Lady Belling's Secret (8 page)

“No need to be a churl, Christian,” Thomas stated, but he knew he’d been the one acting like a churl.

“Right then, what are you about for the rest of tonight?” Dalton inquired as the butler went to fetch him his hat and gloves.

“It’s still relatively early,” Christian noted. The clock announced the hour with two loud chimes.

“Nothing else for me. If you’re both leaving, I may as well, too. As you two have so succinctly stated, I am not the best company today.” Thomas ran his fingers through his hair.

Christian took a final drag on his cheroot before stubbing it out in a crystal ashtray. “That’s right. You were up early this morning, weren’t you? You didn’t sleep well last night? Ladies keeping you up?”

“Just the one,” Thomas muttered. He leaned both elbows on the table and rubbed his face hard.

“Then maybe a night in, alone, is just the ticket.” Dalton’s suggestion made Thomas laugh a bit humorlessly.

“Or maybe a warm and willing woman is what you need.” Christian offered up his favorite solution.

If he was busy in bed with someone else, he couldn’t possibly think about Francesca. Well, it certainly sounded good in theory, but try as he might, Thomas couldn’t bring himself to drum up enough energy to go look for anyone else. Francesca was the one he wanted.

“Maybe,” he said just to appease his friend, hoping that he would drop the subject.

“That’s the Thomas I know and love. A real lady killer.” Christian clapped him on the back.

“Well, best of luck to you in your endeavors.” Dalton chuckled as pulled on his gloves and turned from the table.

Once Dalton was gone, Christian asked, “You like him? I think he’ll be a more-than-tolerable brother-in-law. Francesca likes him, and after all, she has to live with the man, I don’t. But I think he’d be good to her.”

“I think he cheats at cards.”

“He does not and you know it. You really are an ass,” Christian said, laughing when he chucked him on the shoulder.

“As you said, it’s still early. Where are you off to next? If I’m going out after all, I’d like to suffer as little tedium as possible.” And really, sleeping alone in his bed that still smelled of Francesca held no appeal. He’d just as soon go out.

“I’m going to Holloway’s. I am sure that you will be able to satisfy your cravings for company there. About now, all of the exquisite married ladies of the
beau monde
will be looking for a bed partner.” His eyebrows rose up and down in a comically suggestive manner.

It’s better than sleeping alone.
“I should only be so lucky.” Thomas sighed.

Chapter Seven

Francesca woke up anxious.

The nerve-wracking dinner from the night before had left her with a splitting headache. She’d gone to bed early, not even bothering to come up with a plausible excuse. She’d simply wandered up the stairs after dinner. Nevertheless, she’d lain awake most of the night contemplating one line that Thomas had said to her last evening in the parlor. One simple, haunting phrase that reverberated in her brain:
What if you’re carrying my child?

She had been so busy worrying about the scandal of her engagement ending in disgrace that it never even occurred to her that she could be facing an even bigger disaster. Every time she tried to think it all through, her head would pound and she’d find it difficult to breathe. There was just so much that could go horribly, horribly wrong. Everywhere she looked was a new, more gut-wrenching catastrophe. What if Thomas thought telling everyone what happened would get him what he wanted? What did he really want anyway? His insistence was bemusing to say the least. In what kind of just universe would he ignore her for sixteen years and then out of the blue decide he must marry her? The unfairness of it all was crushing.

Being pregnant and jilting a husband at the altar would be an even bigger scandal than her uncle’s had ever been, and that particular incident had long been held up as an example of how foolish decisions ruined a person’s life like her family’s very own Aesop Fable. The best-possible scenario had her marrying Lord Dalton and managing to maintain some semblance of a stilted friendship with Thomas.

These unsettling thoughts consumed her as she sat in the morning room with Anna and her mother and did needlework and tried to participate in small talk. It was torture, but she forced herself to sit and concentrate on the tiny stitches.
Do something normal, Francesca. Everything will be fine if you do something normal.

An hour into the farce, Francesca nearly jumped out of her skin when the great knocker sounded at the front door and then again when the butler, Jones, announced Lord Dalton into the room.

“Good day, ladies.” Dalton graced the women with a stately bow. “I am hoping you will permit me with a walk in the park this fine day, Lady Belling.”

