All Things Beautiful

by Cathy Maxwell

  She reassured him with her smile. “She’s sleeping. The trip has exhausted her and she is weak, but I believe she will be fine. However, I advise you to take the precaution of asking Dr. Bellamy to come down from London.”

  Brader frowned, weighing Mrs. Brown’s suggestion, before finally nodding his head in acquiescence. But his next quietly delivered words shocked Julia. “Although I don’t believe it will do any good. My mother has always seemed to have special favor in God’s eyes. If she has accepted death, I doubt if there is anything we mortals can do to change that acceptance.”

  Tears welled up in Julia’s eyes. Nan dying! Her emotions swirled in confusion. Without a word to anyone in the room, she turned on one foot and left the room.

  “Julia.” Brader’s call stopped her right before the door to her room. Quickly, she swiped at her eyes with one hand before turning to face him.

  Brader looked tired, exhausted. Suddenly, Julia realized that some of the sternness in his character had to do with the long hours he put into his business affairs and his journey last night in the storm.

  “Are you all right?”

  Julia gave him a tremulous smile. “I should be asking you that question, shouldn’t I?”

  Brader shrugged his shoulders, pulling at his cravat until it loosened and he could let it hang free from around his neck. “Thing’s a damned nuisance.”

  “Brader, can the doctor actually do something? I heard what you said, but we can’t give up or let her give up, can we?”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You care for her, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer but continued, his breath coming out in a sigh of resignation, “Julia, I don’t know. If her health were something I could purchase with gold coin, I would have done so long ago. I finally realized several months back that I’m powerless to save her. Now my goal is to make her last moments as happy as possible and grant her every wish.”

  Brader appeared to choose his words judiciously.

  “She wants to be buried next to one of her husbands. Thomas Ashford is buried at Kimberwood.”

  “And your father?”

  Brader’s eyes hardened. His smile mocked himself. “My father? I’ve never asked.”

  Julia’s voice sounded strange and distant in her own ears. “So you married me in such haste to beat your mother’s death and grant her last wish.”

  “Yes.”

  Julia jerked at his answer, surprised by how the truth stung. “So now I know why you wanted Kimberwood enough to marry a Markham for it.”

  He didn’t spare her feelings, acknowledging the truth with a nod.

  Julia wrapped herself up in her pride. “Do you throw money at all your problems, then?” The words came out of her mouth too haughty, too waspish. Immediately, she wished them back.

  Brader’s eyes narrowed. “So the truce is over.” His gaze traveled from her head to her toes before he answered with a trace of irony in his voice, “Yes, I solve most of my problems with money—provided I don’t make a bad bargain.”

  Julia’s cheeks burned with mortification. This wasn’t what she wanted to say or how she wanted them to part company, especially after his strong support in the church. Damn her pride, she thought, before attempting to make amends. “Brader, I’m—”

  “Forget it, Julia.” He sounded tired instead of angry.

  “Brader?” Hardwell’s voice effectively cut off any contrite words Julia might have spoken. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  Brader shot Julia a quick glance before answering. “You are not interrupting anything worthwhile, William.”

  Hardwell didn’t seem to agree, looking anxiously between Brader’s stern countenance and Julia’s aristocratic reserve. “I need your approval on the lading and merchant agreements for the Dutch fleet leaving tomorrow with the tide for China.”

  Brader sighed. “I’ll come with you now, William.” He turned to Julia. The light in his eyes glittered with self-derision. “You’ll excuse me won’t you, madam? I must spend my afternoon earning”—he hesitated slightly, before finishing—“money.”

  Julia closed her eyes, angry that their whole interview had once again fallen into a scene. Disgusted with herself, she nodded her head and started into her room when his voice stopped her.

  “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

  Julia did not trust herself to speak, but nodded again and escaped into the cold confines of her room.

  Eleven

  She was going to be thoroughly charming to Brader Wolf this evening over dinner even if she died in the effort!

  No more angry words. She had charmed kings in her day. Certainly she could be kind, genteel, and womanly for one evening to her husband.

  And she would allow him to have his way with her. Anything for her baby.

  Her lip curling in distaste, she’d quizzed Emma about how long Brader had to do “that” to her before she could tell him to stop. Laughing, Emma had promised that if Julia relaxed and didn’t fight her husband, she might enjoy the intimacy.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Julia muttered at her reflection in the mirror, unaware she’d spoken the words out loud.

  “What did you say, ma’am?” Betty asked, putting the finishing touches on Julia’s hair.

  Nonplussed to be heard voicing such an unladylike comment aloud, Julia said, “Nothing, Betty.”

  Julia debated between dark blue velvet and the sapphire silk she’d worn the evening spent with Lord Barham and his friends. She settled on the blue velvet.

  Betty had loosely dressed Julia’s hair, pulling her curls to the top of her head and letting them fall down around her shoulders. Brader’s whispered words, “Take the pins out of your hair,” came back to her.

  Yes, he will be pleased, she decided.

  She made a brief visit to her mother-in-law’s room, where Mrs. Brown assured her Nan’s pulse was weak but steady, although Nan looked tiny and fragile among the bedclothes. Learning Brader had made several visits to his mother over the afternoon, Julia said a silent prayer and went down the stairs.

