The Primrose Path (8 page)

Angelina’s chin rose a notch. “I notice you limp, my lord,” she pointed out. “Has anyone suggested putting you out of your misery?” The sparks in her eyes seemed to indicate that the idea had merit.

“Devil a bit, are you comparing me to a dog?” He held up a hand. “I take that back, Miss Armstead. I don’t want to know. I’d lose.”

She ignored him in her eagerness to explain, to convince him, to break through his wall of cynicism and uncaring. “Gemma’s not suffering. Look at her trying to herd the other dogs into one area. She’s just slow, too slow to work Ti’s sheep. But she worked them all her life: winter, summer, cold, and rain. Don’t you think she deserves a peaceful old age?”

“Well, yes, but Ti—”

“Ti came to beg Lady Sophie to take her, and he is a proud man. It broke his heart to part with Gemma, and he still visits her when he can, but the old dog had to go when he bought a younger one. Ti simply couldn’t afford to feed another mouth.”

Corin hit his fist against the windowsill. “I suppose you hold me to blame for that, too, ma’am.”

She shrugged. “Times have been hard.” And he’d been in London, Paris, Vienna. “Your people needed you.”

“My people are well looked after, Miss Armstead.” And his land steward would be sacked tomorrow. “You are meddling in affairs and traditions you do not understand. The fact is that farmers and sheepherders do not keep pets.”

“Precisely. That is why we need the shelter, my lord. I am meeting the architect out at the old Remington place this very afternoon to get started. Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Splendid.” Miss Armstead not only looked like a newly emerged butterfly, she was acting like one, too. The peagoose was flitting off to meet a total stranger at an isolated property somewhere. “Absolutely perfect. I’ll drive.”

Chapter Nine

“You must have been one of those children who brought home every orphaned lamb and broken-winged sparrow,” Lord Knowle commented later that afternoon when they were driving in his curricle to the abandoned estate. A hot bath and a change of clothes had restored his temper—that and the thought of Miss Armstead’s being convinced to move her entire establishment to the new property. The sooner the better for his peace of mind.

She had on another new frock, he noted, with a matching spencer and a silly little bonnet all trimmed in silk flowers. The companion rivaled the sweetness of May, and it was only April. Spring wasn’t the only thing rising. Corin shifted on the curricle’s seat and dragged his attention back to his cattle. “I can imagine you with a lapful of kittens.” He could imagine her many ways, but this was safest.

Angelina lowered her eyes. “I was not permitted to have a pet when I was a child.”

“What, not even a canary?”

“My grandparents did not allow animals in the house.”

“What about your parents?” he asked, blatantly fishing for information.

“They died when I was very young. My grandparents had the task of rearing me. They were religious,” she added, as if that explained everything.

Corin didn’t think much of a religion that denied a child a playmate, if only a fish in a bowl. He remembered all the frogs and snakes and mice he’d dragged home to terrorize his sisters, all the foxhounds his father kept indoors and out, despite his mother’s protests. There was a tame crow, the kitchen cats, and even a ferret Corin had bought from the rat catcher. He wondered if his old nursery room still held that distinctive odor.

His had been a privileged childhood, his lordship knew, but even the poorest household in the parish kept a mouser or two. Miss Armstead was obviously educated and refined, which spoke of enough blunt to support a turtle, say, or a pair of finches.

“It wasn’t the money,” she said, almost reading his thoughts. “Reverend Armstead and his wife believed that anything that distracted from the worship of God was evil.”

“I’m sure God rewarded such devotion.” Corin spoke sarcastically, wondering how a child would fare under such fanaticism.

“They were eaten by cannibals.”

So much for that topic of conversation. Corin felt he had perhaps a shade more information than he wanted. Cannibals, by Jupiter. “I pity St. Peter if your relations meet up with Aunt Sophie at the pearly gates. She was certain that all her little darlings would be joining her there. I imagine Reverend Armstead would protest vehemently.”

“He’d be certain to treat St. Peter to a sermon on sanctity and the sin of worshiping false gods. Mrs. Reverend Armstead would be on her knees, scrubbing away all traces of the filthy beasts. Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know.”

With more sympathy than he had believed he could feel for the usurper at his cottage, Corin asked, “What happened to you then, after your grandparents got eat—ah, went on to their final reward?”

