His impulse had been always to contradict her. It was a means of striving to keep his independence in the midst of losing all that was dear to him. As if disagreeing with her would drive her away. Oh, if that were only true. But he couldn’t do so now. That leopard had been dangerous and would have injured him. Or worse.
Miss Cartwright edged closer, her thigh mere inches from his. “You know, the time is drawing close for you to assume your inheritance.”
He nodded, knowing what she implied. Would she be so bold as to say the words?
“Perhaps you should… consider the future.” She wrapped her arm through his.
He darted a glance to his other side, wishing to scoot away from her, but he was as far as he could be from the edge of the settee without landing on the floor. Miss Cartwright’s perfume filled his lungs, overpowering, nauseating. Did the woman think it would please him to be suffocated by noxious flowers? That it would please anyone?
Standing abruptly, John pulled away from her tentacle-like arms. The maid fumbled her sewing, nearly dropping the fabric into her lap. Yes, it had been a rude gesture, but he cared not. If he could not tolerate sitting next to Miss Cartwright on the settee, how in the world would he be able to marry her? Share a life? A bed? It was true that men accomplished such every day. But how? How did they keep their sanity?
He glanced back toward Miss Cartwright. Her mouth turned down at the corners and her eyebrows lowered. She sat with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, causing them to strain beneath the low-cut neckline. The men who were able to tolerate marriage to women they abhorred, more often than not took mistresses. John had always thought the practice unseemly and wrong. It was not something in which he would indulge.
So that left… Miss Cartwright. Why could the woman not at least be likeable? Marriage to her would be like living with a cawing crow, agonizing in her nagging speech, painful in her constant pecking away of his very soul.
No. There had to be another solution.
Please.
Chapter Three
Francesca waited by the gate. Zoo visitors streamed past her in a flurry of rustling garments and excited snatches of conversation. Would Mr. Fairgate come back? Or had Belle scared the poor man off the other day? Not that she would blame him. Anyone would have been terrified.
Anyone, maybe, but her.
Her mother hadn’t understood her connection with cats, just as her father still didn’t. Hadn’t they noticed that even as a small girl, house cats flocked around her like ducks to bread crumbs? Everywhere she went, cats, large, small, fluffy, purring, followed her. It was as if Francesca were covered in something only they could sense. Something enticing, something they had to be near.
Even now, especially now. The large cats of the Tower watched her walk by their cages. Approached the bars. Rubbed their faces against the cool metal, trying to gain her attention. When she’d been little, other children had thought cats’ attraction to her an oddity. No matter. Francesca loved cats as much as they loved her. If others couldn’t see her beautiful gift for what it was, then they weren’t worth her acquaintance.
Mr. Fairgate had seemed interested in the cats. Hadn’t he mentioned always having a fondness for them? But what must he think of her now? Now that he’d witnessed her relationship with the zoo’s leopard. Did he think her mad? A witch? It wouldn’t be the first time someone mockingly accused her of that. Nor the first time it was thought she should be housed at Bedlam. Or at the very least, a circus act.
Come and witness Miss Hartwell, the mad cat woman.
She sighed. Maybe Mr. Fairgate wouldn’t return. What a loss that would be. Why had someone she’d met once, briefly, latched onto her thoughts with such tenacity? Yet even though she barely knew him, there seemed a connection. Had Mr. Fairgate felt it, too?
Stepping farther back in the shadows of the gate, Francesca studied each man who crossed in front of her. Too short. Too fat. Too homely. One rather hairy man with dirty clothes looked her up and down, leering as he smiled at her with his two front teeth black and broken. Too repulsive! She lowered her gaze to the ground, not looking back up until she watched his patched, filthy boots pass by.
She would recognize Mr. Fairgate on sight. Something about the man… No. How silly could one woman be? He might not even have given her a single thought once he’d left the Tower. If he had, would he even care to see her again? And he might even be married for all she knew. At the very least, he might think her rather odd for her actions with Belle. He’d promised not to tell anyone about it. Could she trust him to keep his word?
