Design for Love

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Berkins appeared in the door. “Another caller, milady. Lady Roxanne.” He frowned. “I tried to suggest that you were busy, but the lady . . .”

  Fiona took a deep breath. “Show the lady in.”

  Kitty nodded. “A wise move.” She settled back in her chair. “I think I’ll just sit her out.”

  Fiona had only time to smile her thanks before the Lady Roxanne appeared. Her walking dress of violet silk was tight to the point of vulgarity, but Fiona had to admit that it displayed her abun­dant charms.

  “Good day, Lady Roxanne. How kind of you to call.”

  “I was passing. And I thought, I must stop to see Dreyford’s lady. She will be alone and lone­some.”

  Fiona suppressed a smile. “As you can see, I al­ready have a caller. But do sit down.”

  Roxanne nodded to Kitty, who returned the nod. Watching them, Fiona noted that though Roxanne was probably fifteen years younger, her face looked harder, older than Kitty’s. Obviously, there was no love lost between the two. If Kitty didn’t like Roxanne, perhaps Dreyford . . .

  Lady got up and went to investigate this new­comer. Roxanne gave her a little kick. “Dreadful animal, get away from me.”

  Lady snarled and retreated to Fiona’s feet.

  “Really,” Roxanne exclaimed. “How can you keep such a vicious creature?”

  Kitty’s smile was enigmatic. “People have been known to keep all sorts of strange creatures,” she said pleasantly. “And most of us snarl at those who try to harm us.”

  Roxanne shrugged. “I did not come here for a lecture. But to talk to Fiona.” She glanced from Kitty to the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  Kitty shook her head. “I just arrived. And I’ve come for a nice long chat.”

  Roxanne didn’t greet this news with much pleasure. “Well,” she said. “Since you’re here, tell me the latest gossip. What juicy on dits have you been hearing?”

  Kitty leaned back in her chair and, crossing her booted legs, idly played with the ribbons on her gown. “I’ve been rather busy. Ginsfield just bought a new pair of grays.”

  Roxanne shrugged. “Surely you don’t spend all your time in the stables.”

  Apparently, Fiona thought, politeness got short shrift in the world of the elegant. She searched her mind for something to talk about. “We saw the poet Byron yesterday,” she ventured. “He was walking in Hyde Park.”

  Roxanne’s eyes gleamed. “Was Caro Lamb after him?”

  “I—I believe they were conversing.” Fiona felt a twinge of guilt. Caro Lamb deserved sympathy, not gossip.

  “That woman has no sense.” Roxanne tapped a foot clad in a heelless slipper the exact shade of her gown. “She’s chased that man all over Lon­don.”

  Fiona sighed. “Perhaps she loves him.”

  “Loves?” Roxanne’s tone made the word a joke. “Why would any sane woman commit such fool­ishness?” She licked her lips. Like a cat after eat­ing cream. “I can understand wanting him. I mean, that dark melancholy look is very attrac­tive. And those curls. But love . . .” She made a face. “Love is for puling babies. Give me desire any day.”

  Kitty wrinkled her nose. “You seem to have been given more than enough.”

  The air between the two almost crackled with animosity. Fiona, watching them intently, thought it almost like a play. It was fascinating to see what they would do next.

  Roxanne shot a glance at her rival. “Certain people have had no complaints.”

  “Certain people,” Kitty returned evenly, “are sometimes carried away by their own desire. Or give in to ennui.”

  Roxanne bristled. “Dreyford was never bored. Oh!” She turned to Fiona. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Fiona knew the lady had done exactly what she meant to do. She smiled. “My dear Roxanne. Don’t give it another thought, Robert has told me all about you.”

  Kitty’s eyes held amusement, but Roxanne looked stunned. “He couldn’t have. Dreyford never talks about—”

  “Ah,” said Fiona pleasantly, “but this is differ­ent. You see, I am his wife. You were only . . .” She dropped her eyes, but not before she caught Kitty’s wide grin.

  There was silence for several moments. Then Roxanne collected herself. “Well, I must be get­ting on. I’ve a lot of stops to make. So nice talking to you.”

