Belle's Beau (18 page)

"Is there aught wrong, Miss Weatherstone?" inquired Lord Darlington.

"No, no, of course not," said Belle, making a conscious effort to erase the trepidation from her expression. She glanced around, feeling someone's eyes upon her. It was Lord Ashdon, regarding her with a curious gaze. Belle managed to summon up a smile, then averted her gaze and urged her mare faster, hut the accursed animal never changed pace.

The thunder became incessant and the rain fell heavier. The riding party was somewhat subdued now, as each of the riders became cognizant of their own increasing discomfort under the downpour. The sight of the village, and especially the inn, magically revived their spirits.

"There we are! We'll soon be cozy before a roaring fire," said Roland White cheerfully.

Belle cringed every time the frightening rumble rolled over her. Her fingers were clenched tightly on the reins. "Oh, let's not stop! I should like to press on to the manor," she said. It was the thought of being able to shut herself safely away in her bedroom that sustained her.

"Intrepid to the end, Belle!" said Roland White admiringly.

"Some of us are not so brave as yourself, Belle," said Angus Moorehead, gazing at Millicent Carruthers's determined but waning smile.

Belle bit her lip, barely restraining her desire to laugh. If her friends only knew the truth! It was not courage that compelled her to brave the elements, but cowardice.

"I also am for stopping," said Clarice. "I have no wish to be soaked completely through."

Lord Darlington was the only other voice to express the desire to press on. The notion was outvoted by the rest of the party, which elected to stop at the inn until the threat of rain had passed over.

Chapter 17

So it was that the party took shelter at the inn, merrily taking up residence in the deserted public room. The gentlemen had a tankard of ale and went to stand at the inn door to watch the rain course down, then walked back to the table to converse with the ladies. Clarice and Millicent ordered tea, but Belle refused it. She was afraid that the shaking in her hands would cause her to slop the contents of her cup. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to hide their trembling. The atmosphere was cheerful, and those in the party chatted amiably, but it was an effort for Belle to participate.

Then Lord Ashdon was there, bending down slightly to address her. "Belle, you're starting at every roll of thunder. Would you like to find a private parlor where you can lie down for a few moments?"

Belle looked up, startled, to see a measure of concern in his eyes. She felt a rush of grateful tears. It was all she could do not to blurt out that she wanted nothing better than to be able to climb into bed and take refuge beneath the bedclothes. Belle looked up at him with an appeal in her eyes. "Oh, my lord! I would be so grateful," she said in a low, trembling voice. She scarcely noted the familiar way in which he had addressed her.

Lord Ashdon laid his hand momentarily on her shoulder, then straightened and went away. In a few moments, he was back with the inn's mistress. "I have procured a private parlor, Belle. I shall escort you upstairs," he said quietly.

“'Thank you, my lord," said Belle.

“'This way, miss," said the inn's mistress. Her presence caught the attention of some of the others.

"Why, wherever are you going, Belle?" asked Clarice curiously, as she noticed Lord Ashdon escorting her friend away.

"I-I have the headache, Clarice. Lord Ashdon has been kind enough to get a parlor where I may lie down," said Belle.

Lord Ashdon looked down at her fingers, which had clenched tight on his arm. It was as though he was her sole support. Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face. It would not do to draw attention to the way she was leaning her weight upon him.

"You! The headache! I am surprised at you, Belle! You are always so energetic," said Clarice, astonished.

"It is a common ailment. I suffer from the headache myself occasionally," said Roland.

"But yours come on generally after a full night of cards," remarked Angus, his gaze focusing on Belle's white face.

Looking pained, Roland coughed slightly.

Lord Darlington gave a quiet laugh. "Your sins have found you out, White."

"Quite," muttered Mr. White, throwing a glance at Clarice's interested expression.

"As I recall, Belle's sister used to suffer from the same ailment," said Millicent. She smiled compassionately at Belle. "I hope that you will feel better presently, Belle."

"I shall. Thank you, Millicent," said Belle. She involuntarily cringed again as a crack of thunder nearly shook the beams of the public room. "Pray, pray get me away, my lord!" she murmured desperately.

Lord Ashdon swiftly guided her toward the stairs, the inn's mistress preceding them. The woman opened a heavy door and stood aside for them to enter. "Here you are, m'lord. The poor miss will feel more the thing in a trice, I'll wager, once she's warmer."

