Romance at the Royal Menagerie
By Ruth J. Hartman
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
ROMANCE AT THE ROYAL MENAGERIE
Copyright © 2013 RUTH J. HARTMAN
ISBN 978-1-62135-188-7
Cover Art Designed by FOR THE MUSE
Other Astraea Press Books by Ruth J. Hartman
Rescued by a Duke
Time for a Duke
Cats and Cowboys
Better Than Catnip
To all the wonderful cats of the world, big and small.
Chapter One
Francesca Hartwell stared into eyes so big, so brown, it was as if they could gaze into her very soul. To step closer, reach forward, caress the large face, touch the coarse fur, the shaggy mane, was her heart’s desire. But not now. Not yet.
Later. When no one was about.
Weak springtime sunshine flooded the flagged floor of the Lion’s Tower and glinted off the bars of the lion’s cage. Francesca leaned against the cool metal bars and sighed. The huge cat’s muscles rippled beneath tan fur as he stretched his legs, back and then front. Massive paws flexed razor-sharp claws that with one swipe could maim or kill a man. Fur on his mane and the tip of his tail grew straight and long.
The lion groomed his paw with large, even strokes of his tongue. Such soft fur. Francesca longed to be inside with him, running fingers through his coat, along his paws, to touch her face to his bristly forehead. A sense of calm enveloped her, just anticipating the next opportunity to do just that.
“Such a handsome fellow you are, George.” If only the whole of Francesca’s day could be spent in the cage with George, watching feline beauty in motion. Instead, she was forced to observe the large cats from a distance, as if witnessing actors on the stage.
Her father shook his balding head, stirring tiny wisps of brown hair. “I’m not sure about some of the names you’ve given those cats. Perhaps we should reconsider his for something… more appropriate.”
“But, Papa, his name is majestic. It suits him perfectly. He’s regal. Commanding. Royal. It makes perfect sense.”
Lowering his voice, he leaned closer. “But George? After the king?”
“Lions are the kings of the jungle, are they not?”
He shrugged. “My sweet Franny, I can’t deny you do have a way with those lions.” He angled his gaze down the long row of cages. “With all of the cats.”
Francesca raised one corner of her mouth. “I can’t help it, Papa. I love them. And they love me.”
“You and your fancy ideas. Animals can’t love people. There are times I think….” He cleared his throat, frowned, and bent to pick up his hammer from where he had laid it on the ground in front of the neighboring cage. The wrinkles in his forehead relaxed when he glanced at the tiger’s cage door. “There now, that latch should be easier for us to open.”
Why had he changed the subject? Because he didn’t understand her gift? Did her actions embarrass him?
“You just admitted I have a way with them.” Francesca pointed toward the lion. “Why can’t that be called love?”
Her father lowered his eyebrows, drawing them together in a straight line. “You know I gave up on the notion of love a long time ago.” He awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Except for you, of course.”
She kissed his weathered, ruddy cheek. “I know, Papa.” I know. Why did I have to bring up the subject that causes him the most sadness?
He walked away down the long line of cages and stopped in front of the lynx. His shoulders slumped and a frown marred his face.
Her father’s loss saddened Francesca. Ten years prior, her mother had left him… left both of them, when Francesca was a mere nine years old. And worse yet, she had run off to become a kept woman for a man of higher station. An earl. Francesca’s final memory of her mother was a backward glance, a small wave, and a smile for the earl as his fancy carriage took them away.
Although her mother had been swept away by the earl’s title, money, and power, it mystified Francesca that any woman would choose those over love. Her father was kind and dependable. Although he did not show much affection, she knew he loved her. He worked hard to take care of her and the lions and other wild cats at the Tower of London’s Lion’s Tower. There was no such mystery why the earl was taken with her mother, though. She had been of uncommon beauty, with dark hair and dazzling blue eyes. Many men had been attracted to her charms.
Maybe someday Francesca would meet someone like her father. Someone who would always put her first and not be tied to some noble title. Distaste for everything to do with nobility had been uppermost in her mind since her mother had left.
Nobility did not equal noble.
The earl, once a kind benefactor of the Lion’s Tower, had been a frequent visitor to the zoo every week. Often, he had asked her father about the cats, always interested in their care and habits. He had engaged Francesca’s mother in polite conversation. To a nine-year-old, it had seemed innocent enough. The earl, a common fixture in her memory, had been a long-time family acquaintance.
But her nineteen-year-old perspective was more sophisticated as she reflected on those days. Certainly at times when she had skipped off to follow her father as he checked the cats, her mother and the earl had had opportunity for deeper conversation, without her tiny ears to overhear. What had they discussed? Had they briefly touched hands when momentarily alone? Exchanged heated, meaningful glances?
Francesca, of course, had never guessed. She’d seen them through a child’s eyes. But had her father suspected? She wanted to ask, but the wounds were still raw, even after all these years.
