All Things Beautiful (2 page)

Peter studied the gold tassels on one of his Hessians. “I don’t know him very well.”

“But you’ve had business dealings with him. You must respect him. There is a reason you are
speaking for him, isn’t there?” she prompted. “I trust you, Peter. We have known each other most of our lives. Is Brader Wolf a good man?”

He wanted to shout, I think the man is the devil incarnate! You, regardless of your past, are too good to be sullied by the likes of him. The blood of England’s finest flows through your veins.

Instead, he answered, “He’s not of our class.”

Julia blinked twice as if reading Peter’s mind and hearing the unspoken. “Why does he want to marry me?”

“He wants Kimberwood,” Lady Markham said, her mouth full of hard biscuit.

“Kimberwood? Grandmère’s estate? I thought that was sold years ago.”

“Damned thing was entailed to you—or, rather, your future husband,” her father grumbled.

“Why didn’t I know of this?”

“You were told…when you were fourteen or so. We had to have you sign the papers in order to borrow against the estate.”

“I signed?”

“Aye, your
X
is on there big as day.”

Julia’s face flushed a rosy red. “My
X
? How stupid I was then,” she said to herself.

Her lips compressed tightly as she turned toward Peter. “I can read now.” Her voice was soft but strong. “It’s embarrassing to acknowledge that my parents are such hardened gamesters they would not spare a shilling for a governess or bother with any schooling for their only daughter.”

“What nonsense is this?” Lord Markham interjected. “Carberry don’t think women should be educated. A woman don’t need to know any more than what her husband can teach her behind a closed door, eh, Carberry?”

Julia ignored her father’s tasteless remark. “And I’ve learned to write, too. Chester taught me. In fact, Chester’s been more a father to me than my own sire.”

“Ha!” Lord Markham barked. “She prefers a servant to her own father. Let the cit have her!”

Julia rose to her feet, tall and proud. “No. I don’t have to marry at all. Nor worry about Danescourt. I have Kimberwood. The Beals and I can move there.”

With a resounding slap, Lord Markham hit his thigh with his leather riding gloves, capturing her attention. “
Had
Kimberwood, you mean. I couldn’t sell the estate, but we’ve borrowed against it—with your blessing, I might add.”

One corner of Julia’s mouth pulled down bitterly. “Mortgaged to the hilt, no doubt. How could I have been so foolish?”

“Not foolish, my dear—just a Markham.”

“One and the same,” she shot back.

Lord Markham bowed his head in agreement. “We’ve put ourselves where we are today, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again. However, Kimberwood is useless. The estate has set idle for nigh on ten years, and once you turn five-and-twenty, next year, it will be sold to pay off the notes held against it.”

“Then why doesn’t Mr. Wolf wait and purchase the estate from our creditors?”

“Mr. Wolf has a desire to acquire the estate as swiftly as possible and is not willing to wait for the estate to be litigated,” Peter answered in a shaky voice. He had to move this conversation to a less personal level.

“Furthermore, I’m the one insisting on the marriage,” her father said. “I’ve no fancy to live my life in exile on the Continent. A rich son-in-law has always been my need and my goal.”

Julia turned toward Peter, cynicism etched at the corners of her lovely mouth. “And this Brader Wolf wants Kimberwood so much he will saddle himself with the Mad Markhams for the rest of his life?”

“For Kimberwood, he will clear all debts, provide us with a more than comfortable living, and take you off our hands until our dying day,” her father answered smugly, obviously satisfied with the arrangements.

Father and daughter challenged each other, their clashing wills evidenced in the flint-blue sparks from their eyes. Markham eyes. Amateur poets and would-be lovers had paid homage to those deep-sapphire eyes.

The silence stretched between them until Lady Markham, finally sated, issued a small burp. The sound startled Julia like a gunshot.

She turned toward her mother, who coyly patted her lips with a yellowed lace napkin. “Oh, dear,
please excuse me. Those horrid biscuits didn’t set well at all. Roger, I do think we will have to let Mrs. Beal go. She’s certainly not earning her wages. My delicate constitution cannot handle such unpalatable food.”

