Beauty in Breeches

by Helen Dickson

  The word ‘tragic’ and the sudden pain that she saw in Lady Merrick’s eyes stuck in Beatrice’s mind and she wondered why. Not wishing to pry, she dismissed the thought.

  The society columns were full of her impending marriage to Julius and the nuptial date. News of the race had already been splashed across the front pages of the Times and the Gazette and the journalists were having a field day with the lurid gossip surrounding this very unconventional marriage.

  For two weeks Beatrice saw nothing of Julius. She was afraid to think about him—certainly to feel more for him that she could possibly help. Each day she became more settled in the Merrick household—she would be loath to leave when the time came for her to go and live with Julius as his wife and in his house, wherever that may be. The more she got to know about him from Lady Merrick, the more she began to realise the enormity of what she had done. Hidden away in the country it hadn’t mattered, but here in London everything was different.

  Apparently women had been throwing themselves at Julius for years, all of them eager to trade themselves for his title and his wealth. When he wasn’t sailing on one of his ships to some far-off location, he was sought after by every hostess in town and every ambitious mama, and treated with the deferential respect that his immense wealth and his title commanded amongst the ton. He abhorred the attention he drew and rarely attended any of the major social functions, for he understood and despised the reasons why he was coveted. As a result his attitude towards any respectable female of his own class was cynical and jaded, and when he had time to relax away from his offices in Lombard Street, he preferred to spend it at his club in St James’s with friends, or at the theatre.

  ‘The longer he’s remained unattached, the more of a challenge he’s become to all unmarried females,’ Lady Merrick told Beatrice as they sat nibbling buttered scones and sipping tea in the morning room, taking a well-earned break from the seamstresses, who had been stitching Beatrice into the taffetas, silks and gauzes that would equip her to be Lady Chadwick, the Marchioness of Maitland. ‘Failing to find a woman who can see beyond his wealth and his title and his estates, Julius is convinced she doesn’t exist. He merely tolerates those who trail after him and treats them with amused condescension; if one irritates him, he is capable of delivering a crushing set down that is guaranteed to reduce the unfortunate young woman to tears.’

  ‘Oh dear. He is that bad? Well…’ Beatrice sighed ‘…I am not intimidated by him and nor am I in awe of him, and I am certainly not dazzled by his rank, his wealth or his power—although I admit that his wealth was a deciding factor when I decided to ask him to marry me, since it will go some way to renovating Larkhill. I suppose you could also say that I did make it difficult for him to back out of marrying me.’

  Constance Merrick believed her. Even though she had known her for such a short time, she had become very fond of Beatrice. Her husband and the servants were completely enchanted by her friendly, unaffected cordiality towards everyone.

  ‘I knew your father, my dear, and from what I know, no doubt part of Julius’s decision to accept your proposal owed itself to the fact that in some way he felt responsible for your plight.’

  ‘Which he is,’ Beatrice was quick to point out.

  ‘Not…necessarily,’ Lady Merrick said hesitantly, averting her eyes. She would have liked to defend Julius, but to do so she would have to divulge the truth about what really happened on the day Beatrice’s father lost Larkhill in a game of cards—and the terrible events that had ensued. Julius had asked both her and her husband not to speak of it to Beatrice and Constance would abide by that. Three people were bound by a guilty secret, but it hurt her terribly to hear Julius wrongly maligned.

  ‘Your father was not blameless in all of this. He was a compulsive gambler—but I am sure you know that. But that doesn’t mean that things won’t turn out for the best. You are a young lady of excellent character and breeding and considerable pluck. There is also a gentle strength about you, a compassion and understanding that I believe will make you the perfect wife for Julius. I know him well. I have seen the way he looks at you. He already cares for you a great deal—though he may not know it yet.’

  ‘That is something I would question, Lady Merrick,’ Beatrice murmured sadly.

  ‘Nevertheless I suspect you will be good for him and that the two of you will pull off the best match in years.’

