All Things Beautiful

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Master Wolf! Master Wolf!” A voice rose from the path behind them, over the pounding of horse’s hooves. Brader and Julia sprang apart and turned toward the rider. He was the groom from the stable.

  Reining his horse, the groom hurriedly doffed his hat and pulled a forelock. “Pardon me, Master Wolf. Mistress.”

  “What is it, man?”

  The groom blanched and looked ready to take to his heels until Julia put her hand up to her husband’s chest and asked quietly, “Timothy. Your name is Timothy, isn’t it? What do you need of us?”

  “My pardons, mistress, but Mr. Hardwell sent me. Said one of the tenants, a farmer by the name of Turner—his wife is in a bad way.”

  “Oh, no!” Julia turned to Brader. “She’s with child. Her time for laying in is almost here.”

  “I’m sorry, mistress, but the babe’s coming early. The midwife has been with his wife, but Turner said the midwife fears for the life of mother and babe. Mr. Hardwell wants to send for the doctor.”

  Brader took charge. “Of course, send for him immediately. I’m surprised William hasn’t already done so.”

  Timothy bobbed his head. “Yes, sir. Mr. Hardwell thought you would feel that way and someone is already on the way, but he felt he should also request your permission.”

  Brader smiled. “Then it’s given, as he well knew it would be.” He looked down at Julia. “Shall we continue with our ride?”

  Still standing in the circle of her husband’s arms, Julia shook her head. “No. I’m going back with the groom. The farmer’s wife’s name is Molly. I’ve talked to her several times over the past week. She and her husband have no family close by, and I must go see if there is anything I can do to help her.”

  “Julia, think on this. We’ve sent for the doctor. A birthing bed is no place for a stranger.”

  But Julia wasn’t in the mood for rational discussion. With surprising unladylike ease, she placed one foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up to the saddle. Brader helped her find her seat before she looked down at him, her mind already galloping down the road. “Don’t you understand, Brader? I’m her family now that she and her husband are our tenants.”

  “You’re wrong. We’ve been asked to help fetch the doctor, and we’ll be ready to do whatever else is needed, but your presence is not required by the woman’s bed.”

  But Julia had already urged her horse away from him. She looked back, trying to convey her feelings to him. “Please understand, Brader. If anything happens to this baby…”

  She could find no words to express what she felt, nor did she understand herself.

  With a kick of her heels, she rode off, her final words, “I have to go!” thrown over her shoulder.

  Thirteen

  Julia stumbled out through the cottage doorway. Her breath came out in little puffs of cold air, but she didn’t feel the chill. Nor did the cottage’s inhabitants see her out the door.

  Julia didn’t care if she ever saw the Turners, or the inside of their cottage, for the rest of her life.

  She came to a flying halt and looked up at the dark, starry night. The hour must be close to midnight. The stars, huge and bright, hung over her head like tears that would never be released. Her hand reached up into the air, a futile attempt to touch one of those stars. Fire. Only fire could blaze so brilliantly in the heavens. A fire so hot and wicked, one touch would end her existence in a flash of glory.

  She remembered what it was that she hadn’t confessed to Brader about her attempt to end her life. Honor was the excuse she gave to the Beals and Brader, people with purpose and meaning in their lives.

  But her life was a void as vast and flat as the night sky.

  No direction. No beginning. No answers. No fulfillment. Before tonight, she thought she had a goal. Now, she discovered she could be cheated, that life could be emptier, harsher.

  Not since her night with Geoffrey did she feel more adrift in her soul. Over the past three years, she’d managed to create new meaning in her life—

  Lies!

  Julia whirled around in the small yard of the cottage, her hair loose and free around her shoulders, the smart ribboned riding hat long forgotten. She’d ride. She’d ride to hell and back. She’d ride until all the hate, fear, and agony of living was ripped out of her. She took a step toward the side of the cottage where she’d left her horse, her feet tripping over the hem of her riding skirt in her blind haste.

