Beauty in Breeches

chapter Four


‘Well?’ Lady Standish demanded. ‘What have you got to say for yourself, Beatrice? Too ashamed, are you? I am simply astounded that not only did you ask Lord Chadwick to marry you, but you practically demanded that he do so. You have behaved in a thoroughly deceitful manner and I will not have it. In one fell swoop you have broken all the rules.’ Beatrice raised her head and looked at her aunt defiantly, which increased her wrath. ‘How dare you humiliate me and make me look foolish in society? How dare you?’ She was puce with anger and her voice rose until she was almost screeching.

‘I understand that your feelings are hurt and I am sorry to have caused you so much distress, Aunt Moira,’ Beatrice uttered stiffly.

‘Distress? That is putting it mildly,’ Lady Standish said, her aristocratic voice dripping with disdain. ‘Of course as your guardian I can stop this. You do realise that, don’t you?’

‘But why would you want to?’

‘To stop you making a fool of yourself and this family. What will you do if I don’t allow it?’

Both women were facing each other. Beatrice refused to be bowed. Her sense of outrage kept her anchored to the floor.

‘I’ll do as I wish. You cannot stand in my way. Of late I’ve done a lot of thinking. I am eighteen years old—a woman—and I shall decide my own destiny. Ever since I came to live here you have wanted me off your hands. I am happy to oblige you.’

‘Enough,’ Lady Standish ordered. ‘I am your aunt! How dare you speak to me in this disgraceful manner? I have indulged you overmuch. What other reason can there be for such behaviour? You owe me your respect. For shame! Must you always think of yourself, you insolent, ungrateful girl? You have planned this from the start. Oh, I am not deceived by you, Beatrice. You have wanted him for yourself ever since we returned from London. You seek to deny Astrid the privilege of winning his favour.’

‘Lord Chadwick never had any intention of offering for Astrid. And Astrid would not favour a proposal from him anyway, feeling as she does about Henry Talbot.’ She looked to where her cousin sat shrinking in a chair, watching and listening to the heated words between her mother and her cousin. ‘Is that not so, Astrid?’

‘I—I do have feelings for Henry,’ she confessed, which was a brave thing for her to say, for, like all young ladies of her social class, Astrid had been taught since childhood that her duty as a daughter was to marry in accordance with her parents’ wishes. ‘I don’t want anyone else, Mama,’ she said in a tear-clogged voice. ‘I want Henry.’

The admission was made with such humble, hopeless misery that anyone but the hard-hearted Lady Standish would have been moved by it. Instead she glared at her. ‘I think Henry Talbot presumed on your friendship and the freedom his parents have allowed him to dally at Standish House in the hope that something would come of his association with you. He is naïve to think so. That will never happen. You would be marrying beneath you.’

‘I do not think Squire Talbot would care to have his son regarded as just anyone,’ Beatrice dared to say. ‘Henry is a fine man. He may look naïve, but I’ll wager he’ll make the best husband for Astrid.’

Lady Standish fixed her ice-cold eyes on her niece, her mouth twisting with derision. ‘A farmer? I don’t think so.’

‘There is nothing to be ashamed of in that,’ Beatrice argued. ‘Henry loves the land and farms his father’s acres tirelessly.’

‘But as a younger son it will never be his. I do not like speaking ill of Squire Talbot for we have been friends and neighbours for more years than I can remember, but you deviate, Beatrice. This is not about Astrid, but about you.’ Beatrice moved towards the door, but Lady Standish barred her way. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To my room.’ With defiance Beatrice walked round her.

‘And Lord Chadwick? I warn you, Beatrice. You go to him with nothing. I will not provide you with a dowry. You are a nobody and as such he will regard you like a plaything and soon tire of you and marry someone else.’

Beatrice turned from the doorway and looked back at her aunt, her brows raised in questioning sarcasm. ‘Will he? And you are sure of that, are you, Aunt Moira? And this is the man you wanted for Astrid, is it—for your own daughter? Then consider yourself fortunate that he is marrying me instead.’



Beatrice was in the hall when Lord Chadwick was admitted the following morning. Their eyes met. His mood was again mocking, his eyes devouring, hers nervous and uncertain. Under his openly admiring regard, she flushed crimson. She heard his soft laugh, then he turned and went into the drawing room for his meeting with her aunt. As she followed him she noted that he was completely at ease and terribly confident of himself.

