All Things Beautiful

by Cathy Maxwell

  Julia gave him a dazzling smile. “We will? Are you certain? Perhaps Napoleon will ask an audience, or the King—”

  Brader silenced her teasing with a hard, sweet kiss.

  When he pulled away, Julia had wit enough only to ask, “When do you return?”

  Brader grinned. “That’s more like it. I’ll be home tomorrow in time for supper.” He gave her neck a quick nibble. “And we’ll start right here.”

  She giggled with delight as Brader stood, pulled the covers up under her chin, and walked toward the door, opening on Hardwell in mid-knock. The secretary took one look at his employer’s face, caught a glance of Julia in the bed, and blushed beet red. He started to stutter apologies, but another look at Brader’s face appeared to convince him an apology would be unaccepted. He closed his mouth, ducked his head, and quickly walked down the hall.

  Looking back over his shoulder, Brader gave her a conspirator’s wink. She smiled back, her spirits soaring for no other reason than Brader’s smile.

  “Brader,” her soft voice stopped him before he left the room. “Don’t forget to tell Hardwell to schedule our riding lessons.”

  Brader rounded on her sharply, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Riding lessons?”

  Julia nodded.

  His eyes gleamed with amusement as his body relaxed against the doorframe. “Ah, Julia.” He sighed. “You are such an innocent little siren.” He leered at her, his manner teasing. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I get my riding lessons in.” He left, closing the door.

  All the sunshine and warmth left the room with him.

  Julia sighed. The sound was followed by a timid knock on her door.

  Betty waited for her mistress to call “Come in” before she turned the door handle.

  Keeping her eyes averted, Betty bobbed up and down, apologizing. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I knew you wanted to attend the meeting with the parson’s wife, and I thought mayhap—”

  “Oh, no! Betty! What time is it? I forgot all about the Ladies’ League.” Julia sat straight up in bed, her mind buzzing over the implications of ignoring Mrs. Jenkins’s very kind invitation on the first meeting.

  “Well, lor’, ma’am, you’re half dressed already. Besides, it’s only nine and you told me your meeting was for ten. We’ll have you ready in a blink.”

  Looking down at herself, still clad in chemise, drawers, and hose, Julia fell to the bed with a plop. Her cheeks burned with the memory of Brader’s hands and all the intimate places he’d touched while, the whole time, she was still clothed. “Yellow.”

  Betty stopped. “I beg pardon, ma’am?”

  Julia tilted her head and announced, “Yellow. I want to wear something yellow.”

  “But, ma’am, no one wears yellow in November. It’s an Easter color.”

  “Yes!” Julia agreed, suddenly filled with joy. “That’s what I want, a yellow the color of jonquils and spring.” She climbed out of bed to cross over to her wardrobe. “And if I don’t have anything yellow, I want something pink or violet or the color of new spring grass.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t think you have those colors in your wardrobe,” Betty worried.

  Julia laughed, a sound as rich and warm as Brader’s laughter. “I will before the day is out, Betty. Send a note to the seamstress and then help me pick out something special for Mrs. Jenkins’s meeting.”

  Julia enjoyed her first meeting with the Ladies’ League. Mrs. Jenkins quickly made her feel like a member of the group. It helped that the projects undertaken by the league, the sponsorship of a local school and an emergency fund for parish families, were goals near and dear to Julia.

  Turning down Mrs. Jenkins’s kind offer to stay for luncheon, Julia discovered herself anxious to be home. Fisher informed her at the door that an appointment with the village dressmaker had been set for two o’clock that afternoon.

  In appreciation for the message, she gave him a brilliant smile, surprised when the staid Fisher’s cheeks flushed pink. Fisher was starting to unbend toward his mistress. This day was perfect. In that pleasant frame of mind, Julia climbed the stairs and walked back to Nan’s room.

  Her mother-in-law looked pale and fragile among the muslin bedsheets. Her eyes were closed. Julia gave Nan’s cheek a kiss before settling on the settee beside the bed. Nan turned her head toward Julia. “I miss the sunroom,” she said, her voice weak.

