by Cheryl Bolen
Mama and Papa were whispering together as Ammie and her sisters dispersed to pursue individual interests. Ammie whistled for Mr. Perkins, but he only opened his eyes briefly before closing them again.
“Are you being lazy, you pampered pooch?” She crossed to where he’d made his bed and crouched to pet him. “It is rather nice by the fire. I suppose I’ll leave you to it then.”
She stood and started toward the door.
“Stay for a moment, Ammie,” her mother said. “This matter with Major Rowland concerns you.”
Ammie frowned. “I don’t see how. I have never met the man.”
She hoped it wasn’t another request to court her. She and Laurel had been inundated with offers during the Season, but Mama was shrewd at discerning the character and intentions of potential suitors and had insisted their father refuse the men.
Gold diggers and rakes are blights upon Society and do not deserve a wife of quality. How many times had she heard Mama repeat this sentiment? The occasions were too numerous to count. Mercedes’s husband hunt had played out similarly. Her eldest sister hadn’t received an acceptable offer until her second Season.
Her father abandoned his place on the sofa. “Perhaps you should have a seat next to your mother, love.”
The dire looks on her parents’ faces elicited a trickle of unease beneath her skin. Her legs trembled as she lowered to the sofa.
“What is wrong, Mama? Please, put an end to my worries.”
Her mother cleared her throat. “Darling...”
Ammie’s alarm multiplied. Her mother didn’t use endearments freely. Something was very wrong.
“Major Rowland’s letter states he has a claim to Mr. Perkins. He possesses a bill of sale to prove ownership.” Mama reached for her hand while Ammie’s heart threatened to beat through her breastbone. “Dearest, the major wants his dog returned.”
Her mother’s words made no sense. Mr. Perkins was Ammie’s dog. She had cared for him for over a year. She adored him.
“The major is mistaken,” she said. “I found Mr. Perkins in the alley. The dog was starving and scared, and his fur hadn’t been tended for weeks. I saved him, Mama. If the major had any love for animals, Mr. Perkins would not have been in the state he was in.”
“Ammie,” Papa said, “you must realize not everyone’s love for animals matches your own. Mr. Perkins is a hunting dog. I am certain the major paid handsomely for him. The spaniel looks as if he comes from good stock.”
“Can we purchase Mr. Perkins from him?” Ammie appealed to her mother. “Use all of my pin money for next year if you must. Please, I cannot bear to part with him.”
“I realize you have a soft spot in your heart for animals, Ambrosia.”
“No, Mama, it is more than my love for animals. Mr. Perkins is...” Tears burned the backs of her eyes. How could she explain what the dog meant to her without sounding like a crackpot? “He is Mr. Perkins,” she finished lamely.
In a home with ten children, Ammie often felt invisible—just another mouth to feed and body to clothe in the middle of the pack. She had never doubted her parents’ love for her and her siblings, but their attention and approval was hard won with so many competing for it.
It was different with Mr. Perkins.
Whether she was away for one minute or an entire day, the dog was ecstatic to see her whenever she returned, as if he’d believed she would be gone forever. His adoration was unconditional and belonged to her alone.
“We tried to find his owner,” Ammie said. “No one at the assemblies knew of anyone missing a dog. I’ve taken care of Mr. Perkins to the best of my ability, and he loves me. How can Major Rowland come forward now?”
Her father grunted. “The major was at war. You cannot fault the man for not knowing his dog was missing.”
“No, of course not.”
She bit her lower lip when it trembled and took a deep breath to calm her riotous emotions. When she had better control, she spoke.
“I understand that he couldn’t have known Mr. Perkins was missing, but he should have made better arrangements for the dog. Mr. Perkins’s keeper failed him, and he was in a sorry state when I found him. You know it is true.”
Mama’s tsk sounded sympathetic, but Ammie didn’t want pity. She needed her mother to be the champion she had always been.
