Design for Love

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  She picked up her needlework, then put it down again with an exclamation of disgust. How could she think about stitching when her whole life hung in the balance? Her heart jumped a beat. Not just her life, but the shelter’s very existence, depended on Lonigan and what he decided to do.

  Finally, when she thought she could stand it no longer, Berkins stood in the doorway. The slight­est hint of distaste crossed his usually expression­less face. “A Mr. Lonigan, milady. To see you.”

  “Show him in, please, Berkins.” She tried to compose her features. She must look as though this were merely a social visit.

  Lonigan sauntered in, smiling cheerfully. “Nice little place ye’ve got here,” he said, settling himself in a chair. “Why didn’t ye tell me ye was so well-heeled?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. “Letting me think ye was in keeping. And all along ye’ve got a fancy earl for a husband. Leastways, that’s what he thinks. Wonder what he’ll say when he hears dif­ferent.”

  Her mouth went dry, but she reminded herself to keep calm. “What do you mean? You know we weren’t really married.”

  “Not really married?” He stretched his legs and admired his boots. “Me dear, yer’re mistook. We tied the knot, pure and simple. Don’t ye remem­ber Brother Andrews? Oh, yes, we’re married.”

  He let his glance rove around the sumptuous room. She could almost see him adding up figures in his mind. So much for the Turner over the mantel. So much for the Constable on that wall.

  He gave her a calculating look. “And ye being here is all a mistake. Ye don’t belong in this fancy place, me dear. Ye belong with me.”

  She bit back an exclamation of distaste, and fought to keep her expression serene. How could she ever have thought she loved this man? “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  He chuckled. “Always direct, ain’t ye, me dear? I’m here cause I need some ready.” He looked around the room again. “He’ll never miss it, fer sure.”

  Her worst fears were realized. He meant to blackmail her. “But I haven’t any—”

  His jovial expression faded. “Then get it. I aim to have my share of all this. ‘Tis only right and proper, him having taken me beloved wife from me.”

  “I’m not—”

  His expression hardened. “Now, is that a nice way to be talking to yer husband?”

  This was a nightmare. If only she could wake up. “Have you proof?”

  He shook his head. “Not with me, I don’t.” He took out an enameled snuffbox and helped him­self to a pinch. “Do ye think I’d be lugging the preacher around with me? Besides, me dear”—he gave her a grin that made her stomach lurch in disgust—”I know ye want to stay here. Who wouldn’t? So ye just get me the ready. Do that and ye’ll be cozy as a flea.” Ostentatiously, he picked a piece of lint off his coat sleeve. “We’ll start with a couple hundred pounds.”

  Her stomach tightened again and she tasted bile. Where could she get that kind of money? “A couple—”

  “Aye.” He cut her off. “I seen that shelter of yern. I know that fancy earl finances it. Tell him ye need more cash.”

  What should she do? She tried to think. “It’ll take time to get the money. I spent everything I had. And he knows the shelter is ready. I can’t ask him for more right now.”

  Lonigan nodded sagely. “I’m a reasonable man, I am. I’ll give ye a week to come up with some emergency. A week. Then I go to that husband of yern.” He looked around him. “And all this is gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Pouf! Just like that.”

  She nodded. Anything to get him out of there. “All right. A week. But don’t come here anymore. Come to—”

  The door opened to admit the earl. A pattern card of perfection in his fawn-colored trousers and coat of blue superfine, he cast a pained look at this intruder unexpectedly lolling in his deli­cate lyre-back chair.

  Fiona forced a smile. If she hung on a little longer, she could carry this off. “Milord, this is Mr. Lonigan. He came to see me about a position in the shelter. I’m afraid I had to tell him it’s al­ready filled.”

  Dreyford did not look pleased at this news. His expression grew more disgruntled.

  She got to her feet and Lonigan did the same. “If we have another opening, Mr. Lonigan, we’ll be putting it in the Times. “

  “Aye, milady.” Lonigan’s attitude was all sub­servience, but under it she detected the mockery. Still, she knew he would not betray her at the mo­ment. He would give her the week. She swal­lowed a sigh of relief as he bowed his way out.

