Romance at the Royal Menagerie

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Guess that was something else she’d have to work on, if she truly wanted to act like a woman instead of a girl. Running through the streets on a windy day was now a thing of the past.

  But it would all be worth it. As long as Mr. Fairgate approved.

  Chapter Eight

  John stepped down from the carriage. Nodding to Caren, his uncle’s maid, he turned toward the driver. “Miss Hartwell should be waiting for me inside. We’ll be back in a moment.”

  Anton tipped his hat. “Very good, sir.”

  John took a few steps toward the gate, but had to wait as there was a line of people trying to gain entrance. His preference was for morning visits to the zoo. Fewer people to deal with. But afternoons were the best time for him to visit the Sanctuary.

  He grasped his hands together in front of his coat. Why were they sweaty? For some reason, he was nervous. Frowning, he shook his head. But why? He’d spent a lot of time around women. He was never nervous around Miss Cartwright.

  Ah, but that was the difference. He didn’t give a whit what Miss Cartwright thought of him. But Miss Hartwell…

  For some reason, today’s outing was especially important. Everything must go well. He so wanted to get to know her better, away from the zoo. Not that he had anything against the place. He didn’t. In fact he loved being there. But he’d love the opportunity to converse with her away from the prying eyes of her father. Papa seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere in the Tower of Lions.

  John also longed to show Francesca what was important to him. Would she enjoy the Bird Sanctuary? Its feathered residents and colorful visiting birds? Surely someone who loved animals as much as she would also be interested in them. He hoped so. Having her learn about his world, as he was learning about hers, might draw them closer.

  Gazing over the heads of those in front of him, he tried to spot Miss Hartwell. But to no avail. Just men’s hats and the tops of the animals’ cages. But then, Miss Hartwell was a tiny little thing. A smile crept over his lips. A tiny, beautiful, wonderful girl.

  What would today bring? But did it matter? Clenching his teeth, John willed away the gnawing realization that they could never be more than friends. Determined to enjoy the day for the gift it was, he felt his heartbeat speed up when the line ahead of him began to move.

  Everyone plodded forward, like cattle from a byre. Excited voices bounced all around him. Couples, families, acquaintances out for a grand day of fun at the Lion’s Tower. Squeals from little children echoed around the building as a lion roared. How soon until the crowd thinned? Until John would be able to see—

  People shuffled away. Toward their favorite animal’s area. Leaving an opening between John and the leopard’s cage. And he had a clear view.

  Dark hair secured under a white hat. Large brown eyes peering from beneath the brim. White gloves holding a reticule. Light pink dress sticking to her curves like it was part of her skin.

  And her face. Pale skin with just a hint of pink on her cheeks. Long dark lashes surrounding her eyes. Full pink lips.

  Beautiful.

  Enticing.

  Not a girl. A woman.

  John swallowed. Who was he fooling? He wanted more than friendship with Miss Hartwell. So much more. Attempting to tamp down his desire, he stepped around a young couple intent on gazing not at the animals, but at each other. How was seeing that supposed to help him? With their hands joined. Gazes locked. Standing so close that surely their breathing mingled.

  He tugged at his cravat. Was it getting warmer?

  Miss Hartwell saw him and smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fairgate.”

  “To you as well, Miss Hartwell.” He moved closer when crowded from behind. Another jostle and John bumped into her hat with his elbow, knocking it askew.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Hartwell.”

  Straight white teeth gleamed beneath kissable lips. “No damage done.”

  He reached out his hand. “May I?”

  She glanced up toward the brim of her hat. “Hmm. It does seem to have tilted a tad, doesn’t it? “

  Lightly, gently, as if helping a tiny fledgling bird back into its nest, he edged the hat into its proper place. Two wispy tendrils floated down around her face and he longed to wrap one around his finger. Would her hair be as soft as it looked? Would her skin?

  A light scent of orange blossom floated up. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

  “Are we ready to depart? Mr. Fairgate?”