  Julia took the older woman’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps Brader will carry you downstairs when he returns.”

  “He’s gone to a meeting with the Prime Minister. Can you imagine that? My son meets with the Prime Minister—” Her words were interrupted by a coughing spasm.

  Julia looked up to the nurse, who merely shook her head. Troubled, Julia said, “We shouldn’t have taken you out Sunday.”

  Nan waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You couldn’t have stopped me.” She changed the subject. “Did you attend the meeting with the parson’s wife?”

  “Yes, and I enjoyed it very much.”

  Nan’s hand patted hers. “That’s good,” she whispered, and Julia marveled that even in her weak state, Nan sought to give comfort. “Tell me what you plan.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Julia told Nan every detail she remembered of the meeting. Taking a deep breath, she added, “And we’ve decided we’ll pay for a coffin for the Turners’ stillborn baby.” Her eyes burned with the tears she fought every time she thought of the tiny baby.

  Nan squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “Brader told me. He sent me word that the farmer needed a doctor for the birth. Now a coffin.” She paused a moment before saying, “I miscarried a child. Even though the wee soul never had a chance at life, I mourned. Even now, the pain of losing my children is sharp and fresh. I held each in my arms until the last breath.”

  Julia leaned closer. “How were you able to keep going after losing a child?”

  Nan tightened her fingers around Julia’s. “My dear, you have to believe. Love doesn’t stop with death. My babes, my Thomas, they aren’t here, but”—she touched her heart with her free hand—“they are here.” Her grip loosened on Julia’s hand, a sign her strength was ebbing. “I can feel your fear, Julia, but don’t be afraid to love. Trust life.”

  Trust life. The words played in Julia’s head throughout the rest of the afternoon.

  Earlier, on the way home from the parsonage, Julia had stopped by to pay her respects to Molly Turner and to inform her of the Ladies’ League’s offer. The young woman mourned, but Julia sensed from the number of times Molly’s eyes met her husband’s that the loss of their child bonded them closer together.

  Now, later in the afternoon, as Julia stood in the middle of her bedroom being sized by the dressmaker, her mind dwelled on the depth of a love like Nan’s that transcended years…and death. Or the love of the Turners, which didn’t break with the death of a child. She mixed these observations with those she’d gathered over the years of her parents’ and grandparents’ marriages and the marriages of members of the ton.

  Julia stood on a footstool while the dressmaker and her assistant pinned a muslin pattern around her. So deep were her thoughts, Betty had to wave the roses back and forth in front of her face before their scent finally penetrated Julia’s thoughts.

  “Where did these—” Julia stopped short as the footman offered an envelope on a silver plate.

  Ignoring the exclamations of the dressmaker and her young assistant over anyone receiving roses in November, Julia opened the card, removing it from its heavy envelope. The bold, black slashes of his handwriting, so unmistakably Brader, hit her with the same impact as his physical presence.

  Julia sank to the floor, ignoring the pins popping out of the muslin as her lips soundlessly formed the words on the card. Never had she been so glad Chester had taught her to read.

  Brader didn’t start with a preamble:

  Tired of the hallway. Choose your room or mine and move both of us. Talk to decorator and do wha
t you wish. Until tomorrow—Brader

  At the bottom of the card was a postscript: Told William to cut back meetings.

  Curt, controlled, and completely Brader. Accepting the fresh fragrant roses from the little maid, Julia discovered her heart raced at an uncommonly rapid beat. Brader had accepted her in his life…and perhaps more?

  During her reign as the Season’s Incomparable, she had become accustomed to grandiose gestures from men claiming her attention. But nothing touched her as Brader’s short announcement that he was having Hardwell cut back his business schedule.

  Don’t be a fool, the practical side of her whispered. Brader is physically attracted to you. Like any man, his attentions are fixed on his prey when the chase is on. Remember, he has mistresses.

  Julia heaved a sigh to steady her nerves. The dreamer inside of her answered, Yes, but would he share a room with a woman he didn’t admire?