“Franny!” Her father stood beside the tiger’s cage. Waving.
“Coming, Papa.” She headed that direction. The Keeper didn’t seem to mind if she helped her father out from time to time, since she was, after all, free labor.
As long as she stayed out of the cages.
If the Keeper only knew…
The cage door opened with a pop and a squeak. Her father frowned. “Hold the door shut while I fix the hinge.”
“But you just fixed this door recently.”
“You know how old these cages are, Franny. But then, if they required no repair, the Keeper would not require me.”
She shrugged. That was true enough. The income from Papa’s job was all they had. Her mother, of course, lived a comfortable life taken care of by the earl and all his money. Francesca wrinkled her nose. Thoughts of her mother and what she’d done to her father left a vile taste in her mouth. Better not to dwell on it. Things wouldn’t change. Her mother was now cared for as a kept woman, given anything she wished, and Francesca and her father toiled for every scrap they had.
Life wasn’t fair. At least, that’s what her father had preached to her since her mother had left.
“Hold it steady.” Papa banged on the old hinge with his hammer, knocking a rusty piece loose. The metal clanged through the rungs and landed on the ground. Francesca was the only thing keeping the door closed. She gripped the door by its rungs, her arm muscles tightening with the effort. “I’ve got the new hinge, Franny. Give me a minute.”
The tiger, Ronald, devoured his dinner in the opposite corner as he crouched down, his tail curling around his paws. Francesca’s fingers clenched cold metal, imagining they touched Ronald’s soft orange fur instead. His black stripes begged to be stroked. His face patted, and his ears scratched. It would be several hours though until darkness. When she could sneak back in and spend some time with him.
“Good morning, Miss Hartwell.”
Francesca turned her head and squinted into the streaming sunlight. It’s him! Stay calm! She took a deep breath. “Good morning, Mr. Fairgate.”
Papa frowned. “Pay attention, Franny.”
“Yes, sir.” She swallowed. Her cheeks burned. Why did her father insist on speaking to her as if she were still a child? And in front of Mr. Fairgate, of all people?
Footsteps pattered behind her. Had Mr. Fairgate left? Francesca gritted her teeth. Of all the times for her father to reprimand her. Perhaps Mr. Fairgate saw her not as a child, but as a woman, one he would enjoy getting to know, hold her hand, touch the curve of her cheek?
Clang. Clang. Her father pounded the new hinge into place. “There. You can let go now.”
She stepped away from the cage with one last glimpse of the tiger. I’ll do my best to visit you tonight, Ronald. The large cat raised his head from his food dish and swung around to peer directly at her. He closed his eyes then opened them, as if he’d heard her silent message. Settling back down on his haunches, Ronald tucked into his food.
The hem of Francesca’s skirt swirled around her legs as she turned. Mr. Fairgate hadn’t left. He sat on a visitor’s bench not far from Ronald’s cage. Did he wish to speak with her? What would Papa think?
Opening her mouth to speak to Mr. Fairgate, she clamped it shut when her father stepped out of the cage. He squinted his eyes in the bench’s direction.
Oh, Papa, please don’t be rude. Not to him.
/>
“Franny, who is that man over there? You called him by name. Do you know him?”
Biting her lip, she kept her voice low, hoping he would do the same. Her father had a bad habit of speaking his mind if he thought it had something to do with a person of possible nobility. She tugged on his arm, drawing him away from Mr. Fairgate.
“What are you doing, Franny?”
“Papa, please.”
“Please, what?”
Darting a glance toward the bench, she held her breath. Would he want to talk to Mr. Fairgate if he found out she knew him? “I…”
“You do know him, don’t you? How many times have I told you—?”
“He’s not titled, Papa.”
“He’s not?”
She shook her head, hoping her words were true. But she didn’t know. Surely history wouldn’t repeat itself. Surely she wouldn’t fall for someone as her mother had done. True, she didn’t already have a husband and child, but her father would never, ever stand for it. Perhaps the fates would be kind to her, and he was not titled. Please let it be so.
