All Things Beautiful

by Cathy Maxwell

  No, he didn’t always want money.

  That evening, she waited in the sitting room for her husband’s return. He burst into the room, still wearing the dirt of travel and the hint of a wintry wind on his greatcoat. His smile stunned her as he crossed the room and reached to pull her into his arms.

  Julia caught his forearms before they wrapped around her body. With a silent shake of her head, she stepped away from him and tried to give a pointed look toward the doorway.

  Brader frowned. Before he could form a question, a voice drawled from the doorway, “I say, I’m not late for dinner, am I?”

  Her smile forced, she asked, “You remember my brother, Harry?”

  Julia watched the happiness over their reunion die in Brader’s eyes. Whatever else he thought disappeared behind a cold façade. He turned toward Harry. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Harry.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Harry answered carelessly. “Have you met our oldest brother, Geoffrey?” He stepped aside so his brother could come into the room.

  “Did we interrupt?” Geoffrey asked, his eyes studying Brader avidly.

  An instant dislike flared between the two men and filled the room. “No,” Brader responded, easing the tension slightly. He tilted his head toward Julia. “You’ll forgive me if I change before dinner. I wasn’t prepared for guests.”

  Julia nodded her acquiescence. Staring at her husband’s retreating back, she felt his unspoken criticism and a rising defensiveness in her own response. She didn’t invite Geoffrey and Harry…but even if she had, why should she answer to him?

  Geoffrey interrupted her thoughts, his eyes gleaming. “Interesting,” he murmured. “I’ve been told Brader Wolf is not a man to cross.”

  His words went to the heart of Julia’s worries. “Are you planning to cross him?”

  Geoffrey gave her a lazy smile. “Why should I do that, Pigeon? The man is my brother-in-law—even if he is below our touch.” He accepted the drink Harry poured from a decanter.

  “You haven’t formed an attachment for him, have you, Julia?” Harry asked.

  She gritted her teeth, warning herself not to let her brother’s words wound her pride.

  When she made no comment, Geoffrey turned serious. “You aren’t planning to breed with him, are you, Pigeon?” he ventured shrewdly.

  His crudeness shocked her. “How dare—”

  Geoffrey interrupted her, his legendary sangfroid etched on every word. “Oh, I dare. Remember, you have the blood of the Conqueror flowing through your veins. Don’t come out of this marriage with a brat and expect me to recognize it.”

  His words scandalized her. “Come out of my marriage? Who said that I am leaving it?”

  Geoffrey took a seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Holding his drink with one hand, he negligently flipped open his snuffbox with the thumb of the other hand, flicked a small measure of snuff on the thumbnail, and inhaled.

  “I say, Geoff, I’ve yet to figure out how you do that. Teach me the trick of it, will you?” Harry demanded, his interest in triviality grating on Julia’s stretched nerves.

  She didn’t say anything. It never paid to push Geoffrey. She waited. He knew she wanted an answer.

  Geoffrey appeared to gain confidence from the snuff powder, his eyes taking on an uncommon brightness. “Julia,” he finally drawled, “he’s in trade. Everyone expects to see you soon on the London scene. No one can imagine Julia Markham rusticating.”

  “Everyone expected me to rusticate well enough three years ago.”

  Geoffrey studied her through hooded eyes. “But now you are married to a very rich man. You won’t be accepted into the best homes, but there will be a place for you in London. There’s always a place for a rich and beautiful woman in London.”

  She felt her stomach churn. Managing not to reflect her anxiety in her voice, she asked, “A place, Geoff? Is that enough? And is the date of my return listed on the betting books, or have my brothers given up that venture?”

  Geoffrey held his facial expression, but Harry gave a start. Smoothly Geoffrey covered for him. “Venture. What an interesting way to describe our endeavor. Perhaps we should enter a bet, Harry. A pool picking the date our sister hatches Wolf’s by-blow.”

  His words made her gasp. “I’m legally married. No child of mine will be illegitimate.”

  All pretense dropped from the lines of Geoffrey’s face. His eyes shining with arrogance, he announced, “I don’t recognize this marriage, and you would be wise to cater to me since I will be head of this family one day. The line goes directly to me. Listen to me, little sister, and mark my words well. You owe Wolf nothing.”

