Love takes wing (Love Comes Softly #7) (23 page)

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large open Bible.

The words were good. They were familiar. It was God's Word and it lifted her spirit. But the beautiful large stone church still seemed cold and distant--the people masked and aloof. There were no welcoming smiles or gentle nods. Belinda wondered what was wrong with her and glanced anxiously down at her voile dress. But it really was not that much different from the gowns of the other women there.

No,
thought Belinda,
I don't think it's the dress. It must be me. They must know--without me even saying anything--that I come from the western plains.
And Belinda felt alone and isolated among the Sunday churchgoers.

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TWENTY-TWO

The Unexpected

In spite of the wonderful library Belinda had more free time than she could reasonably fill. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, now that she was back in her own home with Windsor, the housekeeper Mrs. Potter, Cook, and the two housemaids, seemed quite able to manage for herself. Belinda inwardly chafed, feeling guilty about doing so little to earn her keep and that she really was not needed. About the only duty she performed daily was to pour Mrs. Stafford-Smyth's tea, and she was sure just about anyone should be able to do that small chore.

So Belinda tried to find ways to occupy her days. She did read for a good portion of each day, but she had discovered that even reading has its limits. Belinda felt she must have some exercise, so she spoke with Mrs. Stafford-Smyth about it.

"Of course, my deah," said the woman. "An energetic young woman like you needs to get out. I should have thought of it myself. Just because I'm content to sit and stagnate does not mean that you are. Would you like to ride? I understand there is a good club with horses--"

But Belinda shook her head. She couldn't imagine going off to ride horseback in some society club. She thought of Copper back home with a bit of a pang, then almost smiled to think of him sedately marching round and round a horse ring.

"Tennis? We do have good courts at the back--but of course

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one can hardly play tennis on one's own."

Jest--just walk, I think," responded Belinda. She had noticed some differences in the speech patterns out here in the East, and she was trying to adapt her own pronunciations accordingly.

"Oh my," said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. "You may walk about all you like. The streets belong to everyone and are quite safe, really."

So on Wednesday morning Belinda took to the rather quiet streets. It seemed that those who moved about did so by carriage. She had intended to walk briskly for a half hour or so, but there was so much to see she kept finding herself loitering as she gazed at the sights about her.

She returned to the house invigorated and ready for the luncheon that Cook had prepared. She freshened up and joined Mrs. Stafford-Smyth in the drawing room.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" the lady began and then quickly added, "Yes, I can see that you did. Your cheeks are quite flushed, your eyes glowing."

"It was lovely!" exclaimed Belinda. "A shame that you're unable to join me."

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth chuckled. "There was a day when I might have fretted at being left behind--but no more," she said companionably.

The two chatted about many things over their luncheon plates, and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was again reminded of why she had cajoled and pressed for Belinda to return to Boston with her. The girl was so vitally alive that just being with her was uplifting to one's spirit. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth truly loved her home, she loved Boston, and she would miss it all terribly if anything should happen to change things for her. She was comfortable at home-- with maids fussing about and Cook and Housekeeper and dear old Windsor hovering to answer her every whim. But it was lonely in the big house. A staff of servants was not the same as

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having friends. And, surprisingly, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth thought of Belinda as a friend.

She knew that Potter, with her rigid rules of what was right and proper, did not approve of the special status that was given the girl. Employees had no right to be served tea with the gentry, according to Mrs. Potter. There had been a time, even only a short time ago, that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would have heartily agreed. But that was before she had met Belinda--before Belinda had tenderly and efficiently nursed her back to health.

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had learned a new set of rules in the crude little prairie town. The rule of survival. There seemed to be no social status there, no class distinctions, and Mrs. StaffordSmyth had discovered in Belinda an open, friendly, clear-thinking girl who would share her thoughts, her feelings, and her humor. To the older lady's surprise she had enjoyed such exchanges. And now, back in Boston, she was not willing to give up what she had learned to appreciate.

She knew the whole arrangement was a mystery to Belinda. She also knew that her household staff must titter and talk and exclaim over Madam's strange desire to treat the girl, an employee, as an equal--but in her own house, she was mistress.
Let them talk and fuss,
she told herself. They'd eventually get used to the idea.

