Beauty in Breeches

chapter Ten


The man who stood at his bedroom window watched his wife climb into the waiting coach. The hood of her cloak protected her head from the driving rain, denying him one last look at her lovely face. As if she sensed he was there, she paused and raised her head in that regal way of hers, the crisp wind flirting with the cluster of curls escaping their confines, before dropping her eyes without looking back, gathering her cloak about her and climbing inside.

His face impassive, Julius watched the coach pull away, but inside everything was shattering, bleeding, draining the life out of him, for without Beatrice it had no meaning.

He had been a fool not to tell her what she wanted to know, but, dear Lord, apart from James and Constance Merrick, he had never told another living soul about what had happened on the night Beatrice’s father had died. He would tell her, that he had decided. He would tell her every sordid detail, no matter how painful, because he now realised that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

Beatrice had become a part of him which he could not deny. She was like burnished steel, strong and audaciously bold—her eyes blazing with defiance, fighting him, challenging him. daring him with her outrageous forfeit, determined not to have what was hers denied her. Her heart was the sweet centre in the headlong strength of her mind and body and, quite simply, now that he knew her and could see her for what she was, he loved her. He would fill her days and nights with joy and pleasure, until she loved him as much as he loved her. For he did love her, and his heart swelled as he admitted the truth to himself. He could not lose her as he had lost his mother.

Telling her the truth would be difficult, for he found it hard to expose his inner self, but Beatrice would understand—like no one else she would understand. It would take a while to earn her trust after this, he decided, but some day she would surely find him worthy of it.

Driven by a fierce eagerness to see his wife, it became clear to him that if he did not go after her, his energy would be spent in waiting and tearing himself to shreds.



The night was dark and Beatrice was restless in her bed. The wind was high, but the rain that had been falling for two days had temporarily abated. A figure made its way with stealth-like caution towards the house, halting when it reached an iron gate that opened on to the kitchen yard. The figure paused to take stock of things before proceeding. A deathlike stillness hung over the house, which seemed to moan in sorrow over its impending doom. A chain was lifted from the gate and the earthbound shadow slipped through the opening and dashed towards the outbuildings that joined on to the house.

The night’s depth of darkness was impenetrable, then the wind changed direction, and the clouds allowed a shaft of moonlight to sweep across the yard. Concealed beneath an enveloping cape, the figure scuttled into the interior of a shed. Gloved hands hastily struck flint to steel over a small mound of gunpowder, and sparks shot outwards and upwards until a sudden blaze flared up. Several minutes later the figure reemerged and ran the way it had come, looking back only once to watch flames leaping from the building, the wind whipping them towards the house.



Having been travelling for hours, impatient to be at journey’s end, Julius willed the coach to go faster. The well-matched team lunged forwards, taking their duties seriously, as the driver drove them at a breakneck pace along the mired roads, swerving madly around bends and not even checking their stride when the wheels caught a rut. Only a couple of miles and he would be at Larkhill. A deep sense of relief surged within him. The wind rushed by the coach and once again heavy splashes of rain began pelting the windows. Pulling up the blind and gazing out, Julius wondered at the reddish glow of heat in the night sky, while a rolling mass of grey billowed above it.

Cold, congealing horror suddenly seized him as memories of another fire—a fire that had robbed him of his mother—almost overwhelmed him. The fire was in the direction of Larkhill. Dear God, he prayed silently, don’t let it be the house—don’t let Beatrice have come to harm. His fears were confirmed the closer they got. He was relieved to discover it was the outbuildings that were on fire, but being connected to the house, it was only a matter of time before the whole lot went up if it was not checked.

Spurred to action, he leapt from the coach and ran towards the blaze, ignoring the searing sting of flying ash. Along with members of the small staff Julius retained at Larkhill, men from the surrounding area, alerted by neighbours who had not retired for the night and had seen the blaze, were trying to fight the flames to stop them reaching the house. There was no hope in saving the outbuildings. They were succeeding, for mercifully the rain aided them in their task as it came sheeting down once more.

The urgency of the moment pressed upon him and his tone conveyed his growing anxiety for the occupants of the house as he enquired as to their safety. On being told they were still inside, he ran towards the front door.