“Don’t worry, Mama. You haven’t paid Mrs. Beal her wages in over a twelvemonth.” Julia studied her mother with eyes wise and old beyond her years. Then, shaking herself from her unhappy memories, she swung her attention back to her father. “I prayed that God would do something to free me of you—all of you, even my brothers. And now, perhaps, my prayers are answered.”

“Well!” Her mother huffed, her stays creaking. “You unnatural child. Never wanted to be part of the family? Don’t think I didn’t know you thought yourself superior to the rest of us. Your grandmother spoiled you—”

Peter interrupted, suddenly wanting to save her, to champion her. If only he were free to marry…. “Julia, you don’t have to accept the man’s suit—”

“She sure as hell should!”

“Roger, you’re swearing. We agreed you would not yell at Julia. It never does any good, your yelling at Julia.”

“My pardons, Louisa, but the girl has driven us to the brink of blackest despair and ridicule. She threw aside every opportunity to do her duty and make a decent marriage by running off with that horse soldier!”

“He was a hussar,” Lady Markham reminded him.

“Hell and damnation, she couldn’t even kill herself properly and save us the disgrace of having her presence in our midst. And this puppy, whom Wolf sent, is trying to talk her out of it!”

Julia cut the air sharply with her hand, commanding the attention of her parents. “It makes no difference. I have made up my mind.” She turned to Peter. “Is Brader Wolf very rich, Peter?”

Her directness floored him. Peter stumbled for words. “Well, I don’t know his exact assets….”

“Poor Peter. I’m aware we Markhams have always shocked you with our havey-cavey ways. Bad
ton,
” she added softly. “But never mind. I have made up my mind.” She studied each of them, looking regal in the thin afternoon light streaming through the windows. “Brader Wolf. It’s an unusual name. Almost sinister.” She flashed Peter one of her famous smiles. “I accept him. When do we marry?”

Ignoring the groom and butler trying to stop him, Peter threw himself in the path of Wolf’s horse, his hand grabbing under the bit rein. The bay snorted and stamped impatiently, hooves scraping the wet cobblestones in the courtyard of Foulkes Hall, Brader Wolf’s London residence. It was an expensive animal, Arabian stock and over seventeen hands high. The best money could buy.

“Carberry, have you lost your senses? Unhand my horse and step back,” Wolf commanded.

“No one tells a Carberry he doesn’t have time to see him.”

Wolf reined in his horse, pulling too hard on the bit, another sin Peter chalked up against him. “How drunk are you, Carberry?” he asked, his voice silky and hard.

“Not drunk enough.” Peter’s words came out in angry puffs of frigid air. “I thought you wanted to know whether or not your friends can wish you happy.”

“I have no friends. You yourself informed me of that fact.” Brader Wolf laughed at him. “But since you have risked life and limb to give me the news, let me have it now. Speak up, man. I am late for an important meeting.”

Peter hated him. “I thought all business came to you and not the other way around. How surprised I am that you actually stoop to do your own dirty work.”

The butler and groom gasped at Peter’s insult, but Wolf’s eyes danced with amusement. “Why should I, my lord, when I have such a handy assistant as yourself to help?”

“She said yes,” Peter hissed. “May God strike me down, but she agreed to your devil’s bargain.”

“Of course.”

“You knew she would?”

“Markham would sell his own wife for the funds to maintain his lifestyle. His daughter is worth nothing to him.”

“What do you want with Kimberwood? What
can it do for you that your money cannot accomplish somewhere else?”

Wolf’s dark eyes hardened. “That is my affair, my lord. Our business is finished. My secretary, Hardwell, will turn over to you those bills I hold against you. We are acquitted. Give my respects to your foolish and very extravagant wife.” He pulled hard on the bit, causing the horse to rise while it turned, effectively forcing Peter to step aside.

“You be good to her,” Peter commanded. “Julia Markham’s worth a dozen of you. You treat her right, or—”

“Or you’ll what?” Wolf’s deep baritone questioned. He leaned over in the saddle. “Pray excuse me, my lord, but if my information is correct, wasn’t it you that set the wager that ruined her?” His voice dropped lower. “How much money did you make on the soul of Julia Markham?”

He sat back upright, lifting the reins.

“I can do naught worse to her than you have already done yourself. In fact, my offer of marriage to Julia Markham is more generosity than you and your kind have shown her over the past three years of her life. Now, out of my way,
my lord.
I wouldn’t want you to sully the champagne blacking of your boots with the likes of me.”

