Beauty in Breeches

by Helen Dickson

  Lady Standish drew herself up with dignified hauteur, but exposed her fury by the way her hand gripping the arm of her chair trembled. ‘Please do not threaten me in my own house, Lord Chadwick. Beatrice has only a little knowledge of the kind of man that you are, having stolen her birthright, but I have more. In time she will come to know you, to know how you treat those who dare to cross you, and then she will hate you.’

  Observing the puzzled look that crossed Lord Chadwick’s face, she smiled a chilling, satisfied smile, but she would not enlighten him as to what she was referring. She would save that for a later date and enjoy flinging it in his face.

  ‘Now I would appreciate it if you would leave this instant and take Beatrice with you. Indeed, the more I look at her, the more relieved I shall feel to be rid of a responsibility that is becoming too irksome.’ Seeing how Beatrice flinched under the biting remark, she was glad to know it had hit its mark. ‘I can’t say that she has been a pleasure to have around.’

  Bemused by what she had said, Julius was pushed to ask her to explain what she had meant by it, but, impatient to leave, he turned his gaze directly to Beatrice. Only then did he realise the gamble she had taken by taking up his wager, which, once accepted, had started off a chain of events from which there was no going back on.

  By asking him to marry her she had risked throwing away not only her reputation, but her family and her home. If he refused to marry her, with no one in the world to lighten her cares, penniless, she would have to leave this bizarre household and fend for herself. As a result of that wretched game of cards, inadvertently, but effectively, her future, like his own, had been destroyed. And yet, as he looked at her, he reluctantly faced the fact that she was a far cry from a pitiable homeless waif.

  His mind made up, he said with implacable finality that warned further argument would be futile, ‘It is settled, then.’ Looking at Beatrice, he raised a finely arched brow. ‘If you have anything more to say to your aunt, please do so, then get together whatever you wish to take with you. I will wait in my carriage until you have concluded your business.’

  With that he strode to the door, and Beatrice caught a glimpse of his angry, aristocratic profile, then he was gone. Having nothing else to say to her aunt, she followed him. After going to her room and gathering the few possessions that belonged to her, she left Standish House for the last time.

  ‘Now, then,’ said Julius, lounging against the rich upholstery in his elegant open carriage and crossing his long legs in front of him, ‘now we can relax.’ He smiled at the alarm which entered his companion’s eyes when his driver proceeded to travel along the London road. ‘Why, what is it?’ he asked blandly. ‘Is there something you have forgotten? Do you have something to say? By the look on your face I would wager that you have. Please don’t disappoint me by holding it in. I would hate to see you explode with frustration.’

  Perched stiffly on the cushioned seat across from him, and having spent a moment to adjust her skirts in an effort to avoid meeting his gaze, Beatrice now shot him a mutinous, measuring look. ‘Believe me, Lord Chadwick, you wouldn’t want to see me explode. And, yes, there is something I wish to say. I thought…’

  Seeming to find amusement in her confusion, he laughed lightly. ‘What? That I was taking you to Larkhill? Surely you didn’t think we would live there. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid not. My companions left Larkhill for London earlier. I have pressing matters of business to attend to and I am in a hurry to get there myself. But take heart. I am sure you will find my country residence in Kent every bit as pleasant as Larkhill.’

  Beatrice’s fury, combined with her disappointment, was immense. ‘I doubt it,’ she snapped ungraciously, leaning back in her seat and glowering at the passing scenery. ‘Larkhill was my home.’

  ‘When we are married you will look on Highfield Manor as your home.’ Withdrawing a thin cheroot from his jacket pocket, he lit it, bending his dark head and cupping his hands over the flame. Unconcernedly he blew smoke into the air.

  Beatrice expelled an angry breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and the sound made him glance at her sharply. His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry.

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘I’ve never seen a man smoke a cigar before,’ she said. ‘They—always smoke in another room.’