Lady Standish was seated in her usual chair by the hearth and did not trouble herself to rise when he entered. The turn of her head and the coldness of her smile conveyed very clearly that she did not approve of this marriage and that he should refuse to have any part of it.

‘I think you are expecting me, Lady Standish,’ Julius said in crisp tones, seeing Beatrice take a position away from her aunt.

‘I am. Please be seated.’

‘No, thank you,’ his hard, confident voice replied. ‘I am content to stand.’

‘As you wish. I am interested to know your opinion about this outrageous situation concerning my niece. I am sure you will agree that her conduct is shocking.’

‘I do agree, Lady Standish.’ He glanced at the young woman in question with a mocking smile lightly curving his lips, wondering how she would react if he were to tell her how he had been unable to wipe her from his mind. Memories of the way she had felt in his arms, the heady sweetness of her kiss, had kept him awake all night. What a proud, spirited beauty she was. She excited him, she shocked him, and while he did not consider himself remotely in love with her, he was in her thrall.

He was aware of what she wanted and was tempted to refuse her, but the prospect of his safe, orderly life without her horrified him. It was as if she’d bewitched him, this wicked, beautiful creature, and he could not break away.

Julius had suffered hardship and tragedy throughout his life and his emotions had been stunted, which was why he had never married. His relationships with women were about sex. Just the same, he mused as he looked at Beatrice Fanshaw, life could still deliver surprises.

It was a difficult moment for Beatrice, who did not know what to expect. She wanted to maintain an air of cool disdain, to face Lord Chadwick in calm defiance, but her mauled pride and an aching distrust of the future assailed her senses. Momentarily blinded by a rush of tears, she lowered her head, but, furious with herself that she should display such weakness, lifted it again and found his amber eyes resting on her with something akin to compassion or pity. It was almost too much for her to bear.

‘Beatrice always was an underhand, quarrelsome girl,’ Lady Standish went on coldly. ‘She has a tendency to deceit and does not have the character and disposition of my own dear daughter, Astrid. You have given some thought to her—her idea,’ she said, for want of a better word.

Beatrice knew then why she disliked her aunt so much, for it was in her nature to wound her cruelly. No matter how she had tried to please and obey her when she had come to Standish House, all her efforts were repulsed and repaid by such words as Lady Standish had just uttered. The accusation cut her to the heart, especially as her aunt had voiced it before Lord Chadwick. The unkindness painted her as some kind of artful, obnoxious creature, tainting any future happiness she hoped for.

Julius considered Beatrice a moment before replying to Lady Standish’s question. ‘As a matter of fact I have given it considerable thought.’

He stared rigidly at Beatrice, his profile harsh and forbidding. With a sinking heart she knew he was thinking hard for some way out of marrying her; she also knew that behind that tautly controlled façade was a terrible volcanic rage. With the silence grating on her nerves, she held herself still and waited for him to speak, his expression becoming darker and more ominous by the second.

When Julius saw her putting up a valiant fight for control, a fight she won, his temper softened. Standing before him, she looked like a proud young queen, her eyes sparkling like twin jewels.

‘And have you come to the sensible conclusion that you don’t suit?’ Lady Standish remarked coldly.

‘On the contrary,’ he replied, bringing his gaze back to her, ‘I think we might suit very well. In the beginning I confess to being shocked by the forfeit your niece asked of me and I did not consider it lightly. I am not usually a man of hasty decision when it concerns a lasting relationship, but I suppose you could say that Miss Fanshaw forced my hand.’

‘Then you are quite mad, sir. Beatrice is no relation of mine, but you do realise that I could prevent this if I so wished?’ Lady Standish rushed in, her temper getting the better of her, pushed beyond the bounds of reason by her niece’s unacceptable behaviour and the scandal that would ensue. ‘Beatrice is eighteen. I am her guardian until she comes of age or I consider it time that she marries.’

The room was as cold as winter in January. Julius stared at the almost demented woman, her eyes feverishly bright, her hands clenched so tightly into fists that her blue veins bulged out. She meant it, he realised. She was evidently so consumed with loathing for her niece that she would subject her to a lifetime of misery for daring to defy her by taking away the man she had selected for her own daughter.

‘Why would you want to do that, Lady Standish? Because you care so much for your niece that you put her happiness first—or for spite?’ he said, overstepping the bounds of politeness. ‘It is obvious to me that she is no favourite of yours.’ He turned his head sharply to Beatrice and studied her face as if he’d never seen her before. His granite features softened and his eyes warmed, as if he understood how humiliated she felt. ‘Do you still want to go through with this?’