Digging his heels into the bay’s sleek flanks, he bolted out of the small courtyard, leaving Peter, tears running down his cheeks, to curse at his back.

D
ressed in her best green wool day dress, her hands folded neatly in her lap, Julia sat straight and quiet in the London office of Wolf’s solicitor. The scent of ink, book bindings, and coffee stung her nostrils; her family’s complaints rang in her ears. She waited to meet Brader Wolf.

“
Mon petit chouchou.
Let
maman
give you a taste of this,” Lady Markham cooed to her Pekinese, Maestro. Greedily, the dog licked minced-meat jelly, an item on a tray of refreshments provided by the solicitor, from his mistress’s fingers.

“Louisa, you know I can’t abide you speaking frenchie to that beast. Damned unpatriotic, speaking frog language to that dog.”

“Really, Father,” Harry drawled from his outlook, the seat of the window alcove of the solicitor’s office. He braced himself by one booted foot against the window frame while he idly whacked it with a riding crop, an ill-mannered sign of his impatience.
“Let mother slobber all over the damned animal. She shows it more affection than she has shown any of us.”

“Harry! How unkind!”

“But how true,” Harry told her, dryly.

“I have always put your father and you children ahead of my little Maestro.”

“Please, Mother. I have no desire for you to kiss me all over the way you do that piece of dog flesh.” Harry gave a mock shiver.

A loud snore interrupted them. All eyes met and then turned toward the disheveled man sleeping sprawled on a small uncomfortable chair in a corner of the solicitor’s office. Harry had introduced “Mr.” Rufus to them with a smirk and no further explanation. It wasn’t needed. The Markhams knew a bill collector when they saw one. Julia could only surmise Harry was in deep for Rufus to be so bold or her parents to countenance his presence.

“I’ve been keeping Rufus up some long hours,” Harry explained to the room in general. At one time Harry had been somewhat handsome, but his wild lifestyle and self-centered view of the world had taken their toll. The loss of most of his hair didn’t help. Harry combed it up and over his head, pretending hair existed where he had none. Nor, Julia noted, did the padding at his shoulders offset the weight he’d put on around his middle since she’d seen him last.

“I don’t see why he had to follow you here,”
Lady Markham complained, before licking what jelly Maestro had left on her fingers.

“He especially wanted to be here, Mother. There ain’t one bill collector who will trust me until Julia has tied the knot with Wolf. And don’t give me any grief over the gent. Out this window, I can see at least three of the duns who have been hounding you this past fortnight waiting on the corner.”

Lady Markham gave a long-suffering sigh before muttering something about the vagaries of children and bill collectors. She found solace in the tray of refreshments.

“Actually,” Harry confessed, studying his companion’s rotund frame sprawled out in the chair, “I have started to like having Rufus tagging along. He’s not such a bad sort for his kind of fellow, and there is a bit of fun in trying to shake him. Had a wager with D’Arcy I could shake him before midnight last night.”

“Did you win?” Lord Markham asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“If I had, do you think I’d admit it in front of Rufus?”

Rufus snored a response.

“Or you, for that matter,” Harry added to his father.

“Damn that Wolf, making us cool our heels here waiting for him,” repeated Lord Markham for the fourth time.

“Is there something else I can get for you, Lady Julia, or for you, Lady Markham?” the solicitor,
asked, with just a touch of distaste as Maestro stuck his tongue down in Lady Markham’s glass of ratafia.

Wolf’s solicitor, Daniel Myers, was a relatively young man. Aware of his intense curiosity about her, Julia held herself aloof, refusing to be drawn into conversation. “No, thank you.”

“Julia, I think that man is Jewish,” her mother said in a loud stage whisper. “I’ve been studying his face and I’m almost certain.”

“Damn that Wolf for making us cool our heels,” Lord Markham said again.

“Confound Wolf!” Harry complained, pushing away from the window. “I have a horse running in the race between Wilkins and Hobson in one hour. Does he think Rufus and I enjoy waiting for him to grace us with his presence?”

