The old woman gave a snort and looked her grandson over. “So you've come back, have you, boy?” She sneered, looking up at Beau with contempt. “Thought you'd runaway with your tail between your legs. Wouldn't be the first time, eh?” She chuckled. She took hold of an ebony cane with her gnarled fingers and poked him in the chest with it. “Never did have any gumption, you nor that crippled brother of yours.”
Milly blinked in astonishment at the mention of a brother. Even though Beau had prepared her she hadn't expected such immediate and unprovoked hostility. She squeezed his hand and edged a little closer to him.
“Gumption enough to outlive my father at least, Madame,” he replied, his voice emotionless.
The dowager's eyes narrowed. “That fool. Always told him he'd break his damn neck with those blasted horses and now look - the Duke of Ware!” she said, with a bark of such contemptuous laughter that Milly felt fury rise in her chest. The miserable old wretch, how dare she speak to Beau like that. “And who's this skinny little chit?” she demanded, staring at Milly as though she'd only just noticed her.
Beau held Milly's hand a little tighter, drawing her closer to him. “This is my wife, grandmother. Millicent, please meet the dowager Duchess of Ware.”
Milly gave a low curtsy and held the old woman's gaze, refusing to shrink from the derision she saw there. She had been bullied by a man far bigger and more powerful than this shrunken creature. Fists she might shrink from, or from someone who could force her into a damp cellar and keep her there, but hurtful words she was well used to enduring.
“Good God,” the dowager said in disgust, raising a quizzing glass to her eyes to get a better look at Milly. “You're the new duchess? So this is the best you could do with the title of duke and that pretty face to lure the females with? You never cease but to disappoint me.”
“I have every reason to believe that Milly will be a wonderful duchess, Grandmother, but you will not be surprised to hear that your feelings didn't enter my head for a moment when I made my choice.” There was growing anger in Beau's voice and Milly saw the dowager's wicked little eyes gleam with amusement. This was her pleasure, Milly realised. She liked to inflict hurt, to see people get angry. It was probably what kept her alive.
“Well, girl?” the old woman demanded. “What right have you to be Duchess of Ware? Who are you, who are your people?”
Milly knew she had no reason to blush for her heritage, though she was certainly not of the haut ton, but she'd had quite enough of the dowager. She stepped forward and gave the old woman a broad smile.
“Oh, I'm nobody at all, I'm afraid. No name, no fortune, no position. So now you'll be thrilled to know you have someone you can despise more than you do your grandson.” She paused, holding the dowager’s shocked gaze, unblinking. “I do hope so, for I think he's had quite enough of your appalling bad manners. We just came because propriety demands it you see, but we shan't come again so I'm afraid you can berate us all you like and we won't care a straw. Good morning to you.”
Before the old woman could collect herself or say another word, Milly had curtsied again and tugged on Beau's hand. He stared at her in mute astonishment for a bare second before following her out of the room.
“Good Lord,” he said, once the door had closed on the dowager. To Milly's surprise he swept her up into his arms and spun her around, laughing. “My God, Milly, you're a Trojan and no mistake!”
He put her down and she gasped, straightening her bonnet and hoping he couldn't see how flustered he'd made her. “I-I am?” she stammered.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “There you are, a tiny slip of a thing that any man would think needs protecting from a breath of wind, and you stand up to that old buzzard with more guts than I ever have!”
“Oh!” she shook her head, waving away his praise though it had made a warm glow burn in her chest. “That's because she's frightened you all your life. If you'd never met her before it wouldn't bother you in the slightest. You've become accustomed to being afraid of her, that's all.” She allowed him to settle her hand on his arm as they returned to the carriage. “Though I can't blame you in the slightest,” she added. “What an appalling old witch!”
Beau laughed and pressed her fingers to his lips before handing her into the carriage. “Yes, and she was vanquished by the courageous princess. Thank you, little bird.”
Chapter 8
“Wherein our heroine faces a daunting prospect.”
By the time they had returned home for a light luncheon and set out for Ware it was late in the afternoon. That being the case the first glimpse that they had of Greythorpe Hall was of the glowering old building gilded by the evening sun as it began to sink.
Beau watched the building with misgiving as they approached it. Whenever the old house came into sight he got the same cold sensation in his gut. He knew it was fanciful but it always gave him the impression that all the life was being sucked out of him. He used to dread the end of the school term at Eton. If anyone had asked him to stay at school all year round he'd have snapped their hand off and never come home at all.
The carriage drew up and he handed Milly down, looking at her face as she stared up at the imposing building. The place seemed to lay over the landscape like some monstrous creature to Beau's eye. The main part of the building was Tudor, though there were parts that pre-dated that and others that were more recent. It was a bewildering and inconvenient mass of corridors and dark, draughty rooms and Beau had been quite sincere in his desire to see it burn to the ground.
Milly seemed fascinated, though, staring up the façade with something close to awe in her eyes. Beau felt suddenly afraid for her. She was so fragile, despite her courageous heart. He remembered how Edward had been eaten up and spat out by life at Greythorpe and his heart clenched. He was overcome by a sudden wave of protectiveness and realised he would do anything to spare Milly such fear or discomfort that might be found within the walls of his birthplace. He walked over and took her hand, turning her to look at him.
