Julia Justiss (2 page)

The fencers took their places. In a few moments, with considerably more ease—and decidedly more disdain—than she’d displayed against her instructor, Lady Belle disarmed the challenger and knocked him to the floor.

She looked up from her vanquished opponent, her face
expressionless, her intense blue eyes scanning the crowd. By chance, her gaze crossed Jack’s. Connected. Held.

The force of it sent a vibration through Jack, raised the tiny hairs at the back of his neck. For a long moment they simply stared at each other, until abruptly, Lady Belle jerked her gaze away.

Ignoring the babble of masculine voices calling out to her, she stepped around her humbled opponent, bowed to the fencing master and strode from the room.

S
UPPRESSING A SHIVER
, Belle forced herself to walk with calm, even strides to the door. A bold fellow, that tall, thin, dark-haired officer whose scarlet regimentals had drawn her eye—and whose gaze had commanded hers, as if by right. She didn’t recognize him, which meant he must be newly come to London.

Probably another bored hanger-on, amusing himself by watching the latest show. Botheration, how she wished those useless fribbles would leave her in peace!

She’d already refused Lord Rupert half a dozen times and turned down a score of other offers in extremely blunt terms. How could she make it any plainer that she had no intention of accepting carte blanche from any of them?

Not now that she was free.
Free!
Even after a month, the realization still sent her spirits soaring. After six and a half long, painful, humiliating years, the shreds of what remained of her life now belonged solely to her. Even if she had no clear idea as of yet what she meant to do with it. Except, she thought, smiling with grim satisfaction as she recalled her challenger facedown on the
floor, train herself so that she was never again at any man’s mercy.

Her companion, Mae, a plump older woman with faded blond ringlets, cheerful blue eyes and a gown whose scandalously low cut clearly proclaimed her former occupation, waited in the anteroom to help her change. “Good lesson?” Mae asked.

“Yes,” Belle answered as she stripped off her men’s garments. “Armaldi made some suggestions about adjusting my stance that improved my thrust nicely.”

“Must have made quick work of your challenger,” Mae replied, handing Belle her gown. “Who was it this time?”

“Wexley. The man fences like a turnip. Wooden wrists, poor form, no grasp of strategy. Fortunately for the security of England, he was never in the army.”

That comment called up the image of the dark-eyed captain and something stirred in her chest. No, she told herself, pushing the vision away, she was not curious.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Mae said, pulling a sealed note from her reticule. “A boy brought this for you.”

While Mae fastened the buttons down her back, Belle scanned the missive. “It’s from Smithers, my solicitor, requesting that I call at my earliest convenience.” She frowned, wondering what had prompted the unusual summons. “I suppose I can stop on my way home.”

“Whatever do you think he wants, Belle?” Mae asked a bit anxiously. “He handles your finances, don’t he? I hope…I hope there’s nothing amiss.”

“You needn’t worry. I reviewed the accounts with him just last month, and the investments are performing well.”

“You’re so clever, I expect you’re right. Funds and investments!” The older lady shook her head. “In my day, we dealt in jewels, gowns and carriages. Are you sure it wouldn’t be safer to accept another offer? So many you’ve had this month! And some of the gentlemen quite charming.”

Having already responded to this question on numerous occasions, Belle had to struggle to keep a sharp edge out of her voice. “For years I’ve saved every penny and had Smithers place the funds in the most reliable of investments. We shall not run out of blunt, and the house and its furnishings are deeded to me outright. I don’t need another protector.”

“I know you weren’t too happy with Lord B, but surely you could find one more to your liking. You can’t really mean to live without a man.”

Her patience wearing thin, Belle snapped back, “Why do you continue urging me to take a lover? You should know how unreliable are their vows of devotion!”

“Oh, in my youth, ’twas me what was fickle, leaving one for another when I had a better offer. But toward the last…” Mae sighed. “You mustn’t fault Darlington for his lack of constancy. I was getting older, and ’tis the way of the world for men to prefer a younger woman.”

A world I need no longer inhabit, Belle thought defiantly. But contrite now over her loss of temper, she said, “Pray forgive me for chiding you! ’Twas truly Darlington’s loss, for he could have found no one to replace you with so sweet a temper or generous a heart.”

Mae smiled at Belle, her eyes misty. “You’re a dear
child, and I don’t know what I should have done, had you not taken me in when he cast me off. I wasn’t as wise as you over the years, and after I’d sold all my jewels…”

“You were the only woman who treated me kindly, that first year Bellingham brought me to town, when I thought I should die of loneliness.” And shame, she added silently. “And have ever been a true friend. Besides, who advised me to make the best of my lot and accept all the gifts Bellingham showered on me, stashing them away for later use? We owe our wealth today to that wise counsel.”