Torn from her uneasy dream, Beatrice came upright with a gasp and stared about the dark room in wide-eyed panic. Something had disturbed her. A sudden chill shivered along her spine as she pressed back upon the pillows, trying to listen above the howling of the wind. Her heart suddenly lurched. Was that smoke she could smell? ‘Beatrice…Beatrice…’

‘Julius!’ The name flared through her brain as she realised it wasn’t part of any dream. It was Julius! She threw herself from the bed and ran out of the bedroom. As she reached the top of the stairs her eyes swept the hall, anxiously searching for the man who had called her name. Someone was pounding on the locked front door; a moment later it crashed open—and there, right below her, was a very tall, dark-haired man. Her heart gave a leap, missed a beat, then began to thump madly as a pair of penetrating amber eyes looked straight into hers. Momentarily stunned by his arrival, she saw the bitter regret carved into his handsome features and the aching gentleness in his compelling eyes. ‘Julius!’

Immediately she flew down the stairs and ran across the hall towards him. He caught her up hard in his arms and listened as the words came tumbling out.

‘Thank goodness you’ve come. But why did you? I intended to leave in the morning to return to you. I couldn’t bear it, leaving you like that. I know you didn’t do it, Julius. I know you didn’t kill my father—you couldn’t do that, and I don’t know why you said you did, but…’

‘Hush, Beatrice,’ he said, holding her away from him to look into her face. She was flushed and breathing hard, her hair dishevelled from sleep and utterly lovely. He saw tears shimmering in her magnificent eyes; one of them traced unheeded down her smooth cheek. ‘What is this?’

‘I know you’re innocent. I know you didn’t do it.’

Gently he traced his lean fingers along her cheek and, with a raw ache in his voice, said, ‘What made you realise that?’

‘I worked it out for myself.’ Her heart in a tumult of emotion, Beatrice clung to him once more, burying her face against his chest. ‘I do believe in you, Julius,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Forgive me for doubting you—I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, but I was so angry and confused. I will support you in anything you do. I trust you implicitly. I love you so much.’

‘That’s all I need to hear.’ His arms tightened round her, his impassioned whisper strained with feeling. ‘We’ll talk later, Beatrice. Then you can cry in my arms all night if you wish and, while you do, I’ll tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done and said that has hurt you. And when I’ve finished doing that, you can help me find a way to forgive myself.’ He held her away from him. ‘I have to go. I promise I’ll explain everything, but in the meantime there’s a fire to put out.’

She sprang back in alarm. ‘What? A fire? Oh—I thought I could smell smoke. Where? Is it the house?’

‘It’s the outbuildings. Hopefully it won’t get to the house. Men from the village were already working on it when I got here. Thankfully the wind’s changed direction and it’s raining hard. With a bit of luck it will be put out.’

‘But how did it start—do you know?’

‘Not yet. The time for questions will come later, but I would like you to get dressed all the same. Best to be prepared should the wind change direction again.’

A part of Julius’s urgency seized her and when he disappeared through the door she took the stairs at a frantic pace.



The fire was put out and the night grew still once more as Julius went to join Beatrice in the master bedroom. She was in his arms before the clock had spent another second. Lowering his head, he kissed her in stormy tenderness before closing his eyes and burying his face in her sweet-scented hair as his arms fairly squeezed the breath from her. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, his lips smiled.

‘I thought I told you to get dressed.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion, for Beatrice was attired in nothing but her nightdress, her wonderful wealth of golden hair tumbling down her spine. ‘Do you intend to spend your life disobeying me?’

Beatrice leaned back against his arm and smiled with joy as she caressed his soot-smeared cheek. ‘I did not disobey you. When I saw the fire had been put out I decided to get undressed again.’ Her dark eyes took on a pleading look. ‘Come to bed, Julius.’

The sound of her voice was so sweet, Julius almost pulled her down on to the bed. Instead he sighed and gently disengaged her arms. ‘Later. I want to talk to you first. There are things I want to tell you.’

Feeling an unexpected lurch of dread, Beatrice swallowed her disappointment. ‘Can’t it wait until morning?’

‘I would prefer to get it over with. Until you know the truth it will always be there, lurking between us.”

‘How did you become so wise?’ she asked with a tender smile.

‘If I were wise, my darling, I would have told you everything at the beginning. Keeping it to myself has only made matters worse between us. I can see that now.’ Removing his coat and loosening his neck linen, he took her hand and drew her to the fire. Sitting beside the hearth, he drew her on to his knee, sliding his arm about her waist. ‘I want to tell you everything about the night your father died. I promise it will be the truth.’

Beatrice gazed at him, warding off an icy chill. ‘I sincerely hope so, Julius. You didn’t kill him, did you?’

