by Edith Layton
Alex nodded, relieved yet newly nervous.
The private room he was shown to looked dim after the brightness of the courtyard. Dim, and reeking of beer and ale and smoke from the tap next door. Alex waited for what seemed like ages, sitting and swinging his legs, until he grew more bored than worried. Then he got up and walked to the one window. It looked out at the rear of the inn, and showed a grand vista of garbage and trash bins out back of the kitchens, as well as an alley that led to the stables. Alex’s bored gaze sharpened. Because there in the center of the narrow alley sat one lone, lovely, fat little puppy.
Alex stared. He loved dogs, but only got to see the miniature creatures his mama’s lady friends wore like muffs to complement their clothes. He wasn’t allowed to touch them any more than he was allowed to speak to their owners, beyond wishing them a good day. He wasn’t allowed to play with the hunting dogs in the stables at home, either.
At first he thought the puppy was some child’s discarded toy. It looked small as his mama’s friends’ ornaments. But then it shook itself and bumbled closer to the inn and Alex realized it wasn’t as small as he’d first thought. It was a sizeable creature, and yet clearly a baby, so stout and fuzzy he knew it would be plush to the touch. And there was no one to stop him from touching it.
Alex left the private room he’d been stowed in and crept down the hall to the back door. He slowly cracked the door open. The pup was still there. It looked up, saw him, and smiled. He would swear on anything that it actually smiled.
It had that kind of a face. It was a plump, fuzzy, tricolored puppy with a black body, four white paws with rust socks over them, and a broad white chest. A white line started between the ears and widened as it ran down the middle of the humorous face, showing up the black button nose, broadening at the neck and ending in that shining white chest. A pair of rust eyebrows wriggled over bright brown eyes when the pup was interested, which it was now, as it looked at Alex. He looked back at the puppy with delight.
The two met in the middle of the alley, and though Alex didn’t have a tail to wag, an observer would have had a hard time knowing which of the two was happier. Alex picked up the puppy and hurried back into the room where he’d been told to wait. Now he didn’t mind the passage of time. He held a fragrant puppy that chewed on his buttons and teethed on his thumbs, licked his face and fell asleep at last in his lap.
Alex didn’t care if anyone ever came for him. No one had ever given him such complete and loving attention as this wonderful puppy…his wonderful puppy. On that, he was resolved. He might be a lost boy in a strange town, but he was still the Marquess Grenville, and some things weren’t negotiable. Wasn’t that his family motto, on all the family documents?
What I have, I hold.
Alex did.
*
Miss Laura Lockwood was breathless when she finally got to the Bull and Mouth. She again consulted the watch she had clipped to the inside of her pelisse and stifled a groan. She was very late. But she couldn’t afford a hackney, and so had taken a public horse bus. It had run late because of traffic and the other stops it had to make before it got to London’s most famous coaching inn. Laura’s already-shortened breath caught when she saw no sign of a seven-year-old lad in the inn yard. There were ragged boys holding horses, of course, and a boy in livery standing on the back of an elegant curricle, but she saw no young boy with bags or cases, and certainly none who looked well-bred.
She went into the inn and waited to speak to the man behind the desk there. Several people were waiting to see him too, as he was selling tickets and answering queries about the coaches coming in and out.
“Excuse me,” she said to him, when she could, “I was to meet a young boy who rode down on the Flyer, from Warwickshire. It was due in at eight o’clock.”
The man nodded, without looking up. “Came in then too.”
“Oh,” she said, her hand on her heart. “But I don’t see him anywhere. Whatever happened to him? He was traveling alone, I thought he’d be safe! But I’m late, whatever shall I do?”
He looked up at the note of anguish in her voice. Then his gaze sharpened. He stared at her, and gave her a slow, reassuring smile. She didn’t take heart. Most men smiled at her. “Hold on,” he said. “I’ll find out.” He raised his head and shouted. “Geoff! Know anything about a lad traveling alone, who came in on the Flyer this morning?”
