Beauty in Breeches (23 page)

Beatrice stared at him in horror, hardly able to take in what he had told her. ‘I knew there was something you
weren't telling me, but I had no idea it was anything as shocking as this,' she whispered. ‘But—I don't understand. Why did you let me go on thinking it was you? Why did you let me go on thinking the worst of you?'

‘Because I was ashamed of what my father had done,' he answered, choosing his words with care, his conscience smarting with the irony of trying to protect the reputation of his undeserving father while—at least where Beatrice was concerned—damaging his own. ‘Everyone believed your father had shot himself because he could not bear the shame of losing Larkhill. No one stopped to question whether or not the weapon found at the scene might not be his. It was assumed that it was. Nothing on earth would have compelled me to reveal the truth about what had happened and only my determination prevented an almighty scandal at the time of your father's death. Some scandals dim with time—that one wouldn't.'

‘So you covered it up and were prepared to let me—and my mother—live the rest of our lives believing my father had killed himself.'

‘In that, my love, I am guilty—and deeply ashamed for my weakness. I am truly sorry and beg your forgiveness.'

‘You have it, Julius, for I understand why you acted as you did. But do you realise what could have happened to you had my mother spoken out?'

He nodded grimly. ‘I can only thank God that she didn't. I couldn't tell you. I thought you'd be better off not knowing the burden that lay heavily on the man you married.'

‘What I don't understand is why you felt you had to protect your father, after all he had done to you and your mother? He was undeserving of your sacrifice.'

‘Like I said, I was ashamed—and at the end of the day he was still my father,' he said, speaking quietly, the pain of his father's crime evident in his eyes. ‘It was hard enough for me to accept he had been a failure, without having to tell the whole world he was a murderer. Shortly after that he, too, was dead. As far as I was concerned it was over—I had no wish to resurrect a time that was painful for me. I saw no harm in letting the world go on believing I was the culprit who stole your home—things might have been different had I known about you. As things turned out, it was fortunate for you that Larkhill was one of the few properties I managed to save being taken over by the bank. That was the only good thing that came out of it—and meeting you.

‘The behaviour of my forebears—their addiction for liquor and gaming—has been difficult for me to take. I hoped it was not hereditary—that I would not turn out like them or any offspring I might sire. When I agreed to marry you I knew you were entitled to know all this, but dear God, Beatrice, I could not tell you. I cannot blame you if you hate me for what I've done. I deserve it.'

With tears clogging her throat, Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘I don't hate you, Julius. Never that. I know I said I did, but I didn't mean it. I love you so much—more than anything on earth.'

When she drew back her head, Julius reached out
and wiped a rogue tear away with the tip of his finger. ‘Bless you for that.' He took a deep breath. ‘I can't remember when I came to love you. I think it was from the very start—when you challenged me to that damned race. You were feisty, stubborn, an outrageously brave and gorgeous girl who challenged my spirit, blithely incurred my displeasure and refused to yield to my authority—and, much, much worse than that, you mocked my equestrian skills. That was unforgivable,' he said with a teasing smile. ‘But despite all this your smile warmed my heart and the touch of your lips heated my blood. So you see, my love, I have loved you from first sight and cannot imagine my future without you.'

Beatrice's eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him and smiled tremulously. ‘I'm glad you've told me at last. I wanted so much to believe you were innocent. I wanted it so badly to be true, and in my heart I knew it. I love you, Julius Chadwick, and I don't know what I would do without you.'

‘I'll see that you never are, sweetheart.'

Suddenly she moved slightly and a look of wonder lit her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach and a smile touched her lips. ‘Oh,' she whispered, ‘how odd.'

Julius frowned, bewildered by her remark. ‘What is?'

‘Our baby. Oh, Julius, I do believe it moved—like a butterfly fluttering its wings.'

A lump of emotion swelled in Julius's chest as she took his hand and pressed it against her stomach. With a feeling of awe, he, too, felt the gentle movement of their child.

With her cheek against his chest, she whispered, ‘
Now
will you take me to bed?'

Without saying a word he swung her into his arms, cradling her tenderly against him, brushing his lips against her forehead. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, intending to give her so much pleasure that she'd be able to forget the misery he'd caused her.

 

As dawn settled its pinkish shroud upon the land, the circling, confused wind that had battered the earth with a sheeting rain for most of the night had abated. The countryside grew quiet in hushed relief. The very air seemed to hang in breathless suspense, while wraith-like vapours shifted aimlessly among the trees and shrubs and filled low hollows on the land. The house, bounded on three sides by tall, gaunt trees, seemed to merge with the landscape. Apart from a tired, thin spiral of grey smoke rising from the outbuildings to the rear, nothing moved and nothing stirred, not even the lovers, their bodies entwined beneath the covers.

Now the truth was out at last, the shadows between them had gone away. After all their years of loneliness, they were no longer alone. They had each other now. They were together, in spirit as well as in flesh—as one, as though they had found the bits that were missing from themselves in each other.

 

They remained at Larkhill for a further week, during which time Julius arranged for work to begin on rebuilding the outbuildings. The cause of the fire
remained a mystery, until a grim-faced George paid them a visit.

‘It was my mother,' he said without preamble. ‘I'm sorry, Beatrice, but unable to bear the thought that you had finally got what you wanted, she paid someone to destroy the house.'