‘No. And before we go any further I want to tell you that Constance was right. I never gamble. I never have—only with business investments. The game of cards that was to be the destruction of both of our fathers took place at a private gentlemen’s club. There were few present to witness the outcome. Your father lost Larkhill to my father—not to me.’

‘I see. Were you present?’

‘I arrived when the game was over. My father was more excited than usual. I didn’t know why until later. I was deeply shocked and wanted him to return it. He wouldn’t hear of it and told me not to interfere.’

‘You should have told me this. I’m sorry that I made you suffer for it. My father should never have put Larkhill on the table.’

‘Don’t forget that he, too, was desperate. Nor did I kill your father, Beatrice. My father did.’

Beatrice didn’t say anything. She simply sat on his knee, listening as the words began pouring out of him.

‘My father couldn’t believe his good fortune when he won Larkhill. He genuinely believed it would be the answer to all his problems. When he checked its value and found it was heavily mortgaged he became demented. He began drinking—in fact, he became a walking, drunken nightmare. He swore revenge on your father. I arrived at the house when he was about to leave with the intention of confronting your father with a loaded gun. He was so drunk he didn’t know what he was doing. He became violent, so violent that I had to lock him in his room. I don’t know how he got out—his valet, I suppose, though he denied it.’

Combing his fingers through his dishevelled hair, he looked at Beatrice. He must have seen the horror in her eyes, for he said, ‘I think you can guess what happened next. I knew where he had gone and hurried after him. Your parents had rented a small house in Charing Cross. The hour was late and when I arrived the deed was done. Your father was dead, shot in the head, and my father stumbling out of the door. He had thrown down his gun. I left it there. The house was quiet—I had no idea your mother saw me and would naturally believe I had killed him.’

‘That was what she told Aunt Moira, on one of the rare occasions that she spoke. She had found my father’s body, you see, and so deep was the shock that it affected her health.’

‘And your aunt told no one?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Why she kept quiet about it is a mystery—unless she meant to use the knowledge against you at a later date.’

‘She could try, but there are people who would testify that your mother was an ill woman, that her mind had become somewhat unstable following the suicide of her husband. I have restored the Chadwick good name, earning the respect of those in the upper echelons of society. I doubt anyone would listen to the rantings of an aged and bitter woman.’

‘I sincerely hope not. Now that we have resolved matters between ourselves, I would hate to have you cast into prison.’

Julius kissed her forehead. ‘I am not going anywhere, my darling, I promise you. After leaving your father, when I got back to the house, James and Constance were there. They had seen my father arrive home and were worried by the blood on his clothes and the state of his mind. He was quite demented, almost boasting of what he had done to your father. I told them everything that had happened and swore them to secrecy. The next day when my father was sober, he remembered nothing. I did. It was like a nightmare, like a dream in a delirium, so infamous I could scarcely believe it.’

Beatrice stared at him in horror, hardly able to take in what he had told her. ‘I knew there was something you weren’t telling me, but I had no idea it was anything as shocking as this,’ she whispered. ‘But—I don’t understand. Why did you let me go on thinking it was you? Why did you let me go on thinking the worst of you?’

‘Because I was ashamed of what my father had done,’ he answered, choosing his words with care, his conscience smarting with the irony of trying to protect the reputation of his undeserving father while—at least where Beatrice was concerned—damaging his own. ‘Everyone believed your father had shot himself because he could not bear the shame of losing Larkhill. No one stopped to question whether or not the weapon found at the scene might not be his. It was assumed that it was. Nothing on earth would have compelled me to reveal the truth about what had happened and only my determination prevented an almighty scandal at the time of your father’s death. Some scandals dim with time—that one wouldn’t.’

‘So you covered it up and were prepared to let me—and my mother—live the rest of our lives believing my father had killed himself.’

‘In that, my love, I am guilty—and deeply ashamed for my weakness. I am truly sorry and beg your forgiveness.’

‘You have it, Julius, for I understand why you acted as you did. But do you realise what could have happened to you had my mother spoken out?’

He nodded grimly. ‘I can only thank God that she didn’t. I couldn’t tell you. I thought you’d be better off not knowing the burden that lay heavily on the man you married.’

‘What I don’t understand is why you felt you had to protect your father, after all he had done to you and your mother? He was undeserving of your sacrifice.’