  ‘May I offer you one?’ He grinned at her sudden start of surprise. ‘Why not? A number of ladies that I know are not averse to the odd cigar. I already know that you will dare anything. With your flair for doing the unconventional, you might acquire a taste for them.’

  ‘I don’t think I would and would be obliged if you would confine your smoking to when I am not present.’

  ‘You may have failed to notice, but we are in an open carriage, so the smoke should not bother you. I enjoy a cigar—often—and I’m afraid that if you are to be my wife, you’ll just have to get used to it.’ Through narrowed eyes he looked at her appraisingly, the smoke from his cigar drifting slowly over his head. ‘You already know the other things you will have to get accustomed to—you will recall the demonstration I gave you. Just look on this as another.’

  ‘You can please yourself,’ Beatrice told him loftily.

  ‘Careful. Your temper is showing.’

  She swallowed hard as his eyes bored into hers. It had not taken her long to throw good judgement aside and flare up at him. She must learn to control her temper and her feelings better. Setting her jaw, she glared at him, unconcerned, it seemed, with anything else he might have to say. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and she was flushed and could barely speak through her tightly clenched teeth.

  Her hair fell about her shoulders in a tangle of glossy waves and her anger had given her eyes a luminous quality. With the cigar clamped between teeth as white as his shirt, Julius watched her from beneath hooded lids; her closeness and the mere sight of her made him desire her, but he controlled the urge to drag her on to his side of the carriage and into his arms.

  She was furious with him, he knew, for not taking her directly to Larkhill, and she was dying to loose a tirade at his head—he could see it in those glorious flashing green eyes of hers. The truth was that he really did have pressing business matters to attend to in London. He had delayed his departure and sent his valet on ahead to cancel some of his appointments so he could meet with Lady Standish.

  ‘Really, Beatrice—I may call you Beatrice? And please, do feel free to call me Julius—must you look as if you want to run me through?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice and a coldness in his eyes as he regarded her. ‘I am about to deliver you from a barren future at Standish House, to give you what you want, and you are staring at me as though you wish to commit murder.’

  ‘As long as I continue to stare at you as though I could murder you and not enact the deed, then you have nothing to worry about.’

  Heading towards London, the greys paced in prime style. The drive through leafy lanes and picturesque villages in the lazy warmth of bright sunshine was uneventful. The journey dragged on in painful, unbroken silence. Beatrice could not trust herself to speak for fear she would give way to her angry emotions. She was utterly devastated that he had not taken her to Larkhill. Strongly suspecting that he had done it deliberately and was clearly amused by her disappointment increased her anger. And so he sat watching her like a hungry hawk, that having been snared by his sharp talons once, was tender bait for the second tasting.

  Directing her gaze to the passing scenery, she let her mind wander over all that had occurred since the morning of Astrid’s birthday party—the kiss Julius had given her being paramount. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassed heat at the memory of her own wanton response, when pleasure had seeped through the barrier of her own will.

  From that moment nothing was the same. Her mind was unsettled, and for the first time in years, it had nothing to do with Larkhill. Mentally flaying her thoughts into obedience, she glanced across at the man who occupied them. His eyes
were closed and his handsome face with a dark lock of hair falling on to his brow looked boyish and unguarded in repose. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to run her fingers through his thick hair, to have him kiss her as he had done yesterday.

  A heaviness centred in her chest when she considered her future with Julius. Her aunt’s remark about how, in time, she would come to hate him still rang in her ears. She was unsettled by it and couldn’t begin to understand what she had meant by it. She already knew theirs would be a marriage unlike any other—without love or even liking for one another. And yet she had discovered what it was like to be kissed by a man and her discovery had marked her physically. What would he say, she wondered, if she were to ask him to repeat his actions of yesterday? Would he be shocked? Would he mock her? Or would he be willing to oblige?

