All Things Beautiful (10 page)

“That does it!” Julia stomped toward the door. “I’ve had enough of you for one day.”

Her body was jerked backward in midstep by Brader’s foot, firmly planted on the hem of the gold silk robe beneath her flannel nightdress,
catching her up short. Now her cheeks burned like firebrands as she cursed herself for forgetting that ridiculous silk robe.

“You’re not in line for the throne yet,
Lady
Julia, so don’t adopt that tone with me.”

“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.

Brader rocked his foot back on his heel, releasing Julia, who angrily snapped the robe behind her like the train of an evening gown. She felt tears well up in her eyes but fought them back. One slipped by her defenses and silently ran down her cheek. She refused to acknowledge it.

But Brader saw the tear. Reaching out, he caught it on the tip of one finger. The hard look in his eye softened. “What I did must have come as a shock to you, especially unprepared as you were. But you must believe I thought you were a willing partner. You asked me to make love to you.”

“I said no such thing!”

“When a woman walks in—uninvited—to a man’s private study and reveals she is naked underneath a silk robe”—Brader paused for emphasis—“she’s not asking for directions to Saint Paul’s.”

Julia wouldn’t dignify that statement with an answer. She stared stonily at the wall opposite him.

Brader swore softly and ran a large hand though his dark hair. “Julia, I’m not good at this. I don’t know what to say to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“Julia—”

“In fact, I wish you’d leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

Incredulous to hear those words from her husband, she was struck speechless. Brader? Sorry? She whirled to face him.

He continued, “I misjudged you. And considering that this was your first experience with a man—ah—making love, I’m afraid I didn’t handle the situation as I should.”

Surely, he mocked her. But she could read no mockery in the depth of his brown eyes. The anger left her body. Her admission came out as a whisper. “I was bold.”

The gold flecks in his eyes danced. “I truly don’t mind your boldness…Mrs. Wolf.”

Julia’s heart leaped to her throat, responding to the honeyed warmth of his voice. Her eyes met his and she smiled shyly, unable to speak.

He stepped closer. “I didn’t mind your boldness at all.” The husky tenor of his voice trilled through her. Her toes curled into the worn pile of the carpet, the hypnotic power of his voice wooing her.

She could feel the heat from his body. His pulse beat against the bronze skin at his throat.

Lifting her hand from her side, Brader pressed her fingers to his lips. “In fact,” he began, the heat of his breath tingling against her skin, “we could pick up from where we left off downstairs.”

Julia’s eyes opened wide at his suggestion.

Brader slipped his fingers through hers. “It won’t be like it was in the study. You know more
about what happens, and I will be ever so gentle. It’ll be good between us. I promise.”

Julia yanked her hand out of his. “I didn’t like it,” she stated flatly.

Exasperated, Brader tried again. “Julia, we’re married. It’s meant for us to be together. What we started downstairs is what married couples do.”

“No, it isn’t. You told me yourself time and time again, we don’t have to be together. In fact, you haven’t wanted me anywhere near you!”

“Julia, you are running me through the gamut.”

At the warning tone in his voice, she stepped away quickly to put distance between them. “I think we are quit with each other now, Brader. You have your mistress and you can do
that
with her. And I have what I want. I will have your baby.”

Brader’s mouth dropped open, dumb stuck. He stared at her for so long, she wondered if he was epileptic and having a seizure. Certainly, she could push him over with a touch of her finger.

Brader came back to reality with a shake of his head. Or at least she thought he did, until he asked in an amazed voice, “You’re going to have my what?”

“Your baby,” she announced proudly.

“My baby,” he repeated like a simpleton. “Is this a ruse?” He studied her face a moment and then broke into laughter. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Should I tell her?” he asked, addressing the room in general.

“Tell me what?”

Brader laughed louder.

“What should you tell me?” Julia demanded, placing her hands on her hips. “What is so funny?”