“His name is Grenville,” Laura said quickly.
A hefty coaching guard ambled over, eyed Laura, and also smiled. “Aye. You his mum?” he asked her.
She flushed. “No, I’m Miss Lockwood, his mother’s friend. I sent a note. Where is he?”
“Oh, a note. Aye, that rings a bell. The Royal Mail came down from Warwickshire too. There was a lad named Grenville on it, but he’s a noble lad, a marquess, no less. And a regular little gent, he is too.”
“Where is he?” Laura asked.
“Safe’n sound. Got him stowed safe in a room to the back. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
She hesitated. One thing living on her own these past years had taught her was to never go off alone with any man, anywhere. But he wore a guard’s uniform, this was a public inn, and she had no choice. “Thank you,” she said, and followed him.
The guard took her to a small room at the back of the inn, and opened the door with a flourish. Laura stepped into the room and gasped.
There was a child inside, a slight pale blond youth. But he was not alone. He was standing, staring up at a very angry, very elegant gentleman who was looming over him. The gentleman’s elegance only occurred to Laura as a second thought. Her first thought propelled her into the room, where she immediately took a stand, interposing her body between the boy and the man.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked the gentleman in her strictest governessy tones. “And who are you, sir?”
Both man and boy seemed nonplussed. The man recovered first. “I am Falconer,” he said loftily.
That meant nothing to Laura. But now his clothing and his presence registered with her. Though not much above thirty, this was a man born to command. He was tall and lean, and his dark hair was expertly barbered. He wore a spotless high white neckcloth and she’d give a month’s wages if his jacket wasn’t tailored by Weston. His brown half boots shone, and his long legs were clothed in immaculate dove-gray breeches. He was a swell, top-of-the-trees, a Tulip, a Corinthian—she wasn’t sure which, but she was sure that whatever he was, it cost a great deal of money.
But she, of all people, knew that money didn’t mean manners or moral right. She met his cold gray gaze directly.
“I am Miss Lockwood,” she said. “And I’ve come to take the marquess home with me for Christmas, on his mama’s express request.”
The gentleman frowned. He had a lean face: cold gray eyes, a blade of a nose, and his frown was thunderous. It was a formidable sight.
Laura held her ground. “If this young person is not the marquess,” she added hastily as the thought occurred to her, “then please accept my apologies, Mr. Falconer.”
“Viscount Falconer,” he corrected her absently, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Very well, Viscount Falconer,” she said. “But if he is the Marquess Grenville, I tell you I won’t have him interfered with by anyone.”
“Interfered with?” the viscount said incredulously. “My dear woman, I do not interfere. I am here to take the marquess home for the Christmas holiday, at his papa’s express wishes.”
“His papa,” she said in awful tones, “is dead.”
“As I know,” the gentleman said with a show of exasperation. “But before he died, he made his wishes known to his man-at-law.”
“And his mama, who is very much alive,” Laura said sweetly, “made her wishes known to me, and so I believe they supersede the ones you claim his father made. Do you wish to see her letter?”
The viscount found he wished to see a lot more from this strange and strangely defiant young female. She
had dark gold curling hair under her simple bonnet, framing a lovely face. Her anger made her cheeks blush pink, but her mouth was pinker, and her eyes were golden brown. The only problem was that the lovely mouth was held in a thin line now, and she looked at him as though he were a villain. But doubtless she was that, or worse. She was the feckless widow’s friend, after all. She’d just announced it loud and clear.
“His mama’s wishes don’t matter,” he said. “She is abroad, and even if she weren’t, her husband, deceased or not, made his wishes known, and they come first.”
“I will not argue this with you here and now,” Laura said. “But I won’t let you waltz off with the boy, either. Why, when I walked in, it looked as if you were threatening him.”
“Was I threatening you, Alexander?” the viscount demanded, looking at the boy.