  She didn’t even bother going to the sitting room. If she knew Brader, he would be found in his study. The door opened on silent hinges, affording Julia a moment to study her broad-shouldered husband immersed in the papers on his desk.

  He wrote furiously, the pen scratching against paper. Julia slipped through the door and sat in a nearby chair. He didn’t look up immediately, although she felt certain he knew she watched him.

  Finally, he put the pen in its stand. From behind the gold-rimmed lenses, his dark brown eyes studied her.

  “I knew it was you,” he said. A lock of his hair had fallen low over his brow. He rested his elbow on his desk, his chin in his hand. Ink stained the tip of one finger. “I will never see a rose without being able to recall perfectly the fragrance of your perfume.”

  His reaction, that reaction, was everything she could wish. Julia sat perfectly still, her hands demurely clasped in front of her body, her demeanor chaste. Charming Brader was child’s play.

  Brader burst out laughing.

  Julia flushed with indignation. “What is so funny?” she snapped, forgetting to be charming.

  His eyes danced with mischief. “You. What devilment do you have brewing in that mind of yours? Give it up, Julia. What do you want from me now?”

  A sharp retort was on the tip of her tongue. She bit it back. The taste was bitter…but she even managed to smile. “I want to join you for dinner, or had you forgotten your invitation?” There. The words came out sweetly.

  Brader must have thought so too, for he straightened up, his eyes gleaming with interest. He looked down at his clothing. “I had forgotten. You’ll excuse me a moment. I didn’t dress for dinner.”

  He was wearing the same garb he’d worn to church, minus his jacket. He removed the spectacles.

  “No. It’s not necessary to change,” she started, but with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head, Brader shrugged on his jacket of brown supe
rfine.

  Watching him retie his cravat, Julia understood why he always had a careless air in his dress. “You must be the bane of your valet.”

  Brader chuckled. “I’ve driven off four valets,” he confessed.

  Julia laughed, rising to lead the way out of the study. “No! Not four. I would never have imagined,” she gasped in mock dismay.

  “I can never get used to having one around, fussing over silliness like watch fobs and boot blacking. Wanting me to pretend to be something I’m not.”

  “But you wear the trappings of a gentleman so well.”

  He stiffened.

  Julia reached up to touch him, her action softening her words. “Brader, I meant that as a compliment. Nan told me of your childhood, but to see you today, I’d never imagine your face black as a sweep’s with chimney soot or,” she added with a laughing glance from beneath her lashes, “sporting a tarred pigtail.”

  Her words, the touch, or her light teasing tone? Julia couldn’t decide which melted the sternness in his features, but he smiled and admonished her. “I’d never tar my hair, let alone wear it in a pigtail.”

  “Nor can I imagine you taking orders.”

  “His Majesty’s navy never asked for my opinions or cared if I had one. You’d be surprised how quickly I accepted orders with the threat of the cat or a keelhauling to back it up.”

  Julia’s lashes swept her cheeks before she raised teasing eyes up to meet his. “I hope I don’t have to go to such drastic measures to ensure your cooperation.”

  Brader answered in the same light vein, but Julia sensed the words were serious. “It depends on what you want of me.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Of course, how can any man possibly defend himself once the Elegant Julia decides to conquer?” There was no heat in his words, and all insult was removed as he turned her palm up to receive his kiss.

  Julia caught her breath. Her pulse pounded at the tickle of his lips against her skin. “Could I conquer you?”

  Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “What do you think?”

  Julia didn’t answer but turned her hand in his and gently squeezed his fingers. “You were very gallant this morning in church.”

  A roguish dimple appeared in his lean cheek. “Gallant?”

  “When you met me halfway down the aisle.”

  “I will not have you pilloried by gossip—especially,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, “when I know most of what the gossips say is untrue.”

  Julia shyly broke her gaze from his. This time her blush was no practiced flirt but the memory of how he’d proved the rumors false. Her mouth went dry. When she found the courage to face him again, the intensity of his eyes held hers captive.

  Fisher broke the spell. “Master Wolf, dinner is served.”

  Julia backed away, startled by the interruption. He watched her with a bemused smile, one she’d seen on numerous suitors in the past. Could she conquer him? Julia gave him the full force of her magnificent smile, feeling a surge of power when, for the first time, it appeared to work some of its magic on Brader.

  But then he frowned. “I heard one young lord wrote a poem to the curve of your ankle.”

  “That was silliness.”

  “And no less than three duels were fought for your attentions.”

  Julia stopped in her tracks. “I don’t want to fight with you, Brader. I had no more control over that silly fop who wrote poems to my body parts than I had over those young men with hot tempers who fought duels. I did not encourage the duels and never knew they were happening until after the fact.”

  She felt a flash of anger.

  “Why are you so hard on me? One minute you chastise those who gossip about me and the next you accuse me of every stray bit of gossip whispered over the past six years.”

  “Hard on you?”

  “Yes. You have two standards. One you use to judge the rest of the world, and the other you use to judge Julia Markham.”