Beatrice gazed up into his inscrutable amber eyes and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘That’s all I wish to know.’

Lady Standish’s face whitened at his words. ‘You cannot seriously mean to go through with this—this farce of a marriage!’

A muscle twitched furiously in Julius’s cheek as his angry glare took in the older woman. He loathed her at that moment. The injustice of an innocent being so harshly maligned gnawed at every chivalrous inch of his body, although he did wonder what he was getting into. ‘I intend to do exactly that. From now on Beatrice will be my responsibility.’

‘Then good luck to you is what I say, for you will need it. The girl’s a liar and an ambitious schemer. She’s trouble, a hellion, and you will live to regret taking her on. I will not pretend that I am happy about this ill-conceived marriage. However much it galls me, however much it denigrates my family’s good name, I must accept it. But you’ll get no blessing from me,’ she said, her voice tight with fury and bitterness.’

Julius’s voice was scathing. ‘I think we can manage to live without it.’

Lady Standish glared at her niece, noting the familiar jut of defiance in her chin. ‘I cannot stop you doing this foolish thing, Beatrice. But if you do you will not get my acceptance. I will be forced to cut you off from your family and our connections. You will not get a penny from me. You will be cut off from everything you have known.’

Beatrice managed to raise her head and meet her aunt’s gaze unflinching. ‘I am sorry you feel that way, Aunt Moira, but I do have a right to choose my own life.’

‘Choice you have, girl,’ her aunt replied contemptuously. ‘You have always had it, but the choice to do the right thing. If you leave this house now, you will never return. I will have nothing more to do with you. You have made your bed so you must lie in it. You will not speak with Astrid or George again. You will have no communication with them. Is that clear?’

Beatrice almost choked on the hurt this caused her, but she managed to utter, ‘Yes.’

Julius’s eyes had turned positively glacial during this short exchange. ‘You have my guarantee that as my wife Beatrice will be supported in a manner suitable to her upbringing. It is certain she must no longer live here where she will continue to be subjected to the malice of a woman who calls herself an aunt.’ These words were delivered in a cold, lethal voice, his eyes gleaming with a deadly purpose. ‘Having seen for myself your unfair treatment of your niece, I suspect that, failing to get what you want, you will not hesitate to stoop to slander to soothe your wounded pride. I trust you will think twice before you resort to such vile practice. Beatrice is under my protection now, and believe me, you don’t want to have me for an enemy.’

Lady Standish drew herself up with dignified hauteur, but exposed her fury by the way her hand gripping the arm of her chair trembled. ‘Please do not threaten me in my own house, Lord Chadwick. Beatrice has only a little knowledge of the kind of man that you are, having stolen her birthright, but I have more. In time she will come to know you, to know how you treat those who dare to cross you, and then she will hate you.’

Observing the puzzled look that crossed Lord Chadwick’s face, she smiled a chilling, satisfied smile, but she would not enlighten him as to what she was referring. She would save that for a later date and enjoy flinging it in his face.

‘Now I would appreciate it if you would leave this instant and take Beatrice with you. Indeed, the more I look at her, the more relieved I shall feel to be rid of a responsibility that is becoming too irksome.’ Seeing how Beatrice flinched under the biting remark, she was glad to know it had hit its mark. ‘I can’t say that she has been a pleasure to have around.’

Bemused by what she had said, Julius was pushed to ask her to explain what she had meant by it, but, impatient to leave, he turned his gaze directly to Beatrice. Only then did he realise the gamble she had taken by taking up his wager, which, once accepted, had started off a chain of events from which there was no going back on.

By asking him to marry her she had risked throwing away not only her reputation, but her family and her home. If he refused to marry her, with no one in the world to lighten her cares, penniless, she would have to leave this bizarre household and fend for herself. As a result of that wretched game of cards, inadvertently, but effectively, her future, like his own, had been destroyed. And yet, as he looked at her, he reluctantly faced the fact that she was a far cry from a pitiable homeless waif.

His mind made up, he said with implacable finality that warned further argument would be futile, ‘It is settled, then.’ Looking at Beatrice, he raised a finely arched brow. ‘If you have anything more to say to your aunt, please do so, then get together whatever you wish to take with you. I will wait in my carriage until you have concluded your business.’

With that he strode to the door, and Beatrice caught a glimpse of his angry, aristocratic profile, then he was gone. Having nothing else to say to her aunt, she followed him. After going to her room and gathering the few possessions that belonged to her, she left Standish House for the last time.