  Beatrice gave her a truly dubious look. ‘If our relationship so far is anything to go by, I very much doubt it. I think you are being too optimistic, Lady Merrick. Even Julius would challenge that statement.’

  Lady Merrick chuckled softly, her eyes dancing with mischief as she enfolded Beatrice in a brief, almost protective hug. ‘I have not always lived a life that was beyond reproach, Beatrice. Far from it. No matter what people are saying about you, I think that you are very brave. You, my dear, as young as you are, have managed to achieve that which all the other women can only dream about. To secure Julius.’

  ‘Does he not have any family?’

  Pain slashed Lady Merrick’s features and she sat back from her. ‘He has no family, Beatrice—no one close.’

  There was something in her voice that made Beatrice look sharply at her. ‘No one?’

  ‘There…was a tragedy—some years ago now—when he lost both his parents,’ Lady Merrick told her hesitantly. ‘There was a fire. Julius has never got over it. I do not believe he ever will.’

  ‘But—that’s truly awful. Will you not tell me what happened?’

  ‘I think Julius must do that. But it may help you to understand what drives him. His life has not been easy. As a boy he was bright, with a thirst for knowledge that put others to shame. Even though his family was financially destitute—which was down to his father, who was a wastrel and a spendthrift—he had a good education thanks to his maternal grandmother. At the end of it he’d learned all he could about the world of business and finance, and, with a small sum of money his grandmother had given him on his eighteenth birthday, he left home for the Continent to seek his fortune and to bring some pride and honour back to the Chadwick name.

  ‘He lost himself in his work with a blind, instinctive faith as his only hope for survival. His skills were quite extraordinary. Julius has the ability to calculate huge columns of figures in his mind in moments. His achievements are quite remarkable. Yes, he gambles—it is the challenge he loves best, of selecting exactly the right venture and wagering a fortune on it, not, as you believe, at the tables. His wealth has brought him many luxuries, but little joy. That is something I would like you to remember, Beatrice, in the days ahead.’

  With her mind on what Lady Merrick had told her, knowing she had given her much to think about, Beatrice’s heart gradually began to fill with warmth for the man whose name she was soon to bear. True, he was guarded and frequently distant and unapproachable, but the more she contemplated the matter, the more convinced she became that Lady Merrick was right—Julius must care for her a little, or he’d never have succumbed to her forfeit. But in the light of all this, the one thing that didn’t make sense was his reputation as a gambler. None of what she had been told fitted with the man who had gambled and won Larkhill from her father.

  ‘He never speaks of his past,’ Lady Merrick went on. ‘He is a private person. He refuses to discuss his personal life—not even with me and my husband, even though we are the closest he has to a family of his own. Julius is a man of impeccable integrity, honour, dignity and respect. His mother meant everything to him. He has been much affected by her death and by the world in such ways as few others are. He is a clever man and true to what he believes. You could not be marrying a finer man.’

  Chapter Five

  Julius called the next day as Beatrice was leaving the drawing room to go up to her room.

  ‘I do hope you’re not leaving on my account,’ said a deep unperturbed voice behind her.

  Beatrice whirled in surprise. The pleasure at seeing him again after so long a
nd being able to speak to him was eclipsed by her growing panic about the forthcoming nuptials, a panic she’d been trying unsuccessfully to stifle for days. He stood in the centre of the hall, a tall, slender-hipped, broad-shouldered man. Attired in a tan jacket, buff-coloured breeches and Hessian boots, Julius Chadwick was as handsome of physique as he was of face. His chiselled features were touched by the light, and a gentle ache in her bosom that grew and grew attested to the degree of his attractiveness.

  ‘I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not,’ she said falteringly, walking towards him.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he regarded her with mild curiosity. ‘I apologise for not calling on you before now, but I had several pressing matters of business to attend to. Since I have no engagements this morning, I thought I would come and see how you are bearing up.’

  His tone was impeccably polite, impersonal and businesslike. Relieved but wary, Beatrice’s reply was coolly polite, but when she raked her copper curls back from her face, her hand was shaking. ‘Perfectly well, as you see.’