“I stayed on at the school my grandparents chose for me. Children of the Divine Academy. Needless to say, there were no animals there, either, although I did manage to keep a cricket in my Sunday shoes for a week. I would have been forced to stay on there, as instructor or servant, if not for Lady Sophie.”

What an abominable life. No wonder Lena had a sharp tongue and a prim outlook. And no wonder she was so loyal to his dotty aunt. “Well, you are making up for the lack of pets now,” Corin noted, brushing at his shoulder where Ajax was slobbering onto Weston’s finest Bath superfine coat.

The big dog was on the groom’s bench behind them, with his head between Corin and Angelina. In addition, a small, furry white dog, Diamond, sat in her lap. A Maltese, Lena called him. A barracuda, Corin would have guessed from the puncture wounds on his hand. All he’d done was try to pet the little maggot.

“Diamond can’t see very well,” Angelina explained. “He must have thought your fingers were some kind of threat. Or perhaps a treat.”

Fine, Corin thought, he was wasting his efforts transporting a female and two canines, one blind and one Brobdingnagian. Miss Armstead would have been safe with her two watchdogs, and he could have better spent his time going to London, groveling.

“It’s so kind of you to drive us, for Diamond does like an airing now and again. Lady Sophie often took him in the carriage when we went calling in the neighborhood. I couldn’t have brought him along in the donkey cart, my lord, so I am doubly grateful.”

Then again, Corin decided, winning one of his first smiles from Miss Armstead meant his day wasn’t wasted after all.

He was even more gratified that he’d escorted Lena when they reached the Remington place and met the architect. Averill Browne was slightly younger than the viscount’s own eight and twenty, and good-looking, if one admired the poetic mein, the long titian hair curling around his shoulders, dreamy eyes, and a soft, wet-lipped mouth. The nodcock was wearing a loosely knotted kerchief at his throat and yellow cossack trousers.

Browne obviously admired Miss Armstead. As soon as Corin handed Lena down from the curricle—incidentally earning the viscount another needle-toothed nip from Diamond—the architect dropped his portfolio and, it seemed, his heart at her dainty feet.

Clumsy clunch. Corin hated him on sight, and more so when the dirty dish started play wrestling with Ajax. The dastard even fed Diamond a bit of cheese without losing any blood. Then he proceeded to enthuse about the project ad nauseam, saying what pleasure he’d get from helping to build a shelter for their needy four-legged friends. Pleasure? Corin thought. Hah! Browne would be getting a big chunk of Aunt Sophie’s blunt! And the jackanapes would be needing a new nose if he didn’t stop pawing at Lena under the guise of showing her how the old house could be extended, how the barn could be converted to a hospital. The architect’s enthusiasm was all for Lena’s benefit, Corin swore. And damn if he didn’t feel he had to invite the dastard to stay at the castle, rather than at the inn in town, so he could keep an eye on the loose screw. Not even her devoted dogs could protect Miss Armstead from falling for the architect’s Spanish coin.

* * * *

Well, that went fine, Angelina thought after the viscount left. Her very first curricle ride had rendered her so nervous she’d held Diamond tightly enough that the little dog got skittish. But it was so fast, so high, so exhilarating once she was used to it, that the drive home was much too short.

And the architect seemed a pleasant, competent, caring man. She could tell he liked dogs, too. Mr. Browne might appear young, but his ideas were sound and he listened to her as to an equal. Mavis must be right, that he saw a lady, so he treated her with the respect due a lady. And Angelina’s good impression of the architect was not simply due to his flattering attentions; even the viscount approved of him, going so far as to invite Mr. Browne to put up at the castle.

Work on the shelter was going to begin as soon as the solicitor released funds for lumber and carpenters, now that Miss Armstead had approved the final plans. Lady Sophie’s dream of a place for strays was really going to come true. Angelina thought that dear lady must be smiling up in heaven, for the sun was shining brightly again.

Lady Sophie would be pleased to know that her nephew had behaved just as he ought also, asking Mr. Browne to hire local men when possible, offering his steward’s assistance in selecting the best workers. He was a decent man and charming company, Angelina had to concede, when he wasn’t ripping up at her or taking liberties. Why, he even took her advice about a dog to take home, a first for the prideful peer.