‘Now, then,’ said Julius, lounging against the rich upholstery in his elegant open carriage and crossing his long legs in front of him, ‘now we can relax.’ He smiled at the alarm which entered his companion’s eyes when his driver proceeded to travel along the London road. ‘Why, what is it?’ he asked blandly. ‘Is there something you have forgotten? Do you have something to say? By the look on your face I would wager that you have. Please don’t disappoint me by holding it in. I would hate to see you explode with frustration.’

Perched stiffly on the cushioned seat across from him, and having spent a moment to adjust her skirts in an effort to avoid meeting his gaze, Beatrice now shot him a mutinous, measuring look. ‘Believe me, Lord Chadwick, you wouldn’t want to see me explode. And, yes, there is something I wish to say. I thought…’

Seeming to find amusement in her confusion, he laughed lightly. ‘What? That I was taking you to Larkhill? Surely you didn’t think we would live there. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid not. My companions left Larkhill for London earlier. I have pressing matters of business to attend to and I am in a hurry to get there myself. But take heart. I am sure you will find my country residence in Kent every bit as pleasant as Larkhill.’

Beatrice’s fury, combined with her disappointment, was immense. ‘I doubt it,’ she snapped ungraciously, leaning back in her seat and glowering at the passing scenery. ‘Larkhill was my home.’

‘When we are married you will look on Highfield Manor as your home.’ Withdrawing a thin cheroot from his jacket pocket, he lit it, bending his dark head and cupping his hands over the flame. Unconcernedly he blew smoke into the air.

Beatrice expelled an angry breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and the sound made him glance at her sharply. His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry.

‘Do you mind?’

‘I’ve never seen a man smoke a cigar before,’ she said. ‘They—always smoke in another room.’

‘May I offer you one?’ He grinned at her sudden start of surprise. ‘Why not? A number of ladies that I know are not averse to the odd cigar. I already know that you will dare anything. With your flair for doing the unconventional, you might acquire a taste for them.’

‘I don’t think I would and would be obliged if you would confine your smoking to when I am not present.’

‘You may have failed to notice, but we are in an open carriage, so the smoke should not bother you. I enjoy a cigar—often—and I’m afraid that if you are to be my wife, you’ll just have to get used to it.’ Through narrowed eyes he looked at her appraisingly, the smoke from his cigar drifting slowly over his head. ‘You already know the other things you will have to get accustomed to—you will recall the demonstration I gave you. Just look on this as another.’

‘You can please yourself,’ Beatrice told him loftily.

‘Careful. Your temper is showing.’

She swallowed hard as his eyes bored into hers. It had not taken her long to throw good judgement aside and flare up at him. She must learn to control her temper and her feelings better. Setting her jaw, she glared at him, unconcerned, it seemed, with anything else he might have to say. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and she was flushed and could barely speak through her tightly clenched teeth.

Her hair fell about her shoulders in a tangle of glossy waves and her anger had given her eyes a luminous quality. With the cigar clamped between teeth as white as his shirt, Julius watched her from beneath hooded lids; her closeness and the mere sight of her made him desire her, but he controlled the urge to drag her on to his side of the carriage and into his arms.

She was furious with him, he knew, for not taking her directly to Larkhill, and she was dying to loose a tirade at his head—he could see it in those glorious flashing green eyes of hers. The truth was that he really did have pressing business matters to attend to in London. He had delayed his departure and sent his valet on ahead to cancel some of his appointments so he could meet with Lady Standish.

‘Really, Beatrice—I may call you Beatrice? And please, do feel free to call me Julius—must you look as if you want to run me through?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice and a coldness in his eyes as he regarded her. ‘I am about to deliver you from a barren future at Standish House, to give you what you want, and you are staring at me as though you wish to commit murder.’

‘As long as I continue to stare at you as though I could murder you and not enact the deed, then you have nothing to worry about.’



Heading towards London, the greys paced in prime style. The drive through leafy lanes and picturesque villages in the lazy warmth of bright sunshine was uneventful. The journey dragged on in painful, unbroken silence. Beatrice could not trust herself to speak for fear she would give way to her angry emotions. She was utterly devastated that he had not taken her to Larkhill. Strongly suspecting that he had done it deliberately and was clearly amused by her disappointment increased her anger. And so he sat watching her like a hungry hawk, that having been snared by his sharp talons once, was tender bait for the second tasting.