“You did wonders for the dog, Ambrosia,” Mama said. “No doubt the major will be grateful to you, which might allow us to strike a bargain with him.” Mama’s face lost its motherly softness, and she was back to business once again.
“Seabrook, write to Major Rowland and invite him to join the Christmas house party. I am certain once the man realizes how happy the dog is with Ammie, he will agree to the sale. Good hunting dogs are easy enough to come by if one knows where to look.” Mama turned to Ammie. “I will write to your Uncle Gunther and request that Major Rowland be allowed the pick of the litter when Gunther’s hound whelps this year.”
“Excellent suggestion, Lady Seabrook,” Papa said. “No man in his right mind would turn down such an offer.”
Mama lightly slapped her hands on her thighs and smiled. “There we go. We will offer Major Rowland a bargain he cannot resist, and all will be well.”
Unable to contain her happiness and relief, Ammie launched from her spot at the opposite end of the sofa and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you.”
“Oh, Ambrosia. Really, such a fuss.”
Despite her mother’s scolding tone, she held on to Ammie just a little bit longer than necessary, once again spoiling the illusion that a cold heart resided beneath her hard exterior.
Chapter 2
Major Phillip Rowland paced Lord Seabrook’s study, growing increasingly impatient with the marquess’s tardiness. The entire affair annoyed him, from the ridiculous invitation he had received to attend the Seabrook’s Yuletide party, to the guests’ laughter filtering through the walls.
Phillip hadn’t come to Everly Manor to frolic or make merry for the holiday, and he certainly hadn’t agreed to participate in the private marriage mart the marquess and marchioness had arranged for their twin daughters. Had he known he would be intruding on such an affair, he would have ignored propriety and arrived to collect his dog earlier in the month without giving notice.
The muffled sound of a lively fiddle came from somewhere close. “God’s blood,” he mumbled.
After ten years of being surrounded by the men in his Regiment, he needed the quiet and solitude of home before rejoining them in Hounslow. He longed to take his springer spaniel on walks through the frozen meadow and relive simpler days, before he had lost good men on the battlefield.
He eyed the decanter of brandy and two glasses displayed on a small silver tray placed on the corner of the marquess’s desk. It was tempting to pour a couple of fingers to dull his senses, but it was also unwise. Lord Seabrook’s reputation as a shrewd negotiator preceded him. It was unlikely Phillip would be allowed to leave Everly Manor with Orion without it costing him something.
Someone cleared a throat behind him.
Phillip yelped and spun to face the intruder, instinctively raising his fists. A lovely young woman with the roundest, greenest eyes he’d ever seen stared back at him. They were ridiculously large for her delicate pixie-sized face.
He dropped his arms to his sides, belatedly realizing she posed no threat and feeling foolish.
“Faith,” he said. “Sorry about the”—he lifted one fist briefly before dropping it again—“Uh, sorry.”
She exhaled, laughing softly. Wispy strands of copper hair floated around her heart-shaped face. “Major Rowland, I presume?”
Behind her was a solid wall covered in gold leaf. The decor was excessive and vulgar, and the gold shimmered in the sunlight falling through the window like the entrance to a magical realm.
“You presume correctly. And what are you, some type of fairy appearing from thin air? Give her a spin, if you will?”
&n
bsp; Her brow furrowed as if he spoke a different language, but she slowly twirled in a circle, keeping him within her sight.
“Hmm, very curious.” He made a show of examining her from across the room. “I see no wings, therefore, I must conclude you were hiding here the whole time. Were you spying on me?”
“Yes, I was disguised as a plant, genius.” She rolled her large expressive eyes, which was poorly done of her, but it was the most honest reaction he’d received since returning home.
Everyone at the club treated him as if they didn’t know how to engage in normal conversation anymore. All they ever wanted to discuss was the war, and if one more person referred to him as a hero, he swore his head would explode. Even his family behaved differently. They had been treading too gingerly around him ever since he’d confronted his brother for being careless with Orion. Phillip was growing to despise being revered by strangers and his loved ones handling him like a powder keg.