Laura did too. She saw him fully for the first time. He was a handsome boy, who resembled his mama. But his large blue eyes held more sincerity than his mama’s ever did. And his expression was that of a desperate man. Now Laura realized he held a fluffy toy in his arms. She was taken aback. Surely he was too old for such a plaything? Maria hadn’t said there was anything wrong with her son, Still, mothers, even neglectful ones like Maria, often didn’t admit such things about their children…
That put a different complexion on the matter entirely. Laura’s heart sank. How could she cope with a slow child? Well, she would, she thought, straightening her shoulders. A promise was a promise, after all.
The boy’s toy stared at her as glassily as she stared at it. Then it blinked, and she realized that the young marquess held a live puppy in his arms.
But Alex was looking at the viscount. “Were you threatening me?” he asked the viscount, cautiously echoing his question. “Well, yes, my lord. You were.”
Now the viscount blinked.
The boy’s fair face colored up, but he maintained his poise. “Well, y’did,” he said, in a curiously adult drawl. “I mean to say, I said we should wait for Miss Lockwood, and you said to come with you straightaway. And then you said I wasn’t to take my dog with me, and that I cannot do.”
“Your dog?” the viscount said through gritted teeth. “I heard nothing about a mongrel. I doubt you clapped eyes on him before today. They don’t let students take their pets away to school with them, unless things have changed very much since my day.”
“Well, maybe they have,” the young marquess said in a voice that started to waver. “He slept in the stables, and I took him home on holidays.”
Laura winced. Anyone could see the dog wasn’t old enough to have celebrated any holiday yet, except for its birth. And she too knew that exclusive young gentlemen’s schools did not supply house or stable room to a student’s dog. But no matter how brave his words, the boy’s eyes were stricken, and he looked so small and courageous that she knew she had to defend him, no matter what.
And too, she didn’t like being reminded that a dead man’s wishes mattered more than his live widow’s. That cut too close to the bone. Her own mother had lost the roof over her head when her husband died. And that simply because he’d had a distant male cousin, and he, in the eyes of the law, was master of all her father had possessed, not her mother. Laura wouldn’t be working as a lowly governess now in order to support her mama if it had been otherwise.
“Well, you can bring your dog when you come with me,” she told the young marquess, shooting an angry look at the imperious viscount.
“That will not happen,” the viscount said grimly. “And if you’re so easily gulled, even more reason not to allow you to take the lad. If he’s your dog,” he suddenly asked the boy, “what’s his name?”
“Pompey,” the boy said promptly, his face getting even pinker.
Even the dog stared at the boy.
“Pompey?” the viscount asked, with a growing smile. “Ah yes, studying Julius Caesar now, are we? Nice try at a recover, but it won’t hold water. Well then, young Antony, I suggest we settle the matter here and now. Put the pup on the floor, and I’ll call to him. I’ll eat my hat if he answers to Pompey.”
“He don’t like you,” the boy said desperately, “so he won’t come.”
“A well-trained dog comes when called,” the viscount said. “I don’t think he’s yours and I don’t think he’s trained. I think he’s a stray you picked up on the way to London. Put him down, and prove me wrong.”
Alex looked at Laura. She sighed and gave a tiny shrug.
Alex sighed too, and then gently set the dog on the floor and stepped away from it.
The dog sat on his plump bottom and looked around the room. It was an adorable pup, Laura thought sadly.
“Here, Rags,” the viscount called sweetly.
The puppy sat.
“Here, Brownie,” the viscount wheedled.
The dog lifted a hind leg and scratched behind his ear.
“Here, Pompey,” the viscount called in such sarcastic tones that Laura wanted to swat him.
The pup looked up, and then, his plume of a tail wagging, immediately trotted to the viscount’s side. He sat there and looked up expectantly, his bright eyes fixed on the tall gentleman who had called him. Everyone looked shocked. Especially Alex.
*
Alex and his puppy were settled in a deep chair near the hearth, both nearly dozing. Laura and the viscount sat at the table in the private dining parlor at the Bull and Mouth, and argued in low voices over their now-cold cups of tea.