  Eyes popping open, he stepped away. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Certainly.” He needed to get hold of himself. What did he think he was about? Time to get going. Perhaps once they were bird-watching he could stop staring at her.

  Hurrying her back past the amorous couple, John glanced toward his left. Then his right. Was it his imagination or were several men staring at Miss Hartwell? His blood boiled. How dare they? How dare they gawk at his—?

  The breath backed up in his lungs. His what? She was nothing more than a recent acquaintance. Someone with whom he seemed to have common interests. He had no hold on her. No claim.

  And most likely never would. Not if his uncle had his wish.

  Or Miss Jezebel Cartwright.

  John shivered.

  “Mr. Fairgate? You’ve gone pale.”

  He swallowed hard. Now was not the time to let his thoughts stray to the talon-wielding witch who seemed to have him in her grasp. “Everything is fine. I uh, thought I saw a…”

  “A what?”

  “Spider.”

  She bit her lip between perfect teeth. “A spider? Was it a… large spider?”

  “What? Ah, yes. Huge. Beastly thing. Must have had twenty legs.”

  “Did it now?”

  “And fur.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Fur? The spider had fur.”

  “Spotted.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t thinking of the leopard when you saw this… spider?”

  He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “Possibly. And perhaps the spider wasn’t quite so…”

  “Quite so?”

  “Furry.”

  “I see. And the spots?”

  “Come to think of it, I may have had spots before my eyes.”

  “You did?”

  “From the sun.”

  “The sun.”

  “Yes. And, if truth be told, the spider may not have been, well, huge.”

  “Do tell. And how not-huge was this spider?”

  He held his hands apart about two feet. Her eyes widened. As she watched his hands, he ever so slowly closed the gap. Leaving barely room between for light to get through.

  Her laugh, as lighthearted as a swallow’s trill, gladdened his heart. And gave him something pleasant to think upon rather than the witch. Holding out his elbow, he invited and received her arm. His skin beneath his jacket warmed at the touch of Miss Hartwell’s hand. His gaze met hers. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded. “I’m quite excited to see the birds.” A demure lowering of her eyes was enchanting. “Thank you so much for the invitation.”

  “You’re quite welcome. I cannot wait to show you the wonders of the Sanctuary. You, being an animal lover, are sure to find it pleasing.”

  As they neared the waiting carriage, Miss Hartwell lifted a single eyebrow. “True. Although I fear the cats I adore and the birds you esteem can never be close friends.”

  Laughter bubbled up from his throat. “No. I suppose not.”

  The footman stepped down, arranging the step and reaching out his hand to Miss Hartwell. “Good day, Miss. May I assist you into the carriage?”

  She nodded, and a pink hue tinged her cheeks. She hid a gasp with her gloved hand and her eyes widened as she peered up at the carriage.

  Had she never ridden in one? No, probably not. Look what her father did for a living. They might not have much money. At all. And John had always been given everything he desired his whole life. How selfish he must seem to her. How thoughtless.

  Determined to show he
r a wonderful afternoon’s enjoyment, he grasped one of her elbows as the footman held the other. John averted his gaze from her shapely backside when she stepped above him into the carriage.

  “Miss Hartwell, this is Caren. She will be accompanying us today.”

  Smiling at the maid, Miss Hartwell tilted her head toward the woman. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Caren’s eyes widened. “And you, miss.”

  John ran his hand over the back of his neck. How different Miss Hartwell’s world must be from his. Obviously she was not used to people serving her. The work she did at the Lion’s Tower would lend itself more toward serving others.

  A flash of memory of Miss Cartwright intimating that Miss Hartwell was a servant caused him to cringe. Why had he not done more than politely scold Miss Cartwright? He should have stood up for Miss Hartwell more. Been more outspoken. Fear of upsetting his uncle had taken his tongue hostage.

  “Sir?” The footman stood at the base of the carriage step, waiting.

  “Yes, let us away. Much to see at the Bird Sanctuary.”

