Flirting With Fortune

Chapter Twenty-nine

Five days.

It had been five torturous days of misery, where Beatrice had done nothing but second-guess herself. But no matter how she looked at it, it always came back to trust. Once compromised, things could never be the same. Naïveté couldn’t be reclaimed; innocence could never be rebuilt.

And she had yet to tell a soul about her decision. Her parents and younger sisters had returned to the country, and Evie and Benedict were spending some time with his brother before the rest of them returned home next week. With so much of her family out of touch, she wasn’t prepared to make an announcement that drastic in the form of a letter. No, when they all returned to the Hall for Christmas, she would do it then. In the scheme of things, a couple of weeks really didn’t matter. Colin knew the truth, and that’s what counted at that point.

A sound caught her attention, and she put down her useless paintbrush and looked to the door. The footsteps were long-strided and sure—Benedict was here.

Seconds later, he appeared in the doorway. “Do you have a moment?”

It was not the greeting of a man simply visiting family. His features were neutral, his tone bordering on official. Beatrice came around from the unused easel and pulled off her apron. “Yes, of course, Benedict. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Is something the matter?”

“That depends on how you interpret the information I come bearing.”

Well, that certainly didn’t put one at ease. “Come, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the old sofa. The morning sun poured into the studio, warming the space far better than even a fire would. That had been a good thing, a few moments ago. Now, a prickle of concern combined with her heavy winter morning gown, making her sweat.

“I could certainly use some good news, Benedict.”

He smiled, his dimple creasing his left cheek. “I can see that. Unfortunately, I have no idea whether you will like or dislike the information I come bearing, but I decided you should have it nonetheless.”

“My, that does sound serious. All right, then, let’s hear it.” She braced herself, completely uncertain of what he could possibly have to tell her. If it was bad news, she was not opposed to boarding the next ship to France for an extended sojourn. Five or so years ought to do it.

“I received a missive today from one of my contacts who I had requested help from last month. There is to be an announcement in tomorrow’s paper, but select private invitations have already been issued.” Benedict leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Evidently, a single portrait is to go to auction next week. Sir Frederick Tate’s final masterpiece.”

Beatrice’s mouth dropped in utter astonishment. He could have just as well said Rembrandt was in town. “A final masterpiece? Does Colin know?”

“Colin is the one who is to sell it.”

The words were like a blow to the chest. “How could that be? He never . . .” She trailed off, unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation. He’d never said a word. She thought back to their meeting, which he had so eagerly arranged the moment he had returned. Was there a significance to them meeting in his father’s studio?

“From what I gather, it is a previously unknown work, discovered at the estate during his recent visit.” He leveled his chocolate gaze on her, taking in her reaction. “There are bound to be questions about why he would choose to sell the work.”

She nodded slowly. Of course there would be. Everyone would think the estate was in trouble—why else would a man sell his newly deceased father’s last piece? But in that moment, it didn’t matter to her. The whole world could think he was a penniless fortune hunter, for all she cared.

Because in that moment, in a sudden, blinding flash of clarity, she knew better.

He had every right to sue if she backed out of the betrothal. He would win, too. She had no case—and more than that, she was quite certain every detail of the settlement had been attended to in order to be certain it was legally binding.

He could ruin her. He could take his rightful settlement, and he could restore his estate. He could choose some sweet bride—a thought that had Beatrice balling her fists into the fabric of her skirts—and move on with his life.

But he wouldn’t.

Her mind reeled, dashing back and forth between their many conversations about Sir Frederick. About how difficult their relationship had been, about how hard things had been. Yet whenever he looked at one of his father’s paintings, his face lit up. She knew he mourned the fact that not a single one had remained with his family, save the four in his aunt’s collection, which probably belonged to her late husband’s estate, anyway.

Yet here was a previously undiscovered painting, and instead of keeping the piece and exploiting the money from her dowry, he was taking the last thing he had from his father and he was sacrificing it. Giving it up, lost to the highest bidder. Tears welled in her eyes, an outward manifestation of the emotion overwhelming her on the inside. Of all the tangled feelings balled up in her belly, there were but two exploding in her heart.

Incredible love and burning regret.

The surge of love was indescribable, filling her chest to near bursting. Her mind finally accepted what her body and soul had believed since the moment she laid eyes on him in the empty portrait hall. Since they had danced in the gallery, since he’d presented her with the paintbrushes, since his lips had touched hers.

Oh, but the regret was just as strong.

Why had she forced him away? Putting him through hell, making him chase after the impossible only to turn her back on him? She had been so wrong. Horribly, wretchedly, terribly wrong. How could she ever set this right?

Concern darkened Benedict’s eyes and creased his brow. “Are you quite all right, Bea? Should I send for someone? Your maid perhaps?”

“Yes.” He started to rise, and she waved a staying hand. “No. I mean, I’m all right.” Warm, wet tears spilled down her cheeks, and he raised a doubtful eyebrow. “No, I swear to it. I am well. But on second thought, you can find someone for me.”

“Yes?” He was on his feet, ready for action. Poor man—he imparts simple news to his sister-in-law and ends up with a watering pot on his hands.