"Thank you," said Lord Ashdon. He escorted Belle into the front parlor, where a fire had been laid in the hearth and a bottle of wine had been set out on the table.

"I'll be returning to my duties now, m'lord," said the inn's mistress.

Lord Ashdon turned quickly. "Wait!" The woman had already exited, however, and closed the door firmly behind her. He turned back toward Belle.

Belle had gone over at once to the crackling fire and held out her shaking hands toward the warmth. She was shivering as though she was chilled, but that was nonsense, of course. It was warm enough, and she had not gotten altogether soaked.

Lord Ashdon watched her, a frown on his face. He poured out a small measure of wine in one of the glasses. He approached her and held out the glass. "Here, this might help calm you."

Belle shook her head and gave a strained laugh. She was hugging herself with both arms and shivering uncontrollably. "I don't think so, my lord. You see, it is the thunder. I have always been terrified of thunder." Her wide-eyed gaze went to the lead-paned window, where rain was coursing down in streams.

Lord Ashdon set the wineglass aside on the mantel. "Yes, so I gather. The fireworks at Vauxhall?"

Her gaze swinging back to him, Belle managed another laugh. "The same, though not quite so bad."

Lord Ashdon recalled what he had thought of her behavior that night. He had thought her spoiled and rude. Now he realized that she had rejected his overtures not out of shallowness but out of fear. Better than anyone, he knew how strangely fear could make one act. He had seen it too many times on the battlefield and had tasted it himself. He was not proud of his erroneous perception of her.

"Why don't you sit down, Miss Weatherstone? It will be more comfortable," he suggested, indicating the wingback chair behind her.

Belle glanced behind her, then quickly sat down on the very edge of the chair. It was patently obvious that she was too keyed up to be able to relax.

Lord Ashdon was quite cognizant of the inadvisability of his remaining upstairs alone with a young, unmarried lady while the rest of the party was belowstairs. It would not do his or Miss Weatherstone’s reputation a bit of good. He wished that he had been able to stop the inn's mistress from leaving and had been able to leave Miss Weatherstone in her care.

Reluctantly, he stepped forward to take one of her trembling hands into his in a reassuring gesture. "Miss Weatherstone, I must go."

Belle's eyes flew to meet his. Her fingers tightened on his for the briefest moment, then abruptly relaxed. "Of course. I completely understand."

"I shall send one of the other ladies up to you," said Lord Ashdon, in an attempt to comfort her.

"Thank you. You have been very good to me," said Belle in a low voice.

A resounding crack of thunder boomed overhead. With a cry of distress, Belle flew out of the chair and flung herself into Lord Ashdon's arms. She was shaking like a leaf. Her face was pressed tightly against his shoulder, and her hands gripped the front of his coat. "Don't leave me! Pray, don't leave me!"

Lord Ashdon tightened his arms, which he had automatically drawn around her. "No, no, I shan't leave you," he murmured, yet wondering what would come of this inadvertent tête-à-tête. At least part of his duty was clear. He couldn't very well leave her to suffer through her terror alone. He drew her closer, and she gave a muffled sob against his shoulder.

The door to the parlor door opened, a step sounded, and the door shut. Lord Ashdon looked around quickly to meet Angus's somber, challenging gaze. He stiffened, but he did not thrust Belle away out of his embrace. He was formulating what he had to say to excuse the picture that he and Miss Weatherstone must present. "Moorehead, you must give me a moment to explain before you pass judgment."

"Belle is afraid of the thunder, isn't she?" asked Angus, crossing the room.

Lord Ashdon was relieved. Obviously the younger man's perception was such that no explanation was required. "Exactly. I tried to prevent that woman from leaving, but I was unable to do so. I was about to go ask one of the other ladies to sit with Miss Weathers tone."

Belle, hearing their conversation and realizing its import, was hideously embarrassed. She raised her head and released her hold on Lord Ashdon's coat to dash one hand across her wet face. Stepping back from the viscount, she said in a mortified voice, "I-I am so sorry! I am such a baby!"

"It is quite all right, Miss Weatherstone," said Lord Ashdon politely. He dropped his arms from about her and took a backward step himself.

