The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  He’d been prepared for her brother to arrive. After learning that he had no funds of his own, it only made sense that he would come for Beatrix when financially convenient.

  “I don’t think he’s here for money,” she said. “He was dressed very well when he came to the terrace.”

  “He was at the terrace?” Now he was scowling.

  She grabbed his hand. “Hero, he’s my brother. It’s completely proper for him to come to me.”

  Hero knew her to be right according to Society’s standards, yet there were times when all rules were met with an exception.

  He helped Beatrix to a chair and then began to pace. He was glad when she said not a word. She was not a woman who felt the need to fill in every silence and for that he was glad.

  Hero thought of a few plans, but each only led to more lies and bringing in more people to their situation.

  The other solicitor he’d paid to be Abigail’s solicitor hadn’t known the money hadn’t truly come from Beatrix’s aunt. They’d spoken through correspondence, and Hero had paid him enough to not inquire too closely to the true source of the money.

  And then there was the solution that would absolve them of all lies.

  They could marry and be done with it all. Once Beatrix was his wife, her money would become his once more and her brother would be unable to reach it.

  He faced her and opened his mouth to propose his plan when she stood.

  “Perhaps I worry for nothing,” she said. “Perhaps it is as you say. The solicitor might not disclose the entire will.” She smiled softly. “He may say nothing at all to my brother. After all, he doesn’t truly owe him an explanation.” She moved closer and stopped half a foot away. “I don’t know why I involved you in this at all. I’m sure you were busy.”

  He took her hands and lifted them to his lips. “I’m glad you came. I’m glad it was me you sought out with your troubles.” He was glad to see no doubt in her eyes.

  She looked at her hands as a blush crept across her features. “I’m… not used to depending on anyone.”

  He lowered her hands and then wrapped his arms around her waist.

  She moved closer with little urging and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  Their eyes met, and Hero was certain that Beatrix was right where she belonged.

  “You can depend upon me,” he said.

  “I am learning as much. I believe in you and me, Hero. You can’t be the only one fighting for us.” She leaned her head against his chest, and Hero tightened his arms around her.

  He smiled. Nothing had ever felt righter than having her in his arms. “You can’t imagine how glad I am to hear you say as much.”

  She looked up and smiled at him. “It has been five years since I’ve seen Benedict. I’m glad he found me. I would like you to meet my brother.”

  Hero wished to meet him as well, but he knew it to be for very different reasons.

  “We could have a dinner here,” Hero said. “Or at Lord Beaumont’s.”

  “Either place is fine with me, but you will come with Valiant, as her escort,” she said. “And Lore should come. I would wish him to be there as well.”

  “And I am to come as Valiant’s escort and not your friend because you would rather he not know how I feel about you?” Hero asked. “Or that we are engaged?” He lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. “It would make sense to keep it quiet for the moment. If your aunt’s solicitor reveals that you received no money, he’ll think you my mistress if I let on that I’m attracted to you. Though, I have no idea how to hide what I feel about you.”

  She leaned into his hand. “We’ll have to try.”

  He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Then I better make good use of the time I do have and get my fill of you.”

  Her laughter died on his kiss.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 7

  Beatrix had decided to stand in the foyer and greet her brother and his guests alone. Upon learning that he planned to bring someone with him, she’d assumed it to be someone from his wife’s family—a cousin or in-law.

  Instead, it was Anthony.

  Or rather, Anthony Balfour, the Duke of Cartell.

  Beatrix’s limbs went cold, and she stiffened her smile to keep it from trembling at the sight of him.

  Anthony prowled into the room. There was no other way to describe his walk. He was much like a predator in the way he moved. It was frightful and yet beautiful at the same time.

  He was beautiful. He had a straight nose and a hard jaw that was dimpled at the chin and she was not surprised at all to find his hair was still unfashionably long. He had often reminded her of the tigers at a traveling menagerie she’d once seen. His eyes were a gray close to steel and his hair a pitch-black curtain that caressed his brow.

  Her view of him was suddenly cut away when her brother wrapped his arms around her and spun her around the room.

  “Trixie!”

  Beatrix took that moment to pull herself together before she faced the duke again.

  She curtsied and suddenly wished she’d taken Hero’s offer to host the dinner at Lord Ayers’ home or even at Lord Beaumont’s. She didn’t want Anthony in her home. She didn’t want him to know where she slept. Not after what he’d done and the anguish he’d caused.

  The last five years had been in part his fault. She wanted to yell at her brother for inviting the man. How dare they remain friends! How dare her brother bring him here?

  Suddenly, anger took over her fear and she clung to it like a life-giving vine.

  Her brother took her hand and said, “Trixie, I’m sure you remember our old friend. Now, I know we had our… troubles in the past, but I can tell you that all is well between us, and I would want nothing more than for you two to be friends. “

  Cartell approached her and took her hand before she could offer it.

  Before she could give him a cut and tell him to leave her home.

  He kissed her hand. His eyes were vacant of life and emotion. “Beatrix.” He spoke her name—he spoke every word—as though he owned it, as though he’d brought it into existence. She recalled him to be a cold man who often stuck his nose up at everything except for those he deemed worthy.