  She made her decision. “Betty, please tell Fisher I want to see him.” Asking the dressmaker for a break, Julia slipped on a dressing gown and waited for the butler, surprised when Betty returned with him in a matter of minutes. “Fisher, do you know if Brader retained the services of a decorator?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He had Mr. Hardwell engage a London firm.”

  “Send a message asking them to send one of their representatives this week, tomorrow if possible. Betty, move all my clothing into my husband’s room—tonight.”

  Fisher didn’t even lift a haughty eyebrow at Julia’s last direction. Indeed, she thought she caught the ghost of a smile on the butler’s face. Her hands tightened around Brader’s precious message. Instinct told her that if she moved into Brader’s room, it would be harder for him to move her out when he tired of her.

  That thought sobered her!

  She’d make sure Brader didn’t tire of her. Her pride wouldn’t stand for being packed back across the hallway. Perhaps she should have Brader’s things moved to her room, but realizing everyone in the room had heard her order, Julia refused to back down…at least for now.

  She smiled at the patient dressmaker. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe, for the interruption. Have you finished yet with the measurements, or do you want me to stand on the footstool again?”

  Mrs. Smythe didn’t answer her but looked pointedly past Julia’s shoulder to where Fisher still stood patiently.

  Julia turned to the butler. “I’m sorry, Fisher, was there something else?”

  “You have visitors.”

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Do they have a card?”

  He cleared his throat discreetly. “They say they are your brothers.”

  A blaze of anger ripped through her. It was probably Lionel and one of the others begging for money. She lifted her chin. “I will be with them when we have finished here.”

  There. Let them cool their heels in the sitting room and think about the rudeness of paying unannounced visits!

  She gave Mrs. Smythe her sweetest smile. “Shall we continue?”

  An hour later, Julia regally entered the sitting room. She stopped, her hands on her hips, her skirts swirling around her ankles. Of course, it had to be Harry. Lionel had already asked for money. Her portly brother didn’t sense her presence at first, occupied with his contemplation of the bottom of a sherry bottle.

  “Hello, Harry.” She knew her eyes glittered with the anticipation of a good fight.

  “I say, Julia, don’t you stock anything in this hovel besides sherry?” he complained in a plaintive whine.

  “No,” she lied. “And since you don’t like our cellar, I’ll have Fisher gather your hat.”

  “Julia, I just arrived—”

  “And you can leave.” She held her palm up in the air toward him. “No, not another word. Not another shilling. Good-bye.”

  Harry stood his ground, lifted his quizzing glass, and announced, “I don’t want money. Actually, I’m doing quite well with the horses—not that I wouldn’t mind a bit of blunt, but I can see you’re not in the mood to be generous.” He set his heavy body on a Chippendale chair. “It’s Lionel who is done up, although I understand Mother and Father are lying low. I’ve been avoiding them all myself. I’d hate to refuse them a loan to their faces, and I’d advise you to do the same,” he offered slyly.

  “Harry, I don’t care—”

  “And you know James. Always in the bottom of a glass. If you give him money, he drinks it. Although I think Lionel and Father caught him in his cups and managed to get a little scratch out of him.”

  Julia ground her teeth in frustration. “Harry, I don’t care. As I told Lionel, we’re done with each other. After the ball in London, my family made it very clear I don’t exist. Fine. I’ve washed my hands of all of you. Now leave.”

  Harry didn’t move. Nor did he answer her.

  Instead, a voice came from a dark corner of the room behind Julia, a voice that haunted her nightmares. “I had anticipated a happier reunion. And here you haven’t even asked Harry about me. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me, Pigeon?”

  All the life and vitality drained out of Julia. Slowly she turned to face the man behind the voice. Her voice devoid of all emotion, she responded, “I thought you were in prison, Geoffrey.”

  Fifteen

  “I’m out,” Geoffrey answered simply, opening his palms to her, like a magician demonstrating he hid no tricks, “and here to pay a social call.”

  Julia knew better. “You never paid a social call in your life, Geoffrey. What do you want?”

  His mouth pulled down at the corners. In feigned hurt, he asked, “Why do you always suspect my motives, little Pigeon?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, Julia, you and I are so much alike.”