‘Like I said, I was ashamed—and at the end of the day he was still my father,’ he said, speaking quietly, the pain of his father’s crime evident in his eyes. ‘It was hard enough for me to accept he had been a failure, without having to tell the whole world he was a murderer. Shortly after that he, too, was dead. As far as I was concerned it was over—I had no wish to resurrect a time that was painful for me. I saw no harm in letting the world go on believing I was the culprit who stole your home—things might have been different had I known about you. As things turned out, it was fortunate for you that Larkhill was one of the few properties I managed to save being taken over by the bank. That was the only good thing that came out of it—and meeting you.

‘The behaviour of my forebears—their addiction for liquor and gaming—has been difficult for me to take. I hoped it was not hereditary—that I would not turn out like them or any offspring I might sire. When I agreed to marry you I knew you were entitled to know all this, but dear God, Beatrice, I could not tell you. I cannot blame you if you hate me for what I’ve done. I deserve it.’

With tears clogging her throat, Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘I don’t hate you, Julius. Never that. I know I said I did, but I didn’t mean it. I love you so much—more than anything on earth.’

When she drew back her head, Julius reached out and wiped a rogue tear away with the tip of his finger. ‘Bless you for that.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I can’t remember when I came to love you. I think it was from the very start—when you challenged me to that damned race. You were feisty, stubborn, an outrageously brave and gorgeous girl who challenged my spirit, blithely incurred my displeasure and refused to yield to my authority—and, much, much worse than that, you mocked my equestrian skills. That was unforgivable,’ he said with a teasing smile. ‘But despite all this your smile warmed my heart and the touch of your lips heated my blood. So you see, my love, I have loved you from first sight and cannot imagine my future without you.’

Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him and smiled tremulously. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me at last. I wanted so much to believe you were innocent. I wanted it so badly to be true, and in my heart I knew it. I love you, Julius Chadwick, and I don’t know what I would do without you.’

‘I’ll see that you never are, sweetheart.’

Suddenly she moved slightly and a look of wonder lit her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach and a smile touched her lips. ‘Oh,’ she whispered, ‘how odd.’

Julius frowned, bewildered by her remark. ‘What is?’

‘Our baby. Oh, Julius, I do believe it moved—like a butterfly fluttering its wings.’

A lump of emotion swelled in Julius’s chest as she took his hand and pressed it against her stomach. With a feeling of awe, he, too, felt the gentle movement of their child.

With her cheek against his chest, she whispered, ‘Now will you take me to bed?’

Without saying a word he swung her into his arms, cradling her tenderly against him, brushing his lips against her forehead. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, intending to give her so much pleasure that she’d be able to forget the misery he’d caused her.



As dawn settled its pinkish shroud upon the land, the circling, confused wind that had battered the earth with a sheeting rain for most of the night had abated. The countryside grew quiet in hushed relief. The very air seemed to hang in breathless suspense, while wraith-like vapours shifted aimlessly among the trees and shrubs and filled low hollows on the land. The house, bounded on three sides by tall, gaunt trees, seemed to merge with the landscape. Apart from a tired, thin spiral of grey smoke rising from the outbuildings to the rear, nothing moved and nothing stirred, not even the lovers, their bodies entwined beneath the covers.

Now the truth was out at last, the shadows between them had gone away. After all their years of loneliness, they were no longer alone. They had each other now. They were together, in spirit as well as in flesh—as one, as though they had found the bits that were missing from themselves in each other.



They remained at Larkhill for a further week, during which time Julius arranged for work to begin on rebuilding the outbuildings. The cause of the fire remained a mystery, until a grim-faced George paid them a visit.

‘It was my mother,’ he said without preamble. ‘I’m sorry, Beatrice, but unable to bear the thought that you had finally got what you wanted, she paid someone to destroy the house.’

Beatrice, seated on the sofa, was clearly horrified. Though she knew her aunt wished her ill, she could not believe she would go so far as to want to destroy Larkhill. ‘Does you mother really hate me as much as that?’

‘She couldn’t stand knowing you had won, that you had indeed secured Larkhill for yourself. She wanted to hurt you the only way she knew how. I’m so sorry, Beatrice.’

‘Aunt Moira can be very cruel.’

‘Yes, yes, she can. When she learned her scheming had failed to destroy Larkhill, she could not hide what she had done. In her fury she could not stop herself telling me. I could not believe it myself. I can only thank God that apart from the destruction of a few outbuildings, no one was harmed and the house is still intact. I—would appreciate you not taking this further, Beatrice. No good would come of it.’

‘We won’t,’ Julius answered for her, ‘providing Lady Standish stays away from my wife.’