“Well, let me go meet him, then.”
Oh, no. She sighed and followed him toward the bench. There’d be no way to dissuade him now.
Mr. Fairgate stood as they approached. Papa crossed his arms as he eyed the younger man. Francesca swallowed against a dry lump in her throat. How she hated it when her father made others uncomfortable. Neither man spoke. Were they waiting for her to introduce them? But that wouldn’t be appropriate. She twisted her hands together and waited.
Finally, Mr. Fairgate turned his head toward her. “Miss Hartwell, would you be so kind as to make the introduction?”
She stepped to one side. “Mr. Fairgate, this is my father, Edward Hartwell. Papa, this is Mr. Fairgate.”
Just when Francesca feared neither man would initiate the next move, Mr. Fairgate stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hartwell.”
Papa looked down at Mr. Fairgate’s gloves. He studied the expensive leather. A quick glance at his own bare, dirty hands preceded him putting his hand forward for a shake.
Francesca let out a sigh. That went better than it could have.
“It seems you’ve become acquainted with my daughter, Mr. Fairgate.”
With a smile, Mr. Fairgate nodded. “We’ve only met recently, but she was kind enough to give me information about the large cats.”
“I hope she hasn’t been a bother.”
Oh, Papa!
“Not in the least. I quite admire cats and enjoy watching them.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve not been inconvenienced. Sometimes my little girl gets ahead of herself and overexcited when it comes to the cats.”
Heat splashed across Francesca’s face and down her neck. How embarrassing. When would Papa realize she wasn’t a child any longer?
“No, sir, in fact, I’m indebted to your daughter for—”
She gasped and gave a single, short shake of her head. No one must know that she’d saved him from falling in Belle’s cage.
Papa frowned. “For what?”
“Oh, uh, for spending time giving me information about the cats and their care… when she could have been—” Mr. Fairgate ran his hand down his chin.
“—helping you, Papa.” She nearly wilted with relief when her father nodded and the furrows on his forehead smoothed. Maybe now he would not be so critical of Mr. Fairgate when he visited.
If he visited again. By now, would he envision her as a small girl, nowhere near maturity? Someone to pat on the head as a reward for good behavior?
Her father crossed his arms. “I’ve been the chief caretaker of the large cats for many, many years, Mr. Fairgate, so if I can help you in any way with information, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
And then he smiled. Actually smiled.
One corner of Mr. Fairgate’s mouth rose. “Why, thank you. I appreciate that. My plans are to come here often to visit… the cats.”
Papa stuck out his hand again. “We at the Tower Zoo are pleased to have you visit. Anytime.”
Mr. Fairgate shook with Papa again. “Thank you. And it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hartwell.”
“You, too, Mr. Fairgate.” He put his hand on Francesca’s shoulder. She raised both eyebrows. What was going on with her father? He was being nice to someone of wealth, smiling, and showing her affection? Papa wasn’t usually a drinking man, but had he imbibed something out of the ordinary today? He glanced at Francesca.
“Franny, why don’t you show Mr. Fairgate the new kangaroos? He might enjoy those.”
Mouth agape, she nodded. And then snapped her lips closed. No use drooling in front of Mr. Fairgate. Things were strange enough as it was. She’d have to check on Papa later to make sure he was well. Perhaps he’d spent too much time in the sun lately? Or ate something that didn’t agree with him, causing him to acquire the personality of someone else? Something out-of-the-ordinary was occurring, that was for certain.
“Of course, Papa. I’d be pleased to. Mr. Fairgate? If you’d like to accompany me around the corner, we can visit the kangaroos.”
She frowned and motioned for Mr. Fairgate to follow as she walked away. Steps sounded behind her, and then he caught up to walk at her side.
“Miss Hartwell, is something amiss?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“You seem as if… that is to say, you appear to be…”
She relaxed. No wonder the man was perplexed. He might have thought her frown had been on his account. “Forgive me, Mr. Fairgate.” She raised the corner of her mouth. “It’s just that my father…”
He nodded and crinkles formed around his eyes as he smiled. “I believe I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes. My uncle has often treated me the same.”