Anna leapt at the opportunity to answer for her, “Oh I’m sure that would be grand, don’t you think, Frankie?”

Frankie looked at her friend, her eyebrows almost in her hair. “Yes, I do think it’s a fine day for a stroll. Please excuse me, Lord Dalton, I’ll just fetch my hat and parasol. Anna, why don’t you help me?”

On the fifth stair, Frankie stopped and stared at her friend open-mouthed.

“What?” Anna asked, arms wide at her sides, palms up in question.

“What was that?” Francesca demanded.

“You’re making me nervous,” Anna told her. “You’re walking around this house like you expect ghosts to jump out of the closet. I could tell you were going to try to come up with some reason why you shouldn’t go with him, but he’s your fiancé, and any other lady would take the opportunity to spend some time alone with a handsome man such as Lord Dalton.”

“Oh.” Frankie didn’t know what to say to that. It was perfectly reasonable and well thought out—a far sight better than she was able to do on her own.

“Act like everything is perfectly ordinary,” Anna urged in a whisper. “We can’t fix this if you make it worse.”

“All right,” Francesca said, stunned. She placed her hand on the newel post and headed up the stairs. She turned around at the landing and announced in a clear voice like a normal lady would, although, honestly, she was seriously losing her grasp on what a normal lady would do in any given situation, “I’ll be right down.”

The park was very crowded with both pedestrian traffic and carriages. Governesses with their charges and older children in groups played tag and flew kites in the beautiful weather.

With her hand nestled in the crook of Dalton’s arm, Francesca could easily pretend that all was right with the world. If she listened very hard to what her fiancé was saying, it was quite easy to forget that the love of her life was plotting their ruin.

“Did you just see that dragon disappear over that hill?”

“Umhmm.” She nodded, and then snapped up her head. “What?”

“I was wondering if you were here.” Dalton chuckled. “Where have you been?”

“Here. With you.”

“In body yes, but your mind is far away.”

“Oh. And I thought I was paying very close attention.” Francesca adjusted her parasol so that she could look into Dalton’s eyes. “I apologize. You have my full attention now. What did I miss?”

“Nothing of any consequence, I assure you. I was merely going over all the changes that need to be made at Chesterfield.” Dalton patted her hand.

“But that is very interesting,” Francesca protested. “Please continue.”

“Darling, there is no need to feign interest. You’ve already won me. The contracts have been signed. I won’t call off the wedding simply because you don’t hang on my every word.”

Francesca stopped walking and suppressed a tidal wave of panic. “Who said we were calling off the engagement?”

Dalton held up a staying hand and chuckled. “No one. I was teasing. What a fine scandal that would be.”

Francesca audibly exhaled. “Oh.” She retook his arm and gently urged him to keep walking before people could stare. She studiously ignored Dalton’s puzzled glances.

She used all her social skills to bring the conversation back around to less-complicated matters: literature, mutual friends, an art exhibit they had both seen at the National Gallery, and a mutual love for frozen ices. Dalton settled her on a shady bench and took a seat next to her. They sat for some time enjoying the lazy afternoon and watched a group of boys play with several large dogs in the field before them while they chatted.

Suddenly, a yell rose up from the boys, and Francesca and Dalton lifted their heads to see a rather large black animal careening in their direction, its leash trailing behind, flapping in the wind. Two of the boys hollered indistinct commands and gave chase, while one smaller boy stayed behind trying futilely to control yet another enormous black dog.

Frankie yelped at the commotion and rose from the bench. Squinting, she tried to focus as the racing dog closed in on her and her bench from only fifteen yards away. As the speeding animal grew closer, she was able to make out a fuzzy creature bounding in front of the dog, tail high, racing for safety, all while the dog barked with ferocious glee.

Moving to stand in front of her, Dalton commanded, “Stay behind me.”

“Are you sure that’s a dog? It looks more like a bear on a leash to me,” Frankie said as she peered around his shoulder in order to keep a wide-open eye on the gigantic dog.

“Really,” he agreed, “that is one bloody big dog?”

