Chapter Three
February 17, 1818
Amegrim lurked behind William’s eyes as he followed the sounds of female voices lifted in argument to the drawing room.
“What the devil is going on in here?” He’d been on his way out when the noise attracted his attention. His lower jaw sagged open at the scene that met his gaze. His sister Isobel jumped over the low back of a sofa while chasing after… a dog? “Why is there a canine in this house?” A series of excited yips followed his question, for the corgi was little more than a pup, perhaps six months old. His mother called out orders from another sofa while the once stately butler attempted to follow both women’s commands.
None of the occupants of the room paid him the slightest attention.
Meanwhile, bric-a-brac was knocked from tabletops, books tumbled from the same, a crystal decanter of water at his mother’s elbow rocked perilously close to the edge of the rose-inlaid table, to say nothing of the furniture cushions or the drapes that Isobel shook out while looking for the dog.
“Enough!” The word expelled from his throat in a roar. Immediately, all hilarity and arguments ceased. Hankins’ face turned a bright shade of red, while his sister and mother looked at each other with a speaking glance. “I demand an explanation.” He pointed to a nearby chair and then at Isobel. “Sit.”
When he rested his gaze on the butler, the man muttered an excuse and scuttled from the room as if the very hounds of hell were in pursuit.
The corgi, who’d wriggled from beneath a table at William’s initial command, sat back on his haunches the same time Isobel dropped onto the chair.
At least someone in this house can follow orders.
When both women remained silent, William sighed. “Where did the dog come from?”
Isobel pressed her lips together. The youngest of his siblings, she was as rambunctious as she’d been as a child. With every new week he dreaded the news of some new scandal or scheme she’d got herself embroiled in. “He’s a Pembroke Welsh corgi that I’ve named Ivan. One of my friends has one and that dog recently had a litter, so I told her I’d take one.”
“Without asking my permission?”
She shrugged. A few tendrils of brown hair had escaped its chignon during the mad chase, and she repinned the tresses. “Would you have granted it?”
“No. There is too much occupying my attention to add a dog to the chaos.”
“Ivan isn’t your responsibility. He’s mine.” When she leaned down and clicked her tongue, holding out a hand toward the dog, Ivan merely looked at her as if he didn’t know who she was. Isobel sighed. “I thought that perhaps he might be a good companion for Mother when we’re all out.”
“Please don’t be angry, William,” his mother implored. She glanced at the dog. “He’s rather lovely and it would be nice to have someone to keep me company while you’re out of pocket.”
Some of his annoyance crumbled. “Fine.” William waved a hand. He rested his gaze on the brown and white animal, who still sat as if waiting for a command. “But any messes he makes in the house are Isobel’s responsibility. I won’t have the servants running after your dog merely because you took him on a whim.” On impulse, he tapped his gloved hand to his thigh. “Ivan, come.”
The dog’s ears perked up then he trotted across the rumpled Aubusson carpet to William’s location.
“Sit.” He snapped his fingers and snorted when the dog did just that. A small grin curved his mouth. “It seems the dog merely needs a firm hand, not pampering.” He slid a victorious glance to his sister. “Perhaps you’d do well to imitate him.”
“Why must you be so horrid?” She pulled a face at him like she used to do when they were children. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes, in fact, I do. I intend to call quickly on Cousin Andrew and then I’m off to Whitehall for the remainder of the day.” Late last night, he’d been informed that the name of the dead woman was a Miss Rutledge, the only daughter of Lord Cantonburg. Before he’d come home, he’d been obliged to stop at the baron’s townhouse and tell the woman’s parents their daughter had been brutally murdered.
God, I hate that part of the job.
Needing a distraction, he bounced his gaze between Isobel and his mother. “Make certain you teach Ivan a routine. Secure a lead and a collar. I refuse to run down the streets of Mayfair if he escapes the house.” No doubt when his sister grew bored with her new project, she’d abandon it as she’d done all the rest.
Which meant Ivan would be his dog, for his mother could hardly withstand the demands and energy of a puppy, let alone a breed with the sort of enthusiasm for life a corgi possessed, or the walking of said pet.
Bloody hell.
“All will be well, dear,” his mother assured him. Worry sprang into her eyes. “If you see Caroline, please give her my love.”
“I will.” His attitude softened slightly, for the relationship between his middle sister and the rest of the family was decidedly shaky, and for good reason.
Isobel sprang up from her chair. The abrupt movement startled the dog, who uttered a sharp bark and turned about, his wagging tail thumping against William’s boot. “I want to come with you. It would be nice to go visiting, for London’s dull right now.”
“Absolutely not.” He gently scooted the dog her way with a foot. “You have much here to occupy your time. Take the dog for a walk to reduce some of his energy. Perhaps later in the week we’ll invite the cousins over for dinner.”