All Things Beautiful (16 page)

Her mother-in-law looked pale and fragile among the muslin bedsheets. Her eyes were closed. Julia gave Nan’s cheek a kiss before settling on the settee beside the bed. Nan turned her head toward Julia. “I miss the sunroom,” she said, her voice weak.

Julia took the older woman’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps Brader will carry you downstairs when he returns.”

“He’s gone to a meeting with the Prime Minister. Can you imagine that? My son meets with the Prime Minister—” Her words were interrupted by a coughing spasm.

Julia looked up to the nurse, who merely shook her head. Troubled, Julia said, “We shouldn’t have taken you out Sunday.”

Nan waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You couldn’t have stopped me.” She changed the subject. “Did you attend the meeting with the parson’s wife?”

“Yes, and I enjoyed it very much.”

Nan’s hand patted hers. “That’s good,” she
whispered, and Julia marveled that even in her weak state, Nan sought to give comfort. “Tell me what you plan.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Julia told Nan every detail she remembered of the meeting. Taking a deep breath, she added, “And we’ve decided we’ll pay for a coffin for the Turners’ stillborn baby.” Her eyes burned with the tears she fought every time she thought of the tiny baby.

Nan squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “Brader told me. He sent me word that the farmer needed a doctor for the birth. Now a coffin.” She paused a moment before saying, “I miscarried a child. Even though the wee soul never had a chance at life, I mourned. Even now, the pain of losing my children is sharp and fresh. I held each in my arms until the last breath.”

Julia leaned closer. “How were you able to keep going after losing a child?”

Nan tightened her fingers around Julia’s. “My dear, you have to believe. Love doesn’t stop with death. My babes, my Thomas, they aren’t here, but”—she touched her heart with her free hand—“they
are
here.” Her grip loosened on Julia’s hand, a sign her strength was ebbing. “I can feel your fear, Julia, but don’t be afraid to love. Trust life.”

Trust life. The words played in Julia’s head throughout the rest of the afternoon.

Earlier, on the way home from the parsonage,
Julia had stopped by to pay her respects to Molly Turner and to inform her of the Ladies’ League’s offer. The young woman mourned, but Julia sensed from the number of times Molly’s eyes met her husband’s that the loss of their child bonded them closer together.

Now, later in the afternoon, as Julia stood in the middle of her bedroom being sized by the dressmaker, her mind dwelled on the depth of a love like Nan’s that transcended years…and death. Or the love of the Turners, which didn’t break with the death of a child. She mixed these observations with those she’d gathered over the years of her parents’ and grandparents’ marriages and the marriages of members of the
ton.

Julia stood on a footstool while the dressmaker and her assistant pinned a muslin pattern around her. So deep were her thoughts, Betty had to wave the roses back and forth in front of her face before their scent finally penetrated Julia’s thoughts.

“Where did these—” Julia stopped short as the footman offered an envelope on a silver plate.

Ignoring the exclamations of the dressmaker and her young assistant over anyone receiving roses in November, Julia opened the card, removing it from its heavy envelope. The bold, black slashes of his handwriting, so unmistakably Brader, hit her with the same impact as his physical presence.

Julia sank to the floor, ignoring the pins popping
out of the muslin as her lips soundlessly formed the words on the card. Never had she been so glad Chester had taught her to read.

Brader didn’t start with a preamble:

At the bottom of the card was a postscript:
Told William to cut back meetings.

Curt, controlled, and completely Brader. Accepting the fresh fragrant roses from the little maid, Julia discovered her heart raced at an uncommonly rapid beat. Brader had accepted her in his life…and perhaps more?

During her reign as the Season’s Incomparable, she had become accustomed to grandiose gestures from men claiming her attention. But nothing touched her as Brader’s short announcement that he was having Hardwell cut back his business schedule.

Don’t be a fool, the practical side of her whispered. Brader is physically attracted to you. Like any man, his attentions are fixed on his prey when the chase is on. Remember, he has mistresses.

Julia heaved a sigh to steady her nerves. The dreamer inside of her answered, Yes, but would he share a room with a woman he didn’t admire?