Directing her gaze to the passing scenery, she let her mind wander over all that had occurred since the morning of Astrid’s birthday party—the kiss Julius had given her being paramount. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassed heat at the memory of her own wanton response, when pleasure had seeped through the barrier of her own will.

From that moment nothing was the same. Her mind was unsettled, and for the first time in years, it had nothing to do with Larkhill. Mentally flaying her thoughts into obedience, she glanced across at the man who occupied them. His eyes were closed and his handsome face with a dark lock of hair falling on to his brow looked boyish and unguarded in repose. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to run her fingers through his thick hair, to have him kiss her as he had done yesterday.

A heaviness centred in her chest when she considered her future with Julius. Her aunt’s remark about how, in time, she would come to hate him still rang in her ears. She was unsettled by it and couldn’t begin to understand what she had meant by it. She already knew theirs would be a marriage unlike any other—without love or even liking for one another. And yet she had discovered what it was like to be kissed by a man and her discovery had marked her physically. What would he say, she wondered, if she were to ask him to repeat his actions of yesterday? Would he be shocked? Would he mock her? Or would he be willing to oblige?

She didn’t know what sort of wife she would make and had given it no thought whatsoever, but strangely, she was now looking forward to it. Although perhaps Julius would spend much of his time on one of his ships and when he was home she would be a hostess and companion in his house, but she would never be able to touch his heart—and nor did she aspire to. A brief image of cosy marital bliss faded from her mind.

And yet, battle hardened though he might be by life—toughened and with an aura of hard-bitten strength—beneath it all Julius Chadwick had exposed a streak of kindness. Today he had been kind enough to rescue her and quick enough to act immediately and whisk her away from Standish House.



When they entered the outskirts of London, to Beatrice the world suddenly became an unreal place to be. It was a blur of noise and confusion. She had only ever been to London twice in her life, once with her parents and again with Aunt Moira and Astrid. With all the attention centred on Astrid, her visit had been an unpleasant experience and she had been glad to return to the country. Now she didn’t know where she was going. She knew Julius had a house in Kent, so what were they doing in London?

As if Julius could read her mind, he said, ‘I should tell you that you are to reside with Lord and Lady Merrick on Upper Brook Street for the time being.’

Beatrice looked at him with alarm. So, she thought, feeling as if something were shattering inside, already he wanted rid of her. ‘But why? What on earth for?’

‘Because you cannot possibly stay with me, alone and unchaperoned. It will be a miracle if gossip about your behaviour over the horse race hasn’t already spread; if so, it will have done you immense harm. You must be prepared for that. By the time the on dit have circulated, your reputation will have been shredded, and if you were to live with me everyone would assume you have become my paramour. We cannot risk that sort of gossip.’

‘So you mean to place me into unfamiliar surroundings with people I don’t know.’

‘My dear Beatrice, you have no choice.’

The casual, empty endearment made her cheeks flame with ire. ‘Please don’t call me “your dear”. I am not that. And I do have a choice,’ she said on the spur of the moment. ‘I—I could go into lodgings or something like that.’

‘And just how,’ he asked drily, ‘do you intend to pay for lodgings? You have no money.’ This was the truth and she knew it, and, short of asking him for the money, there was nothing she could do but to fall in with his plans. ‘Better for you to reside with Lord and Lady Merrick for the present than risk the social stigma of living with me.’

‘And that matters to you—what people will think?’

‘Personally I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about me, but I am adamant that the name that I have worked so hard to repair will not be tarnished by this.’ Seeing how she was looking at him with bewildered curiosity, he went on to inform her of some basic facts.

‘You may be surprised to learn that our backgrounds are not dissimilar. It is no secret that the reputation of the Chadwick family has been blackened by several in recent generations. After years of declining fortunes and a few Chadwick ne’er-do-wells—the last of them being my father—the once-proud lineage became sunk into a state of genteel poverty.’

Unaccustomed to being so open with anyone, he paused and eyed his companion, searching for signs of contempt, but read none. ‘To restore the family fortunes became my goal in life. With a head for business I gambled everything in a series of investments, spotting opportunities others had missed. Fortunately they paid off—and the wars with Bonaparte brought many rich pickings for investments throughout Europe. So you see, it was my own hard work and determination that has made me what I am today.’

He had failed to mention his other gambling and Beatrice wondered how much of his wealth had been acquired in the gambling haunts of Europe.

‘And are you like your father?’