  “So nice,” Fiona echoed, wondering if such ob­vious lies were overlooked in heaven.

  “Good day,” said Kitty, a hint of merriment in her voice. “And good hunting.”

  Roxanne did not deign to reply to that.

  They were quiet until they heard the front door close behind her. Then they both broke into peals of laughter.

  “Are you sure,” Kitty asked when she could speak again, “that you have been in the country? I have never witnessed a better set-down. You took the wind right out of her sails. But Robbie didn’t tell you about her. Or about me. He’s not that sort.”

  Fiona smiled. “You’re right. I met Lady Roxanne during intermission at the theater. She made their affiliation rather obvious. Dreyford was not pleased.”

  “I should think not. I could never understand him taking up with that dreadful creature. She has no heart.”

  “Perhaps that’s the reason.” Fiona sighed. “Dreyford does not believe in love, you know. He has no capacity for it.”

  Kitty stared at her. “Poppycock. The man’s ca­pable of deep and abiding love.”

  Fiona wished that were true. But Dreyford had said it himself. He found love a cheat, a foolish­ness. There was little hope of him changing his mind.

  “Be careful,” Kitty said. “Roxanne may not be­lieve in love, but she’s no stranger to revenge. She’ll want to get back at you. And she’ll do it through your husband. You must keep him away from her.”

  “But how?”

  Kitty chuckled. “Even in the country they must tell you how to keep a husband happy.”

  Fiona felt the blood rising to her cheeks. To ac­tually invite him into her bed . . .

  Kitty’s eyes were still on her. “Understand this about Roxanne. She was Robbie’s latest. And she meant to be his last. Then you came along.”

  “But she doesn’t love him.”

  Kitty shook her head. “Fiona, my dear, love has nothing to do with marriage. As she said, Roxanne desired him. She also desired the position he could give her. And she’s not going to be charita­ble toward the woman who usurped it.”

  Fiona nodded. “I shall do what I can.” But she knew quite well that she could do very little. If Dreyford desired Roxanne, he would go to her. It was entirely up to him.

  She was back at her needlepoint, sipping tea and considering the things Kitty had told her, when Dreyford returned. She heard his voice as he spoke to Berkins and stabbed herself with the needle again. The dog heard it, too, and hurried out.

  By the time he reached the library door, the dog at his heels, she had regained some measure of composure.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  “Good evening, milord. Did you have a pleas­ant day?”

  He selected a chair across from hers and settled into it, stretching his long legs. “It was tolerable.” He smiled. “And made more so by memories of last night.”

  His look brought a blush to her cheek. And a pounding to her heart.

  “And your day?” he inquired, absently strok­ing the dog’s head.

  “I had two visitors.”

  “So, Kitty did come.”

  “Yes. And Lady Roxanne.”

  Dreyford felt a wave of irritation. Why had he ever become entangled with that creature? He composed his voice. “And what did the ladies have to say?”

  “Kitty’s visit was very pleasant. She was wear­ing one of those dresses you told me about—the kind they used to damp. I’ve never seen a gown so sheer. And Hessians.”

  He straightened. “Kitty can carry it off. Even at her age. I’m glad you like her. She’ll be a good friend.”

 
He shook his head. “But Roxanne is another story. What did she want?”

  “First she told me her philosophy about love.”

  She smiled at him, but her eyes were troubled. If Roxanne had hurt her . . .

  “Her philosophy sounds very much like yours.”

  She was watching him, waiting for his reply. “How so?”

  “She said desire’s the thing. That love doesn’t count. Don’t you think that agrees with you?”

  He didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “What else did she say?”

  “Oh, she did let slip that you had never been bored with her.”

  “Never . . .”

  Her eyes were so clear, so ingenuous.

  “You know, when she was your— During your previous relations.”

  He swallowed an oath. Roxanne had no right to flaunt herself before his wife. “And then what?”

  The smile she gave him was genuine. He’d swear to it.

  “Oh, she apologized for having revealed so much. But I knew she meant to. So I told her it was all right.”