Brader rounded on her. “I should tell you why I find it difficult to sit down,” he said. “I’m talking about why I can’t even stand comfortably. Why my trousers are so tight right now with all the blood in my bal—”

Brader broke off with a roar and marched past her. At the door he turned and scowled.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re ranting and raving about,” Julia admitted.

He raised his eyes and arms heavenward. “God, what did I do? Why are you punishing me?” His angry eyes came down to rest on Julia. “I have a wife who looks like a goddess, with the reputation and actions of a whore, and the sexual knowledge of a five-year-old.”

“Not true!”

He jutted out his chin. “ ’Tis so!”

Julia bristled. “Get out.”

“Gladly!” Brader flung back. “I’ll be pacing around my room trying to work out this damn—this
excitement
you’ve created in me.”

“Excitement?”

Brader snorted and spat out, “That. Remember? The word you so tastefully used: ‘that’? Well, ‘that’ is driving me to madness.”

Julia shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“
That’s
what I’m talking about!” he shouted, completely out of control.

Julia wasn’t intimidated by his shouting. If anything, she felt more confused. “Brader, I’m not sure I understand what you are saying.”

He appeared to struggle for reason, his words spoken between clenched teeth. “I’m telling you, you’re
not
pregnant.” He opened the door before belligerently adding, “Now, what do you think about
that?
”

Julia’s mouth dropped open. “But I should be pregnant. You did tha—” she stopped, afraid to finish the word “To me,” she ended meekly.

Brader looked out at her from under brows pulled together in frustration. His voice shook with strangled emotion. “Julia, I am not a sane man right now. I don’t think it wise to pursue this matter further.”

Distressed, she repeated to herself, “I’m not pregnant? Brader?”

Brader groaned, threw open her door, and slammed it shut behind him. She heard him kick a hallway table, in his short walk to his room, and then came the slam of his door and the sound of heavy objects, probably some of his precious books, being thrown across the room.

She didn’t have the courage to cross the hall and demand an answer. But there was one person who would answer her question—without roaring and carrying on. Tomorrow, she’d visit Emma.

The next morning, when Julia woke from a restless sleep, Betty presented her with a message from Brader that he planned to be in London on business for several days. Julia wondered if he’d known the night before that he was leaving or if this was his excuse to avoid her.

She’d been forced to listen to him move heavy furniture around his room for at least an hour after he’d left her room. Why Brader had chosen the middle of the night for such a task and did it himself without the servants’ help was beyond her understanding.

At least he’d left her a message as to his whereabouts, which was definitely an improvement.

Three hours later, Julia was seated at Emma’s kitchen table studying her thumbnail, trying to phrase the questions in her mind.

Working at her hearth, Emma poured two cups of tea and asked with a sly smile, “Did my suggestion help, my lady?”

“Yes.” Julia hedged.

Emma beamed. Wagging a finger in Julia’s direction, she said, “You’re a healthy young couple. I didn’t think it would take much to start a spark.”

Julia winced.
Spark
wasn’t the word she would have chosen for what had happened between them last night. Volcano, inferno. Those words came to mind before
spark.

She took a deep breath to get her courage up. “Emma, I have another question.”

The housekeeper smiled indulgently. “Ask, my
lady. You know you’ll get a straight answer from Emma Beal.” She picked up the cups in their saucers and began walking toward the table where Julia sat.

Emma was right, Julia decided. She could trust Emma. “What does my husband have to do to make me pregnant?” she blurted out.

Her answer was the sound of two more of Emma’s precious teacups shattering on the cottage floor.

E
mma’s answers to her questions did not bring Julia any peace of mind. If anything, the answers burned in her mind over the next three days. She did everything she could to erase Brader, that night, and her own foolish responses from her mind.

Emma answered all her questions, patiently and with a wisdom known only to women. Julia just wished she’d had the foresight to ask specific questions before she married.

To ease her unsettled mind, she threw herself into the role of being the Lady of Kimberwood. At Danescourt, she’d promised herself that if she ever had the opportunity she would see that the tenants were treated better than they were under her father’s care.