  ****

  The short ride from the Tower of Lions was a trip Francesca had made before. But not by carriage. And she’d never set foot inside the lush gardens where the birds nested. Since the carriage set, wealthy people who took weekly rides there, and those who lived on the grounds in villas were the only ones allowed entry, Francesca had stood outside the gates looking in.

  Just as she stood outside the cats’ cages at the zoo. Why was she always kept out of places she longed for? Was she of any less value than those of means? And title? Mr. Fairgate smiled at her. She returned the gesture, although a tiny disturbance started in the pit of her stomach. What if he was titled? If Papa found out, this would surely be the one and only outing he would allow.

  Mr. Fairgate had never said he was. Or that he wasn’t. It concerned Francesca not either way. But Papa…

  Francesca accepted the footman’s proffered hand in assistance as she climbed from the carriage in front of the gates. Mr. Fairgate stepped down and the footman assisted Caren. Such a different lifestyle he led than her own. She’d not know how to act if thrust into his world.

  But… part of her longed for just that. Because in the back of her thoughts, and deep in her heart, she was discovering something akin to love for the man. If he were titled, and if Papa found out, she’d never have a chance to discover if Mr. Fairgate felt the same.

  In that case, better not to know. Unless he volunteered the information, she’d not ask. She shrugged. Maybe luck would be on her side and he wasn’t titled in the first place. Clutching her reticule tightly, she resolved to not think any further on the matter. She was at the Bird Sanctuary. This was a day for adventure!

  As a Sanctuary worker opened the gates for their entrance, Francesca took Mr. Fairgate’s offered arm. A cacophony of loud honks greeted them. Startled, she laughed when several geese waddled along a grassy expanse to her left.

  “Quite boisterous, are they not?” Mr. Fairgate nodded his head in the birds’ direction.

  “Indeed. It seems they have much to say today.”

  Rolling his eyes, he curved his lips into a smile. “They have much to say every moment of their existence.”

  “You’d think they would tire after a time.”

  “Yes. You would think. Apparently God has gifted them with limitless ability to converse about everything and nothing, just like the London gossips.”

  They stood and watched the geese as they stretched out long necks toward each other, nipping and hissing. Mr. Fairgate tugged her forward gently. “As entertaining as the geese always are, there are smaller birds I believe you will find even more interesting.”

  “Lead the way. I cannot wait to see them all.”

  Francesca’s boots tapped on the smooth path. How foreign to wear her good ones on a weekday, as well as her Sunday best. Imagine if she’d worn her normal daily attire? She’d surely get many stares from other visitors. Biting her lip, she realized that visitors at the zoo rarely stared at her. Barely noticed her existence, in fact. What did that say about her? That she was unimportant in their view? Is that how Mr. Fairgate perceived her?

  Looking at his strong profile, his deeply dimpled cheek, Francesca longed to ask. What did he think of her? Or, when not in her presence, did he think of her at all? A sudden urge to reach out and touch his face nearly overwhelmed her. Keeping her hand on his arm, but raising only her fingers, she swallowed. To trail her finger down his cheek, across his chin, wrap her hand around the back of his neck. Would he lower his mouth to hers? Press his lips to hers, at first lightly, and then harder?

  Heat pooled in her stomach and pulsed downward. What was happening? Was she succumbing to the vapors? Experiencing effects from the warmth of the sun? Perhaps she’d developed a fever. Whatever the case, the one thing on her mind at that moment was getting closer to him.

  “Are you enjoying the Sanctuary, Miss Hartwell?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Very much. Thank you for asking.”

  A grin formed on his lips. The tip of his tongue reached out to wet them. Were his thoughts the same as hers? He leaned closer.

  “Ahem.” A polite cough from Caren, walking behind them, broke the moment. Francesca had forgotten the woman was even there.

  Face reddening, Mr. Fairgate swallowed. “Um, yes, let’s move ahead to see some of the smaller birds.”

  Nodding, because words would not move past her lips, Francesca grasped his arm more tightly and walked the path beside him.