  Beatrix despised the fact that he’d found her worthy.

  “It’s Lady Gillingham,” she said briskly before snatching her hand away.

  He kept her gaze and then his eyes descended. They stroked down her fawn-colored gown and lingered at her bodice before meeting her eyes again. There was no heat in the gaze, and Beatrix might have preferred it to the unreadable expression that was sometimes in Cartell’s eyes.

  His gaze seemed so distant.

  She waited for what felt like a whole minute for his response.

  Then he gave it. “A lady? Of that, I have no doubt.”

  Lore’s voice broke the tension. “I must admit, this lingering in the foyer has me intrigued.” He joined the circle and his eyes widened when he met the duke’s eyes. “Cartell.”

  Cartell smirked. “Lore.”

  The men shook hands.

  Lore looked amongst the group, but then his eyes settled on Beatrix. There was wonder and the expectation of an explanation. “I didn’t know you knew the Duke of Cartell.”

  Beatrix hurriedly introduced him to her brother and then, without much of a choice, directed the men to the drawing room.

  Valiant and Hero were there. Both stood at seeing Cartell. Apparently, they all knew one another.

  And yet, why would they not? Valiant and Hero were the offspring of a duke. It made sense that they would know the son of another.

  It also seemed that no one but Beatrix was furious at his appearance, but Hero quickly picked up on her silence though he made no move to approach her. As they’d planned it, they were to pretend that they were not close. It would seem strange for him to approach her at this minute.

  She still didn’t know what the solicitor had told her brother or if the man had spoken to him at all. She
wasn’t sure if she’d get the chance to ask and didn’t know how she’d do so.

  The footman’s announcement that the meal was ready didn’t come a moment too soon.

  “This is a fine house you’re renting,” Benedict said at her side. His slow pace caused her to slow down as well. Then he lowered his voice. “I am most relieved that Aunt Abigail saw to your care after she passed. You have no idea how much it soothes me.”

  She smiled at him tightly. She hated that she had to lie and hated even more that Anthony was present. Of the former, she thought it the perfect opportunity to ask him about his meeting with Aunt Abigail’s solicitor, but of the latter, she could no longer hold her piece. “Why is he here?”

  Benedict’s eyes widened. “I already told you. I thought it would be good to have us all together.”

  “After what he did to you? He stabbed you, Benedict,” she hissed. “And then he threatened to do it again if you didn’t give him my hand. I don’t understand why you’d speak to him.”

  “We were fencing,” her brother said.

  “It was a match that he insisted on when you wanted no part of it.” The day came back to her with a vividness that she’d not experienced since. “He hurt you.” She was forced to stop, because her voice was trembling.

  Cartell’s threat had been the reason Beatrix had refused his hand. It had had little to do with love and everything to do with fear. If he’d been willing to stab her brother—a man he claimed to be his friend—what worse would he have done to her?

  Benedict had begged Beatrix to accept him with a passion that showed true fear. They’d been impoverished and without allies. Cartell had managed to present himself as some sort of god to Benedict and her brother had fallen for it.

  But Beatrix had not.

  It had pained her to leave her brother. She’d truly feared for him and had tormented herself with worry for five years, wondering if he were alive or not.

  Cartell was the cause of everything. She blamed him for the worst moments of her life and had been glad he’d thought court beneath him. He’d not been at any of the events Beatrix had attended. She wanted nothing to do with him.

  “I hate him, Benedict,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have brought him.”

  Her brother’s smile faltered slightly. “You’ve no idea all he’s done for me, Beatrix. I am fortunate to claim him as my friend.”

  Beatrix rushed away from her brother. She was unable and unwilling to hear her brother’s praise for the man who’d led them to a five-year separation. It was bad enough she would be forced to share a table with him.

  Why had her brother brought him?

  * * *

  It was hard for Hero to know exactly who to blame for Beatrix’s distress. Her brother smiled through the meal and was even entertaining while His Grace, the Duke of Cartell, took in the room and the people at the table with great nonchalance.

  Cartell was known to be high in the instep. He didn’t participate in the Season. He’d had two older sisters wed and he’d not even attended their engagement parties. He was a recluse and often the beau monde wondered what, if anything, was capable of surprising him.

  “Beatrix, you must tell me about your time at Aunt Abigail's?” Benedict eventually said. “How was she in her final years?”

  Hero narrowed his gaze and wondered if the question were a trap. Benedict had yet to mention if he’d spoken to his aunt’s solicitor.

  Beatrix took her time with her wine.

  It was just enough time for Hero to think of something to say. “I’m sure Wales was quite an experience. I’ve been there myself a few times. Have you, Lord Dalewell?”

  Benedict blinked. “Why, no, General, I have not. But perhaps my sister can—”

  “We have a cousin there,” Valiant shared. She caught on quickly to the plan. “And my husband recently bought a mine. Did you know that, Hero?”

  “I did not.” Hero turned to Cartell. “Have you been there, Your Grace?”

  Cartell took a moment to answer. He was idly swirling his own wine glass. His gaze was fixed on the liquid but slowly rose to Hero. “Yes, I went with His Majesty a few years ago. I found it wanting.”