Now she had opportunity and money, but she soon discovered Brader had seen to the needs of the tenants himself. Everywhere she traveled, she was forced to listen to the crofters’ praises of her husband and his newly appointed land manager.

Julia felt useless.

Still, she traded Emma’s home remedies for the croup with the parson’s wife, who was thrown into a dither over how to address Julia: Lady Julia or Mrs. Wolf? Julia chose Mrs. Wolf. She commiserated over the aches and pains of pregnancy with a farmer’s young wife and admired the work of a traveling smith who was considering Kimberwood as a base of operations. Every afternoon she spent an hour with Nan, enjoying their deepening friendship.

And all the while she thought of Brader.

Her mind replayed their conversation of that night, finding satisfaction in rewriting the whole evening. She should have played her role differently, been more sophisticated, made him come to her, not vice versa. Her repartee should have been brighter, livelier. Brader would have been humbler, smitten by her charm, her looks, grateful she’d deigned to give him attention.

Or she would have simply never gone down the stairs—especially since the idea of a humble Brader was beyond her imagination.

But sometimes, late at night while she was alone in her bed, her senses stirred and roiled with memories of the feelings his touch evoked. Her conversation with Emma haunted her, and she discovered a bone-deep hunger for—what?

In those late hours of the night, she found no peace. She felt she’d opened Pandora’s box and now there was a price to pay…and she didn’t know if she could afford it.

Daily, Brader received reports wherever he was in London on the state of Nan’s health. Julia decided the messengers were fortunate London was only a hard three-hour ride away, since he also fired back dozens of messages to his land manager, his stable manager, Fisher, his mother…and one to Julia.

She almost didn’t have the nerve to open it. The message inside was a noncommittal how-are-you-doing-I-wish
-you-well. Studying the bold, black slashes of his handwriting, she wondered if he truly wanted to know or if he felt it good form in front of his mother and the others to send at least one letter to his wife.

She made no return reply. She considered replies but her mind went blank when actually penning words on paper, nor did her pride allow her to expose to her husband the childish scrawl of her handwriting.

Brader returned late on a Saturday after the whole household had turned in for the night. When Julia first heard his voice in the hallway, wishing Hardwell a good night, she swore that he’d been born of her dreams until she realized she was awake.

Swiftly, she rose from her bed and, with her long braid swinging down her back, tiptoed over to the door and cracked it open. Several seconds passed before he came into her view.

The light from the candle in his hand flickered eerily, emphasizing his dark, rugged looks. With
his hair slicked back from his ride in the wet weather, his presence seemed somewhat sinister. A chill crept up her spine as her overactive imagination reflected he would have made a dashing and intimidating highwayman.

In the center of the hall between their two doorways, he paused and studied her door. Julia pulled back, sure he saw her spying. If he did, he gave no indication. For a second, she thought he considered knocking on her door, but he shook his head instead and entered his own room.

Julia didn’t know if she felt relief or disappointment.

The Sabbath dawned wet and cold. Betty woke her with the message that Mrs. Elliott and Mrs. Brown were in an uproar. The Master’s mother insisted on attending the parish church and nothing the two women said or did could dissuade her.

Quickly, Julia donned her sensible flannel wrapper and ran to Nan’s room. She had no idea if her help would be appreciated, but she was certain such a trip could not be good for Nan’s health in the November drizzle.

She gasped when she discovered the situation. Nan, looking very old and gray, slumped against a bedpost crying.

Julia raced over to her immediately. “Nan, please, you must lie down and relax.”

Nan looked toward the sound of Julia’s voice and held out a thin, shaking hand. “Julia, you’ll
take me to Sunday service, won’t you?” Her soft voice sounded reedy, like a child begging one last special favor. “I have to go. I have to go for Thomas.”

Over Nan’s head, Julia caught Mrs. Elliott’s worried look. She nodded her understanding and wrapped her arms around Nan, saying, “I’ll take you, but not today. The weather is too severe for an outing today.”

