Nothing Denied

Nothing Denied

Jess Michaels

To Michael,

for loving me in all my “J” name varieties.

Contents

Chapter One

Jensen, I swear to the heavens that if one of…

Chapter Two

Beatrice straightened her spine and fought the urge to work…

Chapter Three

Beatrice smoothed her dress as she stepped out of Miranda…

Chapter Four

The Marquis of Highcroft did not seem to be the…

Chapter Five

Once the agreement had been struck, Beatrice was shocked by…

Chapter Six

Gareth found himself staring at Beatrice as she lay, a

…

Chapter Seven

When Beatrice had refused to share anything of her personal…

Chapter Eight

Beatrice opened her eyes and looked around. She didn’t recognize…

Chapter Nine

Beatrice lifted her face to the sunny sky and drew…

Chapter Ten

Gareth watched as Beatrice slowly shimmied her chemise over her…

Chapter Eleven

Beatrice stood in the dark, sensual pleasure room she had…

Chapter Twelve

When Beatrice walked into the dining room the next morning,…

Chapter Thirteen

Miranda was curiously silent as the two of them made

…

Chapter Fourteen

Just as Gareth had suspected they would be, the past

…

Chapter Fifteen

Beatrice slipped from Gareth’s chamber and quietly shut the door…

Chapter Sixteen

As Beatrice came awake, it was through a strange fog.

Chapter Seventeen

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut and a tear trickled from…

Epilogue

Beatrice watched as her twin sons raced down the hil ,

…

About the Author

Other Books by Jess Michaels

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

J
ensen, I swear to the heavens that if one of those parcels so much as touches the drive, I wil have you out on the street without a reference before supper,”

Beatrice Albright snapped as she shoved past the servant who was taking her packages down from the carriage after another afternoon of shopping. The footman nodded nervously before he returned to his work. Smoothing her gown, Beatrice looked up at the tidy, fashionable house that rose up before her. God, how she dreaded returning to this place. It made her stomach ache just thinking about it.

It wasn’t her actual residence that was the problem. Since her eldest sister had married an earl and her second eldest a duke, the family had not had to live in any kind of lowered status. In fact, the city manor was the nicest she had ever inhabited.

No, the
company
within was the problem in her home. The moment she walked through the door, she knew what she would find waiting for her: her mother, screeching and judging, and her youngest sister, Winifred, smiling and being sweet enough to rot Beatrice’s teeth.

“Heaven save me,” she muttered beneath her breath as she marched forward.

“I beg your pardon, miss?” the butler said as he stepped aside and al owed her entry.

Beatrice didn’t answer, merely shot the man a dark glare and continued into the foyer where she began unbuttoning her coat.

The servant, accustomed to her varying moods, did not repeat the question, but merely held out a steady hand to take her hat and wrap. As she gave them over, he said, “Mrs. Albright is taking tea in the front parlor with Miss Winifred and Lady Rothschild.”

At that, Beatrice stopped fussing with her gloves and turned on the man with a deepening frown. “Did you say that my sister is here? Miranda?”

The butler hesitated for a moment, not that Beatrice blamed him. Wel , she
did
blame him, but some part of her also understood. One thing she prided herself on was her ability to raise the roof with a fit. Clearly, the butler was in anticipation of just that.

“Yes, Miss Beatrice. The Countess arrived shortly after your departure for the shops.”

Beatrice huffed out her breath. “No doubt it was planned as such, so she could avoid seeing me.”

She pretended not to feel a smal flash of hurt at that statement. It wasn’t that she
wanted
the kind of close relationship her two older sisters shared, or even the warm affection they seemed to have for Winnie. After al , she had spent a good part of the last few years pushing them away—why wouldn’t they exclude her from their intimacy?

Thrusting her shoulders back, Beatrice tossed her gloves at the butler and made her way down the hal toward the front parlor. The door was open and from a few paces away, she heard female voices raised in spirited discussion. She hesitated, putting on the hard face she presented to the world, the one that wouldn’t al ow for hurt or vulnerability. Those were emotions she let no one else see.

“Oh, it isn’t fair!” she heard her mother’s harsh voice saying from within the room.

Beatrice could almost picture the pout lining her mother’s round cheeks and the false tears sparkling in her eyes at whatever injustice she believed had been served against her. How Beatrice hated that sound, that face and the manipulations it hid.

“Are you certain you must take my little Winifred for the Season?” her mother continued.

Beatrice wrinkled her brow in confusion and came to a slow halt.

It was Miranda’s voice that answered, as calm and infuriatingly soothing as always. “Do you not think it would be best, Mama? Winifred would join Ethan and me at Penelope’s house party. She would very likely meet a wide variety of suitable gentlemen. I think she could have a very good chance of marrying wel if we take her on as chaperones. Your hands are ful enough with Beatrice.”

“Yes,” her mother mused with a rare lilt of reflection in her voice. “
Beatrice
. I suppose distancing Winifred from her sister
could
be better for her. The men might not be so intimidated. I would hate to end up with two unmarried daughters. One is humiliation enough for a mother.”

At that, Beatrice staggered back until she brushed the wal behind her. Understanding had begun to dawn. It seemed she had been correct to assume Miranda had intended al along to come to the house while Beatrice was out. Her eldest sister had a scheme, one that involved marriage and an escape from their mother.

But not for her. No, Miranda was here to save Winifred. Pliable, weak-wil ed Winifred who wouldn’t know a good match if he snuck her off to Gretna Green and compromised her.

