by J. E. Clymer
Wilhelmina piped up, “Because all the other babies were keeping her awake! It is not our fault if Cara can not get the little ones to be quiet.”
Belladonna leveled a gaze at the room, “We will discuss this later. Read your Bible until I come back.”
She then walked down the stairs, out of the house, and into the garden. Sure enough she found two year old Bethany fast asleep in the rose bed. Pulling her out, she picked her up and carried her back up stairs to her bed.
Walking back down the stairs she found her step-mother in a heap on the couch crying her eyes out. Belladonna cleared her throat, “Cara.”
The woman didn't look up. She raised her voice and tried again. “Cara.”
When she didn't respond again, Belladonna yelled. “Cara!”
Finally the woman met her eyes. “I...I lost...” Cara garbled thru tears.
Belladonna sighed. “Bethany is back up in bed, fast asleep. Calm down.” She reprimanded as she turned and left the room.
###
Later that afternoon Belladonna was summoned to her father's study. For the last two months he'd been giving her marriage advice on a regular basis. For a man who rarely acknowledged she existed for most of her life, he was becoming very controlling factor in it.
She was tensed and positively dreading another talk on how she should take more initiative in finding a husband. Outwardly she looked serene, inwardly she was exhausted, tired, and ready to snap. None the less, she did what was expected.
She tapped lightly on the door as she opened. Martin didn't look up from his papers, but he motioned her inside. She stood demurely in front of the desk and waited for his orders. When he realized she was standing he ground out, “For God's sake, sit down, girl.”
Martin stared at the paper, buying himself a few extra moments before he made his decision final. Belladonna was the polar opposite of Alexandria, but maybe, just maybe, the problem was that she wasn't. Maybe she really didn't want a family of her own. Maybe she didn't want the conformity she'd lived with her entire life.
Maybe, just maybe, his most unremarkable daughter had the potential to be remarkable. She waited for him to speak again. She sat stiffly and silently, as women were suppose to live. He would have thought so twenty years ago, but then he had a daughter turn out to be the best businessman he'd ever met. Granted he had lost that daughter, but she had been happy. At least he thought so.
He didn't want to turn Belladonna into Alexandria, but he did want to give her a chance at happiness. It was becoming increasingly clear that marriage would not do that for her. “Belladonna, you created a scene at the last ball you attended.” He said steadily.
Belladonna put her disguise that she wore for the ton on. That's what Martin had come to think of her blank face with an occasional smile that never met her eyes, paired with her toneless voice—a disguise. “It was not intentional, sir.”
Martin leaned back and appraised his second oldest daughter. At well past twenty one her future needed to be settled sooner rather than later. “What do you want out of life, Belladonna?”
She looked at him blankly. “I am amicable to whatever you wish, father.”
Martin shook his head. “That is not what I asked, Belladonna.”
She watched him silently. He watched her.
“Are you aware of some of the work Alexandria did for me?” He asked.
“It was not proper.” She replied evenly with her disguise firmly in place.
Martin got up and started to pace. “Perhaps it was not, Belladonna, but she was the only one of my children that seemed happy. You seem trapped in prison cell and it is almost like I keep handing you the key and you keep throwing it back at me.”
She nodded. “What do I need to do, father?”
“Think for yourself, for one.” He spat out harshly. Taking a deep breathe he calmed himself. “Belladonna, it is becoming clear you do not wish to marry.”
She shook her head ever so slightly no, as she said, “I wish to please you, father.”
He was frustrated with her acting. “Belladonna, I know I cannot turn you into your sister, but Alexandria had something you do not. She had a sense of self and independence. You seem so afraid to change that I do not think you would budge for the rest of your life if I did not make you. I could force you to marry, but I do not think that would help. I do not think it will make you happy.”
She watched him and asked softly once again. “What do you wish me to do, father?”
He collapsed into the chair behind the desk. “I want you to take your sister's place. Alexandria had agreed to captain one of our short delivery ships in two weeks time. Now that she is gone, she obviously can not do that. I want you to captain it and I want you to grow a backbone.”
She smoothed her dress, but didn't meet his eyes. “I am happy to do whatever you ask, but how do I protect my reputation within the ton and do this for you, father?”
He laughed, “You are just going to have to figure that out Belladonna. Then you are going to have to decide whether or not your position in society is something you want or something you think is expected of you. Those are two different things.” He choked back emotion. “I have lost one child, Belladonna, I will not lose a second to self-imposed misery thru propriety.”
###
The modiste had served the Loomcroft family for as long as she could remember. When she called and asked for an appointment as soon as possible Mrs. Murdock had cleared her schedule for the next day. Belladonna appreciated it, but wasn't surprised by her haste. The Loomcrofts were undoubtedly the biggest client she held.
