Milly swallowed, her throat too tight to offer him any words of comfort yet. Instead she reached out a tentative hand and stroked his hair, her fingers luxuriating in the soft warmth of the thick gold.
“He would often sleep for hours after and ... and I made myself believe he would wake up again. But his heart was so slow and quiet and he was so very still. I talked to him for hours. Promised him I wouldn't leave him. I'd be here when he woke up but ... the next thing I knew I was alone. He'd died in the night and I hadn't even known. I'd been sleeping right beside him and ...” He rubbed his face and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I never saw him again.”
“Oh, Beau,” Milly sobbed and held her arms out to him. He went to her willingly, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe, but she didn't care. “It wasn't your fault,” she said, through her tears. “You were defending him. You did right, Beau. You always do! You always take care of those who can't help themselves, I know you do.”
“But if I hadn't made a fuss ...” he said, his voice a little muffled where he had pressed his face into her hair. “If I'd just gone like father wanted me to ...”
“But that wasn't fair, was it? Why should Edward be ignored? Why shouldn't he be allowed to go too? It wasn't fair and you were brave enough to say so. You stood up for him and I know that he loved you for it. I know he did!”
She held on to him tightly, beginning to be rather overwhelmed by the feeling of his arms around her.
“I'm sorry,” he said, pulling back a little so that he could look at her. She was caught all over again by those eyes, by the depth of the sorrow in that vivid blue. “I didn't mean to make such ... such a scene,” he said, looking so uncharacteristically awkward that she couldn't help but smile.
“I'm glad you did,” she said, returning his smile. “I'm so glad to know about Edward, and it's nice to see a side of you your glamorous ladies aren't entitled to.” She didn't know why she'd said it and wished to God she hadn't, but it was true and she couldn't help herself. This side of him belonged to her and her alone. He would never allow one of his lovers to see him looking so vulnerable. But she didn't count, she knew that. His little bird was safe, and she would keep his secrets and take them to her grave like she'd promised him from the start.
She swallowed as the look in his eyes underwent a subtle change.
“I wanted to tell you, Milly,” he said, his voice full of invitation, offering her an intimacy she didn't dare accept. For guarding her heart was hard enough now. He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand and she flinched. Not because she didn't want him to do it, but because it was electric, because her body was already thrumming with his proximity, her skin over sensitive and hyper aware of his touch. He stilled, confusion in his eyes. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked and she didn't know what to say. He looked so lost.
She forced herself to laugh, an indulgent sound she hoped, as though she was humouring him.
“Don't be silly. Why on earth would I be afraid of you? You've been nothing but kindness, Beau.” She leaned over and gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “My, dear friend,” she said, smiling at him, and then exclaimed. “My goodness, Beau, the time! We'll never make it for lunch!”
Chapter 13
“Wherein men plot and god laughs.”
Beau watched his wife walk out of the hotel with Mrs Goodly, with an odd and unfamiliar feeling nagging at him. He wasn't cross exactly. After all it was hardly exceptional of his wife to want to go shopping. With resentment he identified the - up until now untested emotion - as jealousy.
Well damn it. Why not? He was her husband wasn't he? And even if it wasn't a conventional marriage they were supposed to be friends. But he had the certain and uncomfortable feeling that even that was slipping away from him.
He cursed himself for his emotional outburst on the way here. Goodness only knew what she must think of him now. It was true he had wanted to speak to her about Edward, about his father, about a million other things. He wanted to share his thoughts with her in a way he'd never been able to before. Not at least since his twin had died. He had trusted her. But now her affection for him seemed only to be surface deep, and when he tried for something more she withdrew from him with such alacrity he felt his face had been slapped.
And she quite obviously hated it when he touched her. The way she'd flinched away from him had been clear enough. But she wasn't frigid, her reaction to that book had been illustration enough. So was it just him that she couldn't bear? He hoped that wasn't true. Her damned cousin had probably given her a disgust of men, he reasoned, for which he could hardly blame her. But she had used to look at him with such affection and admiration. He groaned inwardly. Women had never been this complicated before.
Usually his attention was taken by a lovely figure and if he saw a glimmer of interest in their eyes he knew he was welcome to show his intent. Admittedly there were many ladies who just wanted to flirt with him and others who just liked to look. He could only come to the conclusion that Milly had been of the latter kind. She had admired him like a handsome piece of art, pleasing to the eye.
But he would be the first to admit her mind was above the ordinary. Perhaps she despised him now, on knowing him better. He knew himself to be well educated and no fool, but ... perhaps Milly found him dull and ... shallow.
The thought hit home and rankled. They had never spoken about anything further than gossip and fashion and light-hearted topics when they'd corresponded. Beau had sought to entertain her through his ridiculous comments and tales of his adventures. But now he looked back and found his exploits appeared sordid, and he wondered if she thought that was all there was to him.
So it was with a gloomy and preoccupied mien that he walked out of the hotel and headed towards the British Museum. Perhaps if he arranged a visit for them, she would realise he really wasn't such a bottle-headed fool. The Elgin Marbles had been put on display last year and as of yet he hadn't stirred himself to look at them. Determining to learn all he could during the course of the afternoon he set of on his venture with an air of determination.