And as often as Francesca had trailed behind her father, her mother had had ample opportunity for short, private conversations with someone who had not been her husband. Since the earl had been a benefactor of the Tower, it must not have seemed odd for him to spend so much time there. Francesca’s mother had spent much time at the Tower, as well, as Francesca had often begged to go.
A squeak from a cage to her left caught her attention, ending her woolgathering. Saul, one of the workers, was hauling in a pail of food for the leopard, Belle. The spotted cat crouched down and lashed her tail, growling low in her throat. Her eyes were black, the pupils large, and her fur stood on end. Saul gasped and took a step back. His hands shook. Droplets of perspiration gleamed on his face.
Francesca bit her lip, wishing she could hug and comfort Belle, who was due to have her litter any day. Her normally quiet disposition had changed as she came closer to giving birth. Was she frightened? Or was she already protecting her babies, yet unborn? Perhaps a mother’s instinct was the same for people as well as animals. Except for Francesca’s mother. She obviously hadn’t cared enough for her child. But Saul, how frightened he must be! Surely he feared injury at the very least from those sharp teeth and claws.
Belle lunged and swiped her giant paw. Saul yanked his hand back and dropped the pail with a clatter. Large hunks of meat scattered across the floor in front of the cat. Moving quicker than Francesca would have guessed possible for the older man, he darted from the cage and pulled the door shut behind him. Saul backed away from the
cage, wiping the sweat from his face. He glanced toward Francesca, his face reddening, and hurried away in the direction of the Middle Towers.
Poor man. He’d had a bad fright, to be sure. Past workers had been injured or killed by some of the fiercer animals. However, if it had been her in the cage with Belle, there wouldn’t have been a problem. When she was with the cats inside their cages, petting them, hugging them, she had no fear. They accepted her. Loved her. Was it a gift? She shrugged. It had always been that way her whole life. She knew nothing different.
But then, she wasn’t supposed to be in there.
So unfair.
Voices carried from behind her, children’s high-pitched giggles and a man’s chastising baritone. Footsteps approached, some heavy, some light. A few visitors must have arrived early to see the animals. Time to make myself scarce. Her father scolded her when she spent too much time with the cats. He was afraid he might lose his job if the Keeper of the Royal Menagerie found out and became agitated.
Stepping aside, Francesca smiled at a couple with three lively children who walked past her. They headed around the corner, the children’s chatter now harder to discern, leaving only a slight echo through the corridor. Must be there to see the new bear. She sighed. Why would anyone go see a smelly old bear with stiff brown fur and yellowed teeth, when they could behold the beauty and grace of these cats?
“Pardon me, miss.”
Startled, she whipped around. A man, tall and fit in black breeches and tailcoat, stood in front of her. Wide shoulders filled out his coat. Her glance roved down his arms to soft leather gloves. His dark hair, curly at the ends, was slightly longer than that of most men. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see—”
“It is of no concern.” His dark brown eyes sparkled. She widened her own. When had she ever seen actual sparkling eyes? On a man? Her mouth went dry, forcing her to swallow. Warmth spread from her face to her toes. So beautiful. If he were like most men, though, he might not wish to be associated with that term. She bit her lip, holding back a grin. It couldn’t be helped. He was beautiful.
The man raised his dark eyebrows. And smiled. His teeth, white, with the two front ones a tiny bit overlapped, were ensconced in full lips. Francesca pressed the fingers of her left hand to her own lips and nearly swooned. If she could only step closer, reach up a hand and touch his cheek. What would it be like to kiss—?
“Are you… well, miss?”
How embarrassing! Francesca caught her breath and averted her glance down toward her dusty boots. She clenched her hands together. How could she have stared at him like that? With no regard for propriety or good sense? And how long had she stared? What must he think? Her face heated, surely red. “I… pardon me… sir.”
He laughed.
Laughed?
She frowned. And leveled a glare at him. Her face warmed another degree, probably red in color, but she cared not. How dare he? They had never met, and here he was, having fun at her expense. Did he think himself better than she, to scoff at her blunder? She was only…
Wait. But she had been staring. At a stranger. Still, she bristled at the fact that he laughed. Was still laughing, in fact. Francesca placed her hands on her hips and tapped her boot toe on the ground. Raising one eyebrow, she tilted her chin and waited.
The man’s mirth subsided. His cheeks reddened as he cleared his throat. “Please forgive my impertinence, miss. It seems I have offended you. And of that, I had not the slightest intent.” He held out his hand. “Pray accept my apology and permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Fairgate.”
Francesca glanced down. Even the man’s hand was handsome, with long, strong fingers. Would his nails be clean and trimmed beneath those expensive gloves? Around the zoo, the workers all had dirt and grit beneath their nails. Everything about Mr. Fairgate was pleasing to the eye. Simply captivating. Would it not be more of a pleasant diversion to engage in conversation with him?
She smiled. “Apology accepted, Mr. Fairgate. I am Miss Hartwell. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand. He took it and bowed, kissing the air right above it.