Beatrice’s hands shook as she marched forward once more and burst into the parlor. There her family sat, planning their treachery even while they appeared so innocent and kind.

Her mother had her usual place on the settee, Beatrice’s pretty, bland sister Winifred at her side like a little obedient dog.

Across from them was Miranda. Even Beatrice had to admit, though never out loud, that Miranda was probably the most beautiful of the Albright sisters. She practical y glowed from within with happiness and contentment. It seemed she suffered no hardship whatsoever, or hadn’t since she landed a most opportune match with the Earl of Rothschild, Ethan Hamon.

And Beatrice hated her for that, almost as much as she hated Miranda’s happy marriage to a man she adored nearly as much as he worshipped her.

“Beatrice,” Miranda said as she looked over toward the door. She got to her feet and her lips made a thin smile. “I didn’t realize you were yet home.”

“Oh, I should say not,” Beatrice said, barely keeping her emotions in check as she dodged Miranda’s hand of welcome. “In fact, I would wager my month’s al owance that you were hoping not to see me at al today.”

Miranda let out a smal sigh that grated across Beatrice’s nerves. How
dare
her sister be annoyed when it was Beatrice’s life she was destroying? Did she not deserve her anger, her upset at the news she had just overheard in the hal way?

“What are you going on about?” Miranda said, innocent as a lamb as she retook her place on the settee and poured herself another cup of tea.

“Yes, dear,” their mother stammered, but she was unable to meet Beatrice’s eyes. “You seem upset.”

Winifred was the only one who remained silent, her blue eyes darting downward in an expression of worry and submission.

“How could I not be upset when I overheard such vil ainy in the hal way?” Beatrice burst out, pacing across the room. “I know what you are planning!”

“You have always been so theatrical,” Miranda said with another of her deep, put-upon sighs that so grated. “No one is plotting against you, Beatrice.”

“No?” she barked out a humorless bark of laughter.

“Is it not plotting against me when you offer to take Winifred under your wing and help her nab a rich husband while you leave me to rot here?”

Before Miranda could answer, Beatrice turned her attention on her mother. “Is it not treachery to speak of me as if I am a cross to bear?”

Their mother wrung her hands in her lap as Winnie sank down further in the settee cushions, but Miranda did not appear moved.

Her eldest sister arched a brow with a sniff of displeasure, “I realize this is difficult for you to understand, but not everything in this world is about
you
, Beatrice. There are many things that happen that have absolutely no bearing on your life. Ethan and I taking Winifred for the Season is one of those things.”

“No bearing on my life? How can you say that?”

Beatrice burst out, blinking in horror at the sudden tears that stung her eyes. She would not cry. She
never
cried, no matter how much something hurt. “Why are you taking Winnie, then?”

Miranda frowned. “It is the beginning of her fourth Season. We would like to afford her the chance to have a successful one.”

Beatrice folded her arms. “And what about me, Miranda? I am in my seventh Season.
Seven
. And now you suggest that Winifred deserves some kind of special chance? Have you given up on me entirely, as Mama apparently has?”

Miranda shook her head and it was clear her frustration had reached its peak. “Admit it, you would not take anyone’s help, even if it was offered. If you are in a seventh Season, it is not for my lack of assistance. You may not want to accept it, but your situation is of your own making. Your behavior, your lack of—”

Beatrice held up her hand to stop her sister, for she knew what Miranda would say, and unfortunately, most of it was true. She hated facing what she had done to create her own living hel .

“Do spare me. You and Penelope have regaled me quite enough times with a listing of my evils and shortcomings,” she said, using her sharp tone to keep her sister from seeing how much the facts pained her. Miranda got to her feet. “Beatrice—”

“No, you have made yourself completely clear,” she said as she moved toward the door. “I see no reason to discuss this further. You are al determined to keep me an old maid and probably laugh at me when my fate is ultimately sealed, al while you hand Winifred an opportunity she wil have no idea how to use. It is clear I wil simply have to take my own future into my hands. Good day.”

She stomped from the parlor, giving the door a hardy slam behind her that was quite satisfying. Down the hal she hurried, practical y hurtling herself out the back doors and down the stairs into the garden. Once there, she slowed her pace and began to walk through the soft greens and bright colors. They did not soothe her, but at least outside in the sun she could breathe. And think. Which was a double-edged sword, indeed.

Sucking in a deep breath, she considered what had just occurred. Miranda and Ethan would take Winifred away, and Penelope and her husband, Jeremy, would help them. With the support of a duke and an earl, and without the interference of their mother, Winifred would surely find a good match.

And that would mean that her younger sister would marry before her, making Beatrice even more of a laughingstock than she already was amongst those in Society. Beatrice could wel picture the humiliation now as some of the young women she had cut over the years dangled their own husbands before her and mentioned their joy for Winifred.

The men would be no better. Over the years, Beatrice had turned down a great many of them…one of those she had rejected could very wel take her sister’s hand and she could do nothing but watch. Watch and fal further into the hel that was her old maidenhood.

Oh yes, she knew she was an old maid. She was wel aware that she had likely crushed any chance she had at finding love or friendship…or even just a man wil ing to settle for what others did not desire. And yet somehow that had seemed bearable as long as she had a partner in her misery. But now Winifred would be gone and she would be alone. Alone with their mother. Beatrice shuddered at the thought. Dorthea Albright would shower Beatrice with al of her attention, her wild moods, her incessant talking. There would be no escape, no one to foist her mother onto when it al became unbearable.