  “Have you gone mad, Geoffrey?” Julia shot back.

  He smiled grimly. “Wouldn’t you like that, sister of mine?” He schooled his features back to their usual sophisticated disinterest, his words more chilling because of his air of detachment. “Well, there are ways of removing—shall we say, unpleasantness. It would be a pity if I drove you to madness. We could tell everyone it runs in the family.” He laughed lightly at his own humor.

  A piece fit into the puzzle. “Is that why, Geoff? Because I embarrassed the family name? What would you do to me if I scandalized the family name with divorce?”

  Geoffrey raised his eyebrows in an imitation of mild surprise. “ ’Pon my word, Julia, whatever are you alluding to? Divorce is an unspeakable act. You’d never be accepted by the beau monde if you divorced. Besides, you would lose all the money. There are several easier ways to rid oneself of a disastrous marriage.”

  If he’d slapped her, she wouldn’t have been more shocked—or hurt. Is that how all of London thought of her marriage? A disaster? Julia heard Brader’s tread coming down the staircase. Flashing her brothers an angry look, she crossed to meet her husband. Her brothers answered with a stare of bland innocence…which alarmed Julia more. There was a scheme afoot.

  Well, they could rule out her participation in it and she’d tell them so, the very next minute she found herself alone with them.

  Brader had washed away the dust of travel and changed into a bottle green jacket and thigh-hugging buckskins tucked into top boots. He looked devastatingly handsome and every inch the country gentleman. In contrast, her brothers appeared foppish.

  His powerful presence reassured her. What could her lazy brothers do against this giant of a man?

  Julia took the arm he offered her. He cast her a speculative glance, one that made her wonder if he’d heard their discussion. But just as quickly, the look disappeared from his eyes and she could almost believe she’d imagined it. “Shall we?” he asked, referring to crossing the hallway for dinner.

  Julia gave him a tight smile of assent and then mentally kicked herself. Relax.

  Walking behind them into the dining room, Geoffrey exaggerated inhaling the air. “Ah, Julia’s perfume.” He seated himself at the table and turned toward his brother-in-law. “Did you know she had it blended especially for her? It’s a combination of rose and—what is it, Pigeon? What is that special…je ne sais quoi?”

  She lifted her gaze from the napkin the footman had placed in her lap and leveled it on her brother. Geoff sat waiting expectantly for the answer. They’d played this game in the past. His words were the code they’d used years ago when Geoff had found a victim to fleece.

  She knew her line. Her throat grew tight. She had to answer or Brader would believe something was wrong. Already, he was suspiciously quiet. Her brothers might misjudge Brader, but his wife would not. She knew how alert he was to the slightest nuance. His gaze studying her from across the table was as real and clear to her as his physical touch as he waited for her response to Geoffrey.

  Reluctantly, she murmured, “Almond.”

  “What? I don’t think I heard what you said?” Geoffrey’s manner was so smooth, an outsider would have thought this was all spontaneous conversation…if Julia had chosen to play.

  Her reply came louder, but stilted, “Oil of almo
nd.”

  Geoffrey flashed her a brittle smile. “Ah, that’s what makes you smell good enough to eat, hmm?” Looking at Brader, he said, “The perfume is Julia’s signet. Until she appeared on the London scene, Arabella Hampton was the rage. Arabella and her snuff. Julia quite eclipsed Arabella in looks and”—he paused for emphasis—“breeding.” He smiled. “So Julia created her perfume, the perfume of an Incomparable. She became the rage of London.”

  “That’s the truth,” Harry cut in, his mouth full of mutton. “Women attempted to bribe the perfumer for the recipe. Women would beg me for it.”

  Geoffrey carefully dissected a piece of his mutton, before looking at her. “But Julia never gave out the secret, did you, Pigeon?”

  Restless, Julia said, “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Geoff. I detest the nickname.”

  Geoffrey appeared to ignore her, addressing himself to Brader. “That’s when she gained the name the Elegant Julia. So beautiful, so full of good taste and breeding. A lady never takes snuff or disgraces her family, does she, Pige—oh, beg pardon—Julia?”

