Chapter 11

“Wherein the perfect day becomes fodder for the gossip mill.”

27 th November 1820.

“Come along, slugabed. If you’re still planning on shopping in Tunbridge Wells, you need to get a move on.”

Rachel’s voice pierced Bea’s sleepy brain, and she burrowed deeper into the warm blankets. A cold bright light filled the room as Rachel drew the curtains, promising another freezing morning, and chasing away the remnants of a delicious dream where Bea was held securely on Justin’s lap, his strong arms around her, his lips tender upon hers, kissing her endlessly. She blinked her eyes open, fingers reaching to touch her mouth in astonishment as reality returned with a rush of remembered images and sensations.

“Oh,” she said, a soft exclamation that Rachel did not hear, thank heavens. Blushing, Bea hid under the covers for a moment, pretending reluctance to get up while she composed herself. They had kissed for… for hours, she realised, a startled laugh bubbling in her throat, and then… and then she had gone down to dinner, half afraid, wondering if he would assume that, having given him such encouragement, she would take him to her bed.

But Justin had not assumed, he had not taken advantage. Instead, he had been careful with her, solicitous, gently flirtatious but cautious not to do or say anything that made her feel uncomfortable. Yet she had seen the banked fire in his eyes, had felt the smouldering heat of everything that lay between them, still unsaid, untried. If she spoke words of encouragement, or gave him a sign, he would devour her in that heat.

It had been Justin who had suggested the shopping trip today, he who had offered to escort her to Tunbridge Wells to visit the shops, and to take the water if she desired. Knowing that she would see him again when she went down to breakfast, and on the journey into town—and that they would sit side-by-side in the carriage for a journey of close to two hours—made her heart skip with anticipation. She wanted to see him, desperately wanted another evening of kisses in his arms, and yet she was still afraid, afraid of what she felt for him, this man who had tasted so many women, had drunk so deep of every wicked pleasure he’d ruined himself. Almost, she amended. He had almost ruined himself, but he had drawn back now, because of her.

Her happiness dimmed as she wondered if she could be enough to keep him from returning to that world, if she would be enough to make him turn away from temptation day after day, for years to come. Perhaps she was merely a novelty, something he would grow tired of. No. Justin had explained what had driven him onto the path he’d taken: the deaths of his parents, the terrible misunderstanding of what his father had hoped for him. He was happy with her, happier than he had ever been before. He had said so. It was hard to believe, though, when she had never captured any man’s attention before, certainly not a man like Justin, so handsome and sophisticated in all the ways Bea was not. Her father had been in no hurry to marry her off, to deprive himself of her company, and so although she’d had her come out, it had not been with any serious intention of finding a husband. She had never spent much time flirting, considering this man or that as a potential mate and, after last night, she did not know how to be with Justin.

So, it was with such unsettling thoughts in her heart that Bea made her way to the breakfast room with trepidation. Justin was there and set aside his paper when he saw her, smiling warmly as he got to his feet.

“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

Bea nodded, avoiding his gaze as she moved to take her place, but Justin stopped her, moving closer and taking her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“Bea,” he said softly. “Don’t be afraid of me. I am all at sea too, you know. I’ve never… never done this before, either,” he told her with a helpless laugh.

She smiled up at him, disarmed as always by his candour, by his blue eyes full of gentle amusement. She let out a breath. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know how to face you after—”

He kissed her, a swift brush of his lips against hers. “There,” he said. “The worst is over. Now you need not spend the morning sat upon thorns, worrying if I will kiss you, for it has already happened.”

She laughed, startled and delighted at once. “But will you do it again?” she demanded, finding it easy again to tease and talk with him.

“Bea, love, you cannot expect me to give away all my secrets,” he scolded, sounding so grave she shook her head, accepting his help as he pulled out her chair for her.

“I suppose not,” she said ruefully, accepting a cup of tea from a footman who appeared silently at her elbow, and asking for a bowl of porridge. She wondered if the man had seen her husband kissing her and decided she did not care if he had.

They broke their fast, chatting comfortably about the things they wished to do in Tunbridge Wells. Bea explained her need for ink, and a desire to buy Christmas gifts. She did not have many people to buy for any longer, but she thought she would send a token to Dorothy, and she wished to get Rachel something special, and… and then there was Justin.