  Across the room Dreyford leaned against the mantel, his mouth twisted in a grimace of distaste. “I realize that the shelter is important to you, my dear. But in the future please conduct such busi­ness down there. I don’t like that sort dirtying up my drawing room.”

  She nodded. “Of course. He was awful, wasn’t he?” She hardly knew what she was saying. Her mouth seemed to form words of its own accord. “I’m sorry. Someone must have told him where we live. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. You can be sure of that.”

  Dreyford felt a stab of apprehension. Why did she rattle on like that? And why were her cheeks so flushed and her eyes so bright?

  Good Lord, could Roxanne have possibly been right? Could he have stumbled into a tête-à-tête between his wife and a lover?

  For a moment it seemed he couldn’t breathe. How could she do such a thing—right there in their home? And with such a down-and-outer? He should go right after him and teach the dog his place.

  But common sense asserted itself. Fiona was not stupid, or cruel. If she desired to take a lover, she would find one of better quality than that lout. And she would do it discreetly. She was not the sort to flaunt the fellow in her home.

  Somehow this knowledge did little to raise his spirits. He did not want discretion from his wife. He wanted fidelity. He wanted love.

  This rather amazing piece of insight made his frown grow fiercer. The woman intruded into all the areas of his life. She was his life.

  That was impossible. He pushed the thought from him. He did not love his wife. He had sworn never to love a woman again. He merely enjoyed her company.

  * * * *

  Fiona spent a sleepless night. Should she have told Dreyford everything? she wondered. How out of her fear of Charles she had deceived him, had not told him about Lonigan? But she did not want to make such a decision without giving it sufficient thought. Such words, once spoken, could never be recalled. And it would be better when she told him to have all the facts.

  Her husband lay beside her, his body relaxed in sleep, and she considered what she should do. If only she had told him everything that day in Charles’s study. If only she had entered their union with a clean conscience. But she had not. She had kept the truth from her husband-to-be. And now she was going to pay for it.

  And so she spent the night in that most useless of pastimes: considering what might have been. And sometime just before dawn she decided what it was she must do. First, she would find out if Lonigan really had any proof of their marriage. The more she saw of him, the more unlikely it seemed that he would actually have married a poor relation. And he couldn’t have known about the dowry or he would have claimed it immedi­ately.

  So, after she looked into the matter of proof, she would decide what to do next. And finally she slept.

  * * * *

  When she arrived at Kitty’s at noon, her friend looked up from her needlepoint and clucked a sympathetic tongue. “My word, Fiona. Do sit down. You look positively haggard. Whatever is wrong?”

  Now that she was there, she didn’t know what to do, what to say. “I—I heard the most dreadful story. From a friend of mine.”

  Kitty’s brows knit in a frown. “Tell me.”

  “She was married once. Very young. Or thought she was. The man disappeared. Years later she married another.” She swallowed. She could not let Kitty see how this upset her. “And then the man came back.”

  The usually imperturbabl
e Kitty gasped. “And now she has two husbands?”

  Fiona nodded. “If the first marriage was legal. He says it was. And he—he wants money to keep his secret.”

  Kitty’s eyes narrowed. “And what does she think you can do?”

  “They were married near Fleet Street. I—I have the name of the man who married them. She thought—I thought perhaps you would help me look for him.”

  Kitty raised her hands in a gesture of supplica­tion. “Fiona, you know how it is down there. We shall never find anything.”

  “I know.” She was very much afraid Kitty was right. But she had to do something. If she could prove Lonigan was lying, she could pull his teeth. “But I must try. Will you help me?”

  Kitty’s frown grew worse. “Your friend should go to her husband. Tell him the truth. Throw her­self on his mercy. If he loves her . . .”

  Fiona swallowed a sob. “He doesn’t, though. And she’s afraid. Because she loves him.”

  “Oh, Fiona!”