  The answer didn’t surprise Hero in the least. Anthony Balfour had been born from a cold family. The Balfour men and many of the wives were known for their bitterness.

  He frowned as he recalled Beatrix’s mention of the friend of her brother’s who had wanted to marry her.

  She’d called him Anthony.

  Could it be that she referred to Cartell?

  Why not? Surely, even a man who appeared to be as indifferent as him could see that there was something special about Beatrix. Perhaps, she’d been able to surprise him in some way, just as she had the rest of the ton.

  Did the man still want her?

  Hero decided it didn’t matter if he did. Beatrix could have had the duke five years ago and had elected to work rather than become a duchess. It was highly unlikely that she’d choose him now.

  He looked over at Beatrix, who was silently stirring the creme chicken around on her plate.

  She’d barely taken a bite. The night was clearly not going the way she’d planned, and Hero hated that he was to remain distant from her. If he’d had it his way, he’d have taken her into his arms and held her.

  He wanted to sweep her from the room.

  He wanted to propose and be done with what he thought to be honorable. He didn’t want her to feel trapped into agreeing to the match, as though she owed him her hand. Neither did he want her to regret the decision later on in life.

  The rest of the meal passed in a blur. Valiant. Lore, and Lord Dalewell carried on most of the conversation and only at its end—after Beatrix announced there were would be no entertainment after the meal—did Benedict make a move to speak with his sister alone.

  Beatrix met Hero’s eyes.

  His need to protect her almost made him insist on joining them, but instead, he allowed her to go alone with the decision that he’d be present once their moment came to an end.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 8

  “I met with Aunt Abigail's solicitor the other evening.” Benedict wasted no time once the guests left.

  Beatrix had shown the others to the door only moments ago.

  In the foyer, Hero had whispered to her that he’d wait in his carriage outside until she came to tell him what was said.

  She’d barely settled into her chair in the sitting room before her brother had spoken.

  Her heart jumped and began to beat like a war drum that loudly announced her downfall.

  Benedict’s gaze was sober, though he didn’t meet her eyes directly. Instead, he was looking around the room as though inspecting it. He picked up a small porcelain vase and asked her, “Is this yours?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s Beaumont’s, is it not?” Benedict finally looked into her eyes. “Word spreads quickly. I didn’t have to inquire long to learn this place belonged to the earl.”

  “I’m renting it from him.” She’d never planned to lie to him about that. “It isn’t as though I have the means to purchase such a place, especially in the city.”

  “Ah, but you very well could purchase something not far from here with the sum of your dowry.” Benedict put the vase down then walked over to where she sat. He took her hand. “Trixie, I know Aunt Abigail didn’t leave you the money.”

  “Do you?” she asked. “Though it’s not common for someone to hire two solicitors, it is definitely possible.” She’d thought of a hundred lies she could tell her brother, anything to lead him away from the truth.

  Benedict slowly shook his head. “I know she didn’t give you the money, because Aunt Abigail didn’t have any money to give you. Her solicitor informed me of it.”

  She frowned even as her stomach turned. “Did you ever think him to be lying, Bennie? After all, Aunt Abigail’s will was not something he’d be legally allowed to share.”

  Benedict narr
owed his gaze and remained quiet for a long moment before he said, “Beatrix, I don’t recall you ever lying to me, not even in those last minutes before you left.” He took her hand and squeezed. “But I understand why you shouldn’t tell me or anyone the truth. I see it quite clearly now.”

  “What do you see?” Beatrix’s heart and stomach were in too much pain to say more or to put any effort into leading him astray. He was right. She wasn’t used to lying to him or anyone, but circumstances had changed.

  She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been completely honest to anyone. Not even Hero knew the whole truth. She wished he’d put aside what he thought to be the honorable thing and simply wed her. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. She wanted—

  “You’re Beaumont’s mistress.”

  Beatrix’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Her brother’s gaze grew grim. “Trixie, there’s no need to lie. I blame myself for everything.”

  “But you shouldn’t! It was him! Anthony did this to us.”

  Her brother shook his head. “No, Beatrix. It was me. I never should have promised your hand to him in exchange for the funds to pay off our father’s debt.”

  She was surprised. “Anthony paid the entire debt? That was a great sum.”

  “Everyone but Reddington.” Benedict closed his eyes. “You’ve no idea the relief it gave me, but I did it all at the cost of your happiness.”

  Beatrix was silent for a moment and then said, “Many times I questioned whether I made the right decision. But marriage to Anthony…”

  Her brother’s eyes opened. “He’s different now, Beatrix. Less angry since his father’s death. He’ll be a good husband to you.”

  “I don’t want to marry him.”

  “You can’t live like this, Trixie. I won’t allow it anymore. I failed you once. I’ll not fail you again. In spite of what has happened to you, Anthony has agreed to take you for his duchess.”

  Beatrix was once again stunned but wasn’t sure what surprised her more, the fact that her brother was once again trying to make her the Duchess of Cartell or that Lord Cartell was willing to marry a woman he assumed to be the mistress of an earl.