“Well, ’tis good of you to say so,” Mae replied, “but I wouldn’t know a fund from a trust, and that’s a fact.”

“Enough of that! Would you like to stop for ices while I visit the lawyer? I should count it a great favor if you would take the carriage at the front and go to Gunter’s while I slip out the back. As soon as I saw the crush in the ballroom today I asked Meadows to summon me a hackney. I’d rather not have a crowd following me.”

A great lover of sweets, Mae brightened at the suggestion. “Are you sure you’d not like to meet me there? We could stop by the lawyer’s after.”

“No, for wherever my carriage goes now, the most annoying throng gathers. Besides, looking as fetching as you do in that new gown, I image some admirers will stop to flirt with you. Darlington will burn with remorse.”

“Red always did become me, and if I do say so, I’ve kept my figure. The most magnificent breasts in London, they used to say, and you’re still quite handsome, aren’t you, my pretties?” she crooned, patting her ample bosom, the powdered top of which bulged above the low bodice of her
scarlet dress. “Seeing how Frederic threw me over for that chit out of the opera—the most grasping, coldhearted little strumpet you could imagine—I like to believe he did come to regret his choice.”

Belle gave her companion a hug. “I’m certain of it! Now, off with you and create my diversion.”

“You, my dear, have taken on the appearance of a—a veritable
Quaker!
” Mae said frankly, looking Belle up and down as she put on her pelisse. “Not that you ain’t still a beauty, whatever you wear. But with your looks, to garb yourself in a plain gray gown with nary a ribbon, cut so high there’s not a bit of flesh showing!” Mae shook her head, obviously finding Belle’s behavior incomprehensible.

Belle shrugged. “I can dress to please myself now.”

Mae looked at Belle thoughtfully. “Will you please yourself? I don’t mean to vex you by saying it again, and you may call me a foolish old romantic, which I’m sure I am, but I cannot see how you mean to exist without a man in your life, and you so young! It’s…it’s not
natural.
”

Belle walked to the door, her smile brittle. “You’ve not been listening to my detractors. Have you not heard that I’m the most unnatural woman in England?”

A
S SOON AS
Mae left, Belle headed for the servants’ stairs. Enjoying her role, Mae would bandy comments with the gentlemen waiting to accost Belle when she departed, basking in their compliments—and doubtless receiving a coin or two discreetly slipped into the notes she would promise to deliver to her companion. By the time the loitering men realized she was not joining Mae, Belle would be well away.

After tying in place the scarf that masked her gold hair, Belle donned her charcoal traveling cloak and paced to the back gate, where the hackney she’d requested waited. While the vehicle traversed the distance from Soho into the City, she wondered again what business could be so pressing her solicitor believed it required her immediate attention.

Had he encountered some difficulties in changing the terms of Kitty’s trust? Hoping any problems could be speedily resolved, she stepped down at her destination.

As she walked to the door, two clerks in conversation and a tradesman with his cart passed by, ignoring her. She paused, drinking in the wonder of it. Though, toward the end, she’d insisted on wearing gowns even less
revealing than those favored by ladies of the ton, in the bright colors Bellingham preferred and that garish blue coach—the first thing she’d replaced after his death, with a new equipage all in black—she could go nowhere unremarked. It was still the sweetest of pleasures to walk down a street outside of Mayfair and attract no more notice than any other Londoner going about her business.

Just what business that was, she would soon discover.

Within a few moments of her arrival, Mr. Smithers’s clerk ushered her into his office, where the solicitor thanked her for answering his summons so promptly.

“My companion fears I must have suffered some grievous financial reverses,” Belle said as she took the seat he indicated. “I hope you are not about to inform me that my investments have taken a sudden fall on the ’Change.”

Returning her smile, the lawyer shook his head. “Quite the contrary, actually. I have the pleasure of informing you that you have been named chief beneficiary in the will of the late Richard Maxwell, Viscount Bellingham. The estate itself, of course, is entailed upon a cousin. However, except for small bequests to his wife and daughter, Lord Bellingham left the whole of his cash assets, the value of which is still being calculated, as well as all his unentailed property—a Suffolk manor, a Lincolnshire hunting box and a London town house—to you.”

Belle stared at the solicitor, unable to credit what she’d just heard. “There must be some mistake!”

“’Tis irregular, given that you had no link by blood or law to the deceased, but nonetheless quite legal. And no
mistake. His late lordship’s solicitor spent most of yesterday afternoon with me, expounding on the details.”