Embarrassed, she slipped her hand from his. Who was he that he would do something so out of the ordinary? She was used to common workers, as the only men she spoke to besides her father were laborers at the Tower Menagerie. Men who labored, cleaned filthy animal cages, did the dirtiest of jobs. Rich men visited the Tower, of course, but she did not often speak to them.
This man’s dress marked him as someone with means. Perhaps he was a person of consequence, someone who would contribute to the cause of the zoo? Something which could only help her father retain his position. It might behoove her to be kind to him, since they’d now introduced themselves.
His gesture of kissing her hand had caused uneasiness and discomfort, and yet… Why did her stomach quiver as if filled with tiny fluttering birds flapping their wings to escape? The back of her hand tingled, even though his lips hadn’t actually made contact. But his breath had warmed her skin, radiating up her arm, to her chest, neck, and face, like sunshine on a July day.
Mr. Fairgate’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, I’ll proceed to the intended purpose for my visit. I must say, I’ve quite been looking forward to seeing what’s new here.”
She swept her arm toward the cages. “If you’re here to see some of the wild cats, perhaps I can be of assistance.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you work here?”
“No. My father is chief caretaker of all of the different large cats. So I spend much of my time here. I know quite a bit about them, if you have any questions.” What was she doing? She sounded prideful. He must think her—
“That would be splendid. I have always admired cats, big or small, so any information you can supply would be most appreciated.”
A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Even if he did think her forward, he seemed not to mind. If her father had heard her just now, he would be displeased. Again. Wasn’t he always chiding her for being too outspoken for a woman? Too forward? Too opinionated?
She pointed toward the leopard’s cage. “This is Belle, the Tower’s newest leopard.”
“Such a gorgeous animal. And quite… large. I had not expected a leopard to be such.”
“Yes, she is large. Partly due to expecting a litter.” Her face warmed. Why did I let those words slip from my mouth? While she easily discussed anything having to do with the cats’ care with her father, she was embarrassed to speak of such a delicate matter as giving birth to a stranger.
Especially this stranger.
He lifted the corners of his mouth, forming deep dimples. “Ah. How marvelous. Very soon the world will have several more cats to admire.”
What a wonderful thought. Her father would only grumble that it would cause more work for him. The workers would complain that they would have to make sure the mother had extra shares of food so she could nurse her cubs. But Mr. Fairgate seemed to appreciate them. Their beauty. As she did.
“I agree. Most likely, she’ll have anywhere from one to four in the litter.” She sighed. “Leopard cubs are delightful.”
He tilted his head toward the cage. “I shall have to return after the cubs are here. I should so love to see them.”
“Indeed, once she has them, I daresay her cage will be most popular with visitors for awhile. Perhaps people will take time to watch them instead of the smelly bear around the corner.”
Mr. Fairgate laughed. This time, it bothered Francesca not a whit. On the contrary, it sparked something within her, bringing every sight and sound around her into sharper focus. Brighter. Louder. More vivid. As if she’d never fully experienced life until this moment. Until meeting him. But why?
“A smelly bear. That sounds not in the least appealing. But cats of any sort, I’ve always had a fondness for. As a boy, I’d often play with them when others might ignore them or be cruel. I’d sneak them into the house until found o
ut, and reluctantly return them to the out-of-doors.”
She smiled. How alike they seemed in that manner. “Oh, I agree. More often than not, I would rather have spent time with my house cats than with most people.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And you are not alone in sneaking your cats inside. Just the thought of mine toiling outside in the wind and rain of winter or in summer’s heat had me in tears many a night.”
“How pleasant it might have been had we been acquainted as children, to have the same fondness for our pets.”
Blushing, Francesca nodded. Never had she met someone as fond of cats as she was. And never had she spoken so with a man, especially not with a man so appealing. She swallowed hard, glancing behind her. But what would Papa say if he saw her right then?
“I’ve been away due to my position as an ornithologist. It has been too long of a time since I’ve visited the zoo. Especially now.” He tilted his head toward the cage. “As the leopard shall soon have her cubs. That is an event I would hate to miss.”
“Perhaps you will be fortunate enough to visit when it… occurs.” References to the physical act of giving birth still refused to slide easily from her lips.
He placed his hand on one of the bars of the cage’s gate and nodded. “You know, I— Ahhh!” He widened his eyes as the gate creaked and opened beneath his grip.
Francesca gasped. Saul must not have fastened the latch when he’d hurried away from Belle! She grabbed for Mr. Fairgate’s arm, but touched only air. He stumbled as the gate creaked open. Tripping, he fell into Belle’s pen, landing with a thud.
Belle crouched low, lashing her long tail. She bared her teeth, growling much as she’d done to Saul. But this time was different. This time Mr. Fairgate was not in a position to run. He had fallen and was now at the mercy of the angry, expectant cat.
Rushing forward into the cage, Francesca positioned herself beside Mr. Fairgate. “Shhh, Belle, it’s fine. No need to be afraid.”
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