All Things Beautiful

by Cathy Maxwell

  Two of Myers’s clerks jumped to do as Brader Wolf requested, not even waking Rufus in the process. Wolf did not look up from the papers he’d started to review but added, “And the dog, Daniel. I think we can dispense with the dog also.”

  So! He did realize they were present. Lady Markham mutely handed her precious Maestro over to the third clerk.

  Wolf’s deep voice filled the room as he went over the marriage contract point by point, giving Julia ample opportunity to study this man who would be her husband. She placed him between thirty and thirty-five years of age, which made her heave a sigh of relief. Thank God, he wasn’t as old as the duke.

  His garments were of good quality. If she hadn’t lost her eye, she would say his top boots were by Hoby; the cut of his jacket bespoke Weston. But he wore the clothes with a casual air that was too accurate to be the studied indifference of a dandy. His long dark hair had natural curl. He could do with a haircut, Julia decided, although the style emphasized the uncompromising hardness of his jawline.

  Masculine. Something feminine responded and stirred deep inside of her. Julia was surprised to recognize the unfurling of emotions she thought she had effectively squelched after the disaster with Lawrence years ago. Was it the voice or the muscular hardness of his body, which no amount of tailoring could disguise? Two men could not be more unalike physically or in manner. Brader Wolf was the velvet night, dark, intense, slightly menacing; Lawrence had been the sun, charming, flamboyant, flashy.

  The amounts Wolf was settling on her family were staggering. From her first impression of him, she would not have assumed him a generous man.

  He confirmed her impression when he looked up at Lord Markham and added, his voice soft and controlled, “Considering that I am paying all present debts and settling on you and your wife four thousand pounds a year and on each son the amount of one thousand per year, I advise you not to tax my good humor. Any debts over and outside of these amounts will be your responsibility. If you land in debtors’ prison, I will feel no obligation to rescue you.”

  Lord Markham humbly acknowledged this remark with a nod of his head. Her mother and brother had the good sense to stay quiet.

  “Well, then, my lord, if all is in agreement, Daniel will want our signatures to this document and we can proceed with the transfer of property.”

  He had not said one word of the marriage.

  For a moment her courage wavered, conscious of the shabbiness of her dress, but she pushed her fears aside. She was a Markham. The wags could say what they wished, but a Markham never backed down from a gamble.

  Just as her father picked up the pen to scratch his name to the agreement, Julia stood, the sound of her chair scraping the wood floor commanding attention. “One moment, please. I have something I wish to discuss with Mr. Wolf. Alone.”

  Harry swore. Lady Markham gasped. And Lord Markham gave her a hard stare laden with a wealth of promise for what would come as soon as they returned home.

  Brader Wolf looked up. Julia found the midnight intensity of his eyes disconcerting. Feeling her knees start to shake, she clasped her hands tightly, willing herself to remain calm and equally in control.

  “In private,” she amended, pleased her voice didn’t tremble.

  “Now see here, me girl,” her father blustered, but Julia cut him off.

  “Who owns Kimberwood, Father, you or I?”

  Lord Markham started to respond, but he was interrupted by Brader Wolf’s deep voice. “Please excuse us, Lord Markham.” Then, seeing Lord Markham wasn’t happy leaving the room, Wolf added, “For a moment.”

  “I apologize for this, Wolf. The girl normally knows her place.” Through clenched teeth, her father aimed his next comment directly toward Julia. “I am sure you won’t have any trouble with her.”

  “I am sure I will not either, my lord,” Wolf agreed, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  Lady Markham was too shocked to make a comment before being led out of the room by Lord Markham. Harry didn’t hesitate to make his feelings known. He stopped in front of her before following his father out the door.

  “My charming sister, the slut,” he hissed in an angry whisper. “If you do anything to spoil this for me, I will see I get the money out of you if I have to drug your lovely body and sell you to a brothel. Nor will Geoffrey be pleased. So watch your step.”

  Julia stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his threat by word or action. Nothing, not even the threat of facing the wrath of her oldest brother, Geoffrey, was going to stop her from following her course.