“My lords, I am sure Mr. Wolf is unavoidably detained. He would never mean to insult so exalted personages as yourselves. He should be here shortly.” Mr. Myers’s voice carried the flat tone of someone reciting by rote. His comment sparked heated rhetoric from Julia’s father and Harry. Lady Markham asked for more minced-meat jelly and just a touch more ratafia.

A flash of insight told Julia the solicitor had made this speech for Brader Wolf countless times before this meeting. Wolf must know how irritating it was to keep a man waiting, especially a peer like her father, who desperately needed what Wolf had to offer.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling because Lord Markham had shown up an hour late as well, intent on making Wolf wait for
him.
Well, they were now two hours past the original meeting time, and she had yet to meet her prospective groom.

She gave Mr. Wolf the first point.

But then, Mr. Wolf hadn’t matched wits with her.

She’d already played her first card and won by insisting on accompanying her father and brother to this meeting. Lord Markham had ranted and raved all morning until he finally realized that he could not shake his daughter from her decision. He then decided that if Julia went, Lady Markham must also come, which threw Lady Markham into a fit of the vapors.

“Damn me, Louisa,” her father had shouted. “If anything happens to spoil this meeting with Wolf, we’ll all be tied up in a neat little bag. You must accompany us, or Wolf might think Julia is more trouble than Kimberwood is worth and back out of this agreement.”

Her mother had accompanied them without further fuss.

Harry and Mr. Myers had both been surprised by the presence of the women. Even Mr. Rufus had pulled a forelock and backed off from the presence of two ladies of quality.

So here Julia sat, firm in her resolve that, before this meeting was over, she too would have what she wanted from Brader Wolf.

If she could stand up to her family, she could stand up to anyone. She would use her looks and what little remained of her tattered social standing to bully her way. They had worked for her in the past and she had no doubt they would be effective on the tradesman who was to become her husband. After all, she was Lady Julia Markham of Danescourt…and the heir to Kimberwood.

And then, he was there.

No warning. No fanfare. None was needed.

Brader Wolf’s presence dominated the room. Julia caught her breath. Judging by the abrupt silence around her, her family was equally impressed. The air around him was vibrant with his size and powerful presence.

He was not an unhandsome man, but the first word that shot through Julia’s mind was
masculine.
Dressed completely in black, the capes of his greatcoat swirling around him, Julia could easily imagine him saying, “Stand and deliver,” on a midnight road with a brace of pistols instead of the courteous, “My Lord Markham, I am so sorry I kept you waiting.”

His voice came from a point deep inside him, picking up depth and vibrancy until it emerged as a sonorous baritone. Instantly, Julia realized why Brader Wolf had asked Peter to speak for him. Peter was more the ideal of a gentleman of quality. If this man in front of her had delivered his offer in person, Julia doubted even a lord as deep in debt as her father would have agreed to the marriage.
Just in the sheer breadth of his shoulders, he was intimidating.

One of Mr. Myers’s three clerks scrambled to help Brader Wolf with his coat, while Mr. Myers rose and offered Wolf the chair behind his desk. Julia was surprised her father didn’t smart from the insult.

Wolf took in the occupants of the room without commenting on women being present for the negotiations. Nor did he appear interested in knowing who Julia was or concerned at her presence. Julia was glad. She had no desire to come under the attention of those hard dark eyes before it was necessary. In fact, with Wolf in the room, both Harry and her father lost their bluster and visibly shrank in stature.

“Who is he, Daniel?” Wolf asked of Mr. Myers, with a nod toward the snoring Rufus.

“A Mr. Rufus, Brader. I understand he has been keeping some late nights.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of the solicitor’s mouth.

Harry, Julia noted, had the good grace to blush hotly. Wolf didn’t notice.

“Remove him please, Daniel.” His tone was quiet, courteous.

Two of Myers’s clerks jumped to do as Brader Wolf requested, not even waking Rufus in the process. Wolf did not look up from the papers he’d started to review but added, “And the dog, Daniel. I think we can dispense with the dog also.”

So! He did realize they were present. Lady
Markham mutely handed her precious Maestro over to the third clerk.

Wolf’s deep voice filled the room as he went over the marriage contract point by point, giving Julia ample opportunity to study this man who would be her husband. She placed him between thirty and thirty-five years of age, which made her heave a sigh of relief. Thank God, he wasn’t as old as the duke.