Belladonna walked into the small shop and found herself surrounded by ribbons and fabrics. Mrs. Murdock was out of the back in an instant. “Miss Loomcroft! It's wonderful to see you. What do you need, you darling girl?”
Belladonna swallowed, “May we speak in private, madam?”
Mrs. Murdock raised an eyebrow, but escorted her back to a private room off of the main shop. “Tell me, Bella, what has happened? How can I help you?”
Mrs. Murdock had made every dress she had ever owned. She took no offense at the endearment of her shortened name, but was surprised by it none the less.
Taking a deep breath, Belladonna started talking slowly in her toneless way. “My father wishes me to captain one of his ships. I need something that will protect my identity in ton, but will also detract from the fact that I'm a woman without abolishing it. Can it be done?”
Mrs. Murdock laughed, “Can it be done? Of course, it can be done. I have done it for your family once already. Is it safe to say you do not want trousers, Miss?”
Belladonna nodded. “I am not male and I will not pretend to be one.”
The modiste practically bounced. “Of course, not! I have tried to convince your sister of such for years. I have a few designs that Alex turned down that would be perfect for you. A perfect mix of masculine and feminine.” She looked Belladonna up and down again. Giggling she tapped her finger on her chin. “May I suggest an eye patch?”
Mrs. Murdock circled her. “Yes, and the hair has to stay down, stay loose. I'm thinking it will darken to a light red in the sun.”
Belladonna sighed, “But how will anyone not recognize me?”
The older woman patted her face fondly. “I will tell you the same thing I told your sister the day she chose to live the way she did. People see what they expect to see. No one will expect to see a respected lady of the ton captaining a merchant ship, so no one will.” She kissed her forehead and patted Belladonna's cheek. “Or if you are lucky, someone might.”
“I do not want anything...untasteful,” Belladonna said.
She shrugged, “You want unusual items, then I get to choose what they look like. It will be ready within the week.”
Belladonna thanked her and then left the shop. The moment she was on the street she groaned on the inside. There not, forty feet away was George Livery. There was no way she could get out of the shop without him seeing her. Sh
e had a feeling the encounter would not be enjoyable.
Squaring her shoulders proudly in her black day dress she walked straight ahead. He spotted her immediately and caught up with her. Bowing directly in front of her he smiled at her, “Good day, Miss Loomcroft.”
She half curtsied and made to walk around him as she put on a fake smile and cordially said, “Good day, Mr. Livery.”
He moved as she moved. “Leaving the modiste?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why else would a woman be on this particular street?”
He nodded, “I insist on escorting you back to Hyde Park. Gentleman's honor.”
“I survived the walk here, I am quite sure I will survive the walk back, sir. I would never dream of inconveniencing you so.” She deflected.
He slipped his arm in hers. “I'm glad the lady understands how inconveniencing it would be to deny me my honor.”
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. Damn her, George wanted her to rise to the bait. Instead she was perhaps the greatest master of podsnappery he'd ever seen. He walked at a slower pace, making her slow down.
“So, did you find a new dress today, Miss Loomcroft?” He prodded.
“Not exactly.” She replied.
“Not exactly,” he repeated softly. He decided a little teasing was in order. “So what color are the unmentionables that you've chosen?”
There was the slightest twitch in her eyes and then it was gone. “Knowing Mrs. Murdock, flamingo pink.” She muttered before slipping back into her neutral countenance.
He paused for a moment. “Most women would think it unseemly to speak of their unmentionables, Miss Loomcroft.” Get her in her sense of prudish propriety, George thought to himself.
Belladonna didn't even flinch, she didn't even think of allowing emotion to flow into her voice. “I was merely speaking of colors, Mr. Livery.”
They took another turn in the walk. George studied her. “Does nothing bother you, Miss Loomcroft?”
She actually sighed, “I fear a great many things bother me. I just do not have the luxury of idle time to worry over them. Mr. Livery, pardon my bluntness, but why would you be interested in my emotions?”
George blushed a little at the blunt reprimand, “How can I repay you for your abandonment if nothing bothers you? Now that I know you are not stone, I must keep searching until I find your crack.”
She sniffed, but she was back to her toneless mask. “One would think you would have better uses for your time.”
They were now on the edge of the park where she would be safe. George bent over her hand and kissed it lightly. Most innocent young women of the ton would have at least blushed, she looked at the gesture as if she had just touched a roach. “One would think,” he whispered as he turned and walked away.
###
George returned to his family's London townhouse after leaving Miss Loomcroft at the park. He found his way to his father's study. He wanted a bit of advise on the situation. No woman had every disliked him and he had no idea how to change this one's mind. Her disdain for him had become an annoyance to him that pricked constantly at his pride.
He found the Earl of Riverton in his small study. He knocked on the door before entering. His father glanced up from his work. The Earl was immediately looking at his papers again. “How much do you need, George?” The Earl asked briskly.