She made her decision. “Betty, please tell Fisher I want to see him.” Asking the dressmaker for a break, Julia slipped on a dressing gown and waited for the butler, surprised when Betty returned with him in a matter of minutes. “Fisher, do you know if Brader retained the services of a decorator?”

“Yes, ma’am. He had Mr. Hardwell engage a London firm.”

“Send a message asking them to send one of their representatives this week, tomorrow if possible. Betty, move all my clothing into my husband’s room—tonight.”

Fisher didn’t even lift a haughty eyebrow at Julia’s last direction. Indeed, she thought she caught the ghost of a smile on the butler’s face. Her hands tightened around Brader’s precious message. Instinct told her that if she moved into Brader’s room, it would be harder for him to move her out when he tired of her.

That thought sobered her!

She’d make sure Brader didn’t tire of her. Her pride wouldn’t stand for being packed back across the hallway. Perhaps she should have Brader’s things moved to her room, but realizing everyone in the room had heard her order, Julia refused to back down…at least for now.

She smiled at the patient dressmaker. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe, for the interruption. Have you finished yet with the measurements, or do you want me to stand on the footstool again?”

Mrs. Smythe didn’t answer her but looked pointedly past Julia’s shoulder to where Fisher still stood patiently.

Julia turned to the butler. “I’m sorry, Fisher, was there something else?”

“You have visitors.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone. Do they have a card?”

He cleared his throat discreetly. “They say they are your brothers.”

A blaze of anger ripped through her. It was probably Lionel and one of the others begging for money. She lifted her chin. “I will be with them when we have finished here.”

There. Let them cool their heels in the sitting room and think about the rudeness of paying unannounced visits!

She gave Mrs. Smythe her sweetest smile. “Shall we continue?”

An hour later, Julia regally entered the sitting room. She stopped, her hands on her hips, her skirts swirling around her ankles. Of course, it had to be Harry. Lionel had already asked for money. Her portly brother didn’t sense her presence at first, occupied with his contemplation of the bottom of a sherry bottle.

“Hello, Harry.” She knew her eyes glittered with the anticipation of a good fight.

“I say, Julia, don’t you stock anything in this hovel besides sherry?” he complained in a plaintive whine.

“No,” she lied. “And since you don’t like our cellar, I’ll have Fisher gather your hat.”

“Julia, I just arrived—”

“And you can leave.” She held her palm up in the air toward him. “No, not another word. Not another shilling. Good-bye.”

Harry stood his ground, lifted his quizzing glass, and announced, “I don’t want money. Actually, I’m doing quite well with the horses—not that I wouldn’t mind a bit of blunt, but I can see you’re not in the mood to be generous.” He set his heavy body on a Chippendale chair. “It’s Lionel who is done up, although I understand Mother and Father are lying low. I’ve been avoiding them all myself. I’d hate to refuse them a loan to their faces, and I’d advise you to do the same,” he offered slyly.

“Harry, I don’t care—”

“And you know James. Always in the bottom of a glass. If you give him money, he drinks it. Although I think Lionel and Father caught him in his cups and managed to get a little scratch out of him.”

Julia ground her teeth in frustration. “Harry, I don’t care. As I told Lionel, we’re done with each other. After the ball in London, my family made it very clear I don’t exist. Fine. I’ve washed my hands of all of you. Now leave.”

Harry didn’t move. Nor did he answer her.

Instead, a voice came from a dark corner of the room behind Julia, a voice that haunted her nightmares.
“I had anticipated a happier reunion. And here you haven’t even asked Harry about me. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me, Pigeon?”

All the life and vitality drained out of Julia. Slowly she turned to face the man behind the voice. Her voice devoid of all emotion, she responded, “I thought you were in prison, Geoffrey.”

“I
’m out,” Geoffrey answered simply, opening his palms to her, like a magician demonstrating he hid no tricks, “and here to pay a social call.”

Julia knew better. “You never paid a social call in your life, Geoffrey. What do you want?”

His mouth pulled down at the corners. In feigned hurt, he asked, “Why do you always suspect my motives, little Pigeon?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, Julia, you and I are so much alike.”