  Throwing out a hand to catch herself, she hit instead the strong chest of a man who stepped out of the shadows. Brader!

  She pushed against him with the heels of both hands, wishing him to the devil. Not now. She couldn’t deal with him now.

  But he grabbed her by both elbows, refusing to let go. Julia pushed harder. “Leave me alone!” she shouted, and finally pulled back her riding boot and kicked him in the shin.

  She should have known better than to think a whack in the shin would stop Brader. He grunted at the pain, but his grip tightened. He hissed harsh words at her through the dark. “It’s Brader.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you do that?”

  “Leave me alone.” Trying to twist out of his grip, she gave a strong pull. Surprisingly, Brader released her arms and she stumbled backward.

  Righting herself, Julia tossed her hair out of her face and confronted him. “I want to be alone.”

  He waited a full beat before answering, his voice cold, uncompromising. “I have no desire to argue. Nor do I intend to stand out in the open, airing our differences to the general public.”

  Julia made a great show of looking around the empty cottage yard. “The audience is all agog,” she announced haughtily. It felt good to fight, anything to block out those feelings of emptiness. She attacked Brader with vigor. “I’m surprised you are here. Don’t you have a meeting to attend or ledgers to tally?”

  “Get in the coach.” Julia noticed for the first time Brader’s coach standing on the road in the dark, its shape blending with the dark shadows of the trees.

  “I have my mount—”

  “I sent the horse home hours ago. I’ve been standing out here freezing my rear and that of the good coachman for nigh on twelve hours. Now get in the coach.”

  “I didn’t ask—”

  “Get in!” Brader’s voice in full roar squelched any further protest.

  Her shoulders slumped. With one hand, she brushed back a lock of hair, attempting to tuck it behind her ear.

  Brader reached forward. His fingers touched hers. She jumped as if his touch burned. The weak light escaping from a cottage window highlighted the grim, tight expression on his face.

  “Are we back to this? What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Julia didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Instead, she turned on a booted heel and took a step toward the woods—away from the waiting coach.

  She didn’t go far. Before her heel touched the ground, Brader grabbed her and, in a swing of wool skirt and petticoats, threw her over his shoulder. He covered the distance to the coach in four long strides.

  Julia opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but Brader’s voice in her ear stopped her, “Don’t—speak—another—word. You’ve just given the coachman enough to keep the servants gossiping for weeks, not to mention the tenant’s family, the midwife, the doctor, and Lord knows whoever else is in that house.” He practically threw Julia into the coach.

  She righted herself and slid across the leather seat before saying in genteel clipped tones, “Oh, yes, we have an agreement, don’t we? We can’t have your docile wife kicking up a fuss along the common road.”

  “My docile wife!” Brader practically choked on the words. He rapped on the coach roof, signaling the coachman to drive, before sitting back in his seat with such force Julia jumped.

  “I have spent hours cooling my heels waiting for you to come out of that twice-damned cottage, and what do I get for my efforts?” He didn’t give Julia a chance to answer. “Your vici
ous harpy tongue.”

  Julia’s mouth snapped shut on the angry words she had been about to throw at him. She slid over on the seat, as far from him as possible. Who did he believe he was anyway? “I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” she muttered.

  “Strike me dead for showing a bit of chivalry,” he responded coldly.

  That’s when she knew she was going to break. The lump formed in her throat. It hurt when she swallowed. Julia dug her nails into her palm. I don’t cry. I don’t cry.

  Not a moment too soon did the coach grind to a halt before Kimberwood’s front door. She gathered her skirts, ready to jump out almost before they came to a complete stop.

  Her plan was thwarted by a hard, unyielding hand on her arm. “What? No good night?” The light from the lamps at the front door caught the gleam of mockery in his eyes.

  Julia didn’t know if she could speak without breaking down completely—and she would not do that here, not in front of the servants, not in front of Brader. She tried to pull her arm free.