George rubbed his forehead as he sat down across from the old man. “I do not need blunt, father. I have not needed blunt from you for years.”
His father chuckled, “Fourth sons always need blunt. I would rather you get it from me instead by some nefarious means.”
George sighed, “That is not why I am here.”
The Earl sigh and gruffly told his son, “Out with it, then.”
“Have you ever had a woman look at you like you were disgusting?” He got out quickly.
His father raised his eyebrow in curiosity. “Who is this bold chit?”
George fidgeted, “I did not say...”
“Yes, you did. I will have a name, George.” His father replied sternly.
George sighed. “Miss Loomcroft.”
His father studied him for a moment. “Which Miss Loomcroft?” He asked. He shrugged. “No matter, any Miss Loomcroft would be a good match for you. Even with as many daughters as Martin Loomcroft has they will all have significant dowries.”
George felt his chest tighten. “Father, I do not need a rich wife. I have my business ventures, my merchant vessels.”
The Earl huffed, “All men need rich heiresses. It is not like you would have to warm the girl's bed on a nightly basis. All you need to do is share it enough to keep her with child.”
“Father, this is a moot point. The woman detests me.” George sneered.
The Earl shrugged, “If it is Miss Belladonna Loomcroft then you have a significantly better chance than the other fortune hunters; she rarely even acknowledges they exist.”
“She does not wish to marry.” George said flatly.
The Earl shrugged, “Your mother did not wish to marry. She adapted. Miss Loomcroft will as well, once she is finally forced.”
George cringed. His mother had committed suicide when he was six. She should not have had to cope and adapt to his father's needs for as long as she did. There was something fundamentally wrong about forcing someone to wed and then bending them to your will until they broke.
He wished his father would quit trying to force him to do such a thing. Changing the subject quickly George said, “I leave for a merchant voyage to Spain in two weeks.”
His father nodded, “Enjoy your little voyage, but come back prepared. If you have a chance with a Loomcroft girl, then you should take it.”
George pushed himself up out of the chair and walked out the door. His father would never understand that he needed his independence. He would have a wife one day, but not a wife from money. He would support his family; not have a woman's dowry do it for him. George just wished he could shake off the unease from the glint he saw in his father's eyes. It was like the man could see gold at the mere mention of the girl's name.
His first task was to get Miss Loomcroft, whichever Miss Loomcroft she was, out of his head. There was a ball in six hours to attend. He was sure she'd be there and he was sure he'd get his just due.
Chapter 2
Belladonna watched her sixteen year old sister like a hawk from the corner of the room. Deanna moved thru the room with the grace of a butterfly and the pride of a peacock. Men flirted, women envied, Belladonna wished she could strangle the girl.
She was a vivacious flirt who Belladonna couldn't take her eyes off of for a moment. If any of her sisters were likely to ruin themselves, she'd gamble on Deanna being the one to do it. George immediately noticed her watching the girl from the time he entered the room. Belladonna's eyes rarely left the child.
He cringed at the old men flirting with the girl. If she had been his relation, his eyes would have never left her either. The girl had to be barely sixteen. George knew that most men of the ton really preferred that age range, but to him it almost felt like stealing directly out of the cradle.
None the less, his tormentor cared for her. A dance with the young girl would drive the woman insane. Smiling to himself he worked his way thru the crowd and bowed formally to the girl. “Miss Loomcroft, may I have the honor of the next waltz?”
She laughed, “You may.” Turning to the men around her she giggled, “See gentlemen, this is a man with courage. You do not fear that my older sister will bite, do you, Mr. Livery?”
He choked out an “I am rather counting on it, Miss Loomcroft.” He didn't want the idea of her sister biting him to have any appeal, but strangely enough it did. There were a few places he could name that he rather suspected he would enjoy her older sister biting. A fresh flood of frustration seeped into him. He did not wish to fantasize about the cold chit nibbling on him like her favorite fruit tart. He wanted her out of his head.
“May we head to
the dance-floor, Miss Loomcroft?” He asked politely. The young girl gave her his hand and he led her to the floor.
He held her at arms length during the waltz, but none the less he could almost feel her sister's eyes burning a hole in him. Towards the end of the dance he glanced over and caught her eyes. For the first time since he met her, he saw real emotion there. She was angry and she was quickly losing the ability to conceal the fact.
Smiling to himself, he knew exactly how to get his revenge in that instant. As he twirled the room with the younger Loomcroft Lady he whispered in her ear, “Miss Loomcroft, would you join me on the terrace?”
She giggled and nodded, just as any child would. He noted that her sister was already moving towards the doors they were exiting as they moved out. He counted to twenty before placing a chaste kiss on the girl's lips. It was the kiss of a brother, not a man. Surely the chit would realize that.
