve ever seen. She knows horses—could whisper a horse out of a field. But should you win, Julius, what forfeit will you ask of her?’

  Lord Chadwick looked at George as he considered his question, but his penetrating gaze returned to Beatrice.

  Curious as to what his reply would be, Beatrice waited expectantly. The glow in her face now faded. She straightened her back.

  At length he said, ‘As to that, I have not yet decided. But I will, and she may not like it when I have.’ He bowed his head ever so slightly. ‘Until tomorrow, Miss Fanshaw. I look forward to our race.’

  Beatrice had not imagined confronting Lord Chadwick would require such an effort. On reaching the house her stomach was still tied in knots and her heart had yet to find its customary rhythm. Nervousness was not a reaction to which she was normally susceptible. There was no place in her scheme of things for faint heartedness, and this afternoon she had taken the first step to reclaiming Larkhill. Recalling how Lord Chadwick had looked at her with open admiration, her lips quirked. In the circumstances, it was a definitely heartening thought.

  She was about to cross the hall to the stairs when a voice rang out, halting her.

  ‘A word, Beatrice.’

  She turned to face her aunt, her brow furrowed with a twinge of premonition. She got the familiar feeling that trouble was afoot, and as she noted her aunt’s sharp look, that piercing glance told her plainly that some kind of storm was brewing. It was plain that Lady Standish was both appalled and incensed over her niece’s conduct.

  ‘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.

  ‘Well, well, Miss Fanshaw! So we meet again.’ Julius was ahead of her and, seeing her walking alone along the privacy of the arched walkway, he had paused to watch her, completely captivated by the look on her face. This was not the face of the young woman who had boldly challenged him to race his horse against hers earlier. Then her haughty manner had marked her as strong of character whereas now, with her eyes closed and a gentle smile on her lips, there was a softness about her, an elusive gentleness that declared her to be as fragile and vulnerable as the roses that clambered about them.

  Clearly she was a woman of ever-changing moods and subtle contradictions, and while her physical beauty first arrested the attention, it was this spectrum, this bewildering, indefinable quality that held him captive. A strange sweet melting feeling softened his innermost core without warning, the place in him that he usually kept as hard as steel.

  His appearance pulled Beatrice from the strange spell that had seemed to enclose her. She started, alarmed by the unexpected greeting, and opened her eyes. He appeared too suddenly for her to prepare herself, so the heady surge of pleasure she experienced on seeing him again was clearly evident, stamped like an unbidden confession on her lovely face.

  Stepping in front of her, he towered above her. His smile was full of gentle mockery when he said, ‘Are you about to retire, Miss Fanshaw?’

  Beneath his impassive gaze Beatrice stood perfectly still, refusing to blush or look away, her delicately beautiful face framed by a halo of golden hair—a dainty image of fragility standing before a man who dwarfed her.

  ‘I thought I might.’

  ‘A sensible move, I would say. I fear if you party too long into the night you will not do full justice to the race tomorrow.’

  ‘Your concern—if that is what it is—for my state of health is quite touching, Lord Chadwick. But worry not. If I were to party till dawn, I would still beat you hands down.’

  ‘Your courage and confidence are to be admired, but you are going to be disappointed. I’m afraid the outcome is inevitable.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she remarked.

  ‘And here was I thinking you might wish to retract your challenge.’ He stared at her with impudent admiration, letting his gaze travel from her eyes to her mouth, then down to the swell of her breasts. Beatrice wished she had a shawl to cover herself, as she felt her cheeks grow hot beneath his scrutiny.

  ‘My challenge stands. Now be so kind as to step aside.’

  He did as she bade, but she was not to be rid of him. As she continued to walk on he fell into step beside her.

  ‘Will you return to the party?’ he asked.

  They had reached the terrace and she stopped and turned to him. ‘I might, but then I might not.’ Taking a deep breath, she looked up into the night sky and saw the moon, a new moon, a thin sickle of a moon. Seeing it for the first time, she closed her eyes.

  Beside her Julius followed her gaze, his eyes on the slender sickle. ‘Have you made a wish?’ he asked.

  Opening her eyes, she nodded.

  ‘Then I hope the
new moon brings you luck.’

  ‘So do I, but I believe you make your own luck in this world.’

  ‘That is a very cynical view, Miss Fanshaw.’

  ‘I have a cynical outlook on life, Lord Chadwick.’ She gazed up at the stars beginning to twinkle. ‘I love looking at the sky at night,’ she murmured. ‘There are so many stars up there. To some people all the constellations just look like a jumble of stars, but they’re not. See that bright one over there?’

  Julius continued to look up, as if he, too, found something of interest there. ‘That’s Jupiter.’

  ‘So it is—and over there is the Great Bear—and you see that faint smudge,’ he said, pointing at the sky, ‘that is the Andromeda constellation, which is the nearest galaxy to our own Milky Way and was named after the mythological princess Andromeda. The seven stars of the Plough are the easiest to make out, which is of the constellation Ursa Major.’

  Beatrice laughed. ‘You are very knowledgeable about the stars, Lord Chadwick. Do you make a study of the galaxies yourself?’

  ‘I spend a lot of my time travelling. On board ship the nights are long and one spends many hours on deck, looking at the sky. The northern sky—which you are looking at—is very different from the southern sky and so is the sky around the equatorial zone. I’m sure you would find it interesting.’

  ‘I’m sure I would—if I ever get the opportunity to travel. It never occurred to me that the sky would look different in other parts of the world. Do you think anyone lives up there, that any of those stars are inhabited with people like us?’

  ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t—not really. But then, it would be arrogant of us to assume that out of all those thousands and millions of stars the Earth is the only planet where life exists. It’s like saying the Earth is the centre of the universe and everything revolves around it.’ She dragged her gaze from the sky and looked at him when she heard him chuckle. Her lips broke into a smile. ‘What is it? Why do you laugh?’