  Watching her unconscious gesture, Julius did see and he studied her. Sunlight slanting through the windows glinted on her hair, gilding it with a golden sheen, and turned her magnificent eyes luminous bright green. The deep yellow of her gown flattered her creamy complexion and the peach tint glowing in her cheeks.

  In a long-suffering voice, Beatrice said, ‘Will you please not look at me like that?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘As if you’re searching for all my flaws.’

  ‘Was I doing that?’ he asked absently, noting her high cheekbones, the delicately arched brows, thick sooty lashes and the fullness of her soft lips.

  ‘Yes, you were and it makes me feel uncomfortable.’

  His eyes took on a sudden gleam of suppressed laughter and Beatrice assumed, mistakenly, that he was laughing at her. She lifted her chin to its haughtiest and most obstinate angle. ‘Don’t do it and will you please take me seriously.’

  Julius sobered immediately at her imperious tone. ‘I’m going to marry you. That’s serious enough—although it’s hardly the most auspicious start to a marriage and don’t imagine for one minute that it will be smooth sailing.’

  Lady Merrick appeared and fussed over his arrival and ushered them into the drawing room while she went to supervise the unpacking of some of Beatrice’s gowns that had just arrived.

  Closing the double doors behind them, Julius waited for Beatrice to be seated. Instead of sitting down, he perched a hip on the arm of a chair opposite, crossed his arms over his chest and studied her impassively.

  ‘You are comfortable here, I hope.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Lord and Lady Merrick have made me feel very welcome.’

  ‘I knew they would, but if you are to be my wife you have to face society some time. Since you have a scandal hanging over your head I suggest the sooner we are seen together the better. For your first public appearance I have accepted an invitation for us to attend the Earl and Countess of Newland’s ball in St James’s at the end of the week.’

  Beatrice paled at the mention of the scandal. ‘I can’t. I have no desire whatever to enter society. I can’t face everyone just yet.’

  ‘You can and you will,’ he said in his determination to convince her of the feasibility and the necessity of the plan.

  Unable to endure his close scrutiny, Beatrice shot out of the chair and, ramrod straight, stood apart from him. With a superhuman effort, she took control of her rampaging ire. She looked straight into his enigmatic eyes. ‘A ball is not a solution. It—it’s a nightmare. I really don’t think I can do that—not with everyone talking about me. I shall encounter curious strangers who will watch my every move, searching for something else to gossip about. I can’t do it.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument.

  ‘And it doesn’t concern you that I shall be flayed alive by wagging tongues?’

  Unbelievably, he laughed outright at that. ‘Not a bit. You deserve it.’

  His remark made her cheeks flame. It was exactly the sort of thing she would have expected him to say as an act of revenge. ‘And I have no doubt that you will enjoy every minute of my suffering.’

  Relinquishing his perch on the chair arm, he stood up straight and captured her gaze. ‘I may be many things, Beatrice, but I am neither cruel nor sadistic. Of course, you don’t have to go through with any of this. You could bring it to an end right now and simply walk away. It’s not too late to cry off.’

  ‘No.’ She was adamant. ‘How pathetic and desperate I must seem to you if, after all I have put myself through, you could even suggest such a thing and believe I would go along with it. I told you, Julius, if you want to back out of our agreement then you have to do it yourself, for I have no intention of walking away now I have come this far.’

  Julius shrugged. ‘Then it looks like we’re stuck with each other—for better or worse.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it looks like. But do not forget that in the eyes of the ton I am a shameless wanton and unfit to mingle in polite society. I have broken all the rules governing moral conduct, so if you still insist on parading me in front of everyone like some—some performing puppet, then go ahead.’

  Julius gazed at the tempestuous young woman standing before him, her breasts rising and falling with suppressed fury, and his ire gave way to reluctant admiration for her honesty and courage in admitting her fear over the coming event.