She drew a deep breath, swiping away the moisture from her face. She was not a crier—she was a doer. And she had something she had to do. “Richard. Please, tell Richard that I need to speak with him at once.”

“I have a most unusual request.”

“Excellent,” Richard said, leaning back in his desk chair with a wink. “It wouldn’t be any fun if it were usual.”

Beatrice paused in her pacing to smile at her brother. “I’m so glad you think so. Because I need to borrow ten thousand pounds.”

Richard, who had been balancing on the two back legs of his chair, wheeled his arms as he very nearly fell backward. He overcompensated, slamming the two front legs onto the floor with an echoing bang.

“Good Lord, don’t tease like that. You almost made me fall flat on my arse.” He resituated himself, sitting more properly in the chair this time.

“Oh, no, not teasing. Although, technically, I don’t wish to borrow money so much as I wish to have a portion of my dowry now.”

“I’m afraid the paint pigment dust must have finally done in your brain, Bea. Shall I order some biscuits and a cup of tea to supply you with some much-needed sugar?”

Leaning on the back of the chair in front of her, she shook her head. “My brain is in perfect working order, though I admit I have been rather stupid these past few weeks.”

“Perhaps you should get to the point, Bea. I’m feeling a bit lost.”

“Oh, good idea.” Stepping around the chair, she sat and crossed her arms, facing her brother and all of his cautious glory. He was completely incongruous with the space, his gorgeous blue jacket sticking out among the dark wood of the furniture and walls. To Beatrice, he looked exactly like the bull’s-eye in the center of a target. “Let’s start in the middle and then work our way backward and forward, shall we?”

Richard’s eyebrow went up. “Convoluted, but I think I can keep up. Carry on.”

“Several weeks ago, I learned I was betrothed to a fortune hunter.” As shocking statements went, it was a darn good one, if she did say so herself.

Richard’s eyes widened, and he leaned back in his chair, one hand rubbing his chin. “I . . . see.”

“Well, I did not—before that moment, that is. I was shocked, furious, humiliated—basically every negative emotion you can imagine. I confronted Colin, at which time he confessed the truth of the allegations, though he did proclaim his love for me.

“As you can imagine, it was not enough. Not nearly enough. After such deception, I couldn’t marry a man like that. He begged for a chance to prove himself, and I agreed to let him try. An impossible task, but I couldn’t deny that I loved him—or at least thought I loved him—and so I was willing to see what he could come up with.”

Richard said nothing, simply watching and listening as if a blond-headed statue.

“So let’s move forward to five days ago. Colin returned, we fought, and the engagement was called off.”

“What?”

Beatrice smiled sweetly. “No interruptions until the end, if you please.”

He nodded, though she was fairly certain she heard his teeth grind.

“Thank you. Now, let us back up. Apparently, while Colin was in Scotland, he somehow discovered an unknown painting from his father. I believe it was his intention to reveal this to me the night he returned, but I, in all my indignant glory, made it clear the trust between us was destroyed and I could never truly have faith in him again.”

Beatrice stood, resuming her pacing, her footfalls silent on the thick rug. “At this point, I fully expected him to sue for the dowry owed to him in the marriage contract. It was worth it to me, however—I’d rather be ruined and dowryless than marry a fortune hunter. So imagine my astonishment when I learned this very day that he had put up the newfound treasure for auction.

“Now, why would he do such a thing? He has won whether I marry him or not. He is a barrister, so I have absolutely no doubt that the marriage contract is ironclad, carefully and meticulously created to the benefit and protection of both parties involved.

“And then it came to me—because he really does love me. Oh the joy! Except for the minor detail of me effectively renouncing his suit, of course. As I sat there, exulting in my grand fortune, it hit me.” She stopped, turning to face her brother with both hands on her hips.

When she didn’t say anything more, just stood there eyeing her brother, he finally raised his hands, palms out. “Yes?”

“The contract was ironclad.”

“Yes, you said that.”

“Which means you had to have known about his finances.”

He exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath for days. “Indeed.”

“Indeed?” she exclaimed, stalking forward to brace herself with both arms on the desk. “I’ve suffered the worst anguish over a deception that you already knew about, and all you have to say is ‘indeed’?”

It took almost all her willpower not to sweep her hand across his paper-covered desk, throwing a proper fit. She would have trusted her brother with her life, and as casually as a cruel-hearted sinner, he had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

He leaned forward, meeting her gaze head-on. “If you had come to me with any of this, any of it, I would have told you everything. But none of us had any idea you were anything more than moody about the fact that your betrothed had gone away. We thought you were missing him, for God’s sake.”

“Why, Richard? Why did you do it in the first place?”

“To protect you from yourself, Bea. Any idiot with half a brain could see how much you were in love with the man. Man to man, I believed he loved you, trusted not only his words but his actions when he signed over the bulk of the dowry to a trust for you.”

Pushing away from the desk, she whirled and resumed her pacing. As much as it was a dagger to the heart to admit it, he was right, for the most part. Still, he was her brother, and he should have been honest. “Right. Well, I made a fine mess of everything by declaring that I could never really trust him. At that point, whatever trust he had in me was well and truly crushed.

“And that,” she said, spreading her arms, “is where the ten thousand pounds comes in.”