‘I don’t give a damn what society thinks,’ Julius said curtly, which was not the truth. In this case he did care; he was furious at being made to look a laughing stock by being unable to keep his wife under control. ‘I know just how to handle my errant wife, believe me.’
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and took a long, harsh breath, trying to bring his temper under control. Beatrice would either bend to his will or he would break her to it, but either way she would learn to behave herself, he decided with cold resolve. For a few minutes he considered going down to Larkhill and confronting her openly with the ruthlessness that she deserved, then discarded the idea. He would make her come to him and he knew exactly how to do it.
Beatrice and George trotted into the stable yard at Larkhill, having spent a wonderful morning riding in the crisp November air over grassy tops of hills, meadows and shallow valleys. George was the first to notice the small elderly man walking about the yard, a younger man in tow, notebook in hand. In dark, sober suits they seemed to be inspecting the buildings. On seeing them they stopped what they were doing and began walking in their direction.
‘I say, Beatrice, it looks as if you have visitors.’
Beatrice held her horse in check and watched the strangers approach. ‘Who are you, sir,’ she said, addressing the older of the two, ‘and what are you doing here?’ She was somewhat bemused by their presence.
‘I am Mr Sinclair of Sinclair and Lawson, estate agents, and this is my clerk, Robert Denham. I believe you must be Lady Chadwick, Marchioness of Maitland.’
Without taking her eyes off him Beatrice nodded. ‘An estate agent? Forgive me, Mr Sinclair, but I have made no arrangements for an estate agent to view Larkhill. I think you must have made a mistake. Perhaps it is some other property you wish to see in the area. If so, I am sure I can direct you to it.’
‘Oh, no, my lady. It is Larkhill I have been instructed to view.’
‘On whose instruction?’
‘Lord Chadwick—your husband, Lady Chadwick.’
Beatrice froze. A premonition of dread gripped her heart. Perfect months of dreaming away the days at Larkhill—golden days, happy days, days filled with joy and contentment, of riding with George and basking in the memories of her childhood—turned into panicked confusion.
Julius was back.
She stared at Mr Sinclair in utter disbelief, her mouth agape. A wave of dizziness rushed over her. She gripped her riding crop and for a moment could not speak at all. She was utterly stunned, crazed confusion charging through her veins.
‘But there has to be some mistake. There must be.’
‘There is no mistake, Lady Chadwick. Your husband has instructed me to do a valuation on the estate with a view to selling. I hope you don’t mind that I have made a start, but with such a large property to inspect it will take up most of the day. I did call at the house and was told you were not at home.’
The yard seemed to spin and Beatrice began to panic. She felt powerless, completely overwhelmed, thwarted, cornered. What a fool she had been. Why hadn’t she foreseen that the blackguard would do something like this? Jolting herself out of her shock, Beatrice dismounted, handing the reins to a groom.
‘Then please do continue, Mr Sinclair,’ she said tightly, knowing better than to countermand her husband’s instructions. ‘Please excuse me.’ Walking quickly towards the house, Beatrice could feel her face harden with anger. She knew why Julius was doing this. It was a means of gaining power over her. But it wasn’t going to work. She glanced at George as he tried to keep up with her. ‘I must leave for London at once. Julius cannot do this. To sell Larkhill—why, it’s unthinkable.’
‘He has every right,’ George said gently. ‘In truth, Beatrice, I’m surprised he hasn’t done so before now.’
‘But he can’t,’ Beatrice cried. ‘He can’t. Otherwise what was the point of it all?’
‘Did it never occur to you that he would do it?’
‘No—no, it didn’t. Oh, George, what a stupid, blind fool I’ve been. But all is not lost. I’ll go to him, speak to him. I have to make him see that he cannot do this.’
‘Of course you must, but—you won’t forget about Astrid, will you, Beatrice?’
She paused, looked at him and, seeing his worried look, her expression softened. ‘How