Page 9 of Memories Made At Midnight (Chronicles of the Westbrook Brides #9)

Brighton Seafront-Promenade

TWO DAYS LATER ~ MIDMORNING

C assius scooped up a handful of pebbles and, contemplating the play of the ocean’s waves along the shoreline, began tossing them one at a time into the foamy waters. A brisk breeze teased the sea, creating small white peaks and ruffling his hair.

Several gulls, carried by the wind’s currents, floated gracefully over the pristine greenish-blue water, sunlight glittering like a million diamonds on the choppy surface.

Frustrated at his inability to still get the lighting exactly right on his storm seascape painting, he’d put aside his brushes and decided a brisk walk and fresh air along the shore might inspire him.

Only bothering to slip on a hunting jacket, he’d grabbed an apple to eat on the way and walked straight from his studio to the beach. He tossed another smooth black pebble into the gently rolling waves, followed by an equally smooth gray stone.

While perfection eluded his seascape, he was quite pleased with how Beatrice Fairfax’s portraits were coming along. Without consent from either her or Lord Highbury, Cassius had elected to secretly create a full-sized portrait as he’d contemplated doing the other day.

He suspected there’d be hell to pay if Highbury found out, and he bloody well did not know what he’d do with the portrait after the art exhibition.

Regardless, it was an injustice to confine Beatrice’s unique beauty to a tiny, three-inch miniature. She deserved to be displayed in all her rare glory, even if it was only at the show in London.

He hadn’t decided if he’d allow Beatrice to see the full-sized portrait.

It was her right, of course.

But Cassius felt certain she would object. He’d glimpsed the swiftly hidden mutiny in her glance the other day. She wasn’t as amendable to having her likeness replicated as she affected. Her reticence was caused by more than the duress and coercion from her uncle too, but Cassius couldn’t identify what her reluctance stemmed from, besides the obvious.

She didn’t want an arranged marriage.

He knew full well he overstepped the bounds with this clandestine project, but as he wasn’t charging a fee to paint the portrait and he was still in need of paintings for the British Institution, he justified his actions.

Cassius Nathan Everett Westbrook, that’s a bloody stretch and you deuced well know it .

Curving his mouth into a self-deprecatory smile, he pitched the rest of the pebbles into the sea.

Aye, no small amount of truth there.

Woof.

Woof. Woof .

Half-turning toward the barking dog, he spied Beatrice Fairfax walking toward him, her ever-faithful canine companions at her side. Her eyes widened the merest bit upon seeing him, and he vowed her cheeks reddened.

Was her flushed face because of their last encounter when she’d stuck her tongue out at him?

She reminded him of his spirited sister, Althelia, but he doubted Beatrice Fairfax had ever dared stick her tongue out at anyone before, not even as a lass. Nay, she seemed the type who did her utmost to obey and remain as invisible as possible.

What a tyrant Highbury must be.

Upon seeing Cassius, Nala fairly danced in excitement, but the lead fastened to the boarhound’s collar kept her at her mistress’s side.

Cassius set off in their direction.

Woof. Woof .

Nala wagged her tail so hard that her back end wiggled and, given the hound’s immense size, that was something to behold.

Not to be outdone, Teddy pranced about.

Yap. Yappity, yap, yap .

“Hush, you two. Lord Cassius sees you.” Beatrice’s musical tone held no real censure, nor did she stutter. “How could he not when your manners are so poor?”

“Good morning, Miss Fairfax.” Cassius pressed a palm to his waist and gave a half bow. “Morning, Nala and Teddy.”

Nala and Teddy plopped their haunches on the sand and raised their paws.

Cassius dutifully shook each furry appendage as he swept his appreciative gaze over Beatrice.

She was a breath of fresh air—a lily in a world of roses, and she stood out all the more because of it.

It was the artist in him that admired her originality and nothing else, he reminded himself.

Hadn’t he sampled romance once?

Madly and wholeheartedly?

Indeed, he had, and love had left a bitter flavor in his mouth and his soul charred and warped.

Cassius wasn’t interested in traipsing down that treacherous path again—particularly with a woman destined for matrimony. Thus, he resolved to remain a bachelor and dedicate his life to his art.

She was his mistress.

He needed no other, nor did he want the complications and vexations that came with loving a flesh and blood woman.

Even one as unique and appealing as Beatrice Fairfax.