  She didn’t know what sort of wife she would make and had given it no thought whatsoever, but strangely, she was now looking forward to it. Although perhaps Julius would spend much of his time on one of his ships and when he was home she would be a hostess and companion in his house, but she would never be able to touch his heart—and nor did she aspire to. A brief image of cosy marital bliss faded from her mind.

  And yet, battle hardened though he might be by life—toughened and with an aura of hard-bitten strength—beneath it all Julius Chadwick had exposed a streak of kindness. Today he had been kind enough to rescue her and quick enough to act immediately and whisk her away from Standish House.

  When they entered the outskirts of London, to Beatrice the world suddenly became an unreal place to be. It was a blur of noise and confusion. She had only ever been to London twice in her life, once with her parents and again with Aunt Moira and Astrid. With all the attention centred on Astrid, her visit had been an unpleasant experience and she had been glad to return to the country. Now she didn’t know where she was going. She knew Julius had a house in Kent, so what were they doing in London?

  As if Julius could read her mind, he said, ‘I should tell you that you are to reside with Lord and Lady Merrick on Upper Brook Street for the time being.’

  Beatrice looked at him with alarm. So, she thought, feeling as if something were shattering inside, already he wanted rid of her. ‘But why? What on earth for?’

  ‘Because you cannot possibly stay with me, alone and unchaperoned. It will be a miracle if gossip about your behaviour over the horse race hasn’t already spread; if so, it will have done you immense harm. You must be prepared for that. By the time the on dit have circulated, your reputation will have been shredded, and if you were to live with me everyone would assume you have become my paramour. We cannot risk that sort of gossip.’

  ‘So you mean to place me into unfamiliar surroundings with people I don’t know.’

  ‘My dear Beatrice, you have no choice.’

  The casual, empty endearment made her cheeks flame with ire. ‘Please don’t call me “your dear”. I am not that. And I do have a choice,’ she said on the spur of the moment. ‘I—I could go into lodgings or something like that.’

  ‘And just how,’ he asked drily, ‘do you intend to pay for lodgings? You have no money.’ This was the truth and she knew it, and, short of asking him for the money, there was nothing she could do but to fall in with his plans. ‘Better for you to reside with Lord and Lady Merrick for the present than risk the social stigma of living with me.’

  ‘And that matters to you—what people will think?’

  ‘Personally I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about me, but I am adamant that the name that I have worked so hard to repair will not be tarnished by this.’ Seeing how she was looking at him with bewildered curiosity, he went on to inform her of some basic facts.

  ‘You may be surprised to learn that our backgrounds are not dissimilar. It is no secret that the reputation of the Chadwick family has been blackened by several in recent generations. After years of declining fortunes and a few Chadwick ne’er-do-wells—the last of them being my father—the once-proud lineage became sunk into a state of genteel poverty.’

  Unaccustomed to being so open with anyone, he paused and eyed his companion, searching for signs of contempt, but read none. ‘To restore the family fortunes became my goal in life. With a head for business I gambled everything in a series of investments, spotting opportunities others had missed. Fortunately they paid off—and the wars with Bonaparte brought many rich pickings for investments throughout Europe. So you see, it was my own hard work and determination that has made me what I am today.’

  He had failed to mention his other gambling and Beatrice wondered how much of his wealth had been acquired in the gambling haunts of Europe.

  ‘And are you like your father?’

  ‘No, I am not,’ he replied quickly, avoiding her gaze, his expression grim. ‘He was a blackguard along with his forebears.’

  Taken aback by the steely undertone in his quiet reply, she stared at him in question. When he ignored her, she decided not to press him, but his apparent bitterness about his father puzzled her.

  ‘Thank you for telling me of your achievements,’ she said. ‘I am impressed—who would not be—but apart from your name, that you are a marquess, extremely wealthy and have a house in Kent, I know nothing about you.’