‘She will—I shall make sure of that. It may surprise you to know that she regrets her actions and is more than a little ashamed. She didn’t mean to harm you, Beatrice. Having seen you in London earlier, she had no idea you had come down to Larkhill. She knows how much Larkhill means to you. She meant to hurt you by destroying it. I have her word that she won’t try anything like that again. You need not fear. She—will shortly be moving to the dower house.’

His hesitancy and the sudden warmth that lit his eyes brought a knowing smile to Beatrice’s lips. ‘Then that can only mean one thing. You are to be married, George?’

He beamed at her. ‘I am. Leonora has consented to be my wife.’

‘That’s wonderful news, George. And does your mother approve?’

‘Leonora has all the requisites that are important in my mother’s scheme of things. But whether she approves or not is neither here nor there. I chose my own wife, not my mother.’

‘Then I wish you every happiness, George. But what of Astrid? Has she returned from Scotland?’

‘She has, although I haven’t seen her yet. Henry and Astrid are living with Henry’s parents. It’s just a temporary situation, until they’ve found somewhere they can afford to live. As you know, the Talbots are not wealthy. Astrid’s dowry will help, but she will find that her standard of living will be somewhat reduced and nothing like what she has become accustomed to.’

‘She is happy, George. That is what counts.’

He smiled at her. ‘So it is, Beatrice. So it is.’



The following morning Julius didn’t accompany Beatrice when she went to call on Astrid and put his wife’s excitement down to her eagerness to see her cousin. In fact, she had seemed strangely preoccupied and somewhat secretive ever since George’s visit, which puzzled him. Everything became clear when she returned and told him she was ready to leave Larkhill, that she wanted him to take her to Highfield where she was impatient to take up her new life.

He gazed at her suspiciously. ‘Of course. We’ll leave right away if that is what you wish. You’ll have to decide what you are going to do with Larkhill. The house shouldn’t be left empty indefinitely.’

She hesitated, searching his face. ‘It’s not mine any more,’ she told him. ‘It belongs to Astrid. I wanted her to have it.’

Julius nodded slowly. This was the last thing he had expected her to say, but he knew she would have given the matter serious thought and that the decision to part with her beloved Larkhill would not have been taken lightly. ‘You are sure?’ he asked.

Beatrice took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure. I know it will be safe in Astrid and Henry’s hands.’ And she was sure. She would always remember the look of joyous disbelief and gratitude on her cousin’s face when she had offered Larkhill to her. That alone made it all worthwhile. ‘I would be grateful if you would take care of the legalities, Julius. You know all about these things. All I want is you—to live with you wherever that may be.’

‘And you will not regret it?’

‘No. There is nothing that can be bought or sold or bartered that I would want. The only thing I want cannot be bought—and it is not the ownership of Larkhill. It is you, Julius. Only you.’

Overcome with emotion at what she had done, he put his arms around her and drew her close to him.

She lifted her face to his kiss and breathed in the warm, masculine smell of him, tasted the warmth of his mouth as it came down on hers. All the love that had been accumulating through the lonely years of her childhood was in that kiss. Julius felt it in the soft lips. With unselfish ardour she offered herself to him and Julius took what she offered hungrily, feeling it flowing through his veins and mingling with his blood until the joy of it was shattering.

‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I belong with you—wherever that may be.’

He sighed, his eyes adoring her. She was everything he’d ever dreamed she could be—and more.



The next six months were spent in wedded bliss at Highfield Manor in Kent—a magnificent estate that surpassed anything Beatrice had ever seen. It was at Highfield where Julius and Beatrice’s son was born. It was also at Highfield where they received news that Lady Standish had died in her sleep. Beatrice did not grieve for her aunt and chose not to return to Standish House for the funeral.



After twelve months of mourning, Julius and Beatrice did attend George’s wedding to Leonora Fenton and they stayed at Larkhill with Astrid and Henry.

With its acres of corn and green meadows filled with cattle and sheep, Larkhill looked loved and well tended and prosperous. Beatrice’s heart soared with affection and gratitude to Henry, who had done all this, but she no longer considered it her home.

When George and Leonora stood at the altar to speak their vows, Julius’s gaze riveted on his wife standing next to him. The sight of her still continued to have a devastating effect on him, but here, in the church, caught in a shaft of light piercing the stained-glass windows, expecting their second child, never had she looked so radiantly beautiful or so serene. Every muscle of his body strained to endure the torment of her nearness. But it was a torment he welcomed, an agony he didn’t want to be spared. And he knew that having her beside him was all he could ever want for the rest of his life.