  They passed rough grasslands adorned with bright flowers of pink, red, and yellow. “How lovely. Are they here of their own accord, or does a gardener plant them?”

  “Mostly they are wild. They truly are magnificent, are they not?”

  She nodded.

  “But as stunning as they are, there’s something else even more wondrous.”

  Francesca waited for him to advance down the path. But he stood fast. Was he waiting for something? Tilting his head, he closed his eyes. Long dark lashes fanned across his upper cheek.

  A small noise, a trill, floated up from the flowers. “Oh!” Francesca’s hand flew to her mouth. Glancing around the vast grassy area, she squinted. “Are there birds there?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t see them.”

  He stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Warmth spread down to her arms, making her fingers tingle. Turning her slightly to the right, his hands remained even after he stilled. “See that large tree just ahead?”

  She nodded.

  “Immediately below, at the base of the tree, clinging to the tips of a clump of grass…. Do you see it?”

  Why couldn’t she see the bird? She frowned. From its call, it surely must be tiny. A movement, possibly a wing, brushed the grass. A flash of brown caught her eyes. “There it is.”

  He patted her shoulder and then removed his hands. Cool air replaced the warmth of but a moment ago. She already longed to have him touch her again. “Good girl. That would be a willow warbler.”

  Suddenly a goose flew overhead, honking quite loudly. The grasses came alive. Rustling. Swaying. Bending. Chirping.

  Chirping?

  Small birds, previously hidden inside the grass, shot in all directions, chirping, scolding, flapping tiny wings furiously.

  “Goodness. They seem upset.”

  He laughed. “I imagine they are. Most are nesting or taking an afternoon nap. That noise from the goose woke them up.”

  “Silly goose.”

  “Exactly.” His lips curved into a smile.

  Further along the path, a light breeze rose, stirring tree leaves and caressing her face. Small bits of leaves and grass swirled around their feet. Francesca shivered.

  “Cold?” His warm breath fanned her cheek as he leaned closer.

  “Just a little.”

  “Would you like me to drape my coat across your shoulders?”

  Yes! She wanted that very much.


  But a couple passing them on the wide path slowed. And stared. The woman, who resembled Miss Cartwright, glared. Surely there couldn’t be two of her? Blue eyes roved from Francesca’s hat down to her boots and back to her face. Turning up the tip of her pointy nose, the woman tugged on the man’s arm.

  What was that about? She frowned. Glancing down at her attire, then at the retreating back of the haughty woman, it was clear. Even in Francesca’s finest hat, dress, and boots, she still looked like someone’s poor relation compared to the other women at the Sanctuary.

  A group of six, three men and three women, all of varying ages, paused briefly to stare at her. To Mr. Fairgate, though, the men nodded. The women smiled and tittered. But when their eyes landed again on her, it was the same as the first woman.

  A glare.

  A sniff.

  A tipping of the nose toward the sky.

  “Miss Hartwell? My coat?”

  Heat rushing to her face, she swallowed. “No, thank you, Mr. Fairgate. I’m quite all right.”

  He lowered his brows and turned to watch the group moving in the opposite direction. And then looked back at her. “If you’re quite sure. But I truly don’t mind.”

  Such a sweet man. Francesca smiled. “I’m fine. But I thank you.”

  He nodded, still frowning, and began walking up a small hill.

  Several minutes passed in silence as they walked. Her boots tapped more quickly to keep pace with his. Glancing over her shoulder, Francesca noticed Caren behind them, also struggling to keep up. It must have been difficult for the older woman to try to keep pace with the younger, robust Mr. Fairgate. Perhaps the maid needed a respite.

  Spotting a bench just ahead, Francesca slowed. “I, um…” Flicking a glance toward the long bench, she looked back at him.

  Dimples formed on each cheek when he smiled. “Yes, let’s take a rest, shall we?” Turning, he addressed the maid. “Caren, would you mind terribly if we sat for a while? I fear I’m in need of a break.”