  Mr. Myers, the last person out of the room, shut the door quietly behind him. They were alone. If Wolf had heard Harry’s threat, he gave no indication but sat waiting patiently.

  Julia bowed her head. Her eyes studied the toes of her shoes, so worn no amount of polishing could bring them back to life, while gathering her courage and her wits. She struggled to remember her well-rehearsed opening line and cleared her throat. “Mr. Wolf, I realize—”

  “Why do I feel I am about to hear the appeal of Portia?”

  “I—”

  “It’s not for your family, is it? Because that will never fly. No matter how much more Markham thinks he can bleed me, I’ve paid enough. My men have seen Kimberwood. I’ve already agreed to pay a thousand times the worth of the estate. Not to mention taking you off his hands.”

  Julia’s chin shot up at that last comment. All thought of a conciliatory tone flew from her head. Her eyes blazed with pride. “Yes, I must have been the sow’s ear to the bargain.”

  Wolf laughed, a rich, genuine sound made all the more attractive by a flash of white teeth. “Oh, no sow’s ear, Lady Julia, but you do need a silk lining. I’ve mistresses who dress better than you.”

  “Mistresses, Mr. Wolf? And now you are taking on the support of the Markhams? I wonder which will prove the more expensive.”

  “Oh, the Markhams, I have no doubt. And perhaps the more entertaining, if the last hour is an indication.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Tell me, would your brother really drug you and sell you to a brothel?”

  Julia’s cheeks burned with humiliation. So he had heard what Harry said. Well, she wasn’t going to back down or let him bait her. “There are some items I want included in the marriage contract.”

  “I believe all this has been discussed and arranged with your father.” His voice was curt, impatient.

  “Ah, but Kimberwood is entailed to me.”

  “Ah, but as your husband I will have legal right to its rents.”

  “Not if the marriage doesn’t take place. Trust me, Mr. Wolf, I have come up against my father before and won. I can do so again. Kimberwood is mine to sell, and I will never let you have it.”

  Wolf leaned back in his chair and studied her. Defiantly, Julia stared back at him. She had no trouble maintaining her anger, since the cynical twist of his lips made him appear amused by her sense of bravado. Well, no cit was going to have the best of Julia Markham, no matter how formidable and dangerous he appeared. This time she was going to win.

  “I believe you mean that,” he said at last. He made a chiding tsk sound. “Harry will be very disappointed.”

  “My brothers have lived with disappointment before.”

  She had the satisfaction of catching the gleam of appreciation in his eyes for her retort and gained courage.

  “Let us be plain spoken between us, Lady Julia. What is it you want? Pin money? A clothing allowance? My assurances that your extravagances will be tolerated?”

  “I want a pension for Chester and Emma Beal and a place for them on Kimberwood.”

  “A pension?”

  “And I want you to include in my father’s portion of the contract that he will turn over to you all lands connected with Danescourt, including the rentals and responsibilities of the present tenants connected with those lands. The Markhams may keep the house, but I want the care of the tenants.”

  Julia had the sat
isfaction of seeing Brader Wolf sit speechless for a moment while he digested her demands. Finally, he asked, “Is this all?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes.”

  “And if I don’t meet these—ah—requests?”

  “Then I won’t marry you,” Julia answered, looking directly in his eyes, surprised that eyes which first looked so dark and fierce were actually a brown flecked with gold…and humor. He was enjoying this interview. She found herself wondering what his eyes would look like crinkled with laughter.

  “And if I meet your demands, what have you to offer in return?”

  Startled, Julia blinked at him. His question caught her completely unprepared. “I…I will be a good and—ah—docile wife to you—”

  “A wife I don’t need,” Wolf stated flatly. “Nor would anyone believe Julia Markham could be docile to save her soul. The reputation you have created lingers.”

  Julia’s spine stiffened. She wasn’t about to be lectured on morals by a man who didn’t know her. A man who boasted of mistresses—in the plural! Fortunately, she kept her silence.