  Brader’s eyes narrowed. “I warned you a birthing bed is no place for an outsider.” She flinched at his use of that word. “What happened? Did the screams of childbirth give you second thoughts about your quest for a babe?”

  Julia felt her lower lip tremble. She bit it hard. I will not cry. I will not cry. “What do you know about it?” It hurt to speak around the ache building in her throat. Work up the anger. Anger brings control.

  Brader snorted. “You don’t grow up on the streets without learning a few things about the basic points of childbirth. What is the matter, Julia, is reality too vivid and dramatic for you?”

  “Yes! Yes, it’s too real and horrid for me.” She hated the pain in her voice. She hated the way the tears she’d kept tightly under rein suddenly broke their boundaries and flowed down her cheeks.

  The anger in Brader’s eyes died. He reached out with his other hand toward her face, but she pulled away. Shaking his head, Brader said, “Julia, don’t let the pain frighten you.”

  “The pain!” Julia wanted to laugh at him. She took angry swipes at the tears, before answering proudly, “Pain is a fleeting thing.”

  Brader looked confused. “Then, what—”

  “The babe died!” His hand released her arm in his shock, and without a moment’s hesitation, Julia kicked open the coach door, leaped to the ground, and ran up Kimberwood’s front steps past the coachman, who’d kept a respectful distance while his master and mistress argued.

  She slipped soundlessly past Fisher, holding the door open, and escaped to her room. Betty was waiting, her shiny little face smiling. Julia turned toward the wall so the maid couldn’t see her tearstained face. Her voice almost breaking, she cried, “Go, Betty. Now. Go.”

  She heard the sound of the maid’s feet skitter past her and the door close softly. Lifting her head, Julia caught her stricken reflection in her dressing table mirror and dissolved in deep hiccuping sobs. Walking around the room, she cropped the snuff of the candles, praying the world would let her be.

  Here in the womb of her room, the darkness relieved only by the fire on her hearth, Julia threw herself across her bed and gave full rein to body-racking sobs.

  She didn’t sense Brader’s presence in the room until the mattress gave slightly under the press of his knee. She thought about clinging to the pillow, but when his hands touched her shoulder and pulled her gently to his chest, she did not fight. Instead, she burrowed her face in his shoulder and cried her heart out.

  Drained, Julia slowly became aware of her head resting on his tear-soaked shirt and the beat of his heart in her ear. His body lay stretched out against hers, her legs against his. They both still wore their riding boots.

  Embarrassed, she rose slightly, her hands splayed against his chest for support. His arms were wrapped loosely around her body. “This can’t be comfortable…” Her voice sounded hoarse, spent.

  He smiled, but his eyes reflected concern. “No, stay where you are. I’m fine.”

  Her hair fell in tangles around her face. Certain her eyes were red and swollen, she started to push away but Brader’s hands pressed against her back, pulling her closer. Julia leaned forward again, her chest against his, her nose close to his. She could feel fresh tears welling up again. “I’m turning into a watering pot,” she whispered, attempting some humor before she disgraced herself again.

  “Yes,” he answered, his breath brushing her cheek, before his lips rose and captured hers.

  Julia forgot about crying. He kissed her, thoroughly and completely…and then she was kissing him back. Their kiss tasted salty and sweet.

  Drowning in the kiss, she struggled for air. Their lips parted and she stared into dark gold-flecked eyes only inches from hers. Lifting her hand, she traced with one long, graceful finger the sweet sensuous curve of a dimple at the corner of his mouth. He smiled, her finger moving with the arched movement of his smile.

  Tightening his arms around her waist, Brader drew her closer, while his other hand reached up and caught the hand near his face. He brushed his lips over the tip of her finger before lowering her hand between them.

  “The baby was perfect,” she whispered, “but stillborn.” Her words broke the mood.

  Brader raised a finger to lay against her lips. His eyes connected with hers. “There are no guarantees in life. You can search for them, but they don’t exist.”