His garments were of good quality. If she hadn’t lost her eye, she would say his top boots were by Hoby; the cut of his jacket bespoke Weston. But he wore the clothes with a casual air that was too accurate to be the studied indifference of a dandy. His long dark hair had natural curl. He could do with a haircut, Julia decided, although the style emphasized the uncompromising hardness of his jawline.

Masculine. Something feminine responded and stirred deep inside of her. Julia was surprised to recognize the unfurling of emotions she thought she had effectively squelched after the disaster with Lawrence years ago. Was it the voice or the muscular hardness of his body, which no amount of tailoring could disguise? Two men could not be more unalike physically or in manner. Brader Wolf was the velvet night, dark, intense, slightly menacing; Lawrence had been the sun, charming, flamboyant, flashy.

The amounts Wolf was settling on her family were staggering. From her first impression of him, she would not have assumed him a generous man.

He confirmed her impression when he looked up at Lord Markham and added, his voice soft and controlled, “Considering that I am paying all present debts and settling on you and your wife four thousand pounds a year and on each son the amount of one thousand per year, I advise you not to tax my good humor. Any debts over and outside of these amounts will be your responsibility. If you land in debtors’ prison, I will feel no obligation to rescue you.”

Lord Markham humbly acknowledged this remark with a nod of his head. Her mother and brother had the good sense to stay quiet.

“Well, then, my lord, if all is in agreement, Daniel will want our signatures to this document and we can proceed with the transfer of property.”

He had not said one word of the marriage.

For a moment her courage wavered, conscious of the shabbiness of her dress, but she pushed her fears aside. She was a Markham. The wags could say what they wished, but a Markham never backed down from a gamble.

Just as her father picked up the pen to scratch his name to the agreement, Julia stood, the sound of her chair scraping the wood floor commanding attention. “One moment, please. I have something I wish to discuss with Mr. Wolf. Alone.”

Harry swore. Lady Markham gasped. And Lord Markham gave her a hard stare laden with a wealth of promise for what would come as soon as they returned home.

Brader Wolf looked up. Julia found the midnight intensity of his eyes disconcerting. Feeling her knees start to shake, she clasped her hands tightly, willing herself to remain calm and equally in control.

“In private,” she amended, pleased her voice didn’t tremble.

“Now see here, me girl,” her father blustered, but Julia cut him off.

“Who owns Kimberwood, Father, you or I?”

Lord Markham started to respond, but he was interrupted by Brader Wolf’s deep voice. “Please excuse us, Lord Markham.” Then, seeing Lord Markham wasn’t happy leaving the room, Wolf added, “For a moment.”

“I apologize for this, Wolf. The girl normally knows her place.” Through clenched teeth, her father aimed his next comment directly toward Julia. “I am sure you won’t have any trouble with her.”

“I am sure I will not either, my lord,” Wolf agreed, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lady Markham was too shocked to make a comment before being led out of the room by Lord Markham. Harry didn’t hesitate to make his feelings known. He stopped in front of her before following his father out the door.

“My charming sister, the slut,” he hissed in an angry whisper. “If you do anything to spoil this for me, I will see I get the money out of you if I have to drug your lovely body and sell you to a brothel. Nor will Geoffrey be pleased. So watch your step.”

Julia stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his threat by word or action. Nothing, not even the threat of facing the wrath of her oldest brother, Geoffrey, was going to stop her from following her course.

Mr. Myers, the last person out of the room, shut the door quietly behind him. They were alone. If Wolf had heard Harry’s threat, he gave no indication but sat waiting patiently.

Julia bowed her head. Her eyes studied the toes of her shoes, so worn no amount of polishing could bring them back to life, while gathering her courage and her wits. She struggled to remember her well-rehearsed opening line and cleared her throat. “Mr. Wolf, I realize—”

“Why do I feel I am about to hear the appeal of Portia?”

“I—”

“It’s not for your family, is it? Because that will never fly. No matter how much more Markham thinks he can bleed me, I’ve paid enough. My men have seen Kimberwood. I’ve already agreed to pay a thousand times the worth of the estate. Not to mention taking
you
off his hands.”

Julia’s chin shot up at that last comment. All thought of a conciliatory tone flew from her head. Her eyes blazed with pride. “Yes, I must have been the sow’s ear to the bargain.”