  “But I do want Kimberwood,” Wolf said, rising from his chair and walking around the desk toward her. He stopped, standing so close they were practically toe to toe. Julia, a tall woman by society’s standards, felt dwarfed by his presence towering over her.

  She stood silent and proud, studying the negligent way he tied his cravat. She’d spent too long on the marriage mart not to know when a man was judging the appearance and worth of a woman. She knew her cheeks were tinged with rosy indignation. Hopefully, it heightened her color and made her more attractive. The futures of the Beals, and others for whom she had come to care deeply, depended upon this man’s agreeing to her demands.

  This close to him, she caught the fragrance of sandal wood and the shaving soap he favored. If she leaned forward, her breasts would touch him. The unexpected direction of her thoughts surprised her, especially when her breasts tingled in response to this new awareness. What would it be like to be in this man’s embrace—or his marriage bed?

  The answer to the last question did not seem as distasteful as she had assumed before meeting her future husband.

  “What is it you want?” he had asked earlier. And Julia found herself thinking of the other way she could have answered his question. What would he say if he knew her innermost secret desire? The desire she dared not voice to Brader Wolf, her family, or any other human—was the desire for a child, a babe of her own to love and nurture, a babe to give all the love she had never had in this world. She wanted a chance to start over.

  Wolf stepped back, drawing her attention to him. “Done, Lady Julia, done. Although Danescourt is heavily mortgaged. Oh, yes,” he said to her unspoken question, anticipating it accurately, “I’ve had a thorough accounting of all Markham’s holdings. To meet your requests will cost me a pretty penny.”

  Julia had to blink back a tear. She had succeeded. She had gambled and won. Her voice filled with gratitude, she said, “And I will most certainly be in your debt, Mr. Wolf. You will never be sorry you married me.”

  “We’ll see about that, Lady Julia. However, an act of good faith is necessary.”

  “Please, whatever you wish.”

  “I wish to announce and celebrate our engagement at a ball.”

  Panic welled up inside her. Julia fought the emotion down and answered stiffly, “I don’t go out in society, Mr. Wolf, and I believe you know why.”

  “It is of no matter to me, Lady Julia. Since I lack a hostess, I will expect your mother and yourself to manage all the details. My secretary, Hardwell, will assist you.”

  “But I don’t go out in society, Mr. Wolf,” Julia repeated, hoping he didn’t detect the hint of shakiness in her voice.

  “An act of good faith, my lady. And I have one more request.”

  “Which is?” She hoped it was easier than his first.

  “You offered yourself as a docile wife, and upon reflection a docile wife is exactly what I need. I want your promise that you will never countermand one of my decisions or reject one of my requests when put to you in public.”

  “Why do I feel you are laughing at me, Mr. Wolf?”

  He adopted an air of wounded innocence that set her teeth on edge. “You don’t understand, Lady Julia. I merely want a docile wife, a helpmate for my golden years…as you promised.”

  Julia bit back a tart rejoinder. Was he laughing at her? She gave him a hard stare, speaking volumes with her eyes before giving a curt nod of her head. “Agreed, Mr. Wolf. You can rest assured that I will not mistreat my husband in public.”

  Wolf laughed, the rich sound ringing through the office.

  She lifted her chin. “I didn’t know it was so easy to afford you amusement, Mr. Wolf.”

  “Normally it isn’t, Lady Julia. Normally it isn’t. I will see you have a line of credit in your name in order to prepare for the ball. Plan the wedding however you wish. I bow to your decisions, but I want the whole matter settled in three weeks’ time.”

  He turned to leave when, on impulse, Julia reached out and caught the superfine material of his sleeve. The physical action surprised him. Wolf’s gaze looked down at the hand touching him before traveling up her arm and to her face. A dark eyebrow rose in askance.

  Suddenly shy, Julia removed her hand, although it did not feel unpleasant to touch him or feel the movement of muscle under the cloth. His coat did not need to be padded like Harry’s.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she looked straight into his dark eyes. “I want to assure you that I intend to honor my vows to you.” She felt her face flood with color but forced herself to continue. “I will endeavor to be a good wife to you in every—” She faltered, but finished, “In every way…Brader.” His name felt new and exotic on her lips.