Nan turned out to be stronger than Julia suspected, for she pulled away. “No, I must go today.”

Julia looked to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Elliott for direction. Both women shrugged their shoulders helplessly, concern etched on their faces.

Determined to lead her back to bed, Julia said with gentle authority, “Nan, we’re afraid that you will catch a cold or worse. Wait until the weather improves.”

“No, I must go today. I need a blessing today for Thomas. He needs me to go today.”

Nan’s words, as if her deceased husband waited for her at the foot of the staircase, put a shiver up Julia’s back. She handled her mother-in-law’s strange mood with a straightforward response. “Nan, you could catch pneumonia or the influ—”

A deep voice from the doorway interrupted her. “I’ll take her to church.”

Julia looked up at her husband, whose broad shoulders filled the doorframe. He was dressed casually. Their eyes met. Julia said, “It’s not wise—”

“Brader, you’d do that for me?” Nan’s unseeing eyes were alight with happiness, her voice eager. Rising by using the bedpost for support, she held a small hand out to him.

He shrugged. “You don’t think the church doors will slam in my face, do you?”

Nan’s voice was fervent in denial. “Never say that. You have nothing of which to be ashamed. Never let me hear you speak such thoughts.”

Brader’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Oh, Brader.” The tears rolled down Nan’s cheeks and her body sagged, but before it could hit the ground, Brader had crossed the room and scooped her up in his arms. His mother’s frail arms went up around his neck. “I loved Thomas and I love you. Never say those words again. You have nothing of which to be ashamed.”

Brader leaned his cheek against his mother’s head, cooing soft words of reassurance. Watching him, Julia felt she was meeting the man for the first time. Just when she thought she had some understanding of Brader Wolf, he slipped into a new role.

Nan whispered, “Take me to church today, Brader, please. You and Julia take me to church.”

Brader looked over toward Julia, who nodded her reluctant assent although the words of agreement had already left his lips. He started to lay Nan on the bed but she said, “I’m fine. Laurie, get me ready, please.”

While Mrs. Elliott moved forward to help Nan
dress, Mrs. Brown attempted to corner Brader to express her concern over this expedition. He stopped her with a shake of his head and a meaningful look at his mother.

In the hallway, Julia placed a hand on Brader’s arm. “Do you really think this is wise?” She pulled her hand back when he turned to face her, suddenly aware of her state of undress and her sleep-tousled braid tumbling over one shoulder.

Brader pursed his lips, studying her eyes a moment before answering. “We have no choice. My mother was a minister’s wife and enjoyed a communion with God. Regardless of her health, she must and will attend the church service this Sunday.”

“Because of Thomas?”

“Yes.” The lines of his mouth grew grim. “But not Thomas Ashford. My father’s name was also Thomas.”

“And she must attend the service for him?”

Brader nodded. “She has done so every year around the eighteenth of this month.”

“What is the significance of that date?”

His eyes hardened as he answered. “My father was hanged on the eighteenth of November thirty three years ago.” He didn’t add any more information. Julia was so stunned, he’d made a short bow and taken his leave before she recovered her wits.

The coach was full. Mrs. Elliott and Mrs. Brown accompanied them, since their help would be needed if Nan collapsed.

Julia found herself squeezed next to the broad, muscular body of her husband. His close proximity to her provided no balm for her troubled nerves. With every bounce and jolt of the coach, her thigh or arm pressed against his body. With her senses alerted to his every movement, Julia found herself wondering if she would ever be near to him without this wild awareness of his presence.

They arrived just before Pastor Jenkins closed the door to start the service. Catching sight of the coach, he held the door open for them. Brader quickly organized the unloading of the women and carried his mother to the front door through the light, cold drizzle.

“Come in, come in,” the pastor invited jovially, until he closed the door behind the newcomers and took a look at Julia. His mouth shut on any other words of welcome.