Her simple straw bonnet tied with a white ribbon beneath her pert chin matched her unadorned spencer. Simplicity suited her. The skirts of her peach gown billowing behind her, Beatrice laughed.

“Good morning, Lord Cassius.” Happiness lit her pretty hazel eyes and the ocean air brought a becoming bloom to her cheeks. “The dogs seldom take to anyone but me, especially men.”

“I’m flattered they remember me.” Squinting slightly against the bright sun, he asked, “What brings you out on this fine morn?”

He patted each dog on the head, earning him adoring brown-eyed gazes.

A shadow flickered across Beatrice’s face, but she swiftly hid it with another bright smile. “I hadn’t walked the d-dogs in several d-days.”

Her stutter’s reappearance gave her distress away. More likely, she needed a reason to leave Highbury House and her uncle’s authoritarian overreach.

“And I needed to d-drop my other walking b-boots off at the shoe repair for new soles.”

Most nobles discarded shoes before they became worn enough to require repairs.

He eyed her gown and spencer closely.

They were well made, as one would expect from the ward of an earl, but not extravagant or the first stare of fashion as was the Earl of Highbury’s attire. Nor were they new. Upon further inspection, Cassius concluded they were at least two—probably three seasons—old.

Was the earl a penny-pinching miser, to boot? Or did he reserve his parsimony for Beatrice alone? Moreover, was Highbury’s resentment so prevalent that he was punitive in all things regarding his niece?

“I also wished to pick up willow bark, rose hip, and nettle f-from the alchemist.” Beatrice almost seemed to try too hard to explain why she was out and about this morning. “Millborn’s rheumatism is acting up, and I want to brew her a t-tea to ease her discomfort.”

Once again, Beatrice showed concern for a servant, even to the point of fetching the herbs and brewing tea herself. Cassius admired her intrinsic kindness—something that assuredly wasn’t inherent in all the Fairfaxes.

“May I walk with you?” he asked against his better judgment.

Cassius should return to the studio and work. That would be the prudent thing to do. After all, he wasn’t a man of independent wealth or leisure. Miss Fairfax’s circumstances weren’t his business and there was nothing he could do to change them. He certainly couldn’t offer her sanctuary nor impose upon his parents to do so as Lucius had with Clodovea.

Still, what harm was there in enjoying a few more minutes of her company and the lovely day?

Beatrice inclined her head, not coyly or flirtatiously, but simply in the affirmative. “As you wish.”

Not exactly an enthusiastic response, but neither had she refused.

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“I owe you an apology, Lord Cassius.”

Eyebrows raised, he glanced downward, idly noting the top of her head reached his shoulder. “Whatever for?”

“I was unaccountably rude and unladylike when I departed the other day.” Beatrice’s delicate jaw tensed, but she stared straight ahead. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I took no offense, Miss Fairfax.” He grinned and scratched Nala behind her ears. “In fact, it amused me. My sister and grandmother would’ve applauded your daring. Both enjoy cocking a snook at decorum and strictures.”

He almost added, “ I’d like you to meet them someday .” But that was as unlikely and farfetched as portly King George IV climbing atop a horse unassisted or declining a meal.

“They sound delightful.” Presenting her profile, Beatrice glanced out over the ocean.

She possessed a perfectly straight nose, delicate and proportional to her features. Another detail his artist mind absently noted.

Something troubled her this morn.

It’s none of your business. Do not get involved .

Too late for that.

Cassius had become involved the minute he’d accepted the commission to paint her. A decision he was fast coming to regret. Nothing to do with painting her—for that would be an immense pleasure—but everything to do with what the miniature meant for her future.

He didn’t want to contribute to her unhappiness.

It wasn’t too late to back out.

He could return the deposit to Highbury.

But what good would that do?

The earl would simply find another artist.

Besides, Cassius wanted to paint Beatrice. Wanted to capture her essence and spirit on canvas. That dimple. Those Freckles. Her heart-shaped face . He needed to, and that begged the question, “ Why ?”

A sigh slipped past her rose-bud lips.

“I’m not brave or clever or resourceful. If I were, I’d leave my uncle’s home and make my way until I turn five and twenty. He doesn’t want me there any more than I want to be there.” She cut Cassius a swift glance before focusing on the waves once more. “I wonder. Does my staying at Highbury House make me a coward?”

Hands clasped behind his back, Cassius considered her. “No. Not a coward, but wise.”

“ Wise ?” Her eyes, turbulent and troubled, she sent him a doubtful sideways glance. “I’ve never thought so.”