Justin watched the countryside as it passed by, feeling a surge of pleasure at the sight of the beautiful scenery, at once so familiar and yet somehow new and different. He smiled as he realised it was not the scenery that was different but himself. Usually such journeys were accompanied by a terrible hangover, the familiar landscape viewed with the sickening realisation that he was coming home because he had shamed himself again, dishonoured his already blackened name a shade darker. He considered that, wondering if he might forgive himself for some of that bad behaviour, perhaps even pity himself for all he had missed out on because of the choices he’d made. But he had never murdered anyone, never fought anyone who did not deserve a beating, never bedded a woman who hadn’t wished it, and if he’d cheated at cards a time or two, it had been because he’d been desperate. There were those who might despise him for his past, but if Bea didn’t, perhaps he need not do so either. The thought was heartening and made him view the future with hope, with the expectation that he could do better.

Today, he was taking an outing with his wife to choose Christmas presents, to give her a pleasant day out because he wished to please her. It was such an innocuous pleasure, such a simple thing to do, that he wondered at the delight he took in it, something that most other people took for granted. Outside, the fields and trees seemed frozen in place, rimed with hoarfrost, thick and velvety white, the world dressed in a seasonal mantle as though he had ordered such perfection and been granted his every wish. He turned to Bea, moving to tuck the blanket more securely around her. They had stopped half an hour ago to replace the heated brick for her feet, but it must be cooling by now.

“You are warm enough?” he asked. “I do not wish you to arrive as a little ice block.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I am perfectly cosy, thank you. It was a splendid idea, and I am looking forward to shopping. It’s been a long time since I could visit the shops. I must warn you, however, that if you allow me inside a bookshop, I may become unreasonable if you try to make me leave.”

“Ah, I see. I’ve been duped into marrying a bluestocking. Bea, how could you?” he said reproachfully.

She snorted, which delighted him for reasons he did not understand. “You may say such things in jest, my lord, but get between me and a novel I have not yet read, and you may find those words come back to haunt you.”

He grinned and gave a shrug. “Ah, well, now you have given me something to aim for. I never could resist temptation, remember?” Her face fell and Justin kicked himself. Fool! What a stupid thing to say. “Bea.” His voice was low, urgent, as he reached for her hand. “I did not mean that. I was only—”

“I know,” she said, her smile returning as she glanced up at him. “It’s only I—”

“I know,” he said, his voice firm, not wanting her to have to say the words, to make herself more vulnerable than he knew she was already. “But there is nothing, nothing for you to worry about. I—”

He cast around for the right words, wanting to tell her he needed her and her alone, that every mistake he had ever made had prepared him for this, to be ready for this, to appreciate what he’d been given. The fates had forged him in dark fires, had drowned him over and again in vice, so he might break free and know without doubt that there was no temptation worth giving into, no patch of grass that could ever be greener, no pleasure greater than those he might find with his own wife.

But Bea’s lips found his, pressing softly, shyly against his mouth, chasing away thought and filling his heart with joy. She pulled back, smiling at him.

“I know, Justin. You got lost, I think, and there was no one to show you there was another path, but perhaps we could find the way together now, If… if you wish to.”

Justin stared at her in wonder. If he wished to?

“Bea, I—” he began, not knowing what to say but Bea was not done yet.

“I love you.”

Justin’s breath caught. The words were so unexpected he could hardly comprehend that they had been given so easily, willingly, and not until they were uttered did he realise how desperately he had wanted to hear them.

“Bea,” he said, defenceless against the emotions rising inside him, wanting to tell her everything he felt and finding the words would not come he was so overwhelmed. So, instead he kissed her, hoping she felt in his touch, in his kiss, all that he could not speak aloud, not yet. He kissed her and held nothing back of himself, hid no corner of his heart, kissing her as though he were drowning and she were air, as though she was the salvation he had been searching for his entire life… and he knew it was nothing but the truth.

Bea stepped down from the carriage on legs that did not feel entirely steady. Her heart was light, her mind giddy with happiness, with the enormity of the risk she had taken. She did not regret it, she assured herself. How could she, when she had seen the look in Justin’s eyes, the happiness and depth of feeling she had sensed in him? His kiss had been everything and more than she had ever believed a kiss could be after too many hours reading romance novels and dreaming of handsome heroes of the kind she knew could not exist.

He took her arm, his gaze upon hers warm and reassuring as they walked towards the famous Pantiles and the elegant shops and tearooms to be found there.

“Should you like to take tea first, before we begin?” Justin asked and then laughed as he realised a bookshop had already taken her attention. “Ah, I see. Well, I suppose you did warn me.”

“I did,” she replied with a rueful smile. “Do you mind? If you are bored, you could meet me back here and—”

“If you think I am letting you out of my sight in such a place, you are much mistaken,” he said, shaking his head. “Heaven alone knows what might happen. You might buy the entire shop and refuse to ever leave it.”

“I might,” she admitted with a laugh.