“But…why?” Belle asked, more than half to herself. “He knew I had sufficient means to support myself, should anything happen to him.” Her brow knit in perplexity, her shock turned to suspicion as she tried to puzzle out Bellingham’s reasoning. “How much did he leave his wife and daughter?”

“Two hundred pounds each. Whereas his overall cash assets are estimated to be about twenty thousand pounds.”

“Twenty thousand—” Belle echoed. “Why, ’tis infamous!” As an explanation for Bellingham’s extraordinary bequest flashed into her head, irritation gave way to sheer, mindless rage. Jumping to her feet, she began to pace the office, too furious to speak.

“Apparently,” Smithers said blandly, “Lord Bellingham wished to guarantee that you had more than ‘sufficient’ support. You are now an extremely wealthy woman.”

“Who,” Belle said, pausing long enough to glare back at the solicitor, “is therefore much less likely to take a new protector to supplant him.”

As Mr. Smithers prudently refrained from comment, a vivid memory of an angry scene recurred to her. Belle, incensed and guilty at the thought of a sixteen-year-old daughter abandoned by her father, threatening to leave Bellingham if he did not honor his responsibilities to his kin by returning to reside, at least outwardly, with his family. Bellingham countering that if Belle ran away, he would neglect his relations entirely to search for her. They’d reached a stalemate of sorts, Bellingham refusing to give
up living with her but agreeing to visit his wife and daughter more regularly.

This, then, was her late protector’s attempt at checkmate—a permanent, legal spurning of his despised wife in preference to her, done in such a manner that she could neither dispute with him over it nor refuse it.

Once again he was trying to take over her life, mark her as his own, and force her to dance by the strings he controlled—even from beyond the grave.

She could almost hear the vicious whispers circulating through the ton when the terms of his will became known.

The sense of lightness that had buoyed her after Bellingham’s death melted away and her chest began to tighten with the same crushing weight of enforced obligation that she’d endured for almost seven years.

Even as she felt she must scream in vexation, an inspiration occurred. Perhaps there
was
a way to evade checkmate. She whirled to face Mr. Smithers.

“The bequest is legally mine—funds, property, all?”

“Yes. In an effort to protect the widow and daughter, Bellingham’s solicitors spent several weeks trying to find a way around the will’s terms, to no avail. The legacy is definitely legal, and indisputably yours.”

“And ’tis mine to handle as I choose?”

“Yes, though I would recommend, with such a vast sum and numerous properties, that you retain an agent to advise you on the management of it.” Smithers lifted a brow, curiosity in his expression. “Have you something in mind?”

“My own accounts are in good order, as we discussed
last month? You did not then foresee any difficulties in my being able to live modestly for the rest of my days.”

The solicitor inclined his head. “You would have been able to live comfortably, but in nothing like the style to which this inheritance will enable you.”

“Kitty’s trust is fully funded until she marries?”

“Your finances remain as I detailed them last month.”

“Very well. Once the estate has been settled and the total assets determined, I wish you to set up a new trust.”

The solicitor nodded. “A wise choice. You may choose to leave some of the cash on deposit—”

“A trust,” she interrupted, “for the benefit of Lady Bellingham and Miss Bellingham, with a portion set aside for Miss Bellingham’s dowry. Consult his lordship’s solicitors on the precise terms—they will doubtless be more cognizant of the family’s needs. And I should like to offer all the properties for sale to the rightful heirs—at the price of one shilling each.”

The solicitor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure, Lady Belle? ’Tis a very great deal of wealth.”

“What was his should go to his family. I don’t want it, nor is it right that I receive it.” With a touch of defiance she added, “He shall brand me no more.”

The solicitor gave her a smile of genuine warmth. “I shall set about arranging it. His lordship’s solicitors are going to be shocked—and extremely relieved!”

“Make sure you charge them a hefty fee!” Belle recommended with a grin, filled with the euphoria of a great burden lifted. “Send for me when the necessary papers are prepared. And now, if there is nothing else?”

Mr. Smithers’s smile broadened. “I should think inheriting—and giving away—a fortune should be business enough for one day.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” Satisfied to have evaded Bellingham’s last ploy, Belle walked to the door, then paused on the threshold. “I want to thank you for your expertise and counsel over the years, Mr. Smithers. Few men would have agreed to take on so…disreputable a client. I am very grateful you did.”

Mr. Smithers bowed. “’Tis I who have learned from you, lady—that appearances are not always what they seem, and that there is honor to be found in persons of every degree. What you are doing is truly noble.”

“What I am doing is merely proper,” Belle countered. “Which reminds me…If the family has not yet been apprised of the terms of the will, I should prefer that the particulars remain between you and the Bellingham solicitors. Let his family believe Lord Bellingham set up the trust. As he should have done,” she added acerbically.

