They passed a small park where two boys rolled hoops along a path before disappearing among the trees. The sun peeked cautiously through a hole in the clouds, making him feel foolish for his dark thoughts.
He worried about the consequences of the dark-eyed beauty’s misadventures. He worried about the hazards of interjecting himself into her life. He couldn't intercede on her behalf without making her situation worse.
Even more, he worried about himself. The memory of her lilting voice prowled his thoughts. Tonight, he vowed, he would tell his mother about his plans to marry the widow.
But surely it wouldn't hurt to ask his mother to call on the young ladies’ guardian in the morning. She could express his concern for their well-being and find out if Miss Brancelli had recovered from the incident. He was merely concerned, nothing more.
Honore Bellingham sanded off the last note and added it to the pile of thank-you’s for patrons of her school for orphans of merchant sailors.
She stretched her arms above her head and turned at a sound from one of the carved, wooden doors on the bookcase behind her. One side creaked and opened slightly outward.
She stood and crept toward the opening. This time she had him. She jerked open the door and pounced on the culprit.
"I have you now, you old runabout," she said, and wheeled back from the dark opening, clasping the guilty party by the nape of the neck.
"Bad boy," she mouthed, and lugged the struggling cat across her comfortable morning room to a miniature, overstuffed couch piled with plump pillows.
Honore knelt in front of the huge tom now ensconced on his throne and waggled a finger in his direction, taking care to avoid his waving, clawed paws. "Where have you been?"
He answered with a long, bored yowl.
"I'll have to turn you over to Cook," she threatened and rose to pull the bell for the footman.
When the young man arrived, he gave a disparaging look at the unrepentant cat, now lying flat on his back on the cushions, all four six-toed paws splayed in feline insouciance.
"He's back," Honore said, with a weary sigh.
"The usual, madame?"
"Yes, of course. Supper by the fire...and perhaps take a cloth to those paws. God knows where he's been."
The tall footman nodded, walked to the couch, and slung the cat beneath one of his arms.
Young Charles was the only one in the household who could manage the bully. She suspected the two might be kindred spirits.
Vagabond did not complain but instead rumbled with purrs while they headed back into the corridor and down the winding steps toward the kitchen. Cook would scold the creature, followed by an inordinate amount of cosseting, including hand-fed bits of the day's find from the fish market.
The difficult cat was the latest generation descended from her original, beloved Epi. Also six-toed, Epi had been the gift of a sea captain friend of Honore’s father when she was a child.
She shook her head at how spoiled this descendant had become and turned back to her notes. She took the top sheet from a large stack of stationery, dipped her pen into ink, and began the long task of writing an address on each one.
Another tap sounded at her door and she looked up with a frown. "Enter," she said, and her housekeeper leaned through the doorway, her pale face flushed with excitement.
"Captain Bellingham," she announced, and backed awkwardly into the hall. Arnaud walked in, picked up his petite mother, and whirled her around. "I've missed you, Maman."
"I've missed you too," she said, and gave him a light kiss on each cheek. When she drew back, she asked, "How long this time?" half-dreading the answer.