The young woman knew who he was—she had called him by name—and she didn’t care. Her refreshing approach improved his mood.
“Very well, wood nymph, I can play along.” He maintained a respectful distance, certain she was one of Seabrook’s daughters—possibly the one he sought. He sat on the edge of the marquess’s desk, his legs stretched long and crossed at the ankles. “What is your name?”
She rolled her shoulders and stood taller. She was a nice height for a lady—not too short, not too tall. The perfect dancing partner for a man of above average height like himself. “You, sir, are addressing Lady Ambrosia Everly.”
The thief herself. “I’ve come to understand you are in possession of my property.”
Her expression soured. “Mr. Perkins cannot be owned,” she snipped. “He is a wonderful, loving animal with feelings. How dare you insinuate—”
“Mr. Perkins? Good Lord, do not tell me you named him after the butler.”
Her mouth opened and closed without any sound.
“You did, didn’t you?” Phillip chuckled. “The dog cannot be owned, but he can be in service to the great Lady Ambrosia Everly. Is that how it is?”
“I did not name him after a servant. I named him after someone I admire.” When he started to respond, she jabbed her finger in his direction. “Not the butler, although he is a good man in his own right. I’ve come to tell you I will not be surrendering Mr. Perkins, especially to the likes of you.”
“The spaniel’s name is Orion, and I haven’t come to Everly Manor to ask your permission, little fairy.” Phillip pushed away from the desk and came to stand inches from the precocious thief. Her round eyes flared even wider. “I chose him from a litter of six,” he said, “and I paid the breeder’s fee. That makes him mine.”
Her hands landed on her hips, her face tipped toward him in challenge. “Well, Mr. Perkins chose me.”
His proximity didn’t appear to trouble her in the least while he quickly realized his mistake in coming too close. The scent of her soap reminded him of melted butter and honey on a warm piece of bread. It beckoned him to come closer, inviting him to stay a while. The scowl on her face, however, was far from welcoming and brought him to his senses.
Remember, she is the enemy. He retreated a few steps and returned her glower. “Orion is loyal to whomever feeds him. You are not special.”
She snorted, clearly not believing him. “As far as I can tell, Major Rowland, you are unfit to own a dog.”
“Unfit?” His laughter lacked humor. “I was second in command of a squadron, Lady Ambrosia. England is free of tyranny because of my men’s bravery at Waterloo. I believe I am more than capable of being master to a dog.”
“While I offer my gratitude for your honorable service, sir, I cannot applaud your efforts at arranging for Mr. Perkins’s care while you were gone.”
Phillip’s chest tightened with indignation; he thrust it out. Although he was still angry with his brother for neglecting Orion, family loyalty came first. “I’ve done nothing to deserve the charge you level against me. I left my dog in my brother’s care. Orion was in capable hands while I was abroad—at least he was until you stole him.”
“Ha! Mr. Perkins was running the streets when I found him. He was as thin as any poor creature could be and still be alive. I rescued him, sir. I am not a thief.”
Phillip narrowed his eyes. His older brother never would have allowed Orion to run free. If Phillip’s precious dog had slipped out of the garden gate on his own while left unattended, Jeremy wouldn’t have lied about it, would he? Phillip had thought they were past such silliness.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, stubbornly clinging to loyalty to his brother.
“It is true, Major,” a feminine voice said behind him.
For the second time that day, Phillip was startled. He turned toward the study entrance, inwardly cringing when he spotted Lord and Lady Seabrook standing inside the threshold. The marchioness was a handsome woman with graying blond hair, broad shoulders, and the proud bearing of a warrior. Her icy glare could freeze a man’s blood, and it was fixed on him.
“Ambrosia, your father and I said we would speak with the major on your behalf. How do you think it would appear if a guest stumbled across you and Major Rowland in a clandestine meeting?”
“I never agreed to a meeting with her,” Phillip said.
Lady Seabrook sighed as if she were dealing with a child. “This is about appearances, Major Rowland, not intentions.”