She turned her attention back to the attractive face before her.

"The blue silk will look lovely on you!" she exclaimed, and Belinda looked surprised at her passion and abrupt change of thought. They had been discussing a novel.

Belinda frowned. "You know," she said slowly, "things happened in such a flurry at thet--that dress shop," she corrected herself, "that my head was swimming. I don't even remember trying the blue silk on."

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth just smiled. She knew Belinda might not have tried the dress. Madam Tilley was skilled at her profession. She would have known Belinda's size perfectly by the time she

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had fitted a few dresses. The blue silk was in answer to one of Mrs. Stafford-Smyth's specific instructions in the letter. But the dress was too expensive, too elegant, to be slipped over clients' heads in the dressing room. Even in a place as refined as LeSoud's.

"What time is dinner?" Belinda asked now.

"Seven-thirty" answered Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, "but the guests shall be arriving around seven. I should like you to be with me in the formal parlor by seven o'clock."

Belinda nodded.

"And I think we shall take our tea in my suite this afternoon. We both will need to rest and prepare ourselves for tonight."

Again Belinda agreed, though she hardly felt in need of rest.

"I thought I might take a book and spend some time in the garden now" Belinda offered. "It's such a glorious day--and the flowers are so pretty"

"Thomas certainly does a nice job," Mrs. Stafford-Smyth acknowledged. "He's a good gardenah. Been with us for thirty- five yeahs. I don't know what I shall do when he wishes to reti-ah."

Belinda took her book and went to the gardens as planned, but she did little reading. The day was too beautiful, the flowers too enticing, the bees too busy for her to be able to concentrate on anything but the loveliness. She sat dreaming away her afternoon, enjoying the sights and scents around her.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of being introduced," someone said near Belinda's elbow, and she started in surprise and looked up.

A young man, his eyes deep set and dark mustache well trimmed, stood looking at her. Belinda noted his stylish clothing, and she could tell every item was carefully chosen--yet he managed

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to give an air of informality that she assumed was the appearance he wished to present.

And then Belinda recognized him as one of the grandsons whose portraits graced the rooms of Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. The two women had talked about the boys on occasion. Belinda smiled in greeting.

"I hadn't heard ya--you were expected," she said easily. "S-h-h," said the young man, placing a finger to his lips. "I

didn't send word on ahead. I wanted to surprise Grandmother." Belinda laughed softly. "And so you will. She . . . she will be

caught completely by surprise."

Then Belinda sobered. "I'm not sure but what she shouldn't have
some
warning," she continued. "She has recently been very ill, you know, and too much of a shock wouldn't be good--"

"She's used to us popping in and out," the young man said with a shrug. "I shouldn't think this will bother her much."

Belinda noticed a strange accent in his speech. She couldn't place it but assumed it had been picked up in his travels abroad. It rather intrigued her. There was something mysterious and pleasing about the man.

He tossed his jacket carelessly on the velvet green of the lawn and sat down on it, close to Belinda's chair.

"You still haven't told me your name," he prompted. "Belinda. Belinda Davis," she replied.

"Miss
Belinda Davis?" he asked.

"Yes. Miss," returned Belinda and felt her cheeks flushing slightly under the intense scrutiny of the man.

They sat for a moment, and then Belinda spoke carefully. "You haven't said whether you're Peter or Frank."

He laughed. "Dear Grandmother! She insists upon calling us the American version of our real names. I'm Pierre. 'Peter,' if you wish. I don't mind."

"I'll call you Pierre if you prefer it," she answered simply.

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He smiled. "Pierre, then. I do prefer it." Then he said, "I was told by that watchdog Windsor that 'Madam is resting and not to be disturbed." He mimicked Windsor's voice as he spoke, and Belinda could not hide her smile. "How is Grandmother?"

"She's doing very well now"

Pierre seemed relieved at the news.

"So what are her plans? Is she going abroad for the winter as usual--or have you heard?"

Belinda shook her head. "I know nothing of plans that go beyond this evening's dinner party," she said.

