Anna Jacobs (7 page)

“She’s expecting a baby,” Beatrice replied without thinking, then flushed and stopped dead just as she was about to take his arm. “Oh dear! I’m not sure whether I should have told you that! Pray don’t tell them. I mean...” Her voice faded and she could only study the flower bed to her left in an attempt to hide her blushes. Why did this man make her act so foolishly? She had only to be in his presence to feel flustered and breathless.

He began to feel bored at this missish behaviour, but offered her his arm. He studied her as they began to walk. A woman of her age should have more social confidence, though the flushed face and over-bright eyes became her very well. In fact, she was far more attractive than he had thought at first. He preferred taller women like her. It was annoying to have to bend down to talk to someone. “You needn’t worry about telling me the news, Miss Dencey. Boris is a childhood friend of mine - we more or less grew up together - and I’m bound to be one of the first to know about the baby. No wonder he wants her to return home!”

Beatrice nodded and looked down at his arm, feeling a little bemused by how conscious she was of touching him. And how strong his arm felt! She glanced sideways at him and caught her breath at how handsome he was looking today. For a moment the world seemed to fade around them and she was conscious only of him, then she realized he was speaking again and tried to pay better attention. She must learn to behave more sensibly in his presence.

“The two of them have been married for four years without a sign of the precious heir,” Justin said, his voice rather scornful.

As they strolled on, Beatrice protested, “It’s only to be expected that he would wish for children. It’s one of the main purposes of marriage, isn’t it?” Apart from the money aspects, a voice said inside her head. People of her class seemed to marry more often for money than for love. “Besides,” her voice grew softer, “what woman does not wish for children?”

Her longing for a child echoed clearly in her voice, which made him slow down to stare at her in surprise. Not many of the young ladies he’d met in town were so honest about their feelings. In fact, it wasn’t fashionable even to speak of one’s children, except perhaps to very close friends and relatives.

“Jennice was delighted about the child, I think,” Beatrice said thoughtfully, “though not about Boris wishing her to stay in the country.”

“I’m not an expert on children. Most of the women I know complain loudly of the tedium of the breeding process and then leave their offspring to the care of nursemaids. Jennice won’t enjoy being cloistered at Lymsby, nor can I see her devoting herself to her children - well, not once the novelty has worn off.”

He and his younger brother had rarely seen their own mother and had been raised by their nurse. Fortunately, that redoubtable woman had furnished them with the permanent affection which all children need and as well, they had each other’s company. There being only eighteen months difference in age, they had been as close as many twins.

The same nurse was now in charge of the housekeeping at Melbury and had lately taken to reinforcing what his mother said by scolding Justin roundly whenever he visited his country estates. She made no secret of the fact that she considered it shameful and selfish for him to remain single for so long and thus omit to provide an heir for the Serle line.

“If you are not careful,” Mrs. Powis had told him bluntly only a week previously, “your unmarried state will become a habit and you’ll end up a crab-tempered old bachelor, with no one to love you in your declining years.”

Mrs. Powis had been far more successful in persuading him to consider his duty than his mother had, for she hadn’t hesitated to remind him that the lack of an heir would also mean that his cousin would inherit the estate. “And what will become of all the tenants then?” she had added ominously? “Have you thought about that, eh, Master Justin? If not, then you had better start doing so at once! Your Cousin Luke has already gambled away most of his own inheritance and will be happy to waste the Serle fortunes as well, for a more reckless, spendthrift creature I have yet to meet. He should have been spanked more often as a child.”

“You never spanked us at all, Powey!” Justin had teased, in an attempt to divert her from this tedious topic - but he had failed.

“You two never needed spanking. Master Luke did. I mind him visiting here and breaking your toys - on purpose.” She drew herself up to her full height of five feet and one inch, and finished, “I had thought better of you, Master Justin, than to see you neglect what you owe to the family like this. I had indeed.”

Justin turned the corner of the square automatically, still lost in his thoughts. The matter of an heir had not seemed important while his elder brother was alive, but Peter had been killed at Waterloo nearly two years previously. Justin still missed him desperately and was quite aware that he had grown cooler with the world since his brother’s death, for he had no one to make him laugh now, or to tease him out of his dignity.