Beatrice, seated on the sofa, was clearly horrified. Though she knew her aunt wished her ill, she could not believe she would go so far as to want to destroy Larkhill. ‘Does you mother really hate me as much as that?'

‘She couldn't stand knowing you had won, that you had indeed secured Larkhill for yourself. She wanted to hurt you the only way she knew how. I'm so sorry, Beatrice.'

‘Aunt Moira can be very cruel.'

‘Yes, yes, she can. When she learned her scheming had failed to destroy Larkhill, she could not hide what she had done. In her fury she could not stop herself telling me. I could not believe it myself. I can only thank God that apart from the destruction of a few outbuildings, no one was harmed and the house is still intact. I—would appreciate you not taking this further, Beatrice. No good would come of it.'

‘We won't,' Julius answered for her, ‘providing Lady Standish stays away from my wife.'

‘She will—I shall make sure of that. It may surprise you to know that she regrets her actions and is more than a little ashamed. She didn't mean to harm you, Beatrice. Having seen you in London earlier, she had no idea you had come down to Larkhill. She knows
how much Larkhill means to you. She meant to hurt you by destroying it. I have her word that she won't try anything like that again. You need not fear. She—will shortly be moving to the dower house.'

His hesitancy and the sudden warmth that lit his eyes brought a knowing smile to Beatrice's lips. ‘Then that can only mean one thing. You are to be married, George?'

He beamed at her. ‘I am. Leonora has consented to be my wife.'

‘That's wonderful news, George. And does your mother approve?'

‘Leonora has all the requisites that are important in my mother's scheme of things. But whether she approves or not is neither here nor there. I chose my own wife, not my mother.'

‘Then I wish you every happiness, George. But what of Astrid? Has she returned from Scotland?'

‘She has, although I haven't seen her yet. Henry and Astrid are living with Henry's parents. It's just a temporary situation, until they've found somewhere they can afford to live. As you know, the Talbots are not wealthy. Astrid's dowry will help, but she will find that her standard of living will be somewhat reduced and nothing like what she has become accustomed to.'

‘She is happy, George. That is what counts.'

He smiled at her. ‘So it is, Beatrice. So it is.'

 

The following morning Julius didn't accompany Beatrice when she went to call on Astrid and put his wife's excitement down to her eagerness to see her
cousin. In fact, she had seemed strangely preoccupied and somewhat secretive ever since George's visit, which puzzled him. Everything became clear when she returned and told him she was ready to leave Larkhill, that she wanted him to take her to Highfield where she was impatient to take up her new life.

He gazed at her suspiciously. ‘Of course. We'll leave right away if that is what you wish. You'll have to decide what you are going to do with Larkhill. The house shouldn't be left empty indefinitely.'

She hesitated, searching his face. ‘It's not mine any more,' she told him. ‘It belongs to Astrid. I wanted her to have it.'

Julius nodded slowly. This was the last thing he had expected her to say, but he knew she would have given the matter serious thought and that the decision to part with her beloved Larkhill would not have been taken lightly. ‘You are sure?' he asked.

Beatrice took a deep breath. ‘I'm sure. I know it will be safe in Astrid and Henry's hands.' And she was sure. She would always remember the look of joyous disbelief and gratitude on her cousin's face when she had offered Larkhill to her. That alone made it all worthwhile. ‘I would be grateful if you would take care of the legalities, Julius. You know all about these things. All I want is you—to live with you wherever that may be.'

‘And you will not regret it?'

‘No. There is nothing that can be bought or sold or bartered that I would want. The only thing I want
cannot be bought—and it is not the ownership of Larkhill. It is you, Julius. Only you.'

Overcome with emotion at what she had done, he put his arms around her and drew her close to him.

She lifted her face to his kiss and breathed in the warm, masculine smell of him, tasted the warmth of his mouth as it came down on hers. All the love that had been accumulating through the lonely years of her childhood was in that kiss. Julius felt it in the soft lips. With unselfish ardour she offered herself to him and Julius took what she offered hungrily, feeling it flowing through his veins and mingling with his blood until the joy of it was shattering.

‘I love you,' she whispered. ‘I belong with you—wherever that may be.'

He sighed, his eyes adoring her. She was everything he'd ever dreamed she could be—and more.

 

The next six months were spent in wedded bliss at Highfield Manor in Kent—a magnificent estate that surpassed anything Beatrice had ever seen. It was at Highfield where Julius and Beatrice's son was born. It was also at Highfield where they received news that Lady Standish had died in her sleep. Beatrice did not grieve for her aunt and chose not to return to Standish House for the funeral.

 

After twelve months of mourning, Julius and Beatrice did attend George's wedding to Leonora Fenton and they stayed at Larkhill with Astrid and Henry.

With its acres of corn and green meadows filled with cattle and sheep, Larkhill looked loved and well tended and prosperous. Beatrice's heart soared with affection and gratitude to Henry, who had done all this, but she no longer considered it her home.

When George and Leonora stood at the altar to speak their vows, Julius's gaze riveted on his wife standing next to him. The sight of her still continued to have a devastating effect on him, but here, in the church, caught in a shaft of light piercing the stained-glass windows, expecting their second child, never had she looked so radiantly beautiful or so serene. Every muscle of his body strained to endure the torment of her nearness. But it was a torment he welcomed, an agony he didn't want to be spared. And he knew that having her beside him was all he could ever want for the rest of his life.