Charlotte let out a deep breath. “Haven’t you ever had a dog?”
“Of course not! Why anyone would intentionally keep such a beast is beyond me.”
The momentary guilt Charlotte was feeling disappeared as quickly as it came. Because Charlotte loved dogs—more so, even than a few human’s she knew.
“You’re all right now. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Charlotte patted the taller girl’s arm.
“I don’t like dogs!” Her mistress wailed. “You took too long in the shop. You should have returned in a more timely fashion.”
“I’m sorry, Sus– Miss.” Charlotte had spent additional time selecting gifts for Lord Mapleton’s mother and sister. She’d not deny she’d taken advantage of the situation.
And she’d chosen a ghastly perfume for Miss Fairchild’s gift.
Quickly locating a handkerchief from a pocket, Charlotte dabbed at Susan’s reddened cheeks and then a few smudges on her sleeve. “I merely wished to be certain your gift was perfect and took rather longer than I ought. Please forgive me.”
She did feel badly. Miss Fairchild might actually like dogs if her parents had allowed her a pet as a child. “He wasn’t going to hurt you, but how could you have known?” Except for the wagging of his tail and the giant smile on his face.
Because contrary to what some people thought, dogs most definitely smiled.
“I didn’t know. But he kept jumping on me. He wouldn’t leave me alone.” A calm began settling on the frightened young woman.
“He wanted your pie.” Charlotte held back a chuckle.
“I’d have gladly given it to him, if I’d known.” Susan sniffed. “Thank you.” She added. “For saving me.”
Relief swept through Charlotte––relief that her mistress was not truly harmed and also that since she’d ‘saved’ Miss Fairchild, she apparently hadn’t placed her job in jeopardy again.
She needed this position. Oliver would slay her if she turned up unemployed for a fourth time.
“Miss Fairchild!”
Having exited Mr. Blanchard’s shop, Lord Mapleton took one look at Susan’s distraught expression and sprinted across the road. “What happened? Damn my eyes but I shouldn’t have left you unattended. My abject apologies, Miss Fairchild.” He was glancing around as though looking for a thief or murderer. And then his gaze settled on Susan’s dress, where streaks of mud soiled the skirt. The Earl furrowed his brows. “Who did this?”
“It was a dog, my lord.” Charlotte did not look at him while she spoke, thinking that he might feel as guilty as she did. “She is afraid of them.”
“He was huge! A veritable monster! Giant teeth and the very devil’s eyes! He all but attacked me in the street.” Susan’s tears started up all over again as she crumpled into Lord Mapleton’s arms. “I hate dogs!”
“There, there. He didn’t bite you, did he?” The Earl stroked Susan’s back and glancing up, finally caught Charlotte’s gaze with a sheepish look. Ah, yes. She’d had the right of it.
She saw something else in his eyes, though. If Charlotte were to hazard a guess, she’d wager that Lord Mapleton kept a dog for a pet. Or perhaps two. Such a gentleman as him likely loved animals.
Not an auspicious indication of the couple’s future wedded bliss.
“He wanted her meat pie.” Charlotte flicked her eyes to the ground at the crushed pastry which hadn’t survived the attack after all. Hopefully the mutt would return and find it before it was no more than crumbs in the dirt. “He was quite exuberant about it.” She shrugged.
“Drake took forever to return.” Miss Fairchild complained. But then she noticed the package Lord Mapleton clutched beneath his arm. “Oh, my present! What is it? Are you going to give it to me today?”
The size of the package lent Charlotte to believe that he’d purchased all of her recommended items. He’d valued her suggestions for his sister and mother, she’d been certain. But did he now regret his approval of the dreadful perfume?
And what about after he’d married Miss Fairchild? He would know Charlotte hadn’t exhibited loyalty for her employer. Charlotte cringed inside. Judging by Susan and the Viscountess’ outlook, the betrothal was as good as done. Lord Mapleton could very well be her future employer.
She’d best prepare herself. Control her impulses. Curb her tongue.
Although she wondered at her ability to make such changes now, when she’d been unable to at any of her other posts…
Charlotte bit her lip.
If she hadn’t been raised by a vicar, she could have contemplated other means for making a living. Many women who chose to be some gentleman’s mistress were well provided for. If she thought she had any talent, she could have found it interesting to try being a dancing girl, or a seamstress in a theatre. She could have served ale in a tavern.
Perhaps.
She might have enjoyed almost anything more than the tedium of her current situation. She could not imagine disliking any of those other positions with quite so much passion.
Or performing them any worse.
Anthony chastised himself all the way back to Viscount Denton’s estate as the phaeton rumbled along.
He could not––he absolutely would not––allow an inconsequential woman, with eyes the color of the sea, to upend his plans.
He’d already contracted the foreman to commence with more rebuilding and land improvements. He had little time for courting. He’d considered participating in the great marriage mart in London this spring, but the fire had expedited his need. The season in London would not commence for several months.
Jilting his neighbor’s daughter was not an option.
He’d suggested this outing in order to get to know Miss Drake better.
He blinked.
Miss Fairchild––not Miss Drake!
All he’d discovered thuslywas that Miss Fairchild hated dogs. Surely, she would feel differently upon meeting Rufus and Walter. Anthony had had both dogs for nearly nine years now. Before that, he’d had Fritz for nearly fourteen. He could not remember a time in his life when he’d not enjoyed the companionship of his own, or one of his father’s hounds.
He swallowed hard and turned his thoughts back to his present surroundings.
“Are you warm enough?” he lowered his mouth so that she would be sure to hear him. “Susan?” He’d not addressed her yet by her given name. But he had to make progress in his suit today. Up until yesterday, he’d considered himself reasonably attracted to Miss Drake.
Miss Fairchild. He’d considered himself reasonably attracted to Miss Fairchild.
Although the sun just barely peeked through a thin layer of clouds, the breeze carried a chill. The lady beside him apparently noticed his intimate gesture but rather than show any pleasure, tightened her lips. “I am well enough, my lord.”
It seemed she’d not yet forgiven him for withholding her gift until Christmas day, when it would be more appropriate. She’d begged and cajoled incessantly, like a spoiled child, but he’d stood his ground. To present her with a gift too early would cause scandal.
He’d wait until she was his fiancé.