“No, no. Besides, what makes you think I am immune to the lure of a good story? I do read things other than the sporting journals, you know.”

“You do?” she asked, genuinely interested.

“I do,” he said firmly. “Just because I was forced to sell every book I owned, does not mean I do not value them and wish to restock the library at Chalfont. Come, perhaps I shall buy every book for you after all,” he said with a wink, guiding her inside.

They spent a happy hour in the bookshop and Bea found herself charmed when Justin insisted on buying her the books she had chosen, adding a recipe book at the last moment to give to Mrs Kershaw.

“She scares me,” he told her confidentially, pulling a face. “I’m trying to bribe my way into her good books.”

“Foolish creature,” Bea said, laughing at his antics. “But I don’t doubt it will work, and it has the bonus of giving us lovely things to eat. Well done.”

“Not just a pretty face, love,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath making her shiver as she waited for the shop owner to wrap their purchases. Justin carried them for her, and they moved onto the next shop, finding the ink she had wanted and buying some writing paper, too. They stopped for a while at a pretty tea shop to warm up, sitting in the window and watching the fashionable people parade up and down. Bea ordered a cup of hot chocolate, and they shared a plate of shortbread, chatting contentedly as Bea wracked her brain for something that Justin might like for Christmas.

Once thawed out, they returned to their shopping, with Bea finding a lovely yellow silk scarf for Rachel that Bea knew she would adore, and a pair of kid gloves that exactly matched the pretty shade. They were perusing a jeweller’s shop window, when Bea’s gaze lit upon a delicate gold cravat pin, with a large sapphire at the head. The colour was the same dark blue as Justin’s eyes, and her heart skipped as she realised she had found the perfect gift.

Not wishing to give herself away, she allowed them to stroll on, going into several more shops before she stopped him outside.

“Justin, there is something I wish to buy, but I do not wish you to come with me,” she said, smiling at him.

He frowned at her for a moment before his expression cleared, his smile so boyishly pleased her heart felt squeezed in her chest. “You’re buying me a Christmas present!” he exclaimed.

Bea rolled her eyes. “Well, I might, if you go away for a moment.” She made a little shooing motion, but he hesitated.

“I don’t like to leave you alone,” he said, a little anxiously.

“It’s only for a moment,” she protested, laughing at his concern. “Fifteen minutes is all I need. I shall meet you back here, in this very spot.”

Justin sighed and then nodded. “Very well, love. Give me those parcels and I will drop them back with our coachman. There’s a tobacconist next to the inn where he’s waiting, and I can buy John some cigars for Christmas. It might stop him from stealing mine,” he added with a grin.

Bea nodded, and then gasped as he leaned in and kissed her.

“Justin!” she said in shock, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.

He returned an unrepentant grin before he turned and strode away. Bea watched him go, admiring his elegant figure, the broad shoulders and the gold hair that shone beneath his hat.

Sighing and telling herself she was in a bad way, she hurried back to the jewellers.

Justin whistled softly to himself as he walked back to meet Bea. It hadn’t yet been fifteen minutes, but he was too eager to be in her company again to dally. He tried to remember a time in his life when he had ever been this happy and could bring nothing to mind. Even those weeks with his father had been overshadowed by knowing the man had never been interested in him before then, and the anxiety that he would not be so again. What had come next had forever tainted those memories, but somehow Bea had even given him back those, allowing him to think of his father with affection and pity instead of a spoiled mixture of childish hero worship and resentment.

Lost in thought, Justin turned back into The Pantiles as a woman ran forward, clutching at his arm.

“Rutherford? Oh! It is you,” she cried in relief. “Thank heavens. I wrote to you this very morning, but my prayers have been answered.”

Justin gazed in horror, a cold sensation of dread washing over him as he stared into the beautiful face of Mrs Lavinia Jenkins. He shook off her hand, glaring at her.

“I cannot think what more you can possibly ask of me,” Justin replied, anger rising as he looked around to see if Bea was watching.

To his relief, she was not yet waiting for him, but other people had seen and knew what a scandalous couple they were regarding. Gossip would run riot. Justin had recognised a few people that morning and hoped that Bea had not noticed them cut him. To his surprise, he hadn’t much cared for his own sake, but he wanted nothing to upset his wife or cut up her peace.

“Oh, Rutherford, I know I have no right to ask, but I am desperate,” she said, resting her hand on her swollen belly.

Justin cursed, knowing he could not in all conscience leave her to her fate with a child on the way. “What has happened?” he demanded. “I thought you said you had money enough, that your aunt had left you to live comfortably.”

Lavinia snorted at that. “Comfortably,” she exclaimed in disgust. “Hardly that, but I get by. That’s not the problem,” she said urgently.