This time Mrs. Powis’s words had been reinforced, unknown to her, by the fact that his cousin Luke had recently asked for a loan to cover his gambling losses, to prevent the heavily mortgaged Mendleton estates being seized by creditors and sold. Justin had refused to supply that loan. Even as a boy Luke had never returned the things he was lent; as a grown man he had turned into a dashed loose fish. Why, the fellow had even tried to pledge his cousin’s name to certain debts, though the family lawyer had soon put a stop to that.

So as a result of all the pressure, Justin was trying very hard indeed to steel himself to the idea of marriage. The trouble was, apart from the lack of a suitable lady, he had a private worry, which he was unable to discuss with anyone, about whether he could actually bring himself to make love to a silly young chit who did not attract him purely for the sake of begetting children. The mere thought of failure to do so made his blood run cold.

Beatrice glanced sideways at Mr Serle, saw he was lost in thought and didn’t try to make conversation. He was looking sad and she couldn’t help wondering what he had to be sad about. Perhaps Johanna would know. It was none of her business, of course, but if he were such a close friend of the family, she ought to know which subjects to avoid introducing with him. She noticed that one lock of hair had fallen across his brow and couldn’t help smiling a little to see how boyish that made him appear, for all his elegant clothing. She definitely preferred men with dark hair. They looked so much more distinguished than fair-haired men.

“I couldn’t leave my children to be brought up by servants,” she said after a while, voicing her thoughts aloud. Was that the sort of behaviour a gentleman of rank would expect of his wife?

Justin made a noncommittal noise, not at all interested in what she, or any other unmarried lady, intended to do with their as-yet-unborn children. At least her soft voice didn’t grate upon his ears and she didn’t constantly demand his attention, so it was no great trial to walk with her, though it was a pity she had that tendency to grow flustered for no reason.

“I think children need as much love as you can give them,” she added, sighing as she thought of dear Eleanor, whom she was missing dreadfully.

“And are you - er - an expert on child-rearing, Miss Dencey?” he asked, resigning himself to a discussion of this topic. It was amusing, really, for he knew she was a spinster well past the usual age of marrying. What could she possibly know about raising children?

She flushed at the mockery in his voice. “I’ve had the pleasure of bringing up a young relative from the time she was nine until now, and since Eleanor is nineteen, I know a little about such things, Sir.”

Her gentle dignity made him feel suddenly ashamed. “I cry pardon, Miss Dencey. I didn’t mean to mock you. I was unaware of your exact circumstances.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgment of his apology, but her expression told him plainly that she didn’t really care what he thought and he was rather surprised at that.

“Do you mean to make a long stay in London?” he asked idly, it being a standard question to put to a newcomer.

“I suppose I shall have to stay for the whole Season.” Her tone was despondent.

The unexpectedness of this answer made him look at her in surprise. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about that. Most young ladies can’t wait to have their London Seasons.”

She spoke impatiently, her mind still on Eleanor. “Well, as you’ve no doubt noticed, Mr Serle, I’m not exactly young. And to tell the truth, I’m not at all thrilled about doing the Season!” Nor was she thrilled to be thrown into the company of an arrogant person like this man, who spent his time either making trite meaningless comments or else being odiously sarcastic! Why, he would make Eleanor’s life an absolute misery! she decided indignantly. I shall cross his name off my aunt’s list the minute I get back to my room!

He smothered another sigh and wondered if the Newthorpes’ quarrel was over yet.

“I’m here at my aunt’s behest, not by my own choosing,” she went on, thinking aloud. “And I’m not at all sure that I shall enjoy spending so long in the city. I much prefer life in the country.”

He didn’t really believe her. So many people said such things for effect, especially those trying to sound blasé. What woman would not relish the opportunity to buy a wardrobe full of new clothes and sample all the pleasures of the London Season?

