“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.”
Chapter Thirty
The gathered crowd was a surprise, considering the time of year. Apparently, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity really meant something to the art world.
Sitting in the back of the room, Colin kept from making direct eye contact with anyone. He didn’t wish to see the speculation in anyone’s eyes. They might all be glad for the circumstance that propelled him to sell the last and most remarkable portrait his father had ever created, but that didn’t keep them from judging.
Evidently, he was a man others found it easy to judge. For God’s sake, the woman he loved would rather live as a social outcast than be married to him. She had yet to make the split official, but he knew when he was beat. No matter how devastated he was, he couldn’t afford to sit back and do nothing. His family’s well-being came first, and that meant selling the painting to save the estate. Suing Beatrice’s family would never, ever be an option, so here he was, cloistered in a large, overwarm room filled with men coveting his only tangible link to his father.
He glanced back to the portrait, hoping to soak in his father’s likeness for the last time. He hadn’t bothered to do so the last time they had parted. Who would have known that he would never see the man alive again? So instead he memorized the portrait. At least it was static—he could better remember the painting he had spent weeks staring at than the man he had casually glimpsed his whole life.