The Courtesan. Julia Justiss
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but in nothing like the style to which this inheritance will enable you.”
“Kitty’s trust is fully funded until she marries?”
“Your finances remain as I detailed them last month.”
“Very well. Once the estate has been settled and the total assets determined, I wish you to set up a new trust.”
The solicitor nodded. “A wise choice. You may choose to leave some of the cash on deposit—”
“A trust,” she interrupted, “for the benefit of Lady Bellingham and Miss Bellingham, with a portion set aside for Miss Bellingham’s dowry. Consult his lordship’s solicitors on the precise terms—they will doubtless be more cognizant of the family’s needs. And I should like to offer all the properties for sale to the rightful heirs—at the price of one shilling each.”
The solicitor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure, Lady Belle? ’Tis a very great deal of wealth.”
“What was his should go to his family. I don’t want it, nor is it right that I receive it.” With a touch of defiance she added, “He shall brand me no more.”
The solicitor gave her a smile of genuine warmth. “I shall set about arranging it. His lordship’s solicitors are going to be shocked—and extremely relieved!”
“Make sure you charge them a hefty fee!” Belle recommended with a grin, filled with the euphoria of a great burden lifted. “Send for me when the necessary papers are prepared. And now, if there is nothing else?”
Mr. Smithers’s smile broadened. “I should think inheriting—and giving away—a fortune should be business enough for one day.”
“I shall take my leave, then.” Satisfied to have evaded Bellingham’s last ploy, Belle walked to the door, then paused on the threshold. “I want to thank you for your expertise and counsel over the years, Mr. Smithers. Few men would have agreed to take on so…disreputable a client. I am very grateful you did.”
Mr. Smithers bowed. “’Tis I who have learned from you, lady—that appearances are not always what they seem, and that there is honor to be found in persons of every degree. What you are doing is truly noble.”
“What I am doing is merely proper,” Belle countered. “Which reminds me…If the family has not yet been apprised of the terms of the will, I should prefer that the particulars remain between you and the Bellingham solicitors. Let his family believe Lord Bellingham set up the trust. As he should have done,” she added acerbically.
“Given the, ah, sensitive nature of the bequest, I’m sure his lordship’s solicitors will be happy to honor that request.” Smithers bowed to her. “Good day, Lady Belle.”
“Mr. Smithers.” With a curtsy, feeling once more in control of her fate, Belle swept from the room.
AFTER DAWDLING, at Aubrey’s insistence, at the fencing master’s house with the expectation of catching another glimpse of Aubrey’s goddess, Jack was as famished as Aubrey was disappointed when they at last arrived at White’s. Once Lady Belle’s carriage—containing the lady’s companion but not the lady herself—finally departed, there was such a mob of gentlemen seeking vehicles that Jack had to use his most commanding cavalry officer’s voice to snag a hackney.
Having commandeered one of the first vehicles to appear, the friends found the club relatively deserted. After ordering breakfast, they took their seats.
“Well,” Aubrey demanded, smiling broadly, “are you not pleased I insisted you accompany me?”
A vision of vivid blue eyes and a restless, almost feral gaze invaded Jack’s mind, sent a reminiscent shiver over his skin.
He shrugged it off. “Not that I can or will do anything about it but…yes, I suppose I am.”
“You ‘suppose,’” Aubrey echoed. “You only suppose you are happy to have discovered the most unusual and exquisite woman in London—and quite possibly the world! Damn, Jack, what an odd fellow the war’s turned you into!”
“Sorry to be so disappointingly dull,” Jack replied with a grin. “I grant you, Lady Belle is everything you claim. Were I disposed to indulge myself in carnal delights—and had I a bankload of guineas to bolster that aim—I might be tempted to enter the lists. But as I told you earlier, I’m of a mind to settle down.”
Aubrey made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes.
Chuckling, Jack continued, “Even if I weren’t, there’s Dorrie’s Season to be considered. She’d never forgive me for embarrassing her during the most important time of her life by dangling after a notorious lightskirt.”
“There is that,” Aubrey agreed, somewhat mollified. “You could be discreet, though. Men do it all the time—pay court to the ladies at Almack’s, then stop by the Green Room to meet their favorite actress. Besides, what about calling on her for the benefit of your best, most loyal friend? You can’t convince me you are indifferent, despite that hen-hearted drivel about getting leg-shackled!”
Jack took a sip of his ale. He really did mean to look for a wife. And he really couldn’t afford to contend for the favors of the intriguing Lady Belle. Still…the powerful attraction of that compelling blue gaze called out to him, in defiance of logic, prudence and good sense.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to call,” he conceded.
Aubrey slammed his mug down and gave a crow of triumph. “I knew no man could resist her!”
“Lady Belle?” asked one of a group of gentlemen just entering the room. “Indeed not! You saw her fence, didn’t you? Magnificent! Totally flummoxed poor Wexley.”
“Jack, you’ll remember Montclare,” Aubrey said as they rose to greet the newcomers. “Farnsworth, Higgins—and this young cub is Ansley—too far behind us at Oxford for you to know him.”
After an exchange of greetings, Aubrey said, “Come, gentlemen, help me toast my good friend’s safe return.”
“With pleasure,” Montclare replied. “Far too many of our Oxford mates didn’t come back after Waterloo.”
After drinks all around, Aubrey turned back to Montclare. “Will Wexley make an appearance, or did he slink home after that disgraceful performance?”
“Oh, I expect he’ll turn up to drown his sorrows. Hamhanded clothhead actually thought he had a chance of winning a kiss,” Montclare said with a wry grimace.
“Taking on Lady Belle, he’s lucky he didn’t end up skewered, trussed and ready to roast like a Christmas goose,” Farnsworth observed.
“You’d not seen her before, had you, Carrington?” Higgins asked.
“No, he couldn’t have,” Montclare answered for him. “Went out to the army in—’08, wasn’t it, Jack?”
“Yes. I took leave after Corunna and then between Toulouse and Waterloo, but spent my limited time at Carrington Grove, not in London,” Jack confirmed.
“As I recall, it wasn’t until 1811 that Bellingham brought Belle to town,” Farnsworth said.
“Spring of 1811,” Aubrey said reverently. “The Cyprian’s Ball. Dressed all in virginal white, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever beheld. Still is.”
“Beautiful, yes, but hardly ‘virginal,’” Farnsworth said with a laugh. “She’s got an avaricious heart as hard as the guineas that golden hair rivals in brightness.”
“You only say that because she’s just turned down your offer,” Ansley responded hotly. “She’s as kind as she is lovely. Knowing I could never afford to possess her, when I begged her to allow us to challenge her for the chance of winning a kiss, she graciously granted my request.”
“Probably