  ‘Perhaps now you will realise what you have done. Your case is extreme. Normally social prejudices exclude young women like you from the ton—not that you cared much about that or about what they would think of you when you connived to trap me. But as my wife these are the people you will have to associate with and it is absolutely imperative to me that you learn to get on with them. The object is to brave it out. You have spirit enough to endure what they will put you through. As my betrothed, no one will dare disrespect you—though Lord knows you deserve it.’

  She glared at him. ‘Why are you doing this? For what reason do you wish to put me on display? To further humiliate me?’

  ‘I do not make sport of you, Beatrice. As I said, I want us to be seen together. It is important that we put the right face on our relationship. I don’t normally attend these affairs, but I have no intention of my wife being a social outcast. Constance and James are also invited. The three of us will support you. No one will dare give you the cut direct in front of Constance and I will terrify everyone into accepting you.’

  ‘But what to wear,’ Lady Merrick said, sweeping into the room like a restless wind, suddenly thoughtful as her eyes moved over Beatrice from head to toe, her mind absorbed with dressing her in such a way that she would outshine all the rest. ‘I would normally opt for glamour rather than subdued elegance, but since it’s your first outing we don’t want to go over the top. The lime-green tulle will be just the thing.’

  Julius smiled his agreement, his eyes appraising his future wife. ‘I agree absolutely. With that hair and those eyes, it cannot fail.’

  In the carriage taking him back to his house, Julius leaned back against the upholstery, thinking over his meeting with Beatrice with fascinated interest. He was amazed by the gracious ease with which she had fitted into the Merrick household and the way she had effortlessly charmed James Merrick, bringing the house to life with her presence and her smile. She was fresh and unspoiled and, despite her youth and inexperience, there was a natural sophistication about her that came from an active mind. He remembered her shy responsiveness to his kiss in the garden at Standish House and the incredible surge of desire she had ignited in his body.

  Beatrice was full of surprises and full of promise, he thought, with beauty moulded into every flawless feature of her face, but her allure went deeper than that. There was something within her that made her sparkle and glow like a rare jewel.

  It seemed as if everyone in London was at the Newlands’ ball. When Julius arrived at the Mer
rick house, Beatrice was just coming down the stairs. She paused and looked down at him. With a stunned smile of admiration, he took in the full impact of her ravishing lime-green gown. High waisted, it fell from beneath her breasts into panels that clung gently to her graceful hips and ended in a swirl just above her toes. Her hair was drawn back in a sleek chignon, its lustrous simplicity providing an enticing contrast to the sophistication of the gown.

  Moving towards her, he took her hand to help her down the last steps. ‘You look positively enchanting. After tonight, you’ll take the shine out of all the London belles.’

  Buoyed by confidence stemming from wearing her first London gown, Beatrice returned his smile, while deep inside she felt something tighten and harden, clarifying and coalescing into one crystal-clear emotion. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, her eyes alight, her parted lips moist and rose tinted. She thought Julius looked incredibly handsome in his evening attire. It made him look elegantly powerful. He had a certain flair in his mode of dress—a bold splash of claret in his waistcoat beneath the black coat, an artful twist to his pristine white cravat and a flourish to the ruffle at his sleeve. It was impossible to believe he would be her husband in just a few days.

  When his shrewdly judging gaze swept over her once more, with a little laugh she obligingly performed a twirl, her skirts flaring.

  His eyes warmed appreciatively. ‘The gown is beautiful, Beatrice. But perfection can only be attained when one works with the best of raw materials.’

  Beatrice’s heart skittered. She lowered her gaze. ‘I appreciate your compliments, Julius. It gives me confidence for what is to come. I think I shall need it.’

  ‘I truly expected you to send me a note informing me you had taken to your bed with a headache and a dose of salts.’

  Despite her dread of the evening before her, Beatrice had to bite back a guilty smile over that remark. ‘I did consider it,’ she confessed, smiling reassuringly at Lady Merrick who stood looking on, immensely proud of her handiwork. ‘Lady Merrick talked me out of it.’