She could hear the rustle of skirts, knowing that Mrs. Larson was dying to see the contents of the mysterious parcels that kept arriving. Beatrice had hidden most of them in the parlor, behind the drapes and in secret places. She’d wrapped them three times, so that no one could even glimpse the seductive fabric. Thus far, it didn’t seem that Mr. Sinclair was aware of the contents, and for that she would be eternally grateful.
But when her husband abruptly strode into the room, his face had gone crimson. In his hand, he held a ledger containing the accounts Juliette had adjusted in the past few months.
“I should like to discuss these with you, Beatrice.”
She eyed the carpet, wondering whether honesty was truly the best idea in this instance. “Is something the matter?”
He walked over to the doors and closed them, leaving them alone. His posture was erect, and he strode across the room like the soldier he’d once been.
“There are quite a few errors in the accounts. We do not have an additional thousand pounds, as the entries suggest.” Henry set down the books and pursed his mouth in a line. “Such an egregious mistake would ruin us, if we went by these figures.”
“There is another account in London,” Beatrice said. “I assure you, we do have the funds.”
Only because she’d ordered Mr. Gilderness to create the account. It was easier to deposit the profits directly in London, rather than bring the sums back here.
“And just where, may I ask, did these ‘funds’ come from?” The tone in his voice had grown supercilious, as if he didn’t believe her. “An inheritance we knew nothing about?”
“Victoria married a duke, remember?” she said, hoping he would make an assumption and drop the matter.
But then he withdrew a folded piece of paper from his waistcoat. “Would you care to explain what Amelia is talking about when she spoke of Aphrodite’s Unmentionables? Surely our daughters have nothing to do with… selling things.”
His airs began to irritate her.Hehad been the one to leave them three years ago, while he’d traveled with the army. He’d burdened her with accounts she didn’t understand, debts that had to be paid, and left them in the middle of nowhere in Scotland.
Her girls had found a means of supporting them, no matter that it was scandalous. And although she, too, had protested at first, she could not argue with the profits. Because of them, they’d been able to restore the house and furnishings without borrowing from the duke. Not only that, but she’d come to be friends with several of the crofters’ wives, finding them to be amiable women with a true talent for sewing. A talent that was going to save all of them.
“The accounts are correct, and the profits of Aphrodite’s Unmentionables have helped us a great deal,” she said slowly. “No one knows of our family’s involvement.”
“Involvement in what?” he demanded.
Beatrice calmly handed him the newest package, bracing herself for his reaction. When he opened the paper, a sheer rose chemise was within it, trimmed with matching lace and ribbons. A soft embroidered row of rosebuds adorned the edge of the neckline.
It certainly wasn’t the most scandalous garment they’d made, but her husband’s face turned purple. “You arenotselling garments like these. Why, you can see right through them!”
“A thousand pounds, Henry.”
“And whose idea was this, Beatrice? Yours? Or was it the Scottish refugees?” He tossed the chemise aside, adding, “It’s disgraceful. I want you to have nothing more to do with this.”
She picked up the chemise and folded it carefully, tying it back into the brown paper. “You may think what you wish. But the girls and I intend to continue on as we have.”
The silence in the room held all the weight of twenty-four years of marriage. “You will not.”
She raised herself up and looked him in the eyes. “Your wastrel brother left us with a mountain of debts while you went off to seek glory on the battlefield. I had to let most of our servants go, and I sold the sapphire bracelet you gave me.”
He remained motionless, fury brewing in his eyes. But he said nothing.
“I had to fight for our very survival,without you,Henry. Our girls were intelligent and resourceful. Because of them, we are rebuilding our prosperity without relying upon anyone else.”
“It’s improper.”
“Perhaps. But no one knows of our secret. And no one ever will.” Before he could blister her ears again with all the reasons why she should not lift her needle, Beatrice met his gaze. “You left us on our own. And you have no right to criticize what our girls did to survive it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Her wedding day was gray. Juliette stared at the ominous clouds, hoping they would lift soon. After over a week of traveling, they had reached Edinburgh, and Paul had chosen a small parish in the south for a simple wedding. During the journey, he had slept in different rooms at the inns, respecting her wish to be alone. But despite his kindness, Juliette couldn’t suppress her worries over Matthew. It seemed wrong to elope when her son’s future hung in the balance.
Her aunt and uncle had supported the marriage, particularly after Paul had spoken privately with Lord Arnsbury. Something had changed his mind, and she didn’t know what it was. One moment, they were both upset with her decision to wed a physician… and the next, they were behaving as if she’d made the match of the Season. Strangely, Paul had said nothing of what had caused their change of heart. Perhaps they were simply glad she’d decided to marry and knew that he was her best hope. Charlotte had even suggested that they travel to Ballaloch, where her parents and Victoria could enjoy the wedding.
She’d refused, of course, knowing that her family would never support her marriage to a physician.
