One Unashamed Night (12 page)

‘Lucinda said that she was unable to have children, Taris. A sad state of affairs in a woman nearing thirty.’ His mother’s tone was more than critical, though Emerald seemed to be leaping to the defence of Bea.

‘I think that would be an enormous sadness, Mama, and if a medical problem is the culprit then it is hardly Mrs Bassingstoke’s fault.’

The wheelchair that Alice rarely got out of these days creaked as she turned it. ‘I did not intimate that it was, Emerald. I only think that with such knowledge a liaison would be foolish to consider, especially if one needed heirs to consolidate properties.’

Taris stood and walked across to the window. Here the shadows were not so thick and the sun today allowed him to see the rough shape of his hand as he laid it out against the glass.

‘I am not certain where you are receiving your information, Mother, but I have no intention at the moment of providing heirs for any of my properties. Ruby, Ashton and Ianthe are quite sufficient as my legally designated recipients.’

Asher joined the fray. ‘ You are thirty-one, Taris, and the Earl of Griffin has asked me to approach you regarding the future of his daughter.’

‘A lovely girl,’ his mother exclaimed, ‘and so very convenient with her lands bordering your own.’

‘She has few opinions on anything,’ Emerald interjected. ‘I doubt you would be much entertained by her company, Taris.’

‘She is young, Emerald. He could teach her about the world…’

‘I think she is more interested in what lies within the shops, Mama.’

‘Stop.’ Taris hated the impatience in his tone, but he had had enough. ‘If I choose to pursue an acquaintance with Lady Arabella it will be my business.’

‘She has a stable of lovely horses,’ his sister suddenly said.

‘I hope that Taris would not marry a woman for her horses, Lucy.’ Asher began to laugh.

‘Horses? Heirs? What of love?’ Emerald sounded angry and a silence followed.

‘I fail to see why my personal life cannot remain just that.
My
personal life.’ Taris wished he had not said anything as Lucy jumped in to illuminate him.

‘It’s because of Mrs Bassingstoke, Taris. You seem more interested in her than you ever have been in anyone before. And she is clever and strong and most intriguing…’

‘Bassingstoke?’ His mother turned the name on her tongue and then repeated it. ‘Not the Bassingstokes of the railway fortune? Lord. The husband had some sort of apoplexy three years ago and his wife was the one who looked after him.’

‘Was it a bad attack, Mama?’ Lucy asked the question, her voice low and horrified.

‘Indeed, my dear, it was, and his good wife did everything for him until he died a few months ago.’

‘She loved him,’ Lucy said, and Emerald’s answering laugh of disbelief made Taris turn away.

Love or hate, the dependence of the man must have taken a toll on Beatrice-Maude. For three whole long and lonely years?

Complete blindness would have its own need of dependency too. His hands fisted at his sides.

If he were honourable he would walk away from Beatrice and allow her to lead the sort of life that she had never had.

Freedom. How often had she said that? And meant it.

Chapter Ten

W
hen she awoke Beatrice was sick for the third morning in a row and she tried to think what it was she had been eating lately that should make her feel this way. She always felt better by lunchtime and the malady seemed to be like no other, as with a little food she began to feel instantly better.

Perhaps it was the fattiness of the pork pies that she had started to take a liking to. She decided that she would not nibble at another piece, no matter how her body craved it.

She was suddenly thankful that Taris Wellingham had not stayed to see her in this state, and pleased as well that so far this morning her maid Sarah had not appeared.

A small respite. A little reprieve for she also knew that the servants’ chatter would have alerted Sarah to the unusual fact of an overnight guest.

Drawing up the sheets on the bed, Bea tidied the room so that it was not quite so apparent as to what had been going on. She was an older woman, for goodness’ sake, and should have been long past this…licentiousness.

Unexpectedly she began to smile.

Would she see Taris tonight at the Cannons’ Ball? She knew that he was going for they had discussed it. Lord, what exactly should she say to him—what manner of words might sound even vaguely correct after such a liaison?

She shook her head and determined to stop overthinking things. Taris Wellingham was a friend. There could be nothing else between them and he had never, even in the most intimate of embraces, given her any cause to believe otherwise.

She was a barren widow; as a man who could have any woman he wanted, that woman almost certainly would not be her.

She should begin to go through her papers to keep her mind off things, she thought, and resolved to stop dwelling on matters that would never be and start focussing on what was.

A little after three in the afternoon, while Bea was sitting in the library reading a new book that had caught her eye, a footman came in.

‘There is a man who says he was your lawyer, madam. In Ipswich, he says, and he asked if you would speak to him for a moment?’ Handing over a card that was engraved with the name James Radcliff, the footman stood quietly.

‘If you will show him through, Thomas, I will see him in here.’

‘Very well, madam. Should I send one of the maids in with refreshments?’

‘No. I do not think so.’ All her dealings with any of Frankwell’s lawyers had always ended in difficulty and the years of very little ‘allowed’ money still rankled. ‘I am certain that this will only take a few minutes.’