  The corner of Wolf’s mouth quirked cynically to one side. “That won’t be necessary…Julia. Don’t prize yourself too highly. Kimberwood is what I want, not you.” He lifted her hand and turned it palm side up. His finger traced the faint scars at her wrists before he added, his voice soft and slightly menacing, “And if you ever decide to attempt suicide again, cut here, and”—his manicured nail traveled up her arm to the crease—“cut here. That method is more effective.”

  Julia jerked her hand away from him and without a second’s hesitation slapped him, her hand smacking soundly against the side of his strong jaw. The sound reverberated in the room.

  “I don’t believe we could be considered in public now, could we, Mr. Wolf?” Julia ground out. “I will send my father in to you.” Not waiting for his answer, she sailed over to the door and threw it open.

  His laughter followed her out of the room.

  Three

  Nothing was going as planned, Julia thought, as she stood in the receiving line the evening of her ball. Gently, she traced her fingers over the smooth kid of her gloves, which concealed the scars at her wrists, the gesture reminding her to be strong, be brave.

  Wolf had not been on hand to welcome the Markhams to his home, Foulkes Hall. Hardwell, offering Wolf’s apologies, explained that Mr. Wolf had been detained by a business meeting. He pointedly ignored the “again” that Julia murmured under her breath.

  Indeed, the last appointment Wolf kept with her or any other Markham had been in the solicitor’s office two weeks ago. Business apparently consumed every aspect of this man’s life—including his choice of a wife!

  Such inattention didn’t bother Lord and Lady Markham. Ordering Wolf’s servants as if they were their own, Lord Markham and three of his four sons, Harry, Lionel, and James, the latter two recently returned from life abroad, had enjoyed several bottles of port before the guests arrived. Lady Markham, basking in what she termed the “family tragedy,” proceeded to hound Hardwell while ordering the servants to meet her slightest whim.

  Left alone with her thoughts and her fears, Julia cooled her heels in the foyer, hoping to have a pr
ivate word with Wolf. Her hopes were high for this evening. Julia Markham was not to be treated like some troublesome commodity he was saddled with as a result of a business transaction.

  With that goal in sight, she’d swallowed her pride and spent a good amount of the “pin money” Wolf had had Hardwell place in her name on the dress she was wearing. Designed by Madame Jacqueline, the most exclusive and expensive dressmaker in London, the Empire-style gown with its sapphire velvet bodice and flowing silk and lace skirt set her figure off to perfection. The touch of vivid color on an unmarried woman was daring, but Madame pointed out that Julia was betrothed…and past the first blush of youth.

  Julia didn’t remember fashion dictating so much cleavage. Madame convinced her the low neckline was high style, and Julia had agreed in the solitude of the dressing room. Now, preparing to be reintroduced into society, she regretted her decision. She didn’t dare lean forward—or present herself to an Anglican minister! Or had she been buried in the country too long, as Madame claimed?

  Since she owned no jewels, her mother’s dresser loosely threaded gold ribbon through her glossy dark curls, arranged à la grecque. The style gave the impression that one pull of the ribbon and her hair would fall in a glorious mass to her waist, an effect more arresting than diamonds. Even her brothers had stopped their bickering to stare when Julia descended the stairs to leave from home.

  She’d dearly love to see Wolf stopped speechless at the sight of her or, at the very least, express sorrow over not visiting her over the past fortnight. Her hopes for a few moments of triumph were interrupted by Lady Markham, who breezed into the foyer and ordered everyone assembled and into a receiving line.

  The first guest set the tone. A merchant king and his wife, barely civil to Lady Markham, whose behavior was no better, snubbed Julia outright, to the amusement of Lionel, standing next to her. When the merchant covertly turned back for a second look at Julia, Lionel leaned close. “Well, if Wolf doesn’t come up to snuff, you may have found another protector.”