***
Milly looked up at the neat, terraced house with a little misgiving. She knew full well that if Beau had the slightest idea what she was doing he would be utterly furious. But then if he wouldn't let her help him openly it was his own fault she'd been driven to subterfuge.
She felt perfectly certain in her conviction that they had a solid idea for a profitable venture, and moreover just enough funds to cover its financing without needing to borrow a penny.
Mrs Goodly gave her an encouraging smile and opened the gate. “Here we are then. Now don't worry, love. I just know Mr. Priestly will help. He was such a dear little boy when he was in my charge, though rather serious I warrant. They were always a very religious family mind, so watch that tongue of yours. But he takes care of his mama most solicitously and I've heard it said he is quite a man of business now. He's never been shy of thanking me for my kindness to him and his family though and I'm sure he will know how to advise us.”
With this ringing endorsement Milly had to be satisfied as she went in to an interview with Edgar Priestly.
He was a tall, sparse young man of perhaps twenty five, with grave grey eyes and a serious expression which was unsurprising after Mrs Goodly's description. He looked a studious type and indeed every corner of the rather gloomy parlour was filled with books, many of them religious texts.
It took them a little while to get to the point of their interview, after a considerable time spent by Mrs Goodly reminiscing about a rather virulent attack of measles that had struck the household when Mr Priestly had been a boy. Needless to say this conversation entertained no one except Mrs Goodly, but good manner prevented them from interrupting her fond remembrance of such happy times.
"And your husband is the Duke of Ware?" he asked Milly, his eyes curious.
"You'd perhaps know him better as the Marquess of
Beaumont," Mrs Goodly said with a smile.
For a moment Milly thought she saw a look of deep disapproval in his eyes, but it was quickly gone and he nodded his agreement. "Ah yes, quite a man of fashion." It didn't have the ring of being a compliment but he brushed over it and they spoke about the matter in hand.
“I see,” Mr Priestly said with a slight frown in his eyes, once they had explained their intentions. “But, if I may ask, your Grace, what has the duke to say of this venture?”
Being prepared for this question Milly didn't hesitate but said with a glib smile, “Oh, his Grace does not trouble himself with my little fancies, Mr Priestly. He has told me my money is my own to fritter as I wish. Naturally, however, he would not want it to become known his wife is engaged in ... in trade,” she said, feeling a tremor of fear at what exactly Beau might say if he ever found out about it.
“Naturally,” the young man said with an understanding smile. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs. “So I take it, you would prefer it if the duke isn't involved in this, or updated about its progress ... at all." There was something in his manner that gave Milly a slight pause but his smile was confiding and so she nodded her agreement. After all it was true, and she didn't want him contacting Beau. He seemed pleased by this and carried on. "So if I am to understand correctly, you need someone to present the face of your business on a day to day basis?” he asked.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well then, you will need all the necessary paperwork drawn up and suitable premises found in the first instance. After that you will need some members of staff and to make the purchase of the various goods required to make the product. Further to this we need to look at distribution and marketing.” He paused, looking at Milly as she reached into her reticule and handed over some folded sheets of paper.
“I'm afraid many of the figures are rather speculative at the moment,” she said in apology. “But I think we've thought of everything that is most pressing.”
She watched as he unfolded the papers with care and felt a small surge of triumph a few moments later when he looked back up her with rather more respect.
“This is rather comprehensive, Madame,” he said, with humour lighting his grey eyes. “You will forgive me for not perhaps understanding how seriously this venture is being looked at.”
Milly smiled back at him, pleased by his candour. “There is nothing to forgive, Mr Priestly. But I do beg that you treat this as a serious concern. I have my own, private reasons for venturing on this path, but I am most sincere in wanting it to succeed.”
“Then I can only add my sincere wish that I may be able to help you do so,” he said, with a solemn smile and she thought he really did look sincere.
They stayed for another hour making plans for everything that needed to be done. It was arranged that Milly should return the following week to sign the paperwork and look at some possible locations for premises. Putting aside the worry of what she would say to Beau about another trip to London next week, she decided to think about that later.
A tiny, giddy flutter of excitement filled her. If this worked and she made enough money to save Greythorpe and allow Beau to make all the changes he wanted to, that would go some way to repaying him for his kindness. Further than that, the idea that she had control over something, that there was a part of her life that she could make decisions about, something to which her mind could be applied and stretched, that was wonderful indeed.
***
Beau got to his feet and stretched out his shoulders, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. He had booked the tickets for tomorrow morning at eleven o clock for a tour of the marbles and purchased himself a book upon the subject. Having spent the better part of the afternoon sitting in Russell Square with his nose buried in W. R. Hamilton's Memorandum on the Subject of the Earl of Elgin's Pursuits in Greece, he felt a little bleary eyed and in need of refreshment. By this time even the sumptuous lunch provided by the Clarendon's famous chef, Jacquiers' seemed a devilish long time ago. At least, however, he felt suitably armed to take Milly on the tour without making a complete cake of himself.