“Given the, ah, sensitive nature of the bequest, I’m sure his lordship’s solicitors will be happy to honor that request.” Smithers bowed to her. “Good day, Lady Belle.”

“Mr. Smithers.” With a curtsy, feeling once more in control of her fate, Belle swept from the room.

A
FTER DAWDLING
, at Aubrey’s insistence, at the fencing master’s house with the expectation of catching another glimpse of Aubrey’s goddess, Jack was as famished as Aubrey was disappointed when they at last arrived at White’s. Once Lady Belle’s carriage—containing the lady’s
companion but not the lady herself—finally departed, there was such a mob of gentlemen seeking vehicles that Jack had to use his most commanding cavalry officer’s voice to snag a hackney.

Having commandeered one of the first vehicles to appear, the friends found the club relatively deserted. After ordering breakfast, they took their seats.

“Well,” Aubrey demanded, smiling broadly, “are you not pleased I insisted you accompany me?”

A vision of vivid blue eyes and a restless, almost feral gaze invaded Jack’s mind, sent a reminiscent shiver over his skin.

He shrugged it off. “Not that I can or will do anything about it but…yes, I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose,’” Aubrey echoed. “You only
suppose
you are happy to have discovered the most unusual and exquisite woman in London—and quite possibly the world! Damn, Jack, what an odd fellow the war’s turned you into!”

“Sorry to be so disappointingly dull,” Jack replied with a grin. “I grant you, Lady Belle is everything you claim. Were I disposed to indulge myself in carnal delights—and had I a bankload of guineas to bolster that aim—I might be tempted to enter the lists. But as I told you earlier, I’m of a mind to settle down.”

Aubrey made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes.

Chuckling, Jack continued, “Even if I weren’t, there’s Dorrie’s Season to be considered. She’d never forgive me for embarrassing her during the most important time of her life by dangling after a notorious lightskirt.”

“There is that,” Aubrey agreed, somewhat mollified. “You could be discreet, though. Men do it all the time—
pay court to the ladies at Almack’s, then stop by the Green Room to meet their favorite actress. Besides, what about calling on her for the benefit of your best, most loyal friend? You can’t convince me you are indifferent, despite that hen-hearted drivel about getting leg-shackled!”

Jack took a sip of his ale. He really did mean to look for a wife. And he really couldn’t afford to contend for the favors of the intriguing Lady Belle. Still…the powerful attraction of that compelling blue gaze called out to him, in defiance of logic, prudence and good sense.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to call,” he conceded.

Aubrey slammed his mug down and gave a crow of triumph. “I knew no man could resist her!”

“Lady Belle?” asked one of a group of gentlemen just entering the room. “Indeed not! You saw her fence, didn’t you? Magnificent! Totally flummoxed poor Wexley.”

“Jack, you’ll remember Montclare,” Aubrey said as they rose to greet the newcomers. “Farnsworth, Higgins—and this young cub is Ansley—too far behind us at Oxford for you to know him.”

After an exchange of greetings, Aubrey said, “Come, gentlemen, help me toast my good friend’s safe return.”

“With pleasure,” Montclare replied. “Far too many of our Oxford mates didn’t come back after Waterloo.”

After drinks all around, Aubrey turned back to Montclare. “Will Wexley make an appearance, or did he slink home after that disgraceful performance?”

“Oh, I expect he’ll turn up to drown his sorrows. Hamhanded clothhead actually thought he had a chance of winning a kiss,” Montclare said with a wry grimace.

“Taking on Lady Belle, he’s lucky he didn’t end up skewered, trussed and ready to roast like a Christmas goose,” Farnsworth observed.

“You’d not seen her before, had you, Carrington?” Higgins asked.

“No, he couldn’t have,” Montclare answered for him. “Went out to the army in—’08, wasn’t it, Jack?”

“Yes. I took leave after Corunna and then between Toulouse and Waterloo, but spent my limited time at Carrington Grove, not in London,” Jack confirmed.

“As I recall, it wasn’t until 1811 that Bellingham brought Belle to town,” Farnsworth said.

“Spring of 1811,” Aubrey said reverently. “The Cyprian’s Ball. Dressed all in virginal white, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever beheld. Still is.”

“Beautiful, yes, but hardly ‘virginal,’” Farnsworth said with a laugh. “She’s got an avaricious heart as hard as the guineas that golden hair rivals in brightness.”

“You only say that because she’s just turned down your offer,” Ansley responded hotly. “She’s as kind as she is lovely. Knowing I could never afford to possess her, when I begged her to allow us to challenge her for the chance of winning a kiss, she graciously granted my request.”