  Julia’s body went rigid, her eyes growing huge, incredulous. “How did you know?” She shook her head. “I was jealous of Molly. I wanted…” She narrowed her focus on Brader and repeated, “How did you know?”

  “I know enough about seeing one’s dreams slashed open by reality.” He rolled Julia with his body onto her side. “But it wasn’t your baby. The Turners will go on to have other children, and”—he paused, his eyes dark and unreadable—“you will someday have the child you want. It wasn’t your loss.”

  “Yes. Yes, it was.” Julia sat up on one elbow. “Molly’s husband told her the same words. And then he held her and they mourned together. That’s when I understood.” She looked away form him, studying the shadows dancing form the hearth. “I’ve been such a fool.”

  “Julia—”

  “I’ve fooled myself. I thought a baby would bring everything I wanted, and now I’ve discovered a pain so deep I don’t know if I want to open myself even to the possibility.” She turned toward him, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I feel destroyed by the loss, and the baby wasn’t even mine. Brader, how would I survive if I lost a babe that was part of my flesh?”

  “You’d survive the same way Molly Turner will survive.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Because Molly Turner has someone who cares for her. I have nothing.”

  He sat very still before answering. “Nothing?”

  Julia bit her bottom lip, debating if she should confess, and then whispered, “Love.”

  “Love?” Brader’s eyes grew wary.

  Pulling away from him slightly, Julia nodded her head. She could see by the look in his eyes that she had caught him off guard, but she’d confessed too much of her soul not to make a clean breast of everything. “I thought a baby would give me love. My child would love me and only me. But tonight, I learned the pain of losing a child is more searing than the emptiness of living without love.”

  Brader started to say something, but she held up a hand to stop his words.

  “When I wanted to comfort Molly, I discovered her husband already there.”

  She lowered her hand and Brader said, “Which is the way it should be.”

  She gave him a sad, sweet smile. “Look at me, Brader. Who would ever love me?”

  “Who would love you? Julia, you are a beautiful woman!”

  “Yes, I know,” she fired back. “All my adult life I’ve listened to how beautiful I am. That’s all people see—my face, my figure. But no one sees me. No one loves me.” Angrily, she cut the air with a hand, adding, “Oh, maybe my grandmother did, but even she only gave me her atte
ntion as long as I stayed in my place. Molly Turner is plain, and yet her husband loves her.”

  “Her husband, eh?” Brader’s mouth curved into a smile and a suspicious light danced in his eyes. “Do you want love from me?”

  Julia sat upright and glared at him. “Do you know what love is? It’s not buying baubles for your mistresses, I can tell you that!”

  Brader relaxed, his hands coming up behind his head as he asked shrewdly, “Then suppose you tell me, Mrs. Wolf. What is love?”

  Julia blinked at him. She didn’t like the smug set of his mouth, suspecting him of baiting her.

  “I’m waiting.”

  Flashing him an angry look, she stretched out beside him on her stomach, studied her hands, and then answered without looking at him. “Love is when someone is there for you. All the time. Not just when it’s convenient but because that person cares what you think and feel.” She looked over at him, her voice growing stronger in its conviction.

  “Love is like Emma and Chester Beal. Arthritis cramps her hands in pain so that some days she can’t perform the simplest of tasks, like kneading bread. So Chester does it for her…and he’s glad to do it.”

  The smug smile no longer graced Brader’s face. He listened intently.

  “Or love is like Agnes, a tenant at Danescourt, who was so hideously burned all over her body when her cottage caught fire, she frightened children. No one knew how she survived such an ordeal save for her husband, who nursed and cared for her. One day I saw him put his arm around her, and I wondered how he could touch a woman so deformed, but later I heard him tell Chester that he didn’t see Agnes with the burn scars. And because he saw her clean and whole, the rest of us learned to look past the scars, even the children.”

  Julia looked Brader directly in the eye.

  “I think maybe that is what love is. Seeing beyond the scars, to the person below the surface.”

  “And what about a vow, madam?” he asked, his voice low and deep. “A vow taken before God to love?”