Just as Dalton confirmed that it was indeed a dog, the fuzzy creature running for its life transformed into a squirrel. It stayed its course and barreled towards them at breakneck speed. It ran between Dalton’s spread feet and right underneath Francesca’s skirts. Of course, Frankie screamed, Dalton yelled, the dog woofed, and the children arrived panting and shouting advice all while the squirrel rummaged around underneath her skirts in a panic.

To make matters even more chaotic, the second dog finally abandoned any hope of the tenacious little boy releasing him and took off for the group, literally dragging the child on the ground by his stomach.

Forgetting all modesty, Francesca yanked her skirts up in a desperate attempt to free the squirrel. Sensing a chance for freedom, the terrified animal leapt for the tree behind the bench. Unfortunately, neither of the dogs saw its bid for freedom. The first one thrust its gigantic head between her legs, tilting her off balance, and the second one, drunk with the chase, lurched to a stop just in front of her and planted both of its huge front feet squarely on her chest, sending her head over heels onto the hard ground.

Thomas urged his horse and carriage into a run when he saw the commotion ahead of him. It wasn’t until he was almost upon the scene that he realized the lady under attack was Francesca. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when she went down in a tangle of skirts and black fur. The carriage hadn’t come to a complete stop before he launched himself off the seat and into the fray.

Dalton swore vehemently and knocked one dog away from Francesca with a knee and shoved hard at the other with both hands as Thomas sprinted towards them.

“Lady Belling, oh my God, Frankie, are you all right?” Dalton knelt beside her, brushing her tumbled hair from her face. “Get away, you blasted dog!” he commanded, and pointed to one of the nearest boys. “Here, you, grab that damn leash and haul that animal away from her.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the boy said as contritely as he could manage while wrestling the canine behemoth. “Goliath and Gulliver do love a good squirrel chase,” the lad tried to explain.

Thomas grabbed a hold of the other loose dog even while both of them continued to bark excitedly and snuffle around the bench, the tree, and Francesca. An entire family of squirrels had appeared on a high limb, safely out of reach, and chattered angrily at the dogs and humans alike.

“Quiet!” Thomas roared, effectively silencing the din.

Frankie stared up at him, mouth agape. God help him, but she seemed unharmed even with her face smudged with dirt and the pale yellow fabric of her dress filthy with massive, muddy paw prints and torn beyond repair in several places. She reached a dirt-smeared hand to her hair and tried to right a wad of it hanging askew where long tendrils had pulled from their pins when her hat was yanked from her head. It lay to the side, crushed under a dog.

Dalton rose to his feet, snatched the other dog from a lad and tied him to the tree. The beast lay down next to Francesca and placed his massive head in her lap, seeming perfectly content to nap there for the rest of the afternoon, quite exhausted from the morning excitement.

“Young man.” Thomas glared at one of the boys, hands on his hips. He used his most commanding voice, the one that made sailors take heed. “To whom do these beasts belong?”

The oldest boy stepped up as if to a firing squad. “They’re my uncle’s dogs, sir. They meant no harm surely, they’re really nice dogs, sir, and they wouldn’t have hurt the lady. They were just excited about the squirrel, they were.” The poor boy babbled on, “We were playing in the field until the damn—I’m sorry, miss—the squirrel ran past, and they just had to give chase. Really, I’m so sorry, miss.”

Dalton put out a hand to stop him from continuing any further. “That’s quite enough. I can see that they aren’t vicious.” The dog in her lap let out a contented snore.

“What kind of dogs are these?” Francesca asked, as she laid her hand across the dog’s brow and stroked a long, curly black ear.

“They are Newfoundlands, miss,” one of the smaller boys chimed in. He sat on the ground next to Frankie and reverently patted the dog’s muzzle. “Our uncle is a sea captain and these are his dogs. They save sailors that fall overboard. This one here,” he said of the one on her lap, “is Gulliver.” He couldn’t be more than six years old, and his love for the dogs was palpable.

“Well, then I guess that’s just fine so long as there are no squirrels out to sea,” she replied.

Dalton cleared his throat and continued with his lecture. “Nevertheless, it was very careless of you boys to let these dogs run free. Someone could have been seriously hurt. And the lady’s dress is ruined.”