  “You what?” He felt a pang of quite irrational annoyance. All right, indeed!

  “Oh, I didn’t encourage her to think she could continue. I just told her I knew about it. That you had told me.”

  “ I-I never told a woman—”

  “Yes, so Kitty informed me later. Actually, I had guessed. At the theater. The way she touched you. The way she talked to you.”

  She stopped to take a sip of tea, those eyes of hers so innocent over the Wedgwood rim.

  “Kitty said it was the best set-down she’d wit­nessed in a long time.”

  “No doubt,” he said dryly. But it would take more than wit to best Roxanne. “Take care,” he said. “Roxanne is a vicious enemy.”

  “Yes, milord. Kitty said the same.”

  She laid her needlepoint aside and looked him directly in the eye. “Kitty asked me how you and I met.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “Nothing, really. But I should like to. If you’ve no objections.”

  He shrugged. Kitty seemed destined to become the repository of all his secrets. “You may tell Kitty anything. She has never betrayed a friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fiona’s eyes met his again. Like the dog’s they showed gratitude. Perhaps even affection. He smiled to himself. Affection would be nice.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  The next morning Fiona woke early. The earl had accompanied her to bed and when the morning light came peeping through the windows he was still there, sleeping soundly, with his arm flung across her body.

  But the weight of his arm did not bother her. Actually, though she would not have told him so, she found it rather comforting.

  He stirred and pulled her closer. His lips touched her ear, lingered there. “Good morning, lady wife.”

  “Good morning,” she murmured.

  From the floor came the sound of the dog’s thumping tail.

  The earl laughed. It was a sound she had never before heard him make—a sound of pure joy that made her heart want to sing.

  He kissed her throat. “I’m sorry I can’t linger here with you this morning, but I’ve matters of business to attend to. Shall we go to the theater tonight? You will have an opportunity to com­pare Kean’s Othello to Kemble’s. And I’ve a fancy to see you in that green silk again. Though actually—” His lips moved across her throat and down her shoulder.

  With a sigh he threw back the covers and got to his feet. “But I must go. Lie abed awhile, my love. It’s too early for a lady to be up and about.”

  “Yes, milord.” She watched him step around his clothes, the dog instantly at his heels.

  At the connecting door, he raised a hand in a farewell salute. “Till tonight,” he said.

  When Fiona woke again, it was to the feel of a wet tongue licking at her fingers. She laughed. “Lady! Whatever are you doing?”

  The dog whined and her tail thumped the floor.

  “All right, all right. I’m getting up.”

  Minutes later Fiona went downstairs, the dog at her heels. Berkins cleared his throat. “Ah, there you are, milady.” He hesitated.

  Something in his look alerted her. “Yes, Berkins. What is it?”

  “I— It’s the stableboy, milady.”

  “Ben?”

  Berkins nodded. “The boy insists on speaking to you. I told him it was impossible.” He frowned. “Stableboys do not make calls upon ladies. I’ll send him back to—”

  She shook her head, remembering the days when she’d been alone, with no one to turn to. “No, don’t. Ben may always come to me. Send him to the library. I’ll wait for him there.”

  The butler looked almost relieved. “Yes, mi­lady. Right away.”

  Fiona took a seat in front of the fire, the dog settling with a sigh at her feet. What could the boy want?

  Ben came in, clutching his cap, his eyes round with wonder at the sights of the master’s man­sion. She saw him look at Lady and for a second the tension in his face eased.

  She spoke to him gently. “What is it, Ben? Why do you wish to see me?”

  “I—I—” He twisted his cap in work-roughened hands. “I needs yer help, milady.” His lower lip quivered and he bit down on it.

  “Tell me, Ben. What’s wrong?”

  “They’s alaughing at me,” he stammered. “All but Huggins. But I don’t care ‘bout the laughing. It’s the babies I cares about.” His eyes filled with tears and he swiped at them with the back of a grimy hand.

  “What babies?” Fiona asked. Was the boy’s family in trouble?

  Ben swallowed. “They’s agonna drown ‘em. But Huggins said they hadda wait.”