Radcliff was dressed very fashionably as he made his way towards her, his height giving him an appearance of almost gaunt thinness. He sported a small moustache, meant, she thought, to cover the thinness of his lips. He spoke with an accent that Beatrice could not quite determine.

‘Thank you for allowing me this meeting, Mrs Bassingstoke. I realise that it is most impolite of me to simply come to you like this, but I have only the smallest amount of time in London.’

‘Indeed?’ She could not understand why he was here and her perplexity suddenly seemed to communicate itself to him.

‘Oh, I am very sorry. I shall come to the point immediately. I worked for Mr Nelson in Ipswich during the difficult years of your husband’s illness, and was never quite certain as to the legality of that firm’s stance on the lack of finances that you seemed beleaguered with.’

Bea’s interest sharpened. Most of the Bassingstoke money had been returned to her before she had made the journey south, but according to the few records she did have there had been a shortfall. Her own desire to keep well away from the legal fraternity had put paid to the idea of having someone look into the discrepancies, yet today here in her very own home was a man who might explain them.

‘You say you worked for Mr Nelson?’

‘I gave in my resignation as soon as I realised the calibre of his practice, for as the son of a gentleman I could no longer condone what I saw there. I was a junior clerk, ma’am, and was seldom allowed to do anything of real value because of my inexperience, you understand.’

The whites of his knuckles showed through the taut skin as he wrenched his hands together, and Bea’s eyes flicked to the closed door. It was not done, of course, for a woman to be alone with a man and a strange man at that, but the very nature of his confession was beguiling.

‘I felt sure that some of the margins were not quite right, Mrs Bassingstoke, for I had seen a few things when I was not supposed to.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘If I were to have a guess, I would say that some of your revenue was missing and were I to hazard another guess I would say the monies were almost certainly embezzled by Mr Nelson.’

‘And you have proof?’

He blushed again and shook his head. ‘That is part of the reason I have come today, Mrs Bassingstoke. A friend of mine was at a discussion on the ills of piracy that you held a few weeks back and when he told me of your being here in London I decided that perhaps fate had sent me a message. I hoped that the missing numbers might lurk in the ledgers sent to you.’

‘Ledgers, Mr Radcliff?’ She could not remember seeing any such books.

‘Books released to you on the death of your husband? Bound in brown leather, I think, and stamped with the Nelson name.’

Beatrice frowned. ‘I do not recall any such thing.’

‘Perhaps they slipped into your possession unnoticed.’ His eyes glanced around the overfull shelves of her library. ‘I would be more than happy to place myself into your service regarding this matter, ma’am, for I have always been highly thought of by the many clients I have had the pleasure to serve.’

The sound of the bell at the front door pulled Bea’s attention away and she waited as another card was presented to her.

Taris Wellingham was here with his sister-in-law. Wiping down the crinkles in her skirt, she would have liked to have gone to the mirror, but Mr Radcliff’s presence did not allow her this one small vanity.

This afternoon Taris was dressed all in black and he looked enormous and masculine compared to Mr Radcliff. The names of the newcomers had wrought a considerable change in the demeanour of the clerk—now he looked as though he just wanted to be gone.

‘My lord.’ Bea tipped her head in Taris’s direction and then turned to Emerald. ‘Lady Wellingham. Might I present Mr Radcliff to you.’

Taris’s scowl was noticeable and she hurried on. ‘He is one of the men who handled my late husband’s properties.’

Emerald smiled slightly, though Taris merely fixed the man with his dangerous amber stare.

‘Well, I really ought to be going,’ Radcliff began as Emerald made her way over to the sofa in the corner by the fire and readied herself to sit. Taris had his hand on the back of her wingchair, his fingers splayed against the plane of the header. A touchstone. Her eyes flicked to Emerald Wellingham and the glance she gave indicated that she had noticed too.

‘My maid will see you out, Mr Radcliff.’

James Radcliff followed Sarah from the room.

‘For a minion of the law he seems remarkably awkward.’ Taris spoke as soon as the door shut.

‘He is rather a junior, I think,’ Bea replied.

‘Then what is he doing here? Surely a more senior partner should be sent to do business with you?’

Beatrice didn’t quite know how to answer and so chanced the first thing that came to mind. ‘He said that he would be pleased to help me get my affairs into order should I wish him to do so.’

When his glance met hers she blushed brightly and hated herself for doing it. Taris might not see such a reaction, but Emerald Wellingham definitely would.

His fingers against her skin and lips brushing the sensitive lobes of her ears. Whispering.

Emerald coughed once as she readied herself for speech. ‘ We are here because, although Lucinda is a lovely young woman, she is also one who is rather loose of tongue. It seems she has been remiss in the keeping of your secret.’

Taris stayed silent.

Was she speaking of the secret of her barren years and her lack of children? Suddenly the import of just what they were saying began to sink in.

‘I did not request her to keep quiet about this,’ Bea enunciated into the growing silence, for although Taris’s sister had seemed rather scatty she had also come across as a girl who did not mean harm.