Belle looked from the viscount to Angus. Her hands were clasped lightly together against her skirts. "I suppose that it all reflects very badly on our reputations."

"Precisely." Angus allowed a small grin to play over his face. "I shan't tell tales if you don't, Belle."

Belle gave a shaky laugh. "Very gentlemanly of you, Angus." She noticed a water pitcher and bowl sitting on the sideboard and said, "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall splash my face."

Lord Ashdon stepped across the room to the window. "The worst of the storm seems to be over," he remarked, looking back over his shoulder at her.

Belle smiled at the viscount and went over to the washbowl.

Lord Ashdon gestured to Angus, and when the other man had joined him, said in a low voice, "I would be very appreciative if you would say nothing about what you saw when you came into the parlor a few moments ago, Moorehead."

"As though I would," retorted Angus. "Belle Weatherstone is a good friend of mine. I'd have no part in tarnishing her reputation."

Lord Ashdon smiled and nodded. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Good man."

Angus eyed the viscount speculatively. "I saw the way that you held her, my lord, and the expression on your face. It was not altogether altruism that I perceived. What are your intentions toward Belle, my lord?"

Lord Ashdon's well-marked blond brows rose at the frank question. "Why, you are very bold, are you not, Mr. Moorehead?"

"I repeat, my lord, Miss Weatherstone is a good friend of mine," said Angus.

"As I am also, Mr. Moorehead," said Lord Ashdon quietly.

The two gentlemen exchanged glances, Lord Ashdon meeting his companion's eyes squarely.

"I suppose that I must be satisfied with that," said Angus reluctantly.

"Quite," said Lord Ashdon. "Pray do not look so grim, Mr. Moorehead. It is a pleasure jaunt that we are on, interrupted for only a moment by the storm. But the worst is passing and we shall soon be on our way again."

Lord Ashdon was correct. The thunderstorm swiftly played itself out, and the damp riding party was able to return without further incident to the Moorehead manor.

The weekend patty broke up the next morning, and all the participants returned to London.

Chapter 18

Belle and Mr. and Mrs. Weatherstone were still at breakfast when the butler came in to announce that visitors had arrived. Mr. Weatherstone raised a brow as he looked at his spouse. "This is rather an unseasonable hour for callers, is it not, my dear?"

Before Mrs. Weatherstone could form a reply, a lady and a gentleman came through the opened door, past the waiting butler, into the breakfast room.

Mrs. Weatherstone half rose, an expression of astonishment on her face, her linen napkin slipping to the carpet. A glad expression lit her light blue eyes. "Cassandra! Oh, my dear!"

Laughing, Miss Cassandra Weatherstone rushed across the space between them and enfolded Mrs. Weatherstone in an exuberant embrace. The egret feathers in her bonnet dipped and swayed with the enthusiasm of her greeting. "Oh, Aunt! You have no notion how wonderful it is to see you!" she exclaimed, standing back but still entangled within her aunt's arms. She turned her head to smile at Mr. Weatherstone. "Nor you, dear uncle!"

"We are exceedingly pleased to see you, Cassandra. And Philip, too, of course!" said Mr. Weatherstone, a wide smile on his face, shaking the gentleman's hand.

Mr. Raven flashed a grin. "We have taken you completely unawares. I am sorry for it, sir!"

"Nonsense! Think nothing of it," said Mr. Weatherstone forcefully, clapping the younger man on the arm. "We are delighted that you have arrived earlier than expected."

"Indeed we are," said Mrs. Weatherstone, releasing her niece and advancing toward Mr. Raven with her hand held out in a friendly manner. "Welcome, Philip!"

Cassandra turned to Belle. Her shining eyes and laughing expression told the tale of happiness in her life. "Dearest Belle!" The sisters hugged one another with obvious affection.

"Oh, Cassandra!" exclaimed Belle, happiness lighting her on the inside. "How I have longed for you to come up to London to be with me. Are you staying long?" Then a thought hit her and she drew back. Catching her sister's hands in her own, she said in alarm, "Grandfather—is he all right?"

"Yes, yes! He is as irascible as ever. He penned a letter to you. One moment—I shall give it to you," said Cassandra, pulling her hands free to open her knotted reticule. She took out the sealed and folded sheet. "Here you are! He charged me with many messages to you, Belle, chief among them the command not to forget him."