  “Drown them? Ben, whatever are you talking about?”

  “The pups,” the boy sobbed. “They can’t drown ‘em. They’s just babies.”

  Puppies! Fiona heaved a sigh of relief. “Come here, Ben.”

  He sniffed and edged closer, a hand going out to touch the dog that had come to his side. “I jest wanted to be like ‘im. Like His Lordship. He saved yer Lady Lucky here. I wants to save these pups.”

  Fiona’s eyes filled with tears. Ben was a good boy. He deserved her help. “Where are the pup­pies?” she asked.

  “Out in the stable.” He sniffed again. “Huggins made the others wait. They laughed. They said you wouldn’t help.”

  Fiona got to her feet and took his grubby fin­gers in hers. “Come along, Ben. Show me these pups.”

  The men stood respectfully and touched their caps when she came into the stable. Huggins coughed apologetically. “Ben’s only a lad, milady. And he’s tender of heart. Don’t be too hard on him, please.”

  Fiona raised a hand. “There’s no need to apolo­gize, Huggins. You were right to send the boy to me.”

  The coachman allowed himself the beginning of a smile and she knew that he was on Ben’s side. About the others she couldn’t tell. They looked everywhere but at her.

  “Where are the puppies?” she asked.

  Ben led her to a nest of straw in the corner of a stall. “Here, milady. Ain’t they something, though?”

  Fiona nodded, suddenly unable to speak. The world was such a hard place for the likes of Ben; surely a little kindness could not go amiss. Let the boy keep the puppies.

  The wriggling black and brown mass separated into individual pups. Their eyes were not yet open but they scrambled unerringly for their mother—and breakfast.

  Ben looked up at her, his eyes full of pleading. “You ain’t gonna let ‘em—”

  “No, Ben. The puppies will be safe.”

  She turned back to the others. “These puppies are not to be destroyed. Those are my orders.” There was no sound from the men and no expres­sions on their faces. Except for Huggins. His smile broadened.

  Ben’s eyes shone. “Oh, thank you, milady.” He drew himself up proudly. “I’ll take care of ‘em. They won’t be no trouble.”
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  An hour later Fiona was admitted to Kitty’s drawing room. Kitty looked up from the fringe she was knotting. “Fiona! I didn’t expect you today. Come in.”

  Fiona took a chair, but she found it difficult to sit still. “I—I have an idea. And I want to know what you think of it.”

  Kitty put the fringe aside. “Tell me, my dear. You look so serious.”

  Fiona edged forward. “That’s because this is se­rious business. You know how Dreyford rescued Lady.”

  Kitty nodded.

  “Well, this morning the stableboy . . .” Fiona launched into the story of Ben’s puppies. “And so,” she concluded, “I got this idea. To open a kind of shelter. A place for homeless strays. Do you think it will work?”

  Kitty’s usually cheerful face grew sober. “My goodness, I never would have thought of such a thing. I just don’t know. But my dear, you’re talking about a great deal of work. You must find a place for it. And have people to run it. And people to work there.” She clapped a hand to her fore­head. “Thinking about it quite makes me dizzy.”

  Fiona leaned forward even further. “But you do think it’s a good idea? And you will help me? Re­ally, Kitty, it will not be that much work. And think how much good you’ll be doing.”

  “Stop!” Kitty cried in exaggerated alarm. “When you look at me like that, I would promise the most outlandish things.” She grinned. “But why am I worried? Robbie will never let you do it.”

  “But if he consents, you will help me?”

  That evening Dreyford helped his wife to her seat in Drury Lane. Amid the splendidly gowned and bejeweled ladies that filled the boxes, Fiona was the most beautiful of all. “So,” he said, “to­night you get to see the great Kean in action.”

  Her smile gave him a warm glow. What an addlepated witling he was turning into. Countless women had smiled at him. And none of them had ever made him feel as she did.

  The change in him had been nothing short of amazing. He had practically come to live in her pocket. Though he forced himself to attend his usual haunts, he was always eager to get home. To see the dog’s tail wagging a greeting. And, even more, to see the light of welcome shining in his wife’s eyes.