‘A most unwise omission, then.’ Taris’s voice ran alongside that of Emerald, who was far more diplomatic.

‘You are more than kind in your lack of blame, Beatrice.’

‘Even though it seems as if your name now is being bandied about the salons with something akin to pity?’ Taris again and given in all the tones of a man to whom pity might be the ultimate insult.

‘I see.’ Bea could not quite, but the seriousness on both of their faces demanded at least a modicum of anxiety.

‘As a result of this indiscretion, Taris thinks it would be prudent to shepherd you into the Cannon affair this evening. A buffer, if you like. Lucinda has been firmly told to stay at home.’

‘By accompanying us the weight of the Wellingham name should squash such gossip back into the realm of rumour.’ Taris’s voice was deep.

‘Even though it is true?’ Bea was beginning to enjoy herself, for she wanted an absence of duplicity in this new life.

‘Truth is one of those words that can be shaped to hold any viewpoint.’

‘Just as privilege can,’ she returned and Taris’s laughter was loud.

‘ You do not bandy your opinions, Mrs Bassingstoke.’

‘Just as you do not soften yours, my lord.’

Challenge was reflected in his amber-golden eyes. And humour. It sat on his face easily, making him look even more beautiful than he usually did.

A feeling deep inside Bea’s stomach blossomed and burst into a singular ache of need. To feel him again inside her, the heat of them both melded around loving and the world dissolved into instinct. Pure. Simple. Honest.

If Emerald had not been there, Beatrice might have chanced it, might have walked into his arms and held him tightly against all the reasons why she shouldn’t. But the second broke when the clock chimed the quarter hour and his attention was drawn away by it.

Emerald Wellingham stood as the last chime was heard.

‘We will call by here in the carriage at half past nine. Will that give you enough time?’

‘Oh, I think five hours should be almost sufficient to make me look presentable.’

Bea liked the twinkle in the Duchess of Carisbrook’s eyes as she offered her hand to take her leave. ‘I look forward to tonight, then.’

Taris Wellingham did not try to make contact at all as he gave her a stiff bow and was gone.

He shouldn’t have let Emerald talk him into accompanying her. He had said nothing of any import to Beatrice about their hours together last night and he knew she would probably be expecting some sort of intimacy. Yet the knowledge of her ill husband’s last years made him wary.

For he was another man who would need care one day! Care to do all the little things that even now were harder month by month and year by year—he didn’t wish to saddle her with another dependent man.

The smell of the lawyer still lingered, unsettling him, a dark-coloured scent with top notes of bergamot. As his lack of sight had progressed, he often colour-coded people with the way they smelt.

Bea was green and fresh, Emerald the blue of the sea and Ashe a fiery orange-red.

James Radcliff’s scent held a danger hidden in his early flight and his careful enunciation, the brown of his fragrance shading honesty.

Lord, perhaps the lack of sleep he had suffered last night was catching up with him. He frowned as he followed his sister-in-law into the coach, adjusting the tightness of his trousers as he sat down to mull over his most unwise longing.

Bea paid special attention to her appearance that evening, allowing Sarah to fuss over her with unprecedented patience. She even endured her maid’s desire to fashion her hair into a complex pile of curls and the light touches of makeup that Elspeth insisted on were left intact when more usually she washed such indulgence away.

Tonight, however, she needed all the help that she could get and the thought of a mask between her and a society that might pillory her was comforting.

She even brought out a set of pearls that had been her mother’s and fastened them around her neck, liking the way they complemented the golden gown she wore, its bodice edged in silk roses and soft Honiton lace.

When the preparations were finished and Sarah turned her to the full-length mirror, more usually left hidden behind the closet door, Beatrice allowed herself the luxury of looking and was surprised at the stranger who stared back.

No longer quite plain? Even a little pretty? The smile on her face deepened her dimples and the light caught at her hair so that the threads of other colours could be seen, sable and russet and amber, the more normal lacklustre darkness of it replaced by vibrancy.

Everything looked better. The shade of her skin, the colour of her eyes, the soft curves of a figure that had always been so very thin.

Tonight she wished that Taris Wellingham could have his sight back if only to see her, and then she shook her head as Sarah handed her a shawl of spun silver, tassels beaded with the same gold as her dress.

A fairytale?

A happy ending?

The onyx clock on the mantel struck nine-thirty just as the butler knocked on her door to announce that the Wellingham carriage was now waiting and that there was a gentleman downstairs.

Asher Wellingham stood in the lobby, his hat in hand and his gloves removed. When he saw her she fancied that he might have smiled, though the emotion was long gone by the time she had reached the bottom step.

‘You are a woman who is on time, I am glad to see,’ he said. ‘My wife has the same habit.’

He offered her his arm and they walked outside, her shawl warm against a heightening wind.

Taris sat on one seat and Emerald on the other. Across Emerald’s legs there lay a blanket of soft wool and on the seat next to Taris were others folded and waiting. For her? Chancing it, she slipped in beside the man she had thought of all afternoon.