  She could not look at Kitty. Her friend’s sym­pathy would reduce her to tears and this was a secret she could not share. “Will you help me?”

  Kitty got to her feet. “Of course. Just let me get my bonnet.”

  * * * *

  Fleet Street was a jumbled mass of humanity, most of it none too clean. Fiona, with Kitty beside her and a worried Huggins trailing along behind, made inquiries at every establishment. But no­body had heard of Brother Andrews. And when she said that seven years had passed, they only shook their heads.

  Six days they spent—long, weary, and utterly unproductive days of seeking. But Brother An­drews—if such he had really been—had disap­peared from the face of the earth.

  On the afternoon of the sixth day they col­lapsed into the carriage. “It’s no use,” Fiona said. “We’ll never find him.”

  Kitty cast a sympathetic glance. “Fiona, we’ll keep looking.”

  Fiona shook her head. “We can’t. The week’s up.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He only gave m—her a week. He’ll be coming for the money. And she doesn’t have it.” Her voice threatened to break and she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop its trembling. She could not be seen crying in a carriage on Fleet Street.

  “Will he really—” Kitty gave an exasperated sigh and moved closer on the squabs. She took her friend’s gloved hand in her own. “Fiona,” she whispered, “let us end this charade. I know. I know there’s no friend.”

  Fiona’s eyes filled with tears and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief. “How—”

  “I guessed that first day when you told me the story.” Kitty sighed. “I wished to respect your privacy. But my dear, this cannot go on.”

  “I—I know.”

  Kitty’s fingers tightened. “My dear friend, shall I give you the money?”

  “Kitty!” Fiona looked up in surprise. “I could not accept such a thing. I’ve no way to repay you.”

  Kitty pursed her lips. “Nonsense. I said nothing of repayment. Ginsfield would never miss it.”

  Fiona stared at her friend. How she wanted to say yes to this generous offer. To have this terri­ble thing over and done with. But much as she wanted to put this all behind her, she knew this was not the way. “Oh, Kitty, I wish I could. But I cannot. He will only come back. And it will go on and on.”

  “Then—”

  A long shuddering sigh shivered through Fiona. “I shall have to tell him. I shall have to tell Dreyford the truth.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Kitty with a vehemence that surprised her friend. “Oh, my dear, I am so glad you came to this decision. It was my hope you would.”

  Fiona swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me be­fore that you knew?”

  The corners of Kitty’s mouth lifted in the slightest of smiles. “I did not know. And that’s why I didn’t ask. Because if I knew, really knew, I would be honor bound to tell Dreyford.”

  Fiona did not quite comprehend the niceties of this kind of honor. But she did appreciate Kitty’s friendship. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  Kitty frowned. “That is my problem,” she said. “I am friend to both of you. And my loyalties are sorely divided.”

  “Oh, Kitty, I did not mean to do that to you.”

  Kitty patted her arm. “It’s all right now, my dear. You are going to do the right thing.” She put a hand to her mouth. “You are going to tell him? You won’t change your mind?”

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  * * * *

  Later, in the privacy of her room, Fiona paced. Back and forth, back and forth, she trod the ex­pensive Persian carpet. Lady trailed at her heels for a while, then finally, unable to understand this peculiar behavior, curled up in a ball by the chaise and went to sleep.

  I must tell him, Fiona thought, but I must pick a good time, a time when he would not be upset—

  Her laughter rang out, a harsh bitter sound that startled the dog into wakefulness. She was being foolish, Fiona told herself. There was no good time to tell a man something like this.

  She tried to imagine how he would react. Would he raise a dark eyebrow and laugh in dis­belief? Or would he explode in a demonstration of the famed Dreyford temper?

  She cast herself onto the chaise. Why didn’t Dreyford come home? This awful waiting would drive her mad. But no matter. Whatever his reac­tion, Dreyford must be told the truth.

  Finally she washed her face and patted her hair into place. It couldn’t hurt to look her best.