“I don’t see the resemblance.” Her voice sounded brittle. She would have to modulate it better. Geoffrey could pull out any nuance of weakness in his prey. She’d learned this lesson the hard way. “Am I to wish you happy?”

Geoffrey rose from his chair, his movements fluid. He’d lost weight since they’d last met…and he’d aged, looking older than his thirty-five years. The past three years had not been kind to her eldest brother.

He ignored her question. “Harry is right, Pigeon. I find I could do with liquid refreshment before dinner.”

This time Julia didn’t equivocate but rang for Fisher. Not surprised when both men ordered whiskey, she also asked Fisher, when Geoffrey reminded her, to add two more covers for dinner.

Once her brothers had drinks, she repeated her earlier question. “Am I to wish you happy?”

“Yes, damn it,” Geoffrey responded, his light blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, burning brightly. “Marriage was the only way out of that hellhole.”

“So where is your wife?” she asked grimly.

“In Greece,” he announced, and then added with a hint of a smile, “I think.”

Harry gave a nasty laugh.

Julia’s calm façade cracked slightly. “Isn’t she bearing your child?”

Geoffrey threw the whiskey to the back of his throat. “No heir of mine. A vow made under duress does not bind a good Englishman. Even the Regent would agree with me. Besides,” he added, shrugging his shoulders, “other than my family, who knows?” He poured himself another dram of whiskey and stretched out with graceful ease on the settee before adding softly, “Ah, yes, my new brother-in-law, Brader Wolf, knows. Seems he arranged the marriage. It was his wine we drank for our wedding toasts.” He raised his glass and sneered. “I’ll have to thank him, won’t I?”

A foreboding, gleaned from hard experience with Geoffrey, set off a warning inside her. Her appetite evaporated…especially since dinner promised to be a battle of wills and wits.

Leave, she wanted to say. Get out of my life. But the words wouldn’t come. She stood before Geoffrey, realizing her past lay around her neck with the weight of an executioner’s noose. The joy and anticipation with which she’d greeted the day disappeared. She needed time to think, to sort out the jumbled confusion of her thoughts and emotions.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, but I seem to have gained a headache,” she apologized, and discovered her words were true.

Harry frowned. “Oh, Julia.”

“Really, Harry, you don’t need me to see to your comfort,” she snapped, anxious to get away from Geoffrey.

Geoffrey rose slowly. “That’s right, Harry. We don’t need Julia.” He mimicked her tone. “I can pay my respects to my new brother-in-law without her introduction.”

Julia turned sharply on Geoffrey, alarmed by the hint of menace in his voice. His features remained bland. “How unfortunate,” she said coolly. “Brader is away from Kimberwood.”

“Until when?” Geoffrey asked, his voice noncommittal, polite.

“I—ah—I imagine I’ll see him tomorrow night.”

“I’m sure we can depend on your hospitality
until then.” He gave her a mirthless smile, one she understood.

“Of course,” she replied, claiming a small victory by betraying none of her fears. She turned on her heel and practically raced to the haven of her bedroom.

Her prayers would go toward the slim hope that Geoffrey would be called away before Brader’s return. She knew that was too much to hope for. God alone knew what would happen when he and Brader met.

The next day, Julia threw herself into plans for redecorating Kimberwood. Shutting herself and the London decorator up in the study, she managed to avoid her brothers.

She knew they’d spent most of the night drinking. She also knew Fisher did not approve of them, and hence she’d lost an amount of hard-won standing in the butler’s eyes. She told herself it shouldn’t matter. It did.

Thankfully, Nan was confined to her room and was therefore denied the dubious honor of meeting her brothers…not that Julia needed to worry. Harry didn’t rise until early afternoon. Geoffrey, up around noon, went riding—probably to case out Brader’s holdings.

Experience had taught her Geoffrey only appeared when he wanted something. Other than those occasions, he stayed out of other people’s affairs. Possibly he wanted money…but what else?
Money wasn’t always the only motive for Geoffrey. Many times over the past three years she’d wondered what he had hoped to gain by her suicide. The question had no answer.

No, he didn’t always want money.