"A dinner party? Oh, dear! How I dread Grandmother's dinner parties. Such stuffy occasions they are, with all those octogenarians. Have you heard her guest list?"

Belinda found herself enjoying the exchange. She had some of the same feelings this young man was expressing, only she had hardly dared to think let alone say them.

"I've heard the list--but I don't recall all of them. Let's see. . . a Prescott woman."

"Of course. Aunt Celia. She is always invited."

"Aunt Celia?" said Belinda in surprise. "I hadn't realized--"

"Oh, she's not really an aunt. We were just brought up to refer to her as such. She's a good friend of Grandmother's from many years back."

"I see," said Belinda.

"Go on," he prompted.

"A gentleman to chat with Aunt Celia," smiled Belinda. "Mr.--Mr. Walls . . . ?"

"Walsh," Pierre laughed. "Those two have been openly and shamelessly flirting with each other for thirty years. Don't know why they haven't done something about it."

Belinda's blue eyes opened wide at his frankness.

"And . . . ?" he urged.

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"Two other couples .. . one is a judge . .. the other I don't remember."

"No young people?"

"I . . . I don't know any of the guests. I have no way of knowing if they are young or old," Belinda reminded him.

"Let me assure you," he said as he stood from the ground and brushed gently at the sharply creased trousers, "none of them are under one hundred and five."

Belinda could not hide the twinkle from her eyes.

"I'm tempted to sneak away before Grandmother discovers me," he continued. And then he looked directly at Belinda. "You'll be there?" he asked.

She nodded in answer.

"Then the evening will not be a total loss," he said smugly. And with a slight smile, he gave her a nod and departed.

Belinda watched him go. How would Mrs. Stafford-Smyth feel about having her grandson home? What kind of a person was he? Surely he had been teasing about his perception of his grandmother's "stuffy" lifestyle. No one could help but love the house in Boston.
The days ahead might turn out to be rather interesting,
she told herself as she closed the book she hadn't had a chance to read and stood to her feet. It was almost teatime and Mrs. StaffordSmyth would expect her there.

Belinda was pouring tea when she heard a gasp and looked up quickly to see Mrs. Stafford-Smyth lift a lacy handkerchief to her lips. Following her gaze, Belinda turned to the door behind her and saw the young man standing there, a smile on his face.

"Hello, Grandmother," he said. "I hear you have been ill."

Belinda turned back to her patient, worried that the sudden appearance of Pierre might be too much for the woman. But after the initial surprise, she seemed to regain her composure.

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"Petah!" she cried, holding out her arms. "Petah!"

He went to her and knelt before her. She reached out a hand to stroke his cheek, and he patted her arm affectionately. Belinda thought it all very touching.

"It's so good to see you, deah. My, you've. . . you've become quite a man," the grandmother offered with pride.

Pierre just nodded.

"And where is Frank?"

"Still in France," answered Pierre. "He has a girl, you know. He is rather smitten, I'm afraid. He sent his love."

"Sit down. Sit down. Tell us all about yourself," Mrs. StaffordSmyth urged the boy, and then she turned to Belinda. "This is Belinda," she hastened to explain.

The young man smiled and nodded. "I met Miss Davis in the garden," he offered.

"Good! Good!" Then the woman turned moist eyes back to her grandson. "I'm glad you've come. It's awfully good to see you . . . and Belinda needs some youngah company. You can accompany her to dinnah tonight. We're having guests. Just a few old friends . . . but Belinda could use someone her own age. I don't go out yet. She really has seen very little of Boston, and I wanted her to get to know the town. Of course we have been back only for a little ovah a week, but it would be so nice for her if--"

The young man chuckled and placed a restraining hand on his grandmother's arm. "I promise, Grandmother. I'll stay long enough to show Miss Davis the whole town. And I will be at dinner. And I will not run off and desert you without fair warning. Now--may I have some tea? I missed my lunch, and I'm starving."

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth reached out and pressed her buzzer. From the quickness with which he reached the room, Belinda wondered if Windsor had been standing outside in the hall.