“Prudent too.” How little Beatrice knew of the world. How unkind and unforgiving it was to women without means. “You told me you don’t know anyone who could take you in. How would you manage?”

She was silent for several minutes before murmuring in a defeated tone, “I honestly do not know.”

“Exactly so,” he said kindly.

A pair of laughing lads in navy and white striped skeleton suits, each holding a kite, raced by.

In the hour Cassius had been on the beach, the shore had filled with tourists and locals wishing to enjoy the sunny day.

“I could be a companion.” For a moment, excitement lit Beatrice’s freckled features before they fell. “But I don’t suppose I could bring my dogs and other pets.”

“Probably not.” Cassius didn’t soften the truth. It wouldn’t help her.

The urge to suggest she might find refuge at Hefferwickshire House thrummed against his tongue, but he subdued the improbable conjecture. It was quite possible her husband would deny Beatrice her pets as well.

He’d bite his tongue in half before he spoke those unkind words, however.

Women had so little power in most circumstances.

His parents’ union was truly unusual. Father treated Mother as his equal.

“Lord Cassius?” Disillusionment shadowed Beatrice’s pretty hazel eyes. “I wonder, how would a person find out what the conditions of an inheritance are?” She jutted her chin out. “I wish to know if I retain control of my trust fund if I marry.”

Cassius didn’t blame her for wanting to know that very important detail. Her future happiness might well depend upon it.

Eyes narrowed, he rubbed his chin.

“A solicitor would have a copy of the original bequest and likely the trust documents too.” She gazed up at him with such trust that his heart turned over. “Do you know the solicitor’s name? I could ask my father to make inquiries on your behalf.”

She crinkled her nose in concentration. “I don’t know for certain, but I’ve seen correspondences from Hargreaves & Drummond Solicitors on Fleet Street in London. They might not have anything to do with my trust or inheritance, however.”

“That’s enough information to start.” Cassius gave a satisfied nod. “Who bequeathed the funds to you?”

“My maternal grandmother, Euphemia Fairfax, Countess of Highbury. She died a month after my mother. I don’t remember her at all.” A precocious smile tilted her pretty mouth upward, replacing the lingering sadness in her eyes. “It always infuriated my uncle that Grandmother didn’t disown Mama. He would have inherited my funds had she done so.”

Cassius set his jaw against the uncomplimentary reference to an equine’s rump her uncle reminded him of.

“Your grandmother loved you despite the circumstances of your birth and wanted to provide for you.” How brave and noble of the countess. “Typically, families engage the same solicitor, so there is every chance that the countess retained the same one as your uncle.”

Something fluttered behind Cassius’s heart again. He could do this for her. Help Beatrice in this small way. It did little to alleviate his guilt, but it was a start.

“I hadn’t considered that.” She gave a slow nod. “I have asked to see the trust more than once, but my uncle always refuses. He says women shouldn’t worry about such matters.”

Of course Highbury did, the spawn of Satan.

And why would he do so?

Unless the donkey’s hind end was hiding something.

Now, there was an interesting notion.

Cassius would write to Father this very afternoon.

Beatrice switched the dogs’ leads to her other hand.

“May I ask something else of you, Lord Cassius?”

“Of course, I shall help if I can.”

Warning bells tinkled, but he ignored them. He wasn’t getting involved, just helping an unfortunate woman.

“I would like to learn how to best invest my funds.” A wry smile tilted her mouth upward. “In general, men aren’t keen on advising women regarding such matters, and I have no one else I can ask.”

Cassius liked that she spoke with optimism, as if she would come into her inheritance and control it and her future.

She gave him a wry smile. “Women are capable of understanding such things, you know.”

He chuckled and stepped over a small piece of driftwood. “I do not doubt it in the least. However, that is not my area of expertise. Fletcher and Adolphus are both quite adept at investing, as is my father. I shall write and ask them for suggestions today.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance.” Her grateful smile momentarily blinded him. “Now, I must go. I’ve been gone overly long already.”

“We can discuss both topics in detail on your next visit to the studio.” Cassius was quite looking forward to spending several hours with her.

A pained, almost desperate expression whisked over her features.

“What is it, Beatrice?”

Her name slipped from Cassius’s tongue as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he could not regret it. Any more than he could regret helping her.

“This morning, my uncle informed me that he met a gentleman at The Old Ship Hotel who may be interested in my hand in marriage.”