  “I don’t see the resemblance.” Her voice sounded brittle. She would have to modulate it better. Geoffrey could pull out any nuance of weakness in his prey. She’d learned this lesson the hard way. “Am I to wish you happy?”

  Geoffrey rose from his chair, his movements fluid. He’d lost weight since they’d last met…and he’d aged, looking older than his thirty-five years. The past three years had not been kind to her eldest brother.

  He ignored her question. “Harry is right, Pigeon. I find I could do with liquid refreshment before dinner.”

  This time Julia didn’t equivocate but rang for Fisher. Not surprised when both men ordered whiskey, she also asked Fisher, when Geoffrey reminded her, to add two more covers for dinner.

  Once her brothers had drinks, she repeated her earlier question. “Am I to wish you happy?”

  “Yes, damn it,” Geoffrey responded, his light blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, burning brightly. “Marriage was the only way out of that hellhole.”

  “So where is your wife?” she asked grimly.

  “In Greece,” he announced, and then added with a hint of a smile, “I think.”

  Harry gave a nasty laugh.

  Julia’s calm façade cracked slightly. “Isn’t she bearing your child?”

  Geoffrey threw the whiskey to the back of his throat. “No heir of mine. A vow made under duress does not bind a good Englishman. Even the Regent would agree with me. Besides,” he added, shrugging his shoulders, “other than my family, who knows?” He poured himself another dram of whiskey and stretched out with graceful ease on the settee before adding softly, “Ah, yes, my new brother-in-law, Brader Wolf, knows. Seems he arranged the marriage. It was his wine we drank for our wedding toasts.” He raised his glass and sneered. “I’ll have to thank him, won’t I?”

  A foreboding, gleaned from hard experience with Geoffrey, set off a warning inside her. Her appetite evaporated…especially since dinner promised to be a battle of wills and wits.

  Leave, she wanted to say. Get out of my life. But the words wouldn’t come. She stood before Geoffrey, realizing her past lay around her neck with the weight of an executioner’s noose. The joy and anticipation with which she’d greeted the day disappeared. She needed time to think, to sort out the jumbled confusion of her thoughts and emot
ions.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I seem to have gained a headache,” she apologized, and discovered her words were true.

  Harry frowned. “Oh, Julia.”

  “Really, Harry, you don’t need me to see to your comfort,” she snapped, anxious to get away from Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey rose slowly. “That’s right, Harry. We don’t need Julia.” He mimicked her tone. “I can pay my respects to my new brother-in-law without her introduction.”

  Julia turned sharply on Geoffrey, alarmed by the hint of menace in his voice. His features remained bland. “How unfortunate,” she said coolly. “Brader is away from Kimberwood.”

  “Until when?” Geoffrey asked, his voice noncommittal, polite.

  “I—ah—I imagine I’ll see him tomorrow night.”

  “I’m sure we can depend on your hospitality until then.” He gave her a mirthless smile, one she understood.

  “Of course,” she replied, claiming a small victory by betraying none of her fears. She turned on her heel and practically raced to the haven of her bedroom.

  Her prayers would go toward the slim hope that Geoffrey would be called away before Brader’s return. She knew that was too much to hope for. God alone knew what would happen when he and Brader met.

  The next day, Julia threw herself into plans for redecorating Kimberwood. Shutting herself and the London decorator up in the study, she managed to avoid her brothers.

  She knew they’d spent most of the night drinking. She also knew Fisher did not approve of them, and hence she’d lost an amount of hard-won standing in the butler’s eyes. She told herself it shouldn’t matter. It did.

  Thankfully, Nan was confined to her room and was therefore denied the dubious honor of meeting her brothers…not that Julia needed to worry. Harry didn’t rise until early afternoon. Geoffrey, up around noon, went riding—probably to case out Brader’s holdings.

  Experience had taught her Geoffrey only appeared when he wanted something. Other than those occasions, he stayed out of other people’s affairs. Possibly he wanted money…but what else? Money wasn’t always the only motive for Geoffrey. Many times over the past three years she’d wondered what he had hoped to gain by her suicide. The question had no answer.