The marquess frowned but held his tongue. Phillip’s father had told him Lord Seabrook was henpecked, but he was shoulder to shoulder with his wife—her partner. Together they formed a wall, blocking Phillip’s escape.
Damnation.
If the little thief and trickster had set a trap to secure a husband, he’d charged straight into it. No more than a foot separated him and Lady Ambrosia. The scent of honey rose from her fragrant skin, lingering in the space between them. He ached to stand closer yet, because her scent reminded him of home, a place he’d dreamed of returning to for too long.
Lady Ambrosia sighed and lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Mama. My only thought was for Mr. Perkins.”
“Orion,” Phillip said through his teeth, quiet enough for Lady Ambrosia’s ears alone.
Lady Seabrook addressed her daughter as if he weren’t in the room. “I understand the dog means a lot to you, but if you wish to marry a man of your choosing, you must practice restraint. We can only do so much to protect you from opportunists.”
“Opportunist? Now see here, madam. I-I am not—” Phillip snapped his mouth closed. He appeared to be on the verge of blustering. His father, the Earl of Grandstern, blustered. He did not.
“Oh, calm yourself,” Lady Ambrosia muttered. “My mother wasn’t referring to you.”
She swept past him to claim a seat on an upholstered bench that was nestled into a nook created by two large bookshelves. Her peach skirts complimented the ivory velvet. “Please, may I stay for the negotiations, Papa?”
“I suppose there is no point in sending you away. You have a stake in the outcome.” Lord Seabrook invited Phillip to sit in the chair closest to his desk while his wife joined Lady Ambrosia on the bench.
There were no negotiations to be had. Orion was Phillip’s dog, and he wasn’t leaving without the pooch. Nevertheless, he had promised his father that he would mind his temper and behave like a gentleman, even though neither had ever been a problem for him. His argument with Jeremy had been born of righteous anger, not a lack of self-governance.
Phillip accepted Lord Seabrook’s invitation to sit, eager to have this business behind him. “Please allow me to extend my gratitude for the excellent care Orion received while I was abroad. I will have a stern word with my brother for his carelessness.”
His gratitude was sincere. When Phillip had returned to England to discover his beloved dog had been missing for over a year, he’d despaired of ever recovering him. He’d imagined all sorts of horrible fates befalling the dog, and his thoughts had prompt
ly traveled back to the atrocities he had experienced on the Continent.
“How did you track the spaniel to our door?” Lord Seabrook’s question mercifully jerked Phillip back to the present.
Lady Ambrosia fired another question his direction before he could answer her father. “How do you know Mr. Perkins is even yours?”
Her mother shushed her.
Phillip took a deep cleansing breath. Lady Ambrosia’s judgmental tone vexed him to no end, but her inquiry was not without merit. “Does the dog have any unusual markings? Perhaps he is tricolored with copper eyebrows?”
Lady Ambrosia’s own eyebrows shot up, answering his question.
“You walked him often when you were in London,” he said.
“Every day.”
“You were noticed, as was Orion.”
Her cupid bow mouth puckered as if she wanted to correct him but suspected it was pointless. She was astute. To Phillip, the dog would always be Orion.
“I am not sure that explains how you traced the dog back to our daughter,” Lord Seabrook said.
Phillip dragged his gaze from her lips. His disappointment at being interrupted was like an irritating itch he couldn’t reach. He wished he and Lady Ambrosia were alone again to engage in verbal sparring without interference.
“My father would not like me sharing his secrets,” Phillip said, focusing his attention on her father, “but you’ve asked a direct question, and I am an honest man.”
Lady Ambrosia snorted softly. He refused to look in her direction.
“My father is a founding member of the Mayfair Secret Society of Sleuthhounds, my lord. The men use deductive reasoning and investigative skills to solve mysteries. The members were happy to assist me in locating Orion.”
Lord Seabrook’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A secret society of sleuthhounds? Are they accepting new members?”