“We'll stay in a hotel,” he said, suddenly gripped by the desire to take her away from the place. “There's a very tolerable one in the village. We'll be quite comfortable there.”
To his surprise she just raised her eyebrows at him. “Whatever for?” she asked, removing her hand from his and walking towards the house. She paused on the threshold, looking at him with impatience. “Well come on then,” she said, laughing. “I shall get hopelessly lost if you don't show me around.”
He was aware of the slightest feeling of chagrin when she'd let go of his hand and walked off without him. With a sigh, he glared back at the house and followed her inside.
“Well I never ...” she breathed, staring up at the walls of the grand hall with her wide brown eyes full of wonder. “What a terrifying looking lot of reprobates!” She looked back at Beau and laughed at his expression. “Goodness me but you look nothing like any of them. They're all dark and swarthy and ... and they look positively murderous!”
“Most of them were,” he muttered. He hated this room more than any of them. As a child he'd run through it as fast as he could, always convinced that the ghosts of his ancestors were sneering down at him from behind the judging eyes of their portraits.
“Who was that?”
He looked up at the painting she was pointing towards. “Oh, Lord,” he said with a shudder. “I had nightmares about him when I was a boy. My father loved telling me the story. That's the mad Marquis. He was the third son. Rumour has it he killed both his brothers and a cousin who discovered what he was up to. Finally he killed his father to get his hands on the title. No one suspected him until he pushed his father off the north tower, and yes it's haunted.”
Milly stared at him, her eyes round with amazement. “It's like stepping into a Gothic novel,” she said, chuckling in an irrepressible manner that Beau found quite disconcerting. Her face grew serious as she stepped closer to him “And your father told you this as a bedtime story?”
&nbs
p; He snorted. “My father never told me a bedtime story my whole life, but he did love to frighten me to death by telling me gruesome tales. I always felt he rather approved of the Marquis, even though he never became duke. He was hanged and the title went to his uncle. You know I've often wondered if my own father would have liked me better if I'd tried to murder him.”
“Having met your grandmother I rather suspect you're right,” she replied, moving along the portraits.
He took her around the main rooms of the house that they would use on a daily basis. She loved the main parlour and the smaller dining room which was used when they were not entertaining, but tutted with disapproval at the room which had been his father's study. It was a room in considerable disarray as the late duke had hated to be disturbed and most of the staff were too terrified to set foot in there unless he ordered them to.
“Goodness me. However will you make head or tale of it?” she said, looking at the stacks of papers that seemed scattered over the desk.
Beau frowned. The place seemed to be in a worse state than the last time he'd seen it. Though he'd been rather occupied with abducting the Lady Dalton at the time so perhaps he could be forgiven for not having noticed?
“I've no idea,” he said, picking up a few papers at random from the massive carved oak desk. “I dismissed father's man of business, which I don't regret in the least,” he added. “Oily, supercilious charlatan that he was. But I suppose I shall need to replace him.”
He walked to the tiny latticed window and peered out. The sun was setting, the sky all aflame with bright red streaks and sweeps of garish pink and orange. He looked around as Milly came to stand beside him.
“What a fantastic outlook,” she said, looking delighted at the view.
He looked down at her with amusement. There was a tiny smudge of dirt on her cheek from where she'd been investigating a hidden doorway that Beau had pointed out to her. She looked up at him, her big brown eyes slightly hidden behind the little spectacles she wore.
“Is there anything that daunts you?” he demanded, giving her an affectionate smile and reaching out to rub the smudge away from her cheek with his thumb. To his surprise she moved away from him.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, her tone light as she headed for the door. “Dozens of things. But not a gloomy old building. We just need some candles and good fire and it will feel quite cosy I'm sure. Now you'd best show me to my room or Mrs Buss will be after us. She must have had a very trying day getting used to a vast new kitchen.” She walked out of the room, leaving him where he stood and wondering what it was about his wife that perplexed him so.
***
“Oh, Edith!” Milly cried as she found Mrs Goodly laying out her evening clothes. “However will I manage? It's vast! And there is so much to be done. Everything has been let go. I haven't seen a pair of curtains that aren't thick with dust. You know I dared to peek into one of the linen closets and wanted to cry. Poor Mrs Buss, I should think she's having hysterics and I wouldn't blame her in the slightest.”
Mrs Goodly gave a snort and put her hands on her hips. “Don't you give me that,” the older lady chuckled, shaking her head. “I can see the gleam in your eyes, my love, and don't you think I can't. You can't wait to get your hands on the place and put it back to rights!”
Milly laughed, nodding as Edith moved around to undo her dress. “Well, there is something in that, I admit,” she said, stepping carefully out of the pretty muslin and moving over to the basin of hot water left ready for her. “But more than that I ... oh, I want to make Beau see it as his own.” She reached for the soap and held it to her nose, smiling as the scent of roses drifted up to her. Mrs Goodly was something of a marvel at making soaps and skin products and it was one luxury they'd never been short of. “I think he's been very unhappy here you see, Edith. He's still not had the chance to talk about his father but his grandmother was a monster and ... and she mentioned he'd had a crippled brother. He looked so distraught when she talked of him ... oh and in such a callous manner! So I didn't have the heart to ask anything more.”