‘No, I am not,’ he replied quickly, avoiding her gaze, his expression grim. ‘He was a blackguard along with his forebears.’

Taken aback by the steely undertone in his quiet reply, she stared at him in question. When he ignored her, she decided not to press him, but his apparent bitterness about his father puzzled her.

‘Thank you for telling me of your achievements,’ she said. ‘I am impressed—who would not be—but apart from your name, that you are a marquess, extremely wealthy and have a house in Kent, I know nothing about you.’

‘Then allow me to enlighten you. I have three middle names and several lesser titles I rarely use,’ he told her. ‘No doubt Constance—Lady Merrick—will give you a rundown of my character. I have a great deal of business to attend to so I shall not be able to give you my full attention—and I shudder to think what you might get up to left to your own devices. You really do not have the slightest concept of the importance of appropriate behaviour, do you, Beatrice? Didn’t you learn anything under your aunt’s tutelage?’

‘Yes, but with all her attention fixed on Astrid and knowing it wasn’t important how I turned out since finding me a suitable husband was not on my aunt’s agenda, I could never see the point of it.’

Julius stared into her stormy green eyes and flushed face, wondering why, from the very first, she had been able to affect him like no other woman in a long time, wondering why he felt this consuming, unquenchable need to possess and gentle her without breaking her spirit.

‘James and Constance Merrick are old friends of mine and very close to me,’ he told her quietly. ‘Don’t worry. They will like you when they recover from their surprise that you are to be my wife. Constance is a woman of enormous consequence; she shamelessly adores forcing society to bend to her will. She will not permit anyone to say an unkind word to you or about you in her presence. She is an excellent example of how you ought to conduct yourself in society. You would be wise to observe her behaviour and emulate her.’

Beatrice felt like a naughty child who had just been told it must follow someone else’s example. ‘How long will it be before the wedding?’

‘Three weeks—enough time for the banns to be read—unless you are so impatient to become my wife you would like me to apply for a special licence,’ he said with a mocking twist to his lips.

‘No,’ she said tightly. ‘Three weeks will be fine. Where will it be?’

‘It will be a quiet affair, the venue of my choosing.’

‘Isn’t that supposed to be the bride’s prerogative?’

‘Not in this case. I shall let you know when it is arranged.’

He continued to converse, questioning her about herself, about her life at Standish House, her interest in horses and her relationship with George and Astrid. What he didn’t do was talk any more about himself, which, in Beatrice’s experience, was what most people did best, or at least most frequently, but apart from what he had told her about his father and how he had restored the Chadwick fortunes, his private life remained exactly that.



Beatrice found herself in some kind of indeterminate state, suspended not only in time but in emotion. Julius had been right about Lord and Lady Merrick. A middle-aged couple who had not been blessed with offspring, they were warm and friendly and went out of their way to make her feel welcome. Lord Merrick was a gentle, delightful soul, very much under his wife’s dominance. Lady Merrick was quite tall with a majestic bearing and almost as formidable looking as Aunt Moira. She had a pair of penetrating hazel eyes and an imperious expression and always believed in speaking her mind, but Beatrice soon discovered that beneath it all she was very thoughtful, kind and warm and was genuinely pleased to have her stay with them.

‘There is no need to describe to me what happened when Julius visited Standish House, Beatrice. I am well aware of it as is nearly everyone else in society. For a young lady to ask a man to marry her is not a civilised thing for her to do. But however it came about, I cannot suppress my exultation that, by your actions, it has prompted Julius to take a more serious interest in marriage. He needs my help in assisting him to introduce you into society. I have no control over wagging tongues, but I will do my very best.’

Beatrice was grateful for the time Lady Merrick took arranging her wardrobe. Julius had insisted that she be fitted out for every occasion and that no expense was to be spared, and Beatrice was shocked to find that Lady Merrick took him at his word and visited some of the most fashionable modistes in London. She took her on shopping expeditions to Bruton Street and Bond Street and the larger warehouses of Covent Garden and the Strand.

‘I am putting you to so much trouble,’ Beatrice said, feeling some expression of gratitude was due after one particular heavy shopping trip. ‘I realise my wardrobe was hardly up to town standards and it is indeed kind of you to give up so much of your time for me.’

‘Nonsense. I enjoy doing it, so indulge me, Beatrice. Julius is the son of my dearest friend—tragically she is no longer with us. Indeed, I will even go so far as to say he is the son I never had. His happiness is paramount.’

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.’