Love takes wing (Love Comes Softly #7) (24 page)

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"Bring anothah cup and more tea, Windsah, and have Cook make some sandwiches for Petah," she ordered in an excited tone, then turned back to her grandson to ply him with questions and offer her own bits of news. Belinda had never seen her so animated.

This is good for her,
she thought to herself.
I'm glad he's home. She must have missed him very much.

After what Belinda considered an appropriate time, she excused herself to her own suite.
The two need time to get to know each other again,
she reasoned.

Belinda found herself feeling both excited and anxious as she lifted the blue silk carefully from her wardrobe and laid it gently on her bed. She had never worn such a gown before. She caressed the soft material and then held a fold to her cheek. Ella would be coming any minute to fix her hair. She must hurry. She wanted to be ready on time. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was counting on her help in greeting guests as they arrived.

And then Belinda remembered Pierre.
Maybe things have changed now . . .
she pondered. Perhaps Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would want her grandson at her side to perform the role of host. Well, she could always slip out to the garden if she was in the way. She still would be ready, as she had been asked.

Belinda lifted the silk and let it slide down over her head and settle over her shoulders. She shrugged and shifted, puzzling as she attempted to adjust it. Something was wrong. The dress didn't fit as it should. She hoisted it slightly, thinking it might be caught. It wasn't. She could not understand it. She looked about. Perhaps there was a piece missing. Surely there was an accompanying neckpiece or an attached shawl. But there was nothing else on the satin-covered hanger. Belinda was still puzzling when Ella entered the room.

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"What a beautiful dress, miss!" she enthused.

Belinda managed a smile, but she was still perplexed.

"But it . . . it doesn't fit right. Look. The front of it. It's scooped way down."

"That's the way it's cut, miss," explained Ella. "It's supposed to be like that."

Belinda was astounded. She wanted to argue . . . to protest. "All the girls are wearing them like that, miss," said Ella, no doubt responding to Belinda's obvious bewilderment.

"Well, I won't! I can't!" stated Belinda firmly. "It's most . . . most improper! Why, I'm. . . I'm indecent."

Ella smiled and shook her head. "Why, it fits you real nice, miss. Madam will be pleased."

Madam? Yes, the dress had been Madam's doing. She had ordered it. Belinda had
not
tried it on before. She would surely have remembered such a . . . a . . . low-cut gown. She felt most uncomfortable in it. Why had Mrs. Stafford-Smyth ever purchased such a dress? Surely she had been unaware of its skimpiness.

Certain now that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had not known of the actual design of the dress, Belinda knew she must talk with her employer--quickly. She hurried down the short hallway that led to the older woman's suite. She did not intend to appear at the dinner table wearing such a revealing garment, and she was sure that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would not desire her to do so.

She stopped at the adjoining door only long enough to rap lightly and then went on in. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had Sarah rushing about the room in last-minute preparations.

Without saying a word, Belinda stopped in front of the older woman and slowly turned completely around so that she could see the dress, both the back and the front.

She had expected to hear a gasp of shock. Instead, a murmur of approval stunned Belinda's ears. "Lovely! Just lovely. It was

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meant for you. Madam Tilley knew exactly what I wanted."

Belinda whirled around to see shining eyes and a broad smile.

"But. . . but . . ." Belinda began and then realized her protests would not be heeded nor understood by the older woman.
She will think I'm just a simple prairie girl who doesn't know about such matters,
Belinda thought, her cheeks burning.

"Now hurry, deah," Mrs. Stafford-Smyth continued. "Petah will be waiting for us. He's going to help us with the guests." Her face was radiant.

Without another word Belinda returned to her own room and allowed Ella to pin her hair becomingly. She found a lace hanky that she tucked into the neckline, then removed it when it seemed to draw even more attention. She hoped the evening might pass quickly.

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TWENTY-THREE

Pierre

Belinda stole down the stairs quietly, hoping not to be noticed.
What else can I do?
she debated with herself.
My employer ordered the dress for me, paid for it, and told me to wear it tonight!
It flashed into her mind that maybe she could have borrowed a shawl,
but it's too late now,
she told herself grimly. Perhaps in the excitement of the expected dinner guests, she could slip in unobtrusively, and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth and her grandson would hardly realize she was there.

It was not to be. The minute the swish of her skirts at the door of the formal parlor announced her arrival, Mrs. StaffordSmyth turned toward her. Her smile spoke even more than her words. She held out her hands to Belinda and urged her forward.

"Ah yes," she said, slowly looking over the picture that Belinda made in her blue gown. "It becomes you. The colah is just right for your eyes. And your hai-ah--perfect! Ella does such a good job in styling."

Pierre made no comment, for which Belinda was thankful, but she could feel his eyes studying her carefully. Belinda felt dreadfully uncomfortable.
With all the material in this full skirt, you'd have thought they could've spared a bit to cover the bodice,
she continued to fret, but of course she did not voice her complaints as she moved away from their gazes in pretense of pouring punch.

"May I bring you a drink?" she asked Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.

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"That would be nice, my deah," the elderly lady responded and seated herself in a green brocaded chair opposite the entrance to the hall, facing the doorway and the guests when they arrived.

The Allenbys were the first to appear. He was a very dignified older gentleman, befitting his honored position. She was a wizened little woman, her face pinched and her eyes sunken and sharp. Belinda could feel herself withdrawing from the open stare of the woman. She learned quickly that Mrs. Allenby's tongue was just as sharp as her eyes.