  “But Julia Markham is my wife.”

  “And you believe that gives you a license to—”

  “Be jealous,” he finished.

  Abruptly the heat went out of Julia’s temper. “Jealous?”

  Brader leaned back against the doorjamb. “I thought I’d carve Barham’s eyes out of his head every time he leered at you the other night. Your dress left little to the imagination, madam.”

  “Why would you be jealous, Brader? I thought you could barely stand my presence.”

  “What man is immune to a beautiful woman?”

  Disappointment shot through her. Julia didn’t know what she had expected him to say, or why she’d harbored the thought that Brader was different from most men who were attracted only to her looks.

  But this wasn’t most men; this was her husband.

  When they reached the dining room, four footmen lined the walls, ready to perform any service, while Fisher stood in full majordomo glory, prepared to direct the dinner from his vantage point in the corner of the room. Eight feet of table separated their place settings. Fine, she thought, tired of sparring with him and losing. The distance gave her a chance to lick her wounds.

  Julia took her place, sitting in a chair a footman held out for her, while another footman held her lap napkin waiting for her to be seated. Brader, seated at the opposite end, received the same treatment. A third footman served the first course.

  Julia took a fortifying drink of warm, sweet wine, trying to calm her anger toward Brader. A footman stepped forward and added more wine to the glass.

  Brader sat at his end of the table, studying her. He frowned. Sourly, Julia wondered what sin he laid at her door this time. Finally, he lifted his spoon and said, “I believe the weather may clear.”

  Realizing she had to answer him, especially with the servants listening, Julia replied succinctly, “Yes.”

  “Of course, November is always this way.”

  “Yes.”

  An awkward silence passed.

  “Mayhap December will be better,” he said, but Julia detected the slightest hint of laughter in his voice.

  Her eyes narrowed at him above the candelabra and there it was, the dancing of gold highlights belying the sternness of his features. She took a sip of wine and wished him to the devil.

  Brader answered her silent message with a look deceiving in its innocence.

  His look made Julia remember her earlier promise to herself to be charming this evening. So far, she’d failed. But this evening would not pass without an understanding—and a mating—between them, she vowed. First, she had to stop being angry.

  And she had to realize that eight feet of dining room table and a flock of footmen didn’t create a romantic atmosphere.

  She took two more long, thoughtful sips of wine before the first inklings of an idea, delightful in its absurdity, tickled her mind. Did she dare?

  Yes, but Fisher would never speak to her again.

  With the grace of a grand duchess, Julia started to push back her chair. Fisher snapped his fingers and a footman jumped to help her.

  Nervously, Fisher watched Julia’s actions. Aware of his concern, Julia took great delight in making a grand show of handing her soup dish, plate, and spoon to the hapless footman who had helped her pull out her chair. She then walked, with the sedate step and grace required at court, around the table and toward Brader.

  Stopping next to Brader’s place setting, Julia turned to the still gawking footman holding her soup bowl and spoon and said, “You may place it here.”

  Fisher finally understood what she desired. With several curt orders, he put three servants in action, moving Julia’s chair, place setting, and wineglass to where she stood next to her husband.

  “Thank you, Fisher,” Julia murmured, before sitting in the chair held out for her. She turned toward Brader, who studied her with undisguised admiration.

  “By God, that was handily done, madam.”

  Julia laughed, enjoying the compliment, her anger towa
rd him dissipating.

  Brader leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed. “Fisher, you and your minions are dismissed for the evening.”

  Fisher’s face flushed beet red. He stuttered for words until, gathering his wits, he answered, “Of course, Master Wolf.” Snapping his fingers, he shooed the footmen back to the kitchen.

  Fisher started to follow them, but stopped stiffly at the door, turned, and asked, “Do you wish my further services, Master Wolf?”

  Brader, his eyes on Julia, answered, “Prepare plates for us, Fisher; that will be all. Thank you.”

  Julia demurely studied her soup bowl until Fisher returned with two prepared plates for them, topped their wineglasses, and bowed his way out of the room.

  “Oh, don’t give up now,” Brader admonished.

  Julia burst into laughter. “We’ve caused a terrible commotion in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ll ever win him over after this.”

  “Fisher is used to my oddities, so he’ll become accustomed to yours. Every once in a while he gets carried away. I’m sure he’d prefer that I aspire to a high position in life.”

  “And that would be?” She raised her wineglass to her lips.

  “A knighthood.”

  Julia opened her eyes wide in surprise.

  Brader cut into his beef steak. “The Crown recognizes many whose service it deems valuable, and I’ve managed to finance a good number of the Regent’s excesses. It would not be out of the realm of possibility.”

  Julia found her voice. “I’d formed the impression that you did not admire me or people of my class. Now am I to understand you might covet a title?”

  Brader smiled. “Eat your beefsteak or we’ll offend Cook too.” He watched a moment as Julia daintily cut a piece of meat. “No, I don’t covet one. At least, not anymore. There was a time when I first started that I thought a title one of my goals. Not to gain it for me, but for Mother.” He slid Julia a look from the corner of his eye. “You knew your grandmother and my mother were cousins.”