“Again, Miss Lockwood,” the viscount said wearily, “I was asked to foster the lad over the holiday and I cannot not do it. His father went to school with me; he was a good man and my friend. I owe him that.”
“Again, my lord,” Laura said, equally wearily, “his mama went to school with me, and though we have lost touch since, still she remembered me when she realized she couldn’t come home for the holiday. I promised her I would take him, and I cannot not do that.”
“I have a huge town house,” the viscount said. “More room than I need, and I can hire him a governess for the duration.”
“I…don’t have that,” Laura admitted. Then her face lit up. “But I don’t need to hire a governess. I have time off.… That is to say, time on my hands, and I’ve already set it aside for him. I can take him everywhere all the time.”
“You live alone?” he asked, incredulously. A proper female didn’t live by herself. Still, he thought…Maria’s friend, after all.
She cast down her eyes, obviously distressed. Then she looked up at him, and told him what she’d decided she must, which was some of the truth, slightly altered, and none of the facts she feared he’d disapprove of.
“I live with a friend’s family. They’re gone to the countryside for Christmas, and I decided to stay in London. I know you might think it bold of me to come for Alex by myself. But the time was running late and I acted impetuously. Still, I didn’t feel I needed an escort. After all, I cut my eyeteeth years ago. I reached five-and-twenty at my last birthday.”
She hated to tell her age, but had to explain why she was unaccompanied by a maid or a footman. She prayed he wouldn’t ask more.
He didn’t. “Well, I suppose Alex makes a suitable chaperone,” the viscount said. “But you don’t have a family to pass the holiday with? Or any special…friends?”
He couldn’t believe she didn’t have a gentleman friend, given how lovely she was, especially given that she was Maria’s friend. She was, after all, five-and-twenty, unwed, and staying in London by herself for the holidays. And so she was also probably not uninvolved. If she had a man she planned to be with for Christmas, Falconer could certainly claim the boy on moral grounds.
He himself was discreet about his liaisons. He was three-and-thirty, a man, and expected to have affairs. Still, he found himself holding his breath. He didn’t want to see her disappointment. He didn’t want to keep on arguing. Most of all, he found he didn’t want to know about her gentleman friends.
She shook her head. “I have
my mama, but she’s up in the Lake District and I…hadn’t planned to go there this year. It’s such a long journey,” she said quickly. “I don’t have anyone else. Do you have a family you intend to spend the holiday with?” She held her breath. If he had a wife or a large family, she’d be lost. She couldn’t offer anything to compete with that.
“No,” he said, a shadow of sorrow passing over his face. “That is to say, no longer, as such. My parents are gone. I’ve a brother, but he’s in the army, in Spain, with Wellington’s staff. My sister is married to a diplomat, and they’re in Brussels.”
“Then why can’t we settle this amicably?” she asked, almost pleading. “Why not let me take him? Surely you’ll agree that a woman is better suited to entertain a boy his age. And I’ve been looking forward to this time with him. I like children, and would provide him with a cozy Christmas at home with me.”
The viscount paused. “I can’t provide that,” he admitted. “I haven’t had one of those since I was a lad myself. But I can buy him all the gifts and treats for the holiday that he wants.”
“That’s not Christmas,” she said softly. “You can’t buy Christmas.”
“Sometimes,” he said, thinking of his greedy mistress, “you can.”
They looked at each other, each preparing new arguments.
“Why don’t I spend half of it with you, Miss Lockwood,” Alex said suddenly, from his quiet corner, “and half with you, sir?”
Laura looked at the viscount. He looked at her. But then, he’d been doing little else since he met her. Now, for the first time, his smile was real and warm. It made him amazingly attractive, Laura thought. Amazingly more attractive, she corrected herself.
“Why not?” the viscount asked her.
Her lips curved into a smile as well. “Yes. Why not?” she said, and laughed.
The viscount loved the sound of it.
Alex did too. He sighed into his puppy’s warm, wide neck. “But the dog, I mean, Pompey, comes with me,” he said quickly.