That evening, she waited in the sitting room for her husband’s return. He burst into the room, still wearing the dirt of travel and the hint of a wintry wind on his greatcoat. His smile stunned her as he crossed the room and reached to pull her into his arms.

Julia caught his forearms before they wrapped around her body. With a silent shake of her head, she stepped away from him and tried to give a pointed look toward the doorway.

Brader frowned. Before he could form a question, a voice drawled from the doorway, “I say, I’m not late for dinner, am I?”

Her smile forced, she asked, “You remember my brother, Harry?”

Julia watched the happiness over their reunion die in Brader’s eyes. Whatever else he thought disappeared behind a cold façade. He turned toward Harry. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Harry.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Harry answered carelessly. “Have you met our oldest brother, Geoffrey?” He stepped aside so his brother could come into the room.

“Did we interrupt?” Geoffrey asked, his eyes studying Brader avidly.

An instant dislike flared between the two men and filled the room. “No,” Brader responded, easing the tension slightly. He tilted his head toward Julia. “You’ll forgive me if I change before dinner. I wasn’t prepared for guests.”

Julia nodded her acquiescence. Staring at her husband’s retreating back, she felt his unspoken criticism and a rising defensiveness in her own response. She didn’t
invite
Geoffrey and Harry…but even if she had, why should she answer to him?

Geoffrey interrupted her thoughts, his eyes gleaming. “Interesting,” he murmured. “I’ve been told Brader Wolf is not a man to cross.”

His words went to the heart of Julia’s worries. “Are you planning to cross him?”

Geoffrey gave her a lazy smile. “Why should I do that, Pigeon? The man is my brother-in-law—even if he is below our touch.” He accepted the drink Harry poured from a decanter.

“You haven’t formed an attachment for him, have you, Julia?” Harry asked.

She gritted her teeth, warning herself not to let her brother’s words wound her pride.

When she made no comment, Geoffrey turned serious. “You aren’t planning to breed with him, are you, Pigeon?” he ventured shrewdly.

His crudeness shocked her. “How dare—”

Geoffrey interrupted her, his legendary sangfroid etched on every word. “Oh, I dare. Remember, you have the blood of the Conqueror flowing through
your veins. Don’t come out of this marriage with a brat and expect me to recognize it.”

His words scandalized her. “Come out of my marriage? Who said that I am leaving it?”

Geoffrey took a seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Holding his drink with one hand, he negligently flipped open his snuffbox with the thumb of the other hand, flicked a small measure of snuff on the thumbnail, and inhaled.

“I say, Geoff, I’ve yet to figure out how you do that. Teach me the trick of it, will you?” Harry demanded, his interest in triviality grating on Julia’s stretched nerves.

She didn’t say anything. It never paid to push Geoffrey. She waited. He knew she wanted an answer.

Geoffrey appeared to gain confidence from the snuff powder, his eyes taking on an uncommon brightness. “Julia,” he finally drawled, “he’s in trade. Everyone expects to see you soon on the London scene. No one can imagine Julia Markham rusticating.”

“Everyone expected me to rusticate well enough three years ago.”

Geoffrey studied her through hooded eyes. “But now you are married to a very rich man. You won’t be accepted into the best homes, but there will be a place for you in London. There’s always a place for a rich and beautiful woman in London.”

She felt her stomach churn. Managing not to reflect
her anxiety in her voice, she asked, “A place, Geoff? Is that enough? And is the date of my return listed on the betting books, or have my brothers given up that venture?”

Geoffrey held his facial expression, but Harry gave a start. Smoothly Geoffrey covered for him. “Venture. What an interesting way to describe our endeavor. Perhaps we should enter a bet, Harry. A pool picking the date our sister hatches Wolf’s by-blow.”

His words made her gasp. “I’m legally married. No child of mine will be illegitimate.”

All pretense dropped from the lines of Geoffrey’s face. His eyes shining with arrogance, he announced, “
I
don’t recognize this marriage, and you would be wise to cater to me since I will be head of this family one day. The line goes directly to me. Listen to me, little sister, and mark my words well. You owe Wolf nothing.”

“Have you gone mad, Geoffrey?” Julia shot back.