  Pride in her lineage had been bred into Julia from the day she could walk. The fact that she’d found some happiness with Brader and wanted to have his baby pricked her conscience with needle sharpness.

  Don’t breed with a tradesman. The words had been Geoff’s, but they could have been her grandparents’ and certainly her mother’s…or any one of the people of polite society she’d once considered friends. Grandmère must be frowning from her grave.

  Looking up, Julia wondered guiltily if Brader could read her mind. In response, the muscles of his jaw tightened, his eyes glittered dangerously. Julia broke eye contact first.

  Her appetite deserted her, especially when she remembered that all her possessions now filled her husband’s wardrobe and drawers. Damn Geoffrey. Damn the Markhams.

  Pushing her food around her plate she made a pretense of eating, hoping no one would notice.

  Brader noticed.

  “Julia, is the food not to your liking?” he inquired curtly, interrupting Harry’s soliloquy on betting the horses.

  Smile, she ordered herself before offering apologetically, “I’m not over fond of mutton.”

  His gaze held hers a moment, studying, probing, before he answered lightly, “Neither am I.”

  “Well, then, why does your cook make it?” Harry’s words butted between Brader and Julia, providing her the relief she needed from her husband’s all too knowing eyes.

  Geoffrey said succinctly, “Harry, you are de trop,” which earned Brader’s full attention. Neither man’s face revealed open animosity, but Julia had no doubt she witnessed a testing of wills.

  Silence.

  More was said in that moment void of conversation than Julia cared to admit. She laid down her fork, the clatter of silver against china resounding in the dining room. Geoffrey broke first without conceding defeat. Instead, he directed his attention to his sister. “Julia, don’t look so much like a Shakespearean tragedian,” he chided softly. “One would think you style yourself after the misdirected Juliet, eh, Brader?”

  Brader lifted his wineglass in the direction of Geoffrey, his eyes on Julia as he murmured, “Or Hamlet.”

  His barb hit home. So, he found her indecisive? She lifted her chin. She didn’t have to answer to him or Geoffrey.

  Through with the farce, Julia rose gracefully from her seat at the dinner table, her smile stiff and uncompromising. “I’m sure you’ll excuse me if I leave you gentlemen to your port.” She didn’t wait for them to stand or to respond but gave them her back and left the room.

  To go where? Julia stopped at the foot of the stairs. Conscious of the polite interest of the footmen, she forced herself to climb the stairs.

  Pushing open the door to Brader’s room, Julia didn’t know if this was where she wanted to be. Slowly, she turned in the middle of the room, her arms coming out from her sides. Her hands reached out as if she could grab hold of something of meaning and substance…a memory, the joy of yesterday morning.

  Instead, the wintry wind rattled the windowpanes; the fire flickered on the hearth. Sentimentality was an emotion she had learned long ago to do without. She crossed over to the dresser and pulled out her flannel nightdress.

  She should call for Betty, a little surprised the maid hadn’t arrived already. Certainly Fisher would have sent word that Julia had left the dining room. Then, deciding she had no desire to see anyone, she started unbuttoning the row of tiny buttons down the back of her gown.

  The door flew open.

  Brader stood watching her a long silent minute from the doorway. Julia fought the urge to flinch, meeting his cool stare with one of her own.

  Finally, he raised an eyebrow and asked lightly, “Do you need help undressing?”

  “I’ll ring for Betty.”

  He kicked the door shut. “When I left you yesterday, a maid was—” He paused and then deliberately said, “de trop,” mimicking Geoffrey.

  She tried to force a cool, distant smile and shocked even herself when the curve of her lips started to tighten and break. To her horror, a sob escaped her. She covered her face with her hands.

  “Julia—?” Brader started forward, but she turned away from him. His hand touched her shoulder. Reflexively, she jerked away from him.

  “I see,” he said, the words granite hard.

  Julia didn’t answer but picked a point on the wall and stared hard at it, attempting to gain control of herself.

  “What hold does he have over you?”