  She got to her feet. She would go downstairs and work on her needlepoint. Anything would be better than waiting up here.

  When she settled on the divan, the dog thrust her head into her lap. Fiona smoothed the silky hair. “You’re lucky, all right,” she whispered. “He cares about you.”

  She was still sitting there, soothing herself by talking to the dog, when Dreyford came in. Her heart rose up in her throat at the sight of him. So dark, so handsome. Why must she love him so much?

  “Good evening, my dear,” he said.

  “Good evening.” The simple words wanted to stick in her throat. Should she tell him now? She moistened her lips, ready to begin.

  And he smiled at her. That smile undermined all her determination and left her knees quivering.

  Couldn’t she have one more night? she asked herself. Was it too much to ask for one more night of happiness before it all came crashing down around her?

  “And so, is your shelter about ready to open?” he inquired.

  “Yes. The Hadleys are all moved in. And the animals have started coming in already.” She managed a little laugh. “Ben has all the children alerted. Today they brought in two kittens and an abandoned dog.”

  His smile warmed her all the way through. To­morrow he would cease smiling at her. She pushed tomorrow from her mind. She would not think about what might happen then. She would have her one perfect night. Smiling herself, she went to him and raised her face for his kiss.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  When Fiona went downstairs the next morning, the earl was gone and Berkins was waiting with a message that Caro Lamb had returned to the city. Fiona went first to see Caro.

  “I have come to ask you a favor,” she said, as soon as the greetings were over.

  Caro looked up from her box of chocolates and smiled. “Of course, my dear. You know I would do anything for you. Ask away.”

  “As I told you in my letters, I have opened a shelter for homeless animals.”

  Caro examined a chocolate. “Yes, I remember a trifle about it.”

  “Well, something has happened,” Fiona went on, leaning forward in her chair. “I may not be able to continue supporting it. And I thought per­haps you—”

  Caro looked pained. “Oh, I assure you, I should help if I could, but William has become so stuffy lately.”

  “It would not take much,” Fiona added hastily. “Perhaps the cost of one new gown a quarter.”
>
  Caro wrinkled her nose and selected a chocolate. “I dare not ask him for a penny. He simply flies up in the boughs. You understand, I’m sure.”

  Fiona slumped in her chair. She understood that she had been wrong about Caro Lamb. No tender heart beat beneath that delicate facade. This woman would not do anything to help any­one. She thought of no one but herself.

  “But come,” Caro cried, “and tell me all the lat­est on dits.”

  Fiona sighed. She cared little for the ton these days—or its foolish gossip. “I’m afraid I must be going. Thank you for seeing me.”

  Caro got to her feet, consternation written on her face. “But, Fiona, you have not told me how Byron is. When did you see him last?”

  Fiona bit back a sharp retort. “I saw him at Lady Jersey’s last week. He looked well.”

  Caro frowned. “He did not look ill, or pining?”

  “No, no. He was quite jovial—for him. Lady Jersey had put Lady Roxanne beside him.”

  Caro’s nose wrinkled again. “That woman is no good.”

  “I know.” Fiona moved toward the door. There was nothing she could do here. She did not want to talk to Caro anymore. Her so-called friend was every bit as shallow as Dreyford had said she was. “Good-bye, now.”

  * * * *

  Fiona told Huggins to take her next to Fleet Street. She went there every day and there was no point in avoiding the place now. Besides, she would rather face Lonigan there than in the draw­ing room on Grosvenor Square.

  He came in midafternoon, ushered inside by a forewarned Mr. Hadley who closed the door care­fully behind him. Lonigan’s clothes were wrin­kled and stained. His boots were worn down at the heels and spotted with mud. And his linen missed cleanliness by a wide margin. He looked like the seedy, run-down fortune hunter he actu­ally was.

  “So,” he said, pulling up a straight chair and not wasting a minute. “Did ye get it?”

  She sighed. It seemed impossible that once she had loved this man. How could she ever have be­lieved in him?

  He frowned. “I said, did ye get it?”