He smiled grimly. “Wouldn’t you like that, sister of mine?” He schooled his features back to their usual sophisticated disinterest, his words more chilling because of his air of detachment. “Well, there are ways of removing—shall we say, unpleasantness. It would be a pity if I drove you to madness. We could tell everyone it runs in the family.” He laughed lightly at his own humor.

A piece fit into the puzzle. “Is that why, Geoff?
Because I embarrassed the family name? What would you do to me if I scandalized the family name with divorce?”

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows in an imitation of mild surprise. “ ’Pon my word, Julia, whatever are you alluding to? Divorce is an unspeakable act. You’d never be accepted by the beau monde if you divorced. Besides, you would lose all the money. There are several easier ways to rid oneself of a disastrous marriage.”

If he’d slapped her, she wouldn’t have been more shocked—or hurt. Is that how all of London thought of her marriage? A disaster? Julia heard Brader’s tread coming down the staircase. Flashing her brothers an angry look, she crossed to meet her husband. Her brothers answered with a stare of bland innocence…which alarmed Julia more. There was a scheme afoot.

Well, they could rule out her participation in it and she’d tell them so, the very next minute she found herself alone with them.

Brader had washed away the dust of travel and changed into a bottle green jacket and thigh-hugging buckskins tucked into top boots. He looked devastatingly handsome and every inch the country gentleman. In contrast, her brothers appeared foppish.

His powerful presence reassured her. What could her lazy brothers do against this giant of a man?

Julia took the arm he offered her. He cast her a
speculative glance, one that made her wonder if he’d heard their discussion. But just as quickly, the look disappeared from his eyes and she could almost believe she’d imagined it. “Shall we?” he asked, referring to crossing the hallway for dinner.

Julia gave him a tight smile of assent and then mentally kicked herself. Relax.

Walking behind them into the dining room, Geoffrey exaggerated inhaling the air. “Ah, Julia’s perfume.” He seated himself at the table and turned toward his brother-in-law. “Did you know she had it blended especially for her? It’s a combination of rose and—what is it, Pigeon? What is that special…
je ne sais quoi?
”

She lifted her gaze from the napkin the footman had placed in her lap and leveled it on her brother. Geoff sat waiting expectantly for the answer. They’d played this game in the past. His words were the code they’d used years ago when Geoff had found a victim to fleece.

She knew her line. Her throat grew tight. She had to answer or Brader would believe something was wrong. Already, he was suspiciously quiet. Her brothers might misjudge Brader, but his wife would not. She knew how alert he was to the slightest nuance. His gaze studying her from across the table was as real and clear to her as his physical touch as he waited for her response to Geoffrey.

Reluctantly, she murmured, “Almond.”

“What? I don’t think I heard what you said?”
Geoffrey’s manner was so smooth, an outsider would have thought this was all spontaneous conversation…if Julia had chosen to play.

Her reply came louder, but stilted, “Oil of almond.”

Geoffrey flashed her a brittle smile. “Ah, that’s what makes you smell good enough to eat, hmm?” Looking at Brader, he said, “The perfume is Julia’s signet. Until she appeared on the London scene, Arabella Hampton was the rage. Arabella and her snuff. Julia quite eclipsed Arabella in looks and”—he paused for emphasis—“breeding.” He smiled. “So Julia created her perfume, the perfume of an Incomparable. She became the rage of London.”

“That’s the truth,” Harry cut in, his mouth full of mutton. “Women attempted to bribe the perfumer for the recipe. Women would beg me for it.”

Geoffrey carefully dissected a piece of his mutton, before looking at her. “But Julia never gave out the secret, did you, Pigeon?”

Restless, Julia said, “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Geoff. I detest the nickname.”

Geoffrey appeared to ignore her, addressing himself to Brader. “That’s when she gained the name the Elegant Julia. So beautiful, so full of good taste and breeding. A lady never takes snuff or disgraces her family, does she, Pige—oh, beg pardon—Julia?”

Pride in her lineage had been bred into Julia from the day she could walk. The fact that she’d
found some happiness with Brader and wanted to have his baby pricked her conscience with needle sharpness.