“Then what is? Tell me quickly before my wife sees you.”

“It’s my husband,” she said, reaching out and taking his arm. “Rutherford, I’m frightened.”

Justin regarded her with concern, realising he was not seeing playacting, she really was afraid. Where her husband was concerned, she likely had good reason. Not that they were actually married now. Justin had been named in the dreadful crimcon. The scandal of his public revelation of their affair had been bad enough, the following duel worse still, but the trial had finally ruined him and sent him to ground. Mr Jenkins was a respected politician and one that other men of the ton could empathise with. Justin had been cast as nothing but a pleasure-seeking rake who’d ruined a man’s innocent wife before she’d given him the requisite heir and a spare. That was about as dishonourable as it got.

A sharp-edged giggle caught his attention, and he looked up, his heart sinking to his boots as he saw Beatrice had emerged from whatever shop she’d been inside, buying him a Christmas gift. Everyone was watching her avidly, and she was staring at him… and at Lavinia. All the colour drained from her lovely face, her expression one of such shock he feared she might faint.

No , he begged whatever deity might listen to a man like him. Please, no.

Beatrice hurried from the jeweller’s shop, feeling very pleased with herself. In her mind she could see Justin wearing the elegant sapphire in his snowy white cravat, knew the way it would highlight the stunning blue of his eyes. She hoped he would like it as much as she did.

There seemed quite a crowd gathered in the place where she was to meet Justin, and Bea wondered at it, wondered why they turned to look upon her with such expressions of delight. She smiled back, tentatively, uncertain whether those looks were entirely friendly, and then their gazes moved as one, towards an intimate little scene at the entrance to The Pantiles.

Justin was there, his head bent, his expression one of concern as a beautiful woman reached and put her hand on his arm. The gesture seemed an intimate one, and Bea’s gaze fell to the woman’s obvious pregnancy, her full belly pronouncing the fact she was at least six months gone.

“It’s his mistress, Lavinia Jenkins,” she heard someone say, their voice too loud, loud enough to ensure she heard it. “She’s carrying his child, of course. That’s why her husband divorced her. Such a scandal! And Rutherford admitted it to the man’s face, can you imagine?”

Bea stood very still. The ground seemed to shift under her feet, tilting her world onto its side. Fool! yelled a voice in her head. Fool, fool, fool! He’s caught you in his web just like he does every woman. It’s all lies, it’s all —

Bea silenced the voice, ignoring the smattering of giggles and snide remarks that reached her ears as Justin looked up, his expression horrified as he saw her watching. Bea saw too, the way his shoulders sagged, the look of defeat that shadowed his eyes, believing she would walk away from him.

For a moment, Bea considered doing just that, except… except she had known about Mrs Jenkins. No, she had not known she was carrying Justin’s child, but… but that had been before she knew him. He had changed since then. She had changed him. He had told her so, and she had believed it. She had fallen in love with him knowing he’d been appalling, knowing he’d been wicked and awful and had brought shame upon himself, and she had still found a man worth loving. The least she could do was give him a chance to explain, and if Mrs Jenkins was carrying his child, it was only right that he made provision for it. No wonder the woman looked so frantic.

So Bea put up her chin, giving the gossiping crowd around her a sweeping look of disdain, before walking towards her husband.

“Justin,” she said, astonished to hear her voice sounded perfectly calm when she was shaking inside. “Would you introduce me to your friend?”

Mrs Jenkins stared at her in obvious astonishment, though her expression was nothing compared to Justin’s, who gazed at her open-mouthed.

“Bea,” he said helplessly. “Bea, I didn’t, we haven’t—”

Reaching out, Bea took his arm and patted it gently. “It’s all right, my lord. You will have the chance to explain everything to me, but I believe this lady—Mrs Jenkins, is it? —seems to be in some distress. Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to speak with her.”

Mrs Jenkins seemed to rally at that. “You are all kindness, Lady Rutherford,” she said, curtseying and having the grace to blush at the situation. “I live just a few steps around the corner, if you would be so good as to come with me.”

“Certainly,” Bea said, nodding. “Come, Justin.”

Justin seemed to shake himself out of whatever trance he was in and nodded, guiding her in Mrs Jenkin’s wake and leaving the excited crowd to make what they would of the extraordinary scene.

“Bea,” Justin said urgently as they walked. “You must let me explain to you.”

Bea looked up, seeing the fear in his eyes. That steadied her, knowing that he was afraid of losing her good opinion. “I will,” she told him, offering him a tentative smile.

Perhaps she was being an unutterable fool, but women were foolish in love, were they not? Why should she be any different?