This happy notion and the need to return to their rooms in time to dress for dinner perhaps counted for his abstraction when a small and rather grubby boy barrelled into him. With a brief shout of apology the boy righted himself and turned to run.
Abstracted he may be, but Beau was no flat to be taken advantage of and he'd lived in London long enough to know the score. Snatching the boy up by his jacket collar he thrust out his hand.
“Give it back,” he demanded, scowling at the reprobate dangling from his fist.
“Give what back, mister?” the boy replied, with an air of deep reproach.
“Whatever it was you just lifted from about my person, you little varlet.”
Before the conversation could go any further, in a swift and expertly executed move, the boy turned whilst shrugging out of his threadbare coat and hit the ground running. Beau, left with only his tattered jacket hanging limply from his hand took a moment to establish that the young Tyburn blossom had indeed lifted his bloody watch and took off in pursuit.
It was perhaps unfortunate for the young fellow that he ran across the road at the precise moment a horse, startled by a dog nipping at his hock, wrested himself from the hands of the groom that had been holding him. With a whinny of distress the horse shot forward and would have collided with dire circumstances into an oncoming post chaise and four.
With surprise, Beau watched as the lad took his choice between making good his escape and grabbed hold of the terrified horse as it passed him, saving it from its fate.
With fury Beau drew up beside the boy as the hapless groom gave the boy a clout about the ears.
“Stop that!” he shouted, as the groom raised his hand to give the boy another blow. “That boy just save your bacon, you fool. You should be thanking him not beating him for his pains.”
The groom, a rangy looking young man stared at Beau with awe, opened and closed his mouth and snatched at the horse's bridle. Without another word he beat a very fast retreat and Beau snatched hold of the boy before he could run away again.
Once he had a good hold of the child's scrawny arm he gave him a gentle shake.
“What did you do that for? You could have been miles away if you hadn't stopped that horse. I'd never have caught you round the back streets.”
The boy wiped his sweaty face on his shirt with a dejected air. “Yer don't need to bleedin' tell me,” he replied with some heat. “But I couldn't let a fine piece a blood n' bone like that'n break its leg on account of that seedy cove. T'aint right.”
“I quite agree,” Beau replied, looking down at the boy with curiosity. “Do you like horses?”
The boy's eyes lit up with a feverish light that implied Beau had struck gold. “Yes, mister, that I do.”
“Would you like to see mine? I have a rather fine set of greys.”
He was bestowed with an owlish expression of wonder which quickly changed to one of deep suspicion. “An why would yer do such a thing?” he demanded.
“Because I want my watch back you blasted, thatch gallows!” Beau said, laughing at him.
“Oh, well,” the boy said, as though that seemed fair enough. “But ain't yer goin' to take me to gaol?” he added, with an anxious look in his eyes.
Beau looked at him and grinned. “No,” he said, “I don't think I will, though I've no doubt I'll regret it.”
“Oh no, yer won't I promise, mister,” the boy said with fervour, holding Beau's watch out in his filthy palm. “Cross me 'eart an' 'ope to die.”
Beau let go of the lad, who he thought to be about twelve, though he was so scrawny and undernourished it was hard to be certain. Clipping his watch back on the chain he looked down at his new friend.
“What's your name, boy?” he asked, looking at the lively brown eyes that reminded him for some strange reason of his wife.
“Jimmy, mister, an' what's yourn?
”
“I'm the Duke of Ware,” he replied, watching with amusement the effect this had on the boy.
“Ye never are?” he breathed in awe.
“Well,” Beau said, turning and walking away. “I have it on pretty good authority that I am.
“Well I'm blowed,” Jimmy said, running to keep up with him, “I never did. A real live duke!” He scurried beside Beau, dodging people to keep up with his long strides. “An you'll really show me yer 'orses, mister?”
“Yes,” Beau agreed, nodding at him. “I will. But you call me, your Grace.”
“Yer what?”
“Your Grace,” Beau replied patiently, smiling at his look of bewilderment. “Yes I know, there's no sense in it, but there you are.”
A bare few minutes later they failed to make it past a bakery, because the boy had positively salivated at the perfumed aroma outside of this establishment and Beau had bought him a meat pie. This was followed swiftly by the rather snooty pâtissières a few doors down, where Beau bought several Pain a la duchesse. He'd eaten them several times in France and was by this time so hungry he was quite willing for his small companion to coax him into buying some more. By now Jimmy was looking at his new benefactor with something approaching idolatry which left Beau with the quandary of what to do with him next.
For the moment he did as had been requested and took him to where his greys had been stabled. This was met with looks of disapprobation by the grooms-men of the Clarendon who stared at Beau's disreputable looking companion with horror.
One thing about being a duke however, Beau reflected, was that no matter how outrageous your behaviour no one dared point it out to you. So he thoroughly enjoyed Jimmy's enthusiastic cries of delight and some rather pertinent comments about the bang up equipage he'd travelled to town in and the impressive points of his horseflesh.
The Devil May Care Page 11