Lady Sophie had believed it was important to match personalities when picking a new owner for one of her darlings. In that case, his lordship should have a strong-willed, volatile, and unpredictable dog with a pedigree a mile long, which he’d hate. Angelina knew firsthand that the viscount resented anyone more stubborn than himself. He wouldn’t want a fussy little dog or a placid rug warmer or a demanding player, either. No barkers, biters, or chewers; his lordship had no patience. Rough-and-tumble half-grown pups were out, as were any dogs without exemplary house manners. Angelina had been awed at her tour of Knowle Castle; she wasn’t about to jeopardize the Ming vases and Aubusson carpets and polished hardwood floors, or give the viscount an excuse to banish the dog to the kennels. Squirrel was endlessly energetic. Cookie had a digestive complaint, Simon was unfortunately simple, and Puddles would be intimidated into an indiscretion if the viscount raised his voice. Which he did fairly frequently,
in Angelina’s experience. And his lordship did not like pugs.

Unfortunately, most of the dogs at Primrose Cottage were there because they weren’t perfect. That is, Angelina thought each animal was perfect in its own way, just not perfect for the fastidious, formidable nonesuch.

If his lordship were a plain country squire or a farmer or the owner of an ordinary house, Angelina would have no problem. If he didn’t half believe the world revolved  around his wants and desires, she’d have a handful of dogs to offer. If she thought for one moment that he wanted a dog to love and to cherish, good traits and bad, the same way the dog would accept him, then she’d let him choose.

In the end she sent him home with Molly, a sweet, middle-aged bitch of indeterminate breed that they’d found starving at the side of the road. “Just feed her,” Angelina advised, “and she’ll be a good friend to you.”

How could Corin refuse those big, soulful eyes? The dog had nice eyes, too, intelligent and warm, so Lord Knowle took Molly up with him in the curricle, where she sat like a lady. Walking her back from the castle’s stables, Corin stopped at the kitchens, thinking of Lena’s suggestion to keep the dog fed—or was it a warning? Something was grievously amiss with each of those other tail-wagging waifs, so what was Molly’s particular vice? If the dog got hungry would she eat the furniture, the wallpaper, or the upstairs maid?

Corin never got to find out because his highly paid Belgian chef was delighted to have an appreciative audience for his culinary expertise. Henri fed the dog tidbit after tidbit from platters that looked suspiciously like the viscount’s supper. When it was time to leave the kitchens, time for Corin to dress for his own sadly depleted dinner, Molly forgot her name and her manners. The dog had discovered Utopia. She wasn’t leaving.

Confound it, his own dog didn’t like him! Corin calculated the disloyal bitch had taken less than two hours to find someone she liked better. Lena must have known what would happen, of course. She’d most likely be laughing even now, but he’d have the last laugh. He’d finally gotten one dog out of Primrose Cottage. Corin might be bailing a big boat with a small bucket, but it was a start. Besides, now he wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving Molly behind when he went to London in the morning.

Before Corin left, however, he had to stop by the cottage to warn Miss Armstead. “I know you think your reputation is solid as stone, but things have changed. Without Aunt Sophie, you’re not an employee under her protection; you’re a doggie do-gooder, subject to gossip and speculation. If you wish to remain in Knowlton Heights, remember that this is a small town whose residents have little to discuss except strangers.”

“And you, their lord and master. You have always been the townspeople’s favorite topic. I swear, the Glenmore sisters know the name of your latest London
cherie
before your first waltz with her is ended. So if you’re preaching discretion, my lord, I suggest you look into your own behavior.”

“Zeus, Lena, I’m a man. No one cares how many women I bed.”

“Your aunt cared.” And she cared, Angelina feared. The devil take the man, here he was, leaving her alone at last, and Angelina was greatly afraid that she was going to miss him. “That’s Miss Armstead to you, sir.”

“Very well, Miss Armstead, then try to remember you are a lady now.”

She drew herself up. “I have always been a lady.” Except for when he kissed her.

Except for when she kissed him back, Corin was thinking, which act he was tempted to repeat, except for the presence of Ajax. “Thunderation, woman, I am not accusing you of impropriety. I’m merely trying to warn you against spending your days alone with that architect fellow. It won’t look right to the people you want to impress. At least take that maid of my aunt’s, the one who’s got nothing to do now anyway.”