After another awkward pause, he began to speak of the parties planned by his friends, assuming Miss Dencey would be attending them all with her cousin and she dutifully followed his lead, thinking how tedious these festivities would become, crammed one upon the other as they seemed to be. As she murmured responses, she wondered which wildflowers were out in the woods at Satherby and whether in London she might sometimes be allowed to go out for proper walks, not like this boring dawdle round and round the square. A few spring flowers were certainly out in the gardens here, which consisted of four narrow flower beds containing stiff rows of plants. Poor little things! She had a fellow feeling for them. Already she was feeling restless and penned in.

On their next circuit Beatrice paused to stretch out a hand and caress a frond of soft spring foliage on one of the bushes. “The young leaves are so beautiful. But everything’s all caged up here in London, isn’t it?”

As she resumed her walk and her silence, Justin realized with surprise that she was just as happy to study the beauties of the garden as to indulge in polite conversation. In fact, he thought, smiling wryly, he rather got the impression that she preferred the flowers to his conversation. Which was most unusual for a lady favoured with his attentions. He walked in silence for a while, determined to make her furnish the next topic of conversation, and was amazed when she suddenly stopped dead.

“Oh, there’s Tom! Would you mind, Mr Serle, if I just had a word with him?”

She left his side without waiting for his permission and he turned to see who this Tom was. To his utter astonishment, the man turned out to be a poor haggard creature, lacking an arm and with a rather grimy and tattered sleeve pinned across his chest. He was an old soldier, from the looks of him. The streets of the capital were still full of men like him, though the war had been over for nearly two years. Intrigued, Justin followed Beatrice across the square.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so glad to see you looking better!” she exclaimed.

The man touched his cap, as if saluting an officer. “Came to show you me tray, Miss.”

“Yes, it’s exactly right! Now, you must be sure to keep it clean. That makes such a difference, you know.”

Justin watched in amazement as his erstwhile tongue-tied companion, who seemed to have completely forgotten his presence, laughed with Tom over some escapade or other and then questioned him closely about the details of his business plans. When her face was animated, as it was for this shabby creature, Miss Dencey was quite startlingly lovely. As he listened, he found that Tom’s business appeared to consist of selling hot pies from a tray slung around his neck to people he met in the streets, and the whole contraption seemed to have been recently funded by Miss Dencey.

It was Tom who, after a while, ahemmed and begged the gentleman’s pardon for taking up the lady’s time.

Beatrice’s animation vanished abruptly. “Oh yes, I had quite forgotten. I do beg your pardon, Mr Serle! I was just so glad to see Tom looking better. He’s been very ill, you see. You be sure to keep your chest warm, Tom! I shall keep an eye open for you when I’m out shopping tomorrow.” She watched as he touched his cap and walked away, then turned back to Justin, her expression schooled to that of a dutiful listener once more.

He was irritated enough to say unguardedly, “That’s a strange kind of acquaintance for a lady!”

Knowing how annoyed Johanna would be at this further encounter with Tom, Beatrice could feel herself colouring. “I saw him collapse in the street a few days ago from hunger and was able to help him. All he needed was a little assistance and he was quite capable of earning himself a living. It’s shameful the way these old soldiers are abandoned by their regiments. The government ought to do something about them, if no one else will! Tom lost his arm at Waterloo, poor fellow.”

She sighed and dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry. You cannot be interested in him. You were saying ... ?” Her eyes became glazed as she waited for him to take up their conversation again.

Justin felt indignation surge up within him so strongly that he almost allowed himself the pleasure of giving her a set-down. Here he was, honouring her with his company for over half an hour and she could hardly be bothered to listen to him! Then she left him in mid-sentence and became animated at the sight of a shabby old ex-soldier, a mere ranker!

His expression was for a moment so savage that Beatrice stared at him in astonishment.

“I can be very interested in anyone who was at Waterloo,” he snapped, “since my own brother was killed there! And I applaud your generosity in helping that man, Miss Dencey. I do, indeed.” He would keep a better look out himself for old soldiers fallen on hard times from now on, he added mentally. Peter would not have liked to see his men in trouble. He’d thought the world of them, and they of him. Some of them had even written to the family after Peter was killed to say that. Justin had found their ill-spelled letter signed by six names very touching and still had it in his possession.