  ‘Then allow me to enlighten you. I have three middle names and several lesser titles I rarely use,’ he told her. ‘No doubt Constance—Lady Merrick—will give you a rundown of my character. I have a great deal of business to attend to so I shall not be able to give you my full attention—and I shudder to think what you might get up to left to your own devices. You really do not have the slightest concept of the importance of appropriate behaviour, do you, Beatrice? Didn’t you learn anything under your aunt’s tutelage?’

  ‘Yes, but with all her attention fixed on Astrid and knowing it wasn’t important how I turned out since finding me a suitable husband was not on my aunt’s agenda, I could never see the point of it.’

  Julius stared into her stormy green eyes and flushed face, wondering why, from the very first, she had been able to affect him like no other woman in a long time, wondering why he felt this consuming, unquenchable need to possess and gentle her without breaking her spirit.

  ‘James and Constance Merrick are old friends of mine and very close to me,’ he told her quietly. ‘Don’t worry. They will like you when they recover from their surprise that you are to be my wife. Constance is a woman of enormous consequence; she shamelessly adores forcing society to bend to her will. She will not permit anyone to say an unkind word to you or about you in her presence. She is an excellent example of how you ought to conduct yourself in society. You would be wise to observe her behaviour and emulate her.’

  Beatrice felt like a naughty child who had just been told it must follow someone else’s example. ‘How long will it be before the wedding?’

  ‘Three weeks—enough time for the banns to be read—unless you are so impatient to become my wife you would like me to apply for a special licence,’ he said with a mocking twist to his lips.

  ‘No,’ she said tightly. ‘Three weeks will be fine. Where will it be?’

  ‘It will be a quiet affair, the venue of my choosing.’

  ‘Isn’t that supposed to be the bride’s prerogative?’

  ‘Not in this case. I shall let you know when it is arranged.’

  He continued to converse, questioning her about herself, about her life at Standish House, her interest in horses and her relationship with George and Astrid. What he didn’t do was talk any more about himself, which, in Beatrice’s experience, was what most people did best, or at least most frequently, but apart from what he had told her about his father and how he had restored the Chadwick fortunes, his private life remained exactly that.

  Beatrice found herself in some kind of indeterminate state, suspended not only in time but in emotion. Julius had been right about Lord and Lady Merrick. A middle-aged couple who had not been blessed with offspring, they were warm and friendly and went ou
t of their way to make her feel welcome. Lord Merrick was a gentle, delightful soul, very much under his wife’s dominance. Lady Merrick was quite tall with a majestic bearing and almost as formidable looking as Aunt Moira. She had a pair of penetrating hazel eyes and an imperious expression and always believed in speaking her mind, but Beatrice soon discovered that beneath it all she was very thoughtful, kind and warm and was genuinely pleased to have her stay with them.

  ‘There is no need to describe to me what happened when Julius visited Standish House, Beatrice. I am well aware of it as is nearly everyone else in society. For a young lady to ask a man to marry her is not a civilised thing for her to do. But however it came about, I cannot suppress my exultation that, by your actions, it has prompted Julius to take a more serious interest in marriage. He needs my help in assisting him to introduce you into society. I have no control over wagging tongues, but I will do my very best.’

  Beatrice was grateful for the time Lady Merrick took arranging her wardrobe. Julius had insisted that she be fitted out for every occasion and that no expense was to be spared, and Beatrice was shocked to find that Lady Merrick took him at his word and visited some of the most fashionable modistes in London. She took her on shopping expeditions to Bruton Street and Bond Street and the larger warehouses of Covent Garden and the Strand.

  ‘I am putting you to so much trouble,’ Beatrice said, feeling some expression of gratitude was due after one particular heavy shopping trip. ‘I realise my wardrobe was hardly up to town standards and it is indeed kind of you to give up so much of your time for me.’

  ‘Nonsense. I enjoy doing it, so indulge me, Beatrice. Julius is the son of my dearest friend—tragically she is no longer with us. Indeed, I will even go so far as to say he is the son I never had. His happiness is paramount.’