Julia lifted her eyebrow and greeted him with an aloof nod. She thought he’d been conspicuously absent the day she’d paid a call at the vicarage. Nor had it escaped her attention that the good pastor had not returned her call.

Nan insisted on walking up the aisle herself, although she leaned heavily on her son’s arm. Mrs. Elliott and Mrs. Brown followed. Julia started up the aisle behind them but discovered her feet refused to move.

It was happening again…just as it had three years ago.

A woman glanced back at Julia, studied her brazenly a moment, then leaned over to the woman next to her and whispered. That woman, in turn, glanced back toward Julia. Their actions were repeated as a wave of disapproval swept through the small church.

Julia had no doubt that word of her marriage, her humiliation at her own ball, and every gossipy tidbit about Lawrence had fueled the neighborhood rumor mills for the past week. If she’d created a sensation in London, she probably had the local gentry gossips whirling like dervishes!

Her fingers strayed to the scar on her left wrist. She would not back down from these people with their narrow minds. Refusing to hang her head in shame, she forced herself to step forward.

Brader, having settled Nan, looked back for her at that moment. His piercing gaze honed in on her hand rubbing her wrist. He frowned and looked sharply around the church, evaluating.

Julia kept her sights on him, ignoring the stiffness in the set of the parishioners’ shoulders and the way people turned their heads to avoid looking directly at her while their children gaped openly. She burned with indignation—not for herself; she’d suffered through this scene at Danescourt—but for Nan. Brader could take care of himself, but Julia didn’t want any of her shame to rub off onto good, gentle Nan.

So intense was her concentration, Brader startled
her when he met her halfway down the aisle. In a low voice, for her ears alone, he said, “We don’t have to stay.”

Julia pressed her lips together, embarrassed that her distress was so obvious. With twin pools of heat staining her cheeks, she said, “No. I don’t run.”

In silent answer, Brader took her hand in his. He pulled back the edge of her glove, exposing the faint scar. Reverently, he lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the scar.

Julia’s breath caught in her throat at his action in front of the avidly staring worshipers. If Brader had shouted a defense of his wife, he couldn’t have shocked the good people of the parish—including Julia—more.

Brader smiled, appearing to enjoy the scene he was creating, and placed her hand in the crook of his arm to escort her to their place among the pews. Around her, people made a great show of arranging hymnals. Julia could feel a reluctant smile tug at her lips.

Brader held on to her hand, refusing to give it up even after they sat down. On the other side of Julia, Nan reached over, her hand moving with the lightness of a sparrow, and patted Julia’s arm until she found her daughter-in-law’s other hand and grasped it.

Julia looked sharply at Nan, afraid the woman had sensed the undercurrents of the situation but was quickly relieved of her fears when Nan leaned over and whispered loud enough for Brader to
hear, “I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d get Brader into church for Sunday service.”

Julia smiled and shot a teasing look at her husband from beneath her lashes. “Neither did I,” she agreed.

Brader gave her hand an admonishing squeeze, but his mouth twitched suspiciously.

Julia forced herself to return her attention to the sermon. For the first time in three years, flanked by her husband and her mother-in-law, she felt a part of the world around her. With a start, she realized it didn’t make a difference that Brader was a tradesman and her social inferior. He’d stood beside her, walking up the aisle. She fought the lump forming in her throat in gratitude for his support.

Of course, the worst was not over. The worst always came at the time of departure. Then the women would make a great show of not wanting themselves or their families tainted by Julia’s presence. While Nan prayed for the immortal soul of Brader’s father, Julia prayed to leave the church without creating a scene that would embarrass her new family.

Brader left them immediately following the last hymn, ostensibly to arrange for their coach to meet them at the doorway. With the last note of the “Amen,” Julia rose. Unafraid to look at any of the gentry directly, she noticed that they avoided meeting her eyes. Here it comes, she warned herself, and considered a graceful exit so that Nan could not hear the whispers and cruel words.