“He has?”
“I think that perhaps it’s difficult for someone who has raised us, has seen us grow to adulthood, to accept that we are such.”
He thought she frowned because Papa had referred to her as a little girl? It had bothered her, to be sure. But better to let him think that was the only reason for her countenance at the moment. There was no easy way to explain that her father was acting out of the ordinary. As if he were someone else entirely. She’d need to find out later for herself what Papa’s reasons were for being so accommodating to a man of wealth, when his usual reaction would be less than hospitable.
“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Fairgate. Papa does seem to still see me as a girl of ten, I fear.”
“And you are nothing of the sort, of course. Why, you’re a beautiful woman of…”
“Beautiful?”
His face reddened as he nodded again. Clearing his throat, he glanced away. “So, I’m quite interested to see the kangaroos.”
Relieved for a change of topic, even though she’d treasure his compliment, Francesca pointed ahead of them. “Just a few more cages and we’ll be there. I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised. There is nothing quite like a kangaroo. They’re equipped with their own pockets.”
“Surely you jest.”
“Wait and see.” She shook her finger back and forth, as if she scolded a small child.
A group of two men and three women stood in front of the kangaroos. Dressed in the latest, finest fashion, their clothes seemed to be of a caliber to Mr. Fairgate’s. The women in silk and ribbons. The men in coats, top hats, and shiny black boots. Glancing down at her own worn dress and dusty boots, Francesca wished they’d leave, so she would stop comparing her attire to theirs. Mr. Fairgate’s, however, didn’t bother her. Because when she looked at him, his dark eyes and dimpled cheeks were all she could see.
Francesca tapped her boot and sighed. Oh, bother. She and Mr. Fairgate would have to wait to get a proper view until the people left. Two of the men were quite tall and broad, making them difficult to see around.
“I do believe you’re toying with me, Miss Hartwell. Pockets? ” He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I would never toy with someone, Mr. Fairgate.”
“But talk of animals with wardrobe accessories? Honestly, Miss Hartwell…”
“The only accessory of which I spoke was pockets.”
“Next you’ll be telling me the leopard’s spots are actually buttons.”
“Now you’re just being silly. Although that would be fabulous, wouldn’t it?” A smile played across her lips. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her. How delightful to tease back and forth with him. So unlike the seriousness of her father, with his stern countenance, treating her as a little girl instead of a woman.
“Buttons are no more difficult to believe than pockets, Miss Hartwell.”
“You wound me, sir. Surely you don’t believe I would make up something of this magnitude?”
“If the animal kingdom gets wind of this atrocious rumor, I daresay fur will fly.” He bit his lip just as the corners of his mouth rose.
Tapping her boot, she placed her hands on her hips. “They know of the talk, sir, and wholeheartedly endorse it. Because you see, ‘tis true.”
He took a step toward her. Lips quivered as he held back a grin. Feigning a frown, he shook his head. “Having sport with me at my own expense, simply because you have superior knowledge of the zoo’s creatures.”
Raising her chin and placing a hand on her chest, she gasped. “I am a proper lady, Mr. Fairgate. And such behavior would be unseemly. To toy with someone’s feelings by having sport with them would be beneath my station.” Biting her lip, she nevertheless giggled. She covered her mouth with her hand.
Two of the women standing in front of them at the kangaroos’ cage turned to stare. Francesca eyed Mr. Fairgate. He looked away, but his body shook, betraying his mirth.
Francesca tossed her head at their lack of humor. Must everything in life be so serious? She pressed her lips together. Move along, ladies and gentlemen. I can’t hold this laugh in much longer.
The older woman in the group tapped an older gentleman’s arm. Glancing toward Francesca and Mr. Fairgate and then back toward the man, she gave his hand a light tug. As soon as they turned, the entire group hustled away in one clump, as tight as a flock of starlings in flight.
Romance at the Royal Menagerie Page 3