“I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready, love,” Edith said, reaching up to take the pins from her hair.
“Oh no,” Milly said, pushing her hands away. “Just leave it. I'll just change my dress.”
“But, Milly!” Edith said, frowning with disapproval. “You should make some effort for him surely?”
Milly turned away and shook her head. “Oh, don't be silly. He doesn't care what I look like, now does he? So there's no need to fuss.”
She busied herself with washing and ignored the curious look from her friend.
Things were hard enough as it was. Far harder than she had anticipated. She had believed she loved Beau, for years she had been sure of it. But she was coming to realise that the emotion she'd been subject to was more admiration. The awed feeling that filled your chest and expanded your heart if you looked upon a beautiful piece of art, that had been what she'd felt.
Now, though, now she was coming to know the man, and not just at a distance through his letters. Now he was flesh and blood and warm, and so very close to her it made her giddy. He was such a loving creature that it hurt her heart to know how little of it he'd received in his life. It was hardly any wonder that he'd become such a rake. He wanted affection so desperately but he didn't really know what to do with it when it was given to him. Not for long at least. But he wouldn't learn it from her.
It was so hard already to walk away from him when he looked at her with that smile in his eyes. When he had reached out to touch her cheek earlier it had been so tempting not to turn away. But if she hadn't she knew he would see in her eyes how badly she wanted him, and she wouldn't ruin any chance they might have at happiness for such a fleeting hope. They would be friends and partners. She would help him to love Greythorpe Hall and forget its dark past. That at least could be his legacy if there were no children to pass it onto.
The pain of that particular thought struck at her so deeply that she caught her breath. She hadn't allowed herself to consider it before. Always believing she would die a spinster, the idea of children was so far from possible. But now she did consider it, for just a moment. A fleeting image passed through her mind of chubby blonde babes with ringlets and blue eyes. She slammed the door on the image and locked it away, deep in her heart. That way led to madness and misery. She had more than she could have ever dreamed of, and she would make the best of it.
***
Beau stood as Milly came into the room. She had changed for dinner into another simple but well-cut gown that covered every possible inch of skin. He noted that she hadn't done anything more than that, her hair remained as it had in that severe hairstyle scraped back from her face. But the few little strands that had worked their way free over the day still fell about her face and he noticed it had a slight tendency to curl. She brought a faint but lovely smell of roses with her as she walked towards him and took her place at the table.
“There you see,” she said, looking somewhat smug. “I told you it would be cosy with some candles and a fire going.”
Beau tilted his head in acquiescence at her victory, though he had sat in this room often enough with candles and a fire lit - which was necessary almost all year around - and never found it cosy before. To his amusement he realised that it was Milly's presence and quick smile that made the room feel suddenly hospitable. That combined with the realisation that his father wasn't going to descend on him at any moment.
“Hello, Rexom,” she said, greeting the butler with pleasure as he began to serve them. “Have you had the most trying day? I have been thinking of you and poor Mrs Buss ever since we left London. How is she faring? My goodness this does look wonderful, isn't she a marvel!”
Beau watched with amusement as his usually starchy butler unravelled under Milly's warm enquiries. She seemed to be such a different creature once away from her brute of a cousin. He had expected to protect her and reassure her from all and everything, but
if anything the reverse had been true.
They ate a companionable meal together and Milly asked him dozens of questions about the estate, how much land, how many tenants there were and a number of questions he had no idea how to answer.
“Milly, love, I don't know!” he exclaimed, reaching for the decanter to pour himself a glass of port. “I'm all at sea and I'm going to have the devil of a time figuring out what if anything is productive and what I should do if it isn't. But you are very welcome to take a look with me if you find it of interest.” She gaped at him, her wide brown eyes so filled with astonishment that he wondered what he'd said. “What?”
“Y-you would allow me t-to look at the figures?”
He frowned at her and shrugged. “Yes, if it interests you, why not?”
She licked her lips, apparently shy of giving her reply straight away and he watched her as she considered her words. She had such lovely skin, he realised, seeing her in the warm glow of the candlelight. It really was utterly flawless, and now, with just a hint of roses in that usually pale complexion, she looked really quite pretty. Of course she was still far too thin. His eyes fell to her slim hands and the terribly fragile wrists just visible beneath the long sleeves of her gown.
“I've always been good with numbers,” she said at length, pausing to look up at him, her big eyes full of trepidation from under thick, dark lashes. “Very good,” she added. “B-but Mr Brownlow didn't like it. He said that girls ought not ...” She stopped and pursed her lips, apparently gathering her temper before she could speak again. “He said I cheated, that I found a way to give the right answers even though he knew I never could have. He said I was showing off ...” She stopped again, the pretty pink of her cheeks bright spots of red now.
“Mr Brownlow can go to the devil for all I care,” Beau assured her. “And if I ever get the chance I will be sure to give him a helping hand,” he added with a wink. “And if you can help me make some sense of my father's blasted accounts you'll have my undying gratitude.”
The Devil May Care Page 7