  “He has no hold, but he’s right. There is a code of behavior….” Her voice trailed off, because to finish would be to insult Brader. Finally, she turned to him, the set of her features hardened. She wouldn’t break again. “I’m sorry, Brader. It appears my brothers remind me—”

  “Of your emotional side? Don’t tell me it’s for the love of those two selfish aristos you suddenly find you can’t stomach my touch?”

  Alarmed, Julia whirled toward him. “I never said such a thing!”

  “Or do they remind you of how inferior I am to you socially?”

  “Brader, that’s not—”

  “You’re a snob, Julia,” he said flatly.

  “I’ve never—” She sputtered and then shut her mouth. Her conscience, which had learned to see the world all too clearly over the last three years, agreed with him. The truth wasn’t pretty. She thought she’d grown beyond the pettiness.

  She bowed her head as she turned his statement this way and that, the way a child would study a new toy she wasn’t sure she liked but had to keep.

  Finally, she looked up. “If I let go of my pride in my heritage, what will I have left?”

  “Only you can answer that question.”

  He’d removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. The firelight danced across the dark curls of his hair and highlighted the lines of his body. No man had ever appeared more masculine, more desirable…or more distant.

  He sat on the bed. “No more games between us, Julia. There is the door. I won’t stop you.” His jaw tightened, his eyes glowing golden. “But if you stay, you accept me as an equal.”

  His ultimatum shocked her. Julia hid behind words. “I haven’t done anything to deserve your suspicions.”

  “Since your brothers appeared, you haven’t smiled at me once. You’ve avoided my touch and barely tolerated my presence.” He leaned forward, one forearm on his knee. “And I would take a bet that if your possessions weren’t moved into this room, you wouldn’t be standing here right now pretending to be my wife.”

  “I am your wife,” Julia answered, the heat of embarrassment running through her body at his dead center assessment of her innermost thoughts. She clenched her fists in frustration. “How easy it is for you! I wish I knew what you were thinking. Oh, not the words you speak but what you really think! I walk around Kimberwood with imaginary scales hanging over my head, so you can weigh every word I speak and every glance I give to see if it meets
your peculiar code of honor.” She crossed over to where he sat on the bed, her hands on her hips. “I have the blood of kings and queens flowing through my veins,” she told him defiantly. “Yet you constantly refute my word. You’ve set yourself up as my judge and accuser—”

  Brader came to his feet, forcing Julia to take a step back. His eyes blazed. “Don’t preach to me about bloodlines.” He practically spit the words out. “All of us came from somewhere. England didn’t grow to be a world power on the backs of the people who sired you and your brothers. Outside these walls are life-and-death issues, but here I have to sit and listen to Harry drone on about gambling with the same passion real men give to medicine, engineering, religion! Ideas of depth and substance. The only claim you can make is to a noble race of idiots!”

  Julia’s mouth fell open. “How dare—”

  “Geoffrey is the only one with any industry. He sits like some crocodile of the Nile plotting ways to use his words to create dissension between us. You haven’t seen such creatures in your sheltered superficial life, Lady Julia, but I can assure you nothing will chill your blood like the grin of a crocodile as he watches his prey with lifeless eyes.” Brader cocked his head. “On second thought, a croc’s eyes have more life than Geoffrey’s, but I imagine his bite is as dangerous.”

  “He’s my brother—”

  “My condolences!” he snapped. “And also my congratulations. You almost had me convinced that you were different from those worthless leeches you call family. Geoffrey is correct. You are a remarkable actress.”

  Julia recoiled as if he’d physically struck her. The air between them crackled with spent emotion. She backed away three steps. She had to swallow before she could trust her voice. “I wasn’t acting.”

  Disbelief etched his face.

  Again, she experienced the feelings of uncertainty and doubt she’d suffered Monday night, in front of the Turners’ cottage. “I’m not acting,” she repeated. She looked at him, groping for words to make him understand what she didn’t understand herself. “I feel I’m caught in two worlds. I know which world I want to choose…but the other?” She shook her head, afraid she couldn’t explain. “The other calls me back. I haven’t been able to cut the ties with my family…no matter how much I know I should.”