“Do you want to sign it?”
“No. I need to close my eyes for a moment.” His voice trailed off on the last word.
“Mr. Arundel, where do I send it?”
“I don’t know the street, but address it to The Right Honorable Lady Keating.”
He closed his eyes then and was quiet. Belle finished the letter then while it dried, she opened the window, collected water in the washbasin from the still falling rain, and set it aside. When she moved to close the window again, she thought she saw a movement in the doorway across the street. That shop had once been an apothecary, but the owner’s son had gone to seek his fortune in Canada and apparently found it as he’d sent for his parents to join him. The space was presently unoccupied. Belle stared at the shop but now saw no sign of anyone. She closed the window and the curtains then blew out the lamp and parted the curtains a sliver again. She watched the shop for several moments and saw nothing.
With a shake of her head, she decided she was seeing things. She gathered the letter and the writing supplies and carried them out of the bed chamber, leaving Arundel with a cool cloth on his forehead. Then she tucked the letter in her pocket, donned her cloak, and went downstairs. She almost went to the front of the shop but still had an uneasy feeling about that movement at the apothecary. Instead, she went into the back room and out the door into a narrow walkway. The walkway was usually packed dirt, but after the hard rains, the mud and water rose to her ankles. She ignored it and trudged through until she arrived at the gate of the church. Though there was not a cemetery, that she knew of, in the church yard, she had an uneasy feeling about cutting through. Still, she couldn’t stand out here in the cold and the wet all night. If she stayed out too long, her clothes would become soaked. She’d placed the letter in an empty tea tin, keeping it relatively safe, but now she needed to find a lad to search out Lady Keating in this awful weather. Belle could only hope the lady was sensible and had stayed home this evening.
Hurrying, Belle made her way through the dark church yard and emerged on the other side. She hurried past the church, down the street, and crossed to another street. She was well and truly soaked now, the water making squishing sounds in her boots. Ahead she saw the yellow lights of a public house where she and her father sometimes dined and was glad to see the owner had stayed open. But then she supposed even in rainstorms, men wanted their beer and ale.
Belle pushed inside, noting the dining room was less crowded than usual. She shoved her dripping hood off her head and went straight to the bar. The publican, a Mr. Plumkins, gaped at her. “Miss Howard! You are soaking wet. Is anything amiss?”
“No, Mr. Plumkins. My father and I are both well. But I wondered if I could ask for a favor.”
“Let me get you a cider. You look chilled clear through.”
“No thank you, sir,” she said firmly. “My father is waiting anxiously for my return. But I wondered if you have a boy you trust to deliver a tin of tea for me.”
“I have a boy, but surely the tea delivery can wait. The rain has eased for the moment, but it could come down in sheets again like this.” He snapped for effect.
“This is a special order,” Belle said and leaned close so that the men standing nearby would not hear. “For a baroness. If I keep her waiting, we may lose her business.”
“I see. I see. Very well. Jacob!”
A boy of perhaps ten rose from the stool he’d occupied behind Mr. Plumkins and doffed his hat. Belle produced the tin of tea. “I need you to deliver this to Lady Keating. I don’t know the street, but it’s somewhere in Mayfair. You’ll know how to find her?”
The boy nodded. He need only find a tavern near Mayfair with servants from the wealthy houses, and they would point him in the right direction. Now came the part Belle disliked—the parting of coin. She pulled a penny from her skirts. She’d thought of paying less but knew the penny would be a strong enticement. “This is for your trouble,” she said. “The baroness will give you tuppence when you deliver the tea.” Belle had no idea if this was true or not, but Jacob would demand it, and then the lady could make up her own mind. In any case, her calculations had worked because the boy’s eyes lit up. In a blink, the penny and the tea tin were gone from her hands, and the boy was pulling his cap over his ears and tucking his treasures into his shirt.
Then he was gone, out into the dark, wet night. Belle turned to Plumkins. “Thank you, sir. I’d best get back to my father.”
“Be careful, Miss Howard.”
“I will.”
Belle heaved a sigh of relief when she stepped back into the shop. She locked the door and shed the cloak, heavy now with water. She went through the shop, checking all was as it should be, then upstairs to the flat. There she laid the cloak on a chair before the fire, where it began to steam. She sat on the floor and removed her boots and stockings then took her hair down as well. Feet bare, she padded into her bed chamber to fetch dry clothing. Though she was wet and cold, she paused at Arundel’s bedside and felt his forehead. It was burning hot, and she dipped the now hot cloth in cool water and pressed it to his face then laid it on his forehead.
Finally, she gathered dry clothing and went into the parlor to change. When her wet clothes were strewn before the fire and she wore a clean shift, she went to lie down on the couch. Her eyes were so heavy she could barely keep them open. In a half hour she would go down and hope Jacob returned with a reply. But she could spare a few minutes to rest. Unfortunately, as soon as she lay down, she heard a moan and pushed herself up. She returned to her bed chamber to find Arundel had thrown off the bedclothes. His arms were over his face, and when she went to him and tried to return his arms to his side, he resisted. He was, as always, amazingly strong for a man radiating heat like a furnace.
Belle considered leaving him as he was, but the fire was low and she had no dry wood to add to it. The room would soon be cold. “Mr. Arundel,” she said, bending over him. “You must keep the blanket on. You’ll catch a chill.”
“Hot,” he said. “So bloody hot.”
She ignored the strong language and pulled the covers up and over him. Gently, she tried to push his hands down to his sides, but he caught her wrists, and when she looked down at him, his gaze was fixed on her face. She couldn’t see his expression clearly in the firelight, and she doubted he could see her at all, given her back was to the fire, but he pulled her down to him until her face was just a few inches from his.
“Let me go, Mr. Arundel.”
“Go then,” he said but didn’t release her. “Go, if that’s what you want.”
Belle ceased tugging her wrists for a moment, realizing Arundel wasn’t speaking to her. She didn’t know to whom he spoke, but he must be in the depths of some sort of dream.
“Mr. Arundel. It’s Belle Howard.”
“Go, if that’s what you want,” he said again, seeming not to hear Belle. “Go, Clara. Away with you. But don’t come back to me. Don’t come crying back.”
Belle felt a shiver of ice race up her back. Who was Arundel speaking to? Who was Clara and what had she done? Whatever it was, he’d warned her not to come back. Had she? Or had she left him and never looked back?
Belle had the fleeting thought that if Arundel had been hers, she would not have left him. If a man like that loved her—and surely what she heard in his voice was love or at least the last vestiges of it—she would never walk away.