"And who is
she?"
Belinda heard her say to Mrs. StaffordSmyth after their greetings were over. Belinda moved out of earshot so she wouldn't have to hear her employer trying to explain their relationship.

Mr. Walsh arrived a few moments later, chuckling over some joke, and spent the entire evening laughing over one thing or another. Belinda did not pretend to understand his strange humor, but she did find him fairly pleasant company.

The Whitleys were admitted by Windsor at seven-thirty, the hour of dinner. He let it be known that he never had been one for pre-dinner chitchat. After all, wasn't the purpose of dining together so one could visit over the meal? His wife said nothing, just looked a bit embarrassed by his blustering.

The minutes ticked slowly by with no moves toward the dining room, so the guests were aware that someone else was expected. Once or twice Mr. Whitley took his gold watch from his pocket and studied it openly.

Since the guests' arrival, Windsor had taken over the duties of serving punch. Belinda knew without being told that she was now to allow things to proceed in "proper" fashion, and she withdrew to one of the matched green chairs.

Pierre eased his way over to where Belinda was fidgeting. "Isn't this fun?" he whispered, with a slight nod toward the older guests clustered about talking of weather and health problems.

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Belinda only smiled.

"We could walk in the garden," he added.

"But she will be here any minute," Belinda said.

Pierre laughed. "Aunt Celia? She's never on time for anything. When Aunt Celia is expected at seven-thirty, the only thing you don't know is whether she will arrive at eight or ten."

Belinda looked at him in surprise.

"Mark my word," he challenged, but just then the doorbell rang.

"Ah," he said, pulling out his pocket watch, "she's early--it's only ten minutes of eight."

Mrs. Celia Prescott came in with a flurry of excited comments and overdone apologies. She and Mrs. Stafford-Smyth hugged each other warmly, and then greetings passed all about the room. Mr. Walsh chuckled over each remark and Mrs. Celia Prescott tittered prettily in his direction. Pierre looked at Belinda with an I-told-you-so expression, and she had a hard time keeping from giggling herself.

"You know my Petah," said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, and Pierre bowed to acknowledge the older woman.

"And this is Miss Belinda Davis," Mrs. Stafford-Smyth went on, and all eyes turned to Belinda.

"No wonder you've been off in hiding, young man," teased Aunt Celia with a twinkle. "In what part of Europe did you find her?"

Before either Pierre or Belinda could respond, Mrs. StaffordSmyth interrupted with, "Belinda is American."

"Then perhaps we shall see more of your grandson in the future," observed Mr. Walsh with another chuckle.

Again Belinda could feel Mrs. Allenby's sharp eyes on her. She wished with all her heart that she could crawl more deeply into her blue silk dress. To Belinda's relief, the woman said nothing.

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Aunt Celia reached over to pat Pierre's cheek. "I admire your taste, deah," she gushed. "I always knew you were discerning."

Belinda opened her mouth to say something, but when she saw Pierre shake his head, she closed it. They all had misunderstood the situation entirely. Was no one going to explain?

Belinda sighed and shrugged and allowed Pierre to lead her in to dinner.

As the meal progressed Belinda was glad for Pierre's presence at her side. She usually had no problem chatting with older people, but the conversation around the table was all foreign to her. They spoke of people she did not know, places she had never seen, and events that were somewhere in their past.

Pierre let the dinner guests chatter on around them. He deftly directed the conversation to things he hoped would be of interest to Belinda. He found her charming and very attractive. He wished to ask her all sorts of questions, but he held himself in check. Where had his grandmother found such a lovely girl, and why was Belinda willing to spend time in a house with only an older woman?

The thought did occur to him that his grandmother was a very wealthy woman and that Belinda might have interest in her money. But Pierre, even with a somewhat suspicious turn of mind, dismissed that thought. She just didn't seem the type, unless she had everyone fooled.

After dinner the men rose in preparation for retiring to the library for a brandy and cigar, and the ladies were invited to the drawing room for another cup of coffee.

When Belinda cast a look of appeal toward Pierre, he immediately rose to the occasion.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind if Belinda and I took a walk in the garden?" Pierre asked his grandmother.

He noticed that Belinda drew a thankful breath.

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"Run along," encouraged his grandmother, beaming as though the idea had been hers. She seemed to be smiling secretly to herself as she led the ladies into the drawing room.

Belinda excused herself and went for a wrap, though the night was still young and comfortably warm. She knew she would feel more comfortable with a bit more covering. Returning to the waiting Pierre, she breathed deeply as she stepped out onto the terrace.

"Thank you:' she whispered to Pierre, and he nodded in understanding.

"You mean you didn't look forward to the gossip of the old ladies any more than I did to the stale smell of cigars?" he asked lightly, and Belinda chuckled.

"Yes," she said, "I was thinking about all those wonderful books in the library in all that smoke."

"Oh, those old books will be fine:' he said carelessly. "It isn't the first time the room has been filled with cigar smoke."

"Actually," he went on after a few minutes of silence, "I wasn't trying to be a hero. I just wanted to have a very pretty girl all to myself."

Belinda could feel his eyes on her, no doubt measuring her reaction to the compliment. She carefully kept her expression neutral and simply smiled quietly.

"I've chatted on about myself enough," Pierre said. "Now I think it's your turn."

She turned to him and smiled slightly. "I have nothing nearly as exciting to tell," she answered evenly. "I was born, grew up, and lived right in one little town on the plains. And that's about all there is."

He laughed. "I think I am being effectively put off," he said good-naturedly.