To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,13
Jollyboy was lurching into the bushes and took back his attention.
Producing the wax paper wrapped bacon Max had brought with an idea that he would continue the dog’s training at some point, he offered it to Roberts.
'Why the devil didn’t you give me this before?' Roberts demanded as he avoided the dog who was jumping at the bacon.
'Don’t give him any now,' Max said. 'Hand me the lead.'
Then, he explained his scheme.
A moment later, Max held the dog’s lead, and Roberts approached the gate at a jog, looking for all the world like a man late to meet someone. As he passed the group of ladies, he jostled Lady Charlotte, and paused to apologise profusely, steadying her arm, from which hung a fine brocade reticule.
Meanwhile, Jollyboy was lapping from a large puddle, forelegs submerged to the ankles.
As soon as Roberts had passed some distance beyond the ladies, he gave a sharp whistle.
Jollyboy’s head darted up, and Max let go of the lead.
The dog loped toward Roberts, ears perked, but then as he passed Lady Charlotte, he skidded. His paws were caked in mud now.
With a visible sniff of the air, the dog turned back, bounding toward the ladies.
Miss Whitmore saw him first, and gave a small cry, but her warning was too late. Jollyboy jumped onto Lady Charlotte, snatching the reticule and tearing it from her wrist.
Mud smeared Lady Charlotte’s gown as she fell. She screamed in horror.
The dog raced off, triumphantly carrying the bacon-stuffed reticule in his mouth.
Max was near enough, and the ladies loud enough in their distress, that he heard every word from their mouths.
'Oh, that beastly animal!' Lady Charlotte screeched.
'My heavens,' Miss Whitmore said, reaching out a hand to her, helping her to her feet.
'Are you hurt, my lady?' Miss Whitmore’s companion from earlier asked.
'I’ll have its hide!' Lady Charlotte snapped.
'The state of your dress, Lady Charlotte!' the youngest of them said, her eyes wide.
Lady Charlotte looked down at herself and gave one of the streaks of mud a swipe with her hand. Then, when she saw the mud on the fingers of her delicate glove, she let out another cry of consternation.
'I must go home at once,' she said, her cheeks red and her eyes wide.
'Oh, must you?' protested the young one.
Yes! Max thought with heat.
Lady Charlotte began marching resolutely away from the enclosure’s gate, down an alley heading west.
'Lady Charlotte, do reconsider!' the young one said, following.
Miss Whitmore met the gaze of the other remaining lady, and they both burst into giggles.
Max smiled. He was pleased, as well. At last, he would be able to approach Miss Whitmore and settle the matter of her discretion about his secret to his satisfaction.
And all thanks to Jollyboy.
***
Lady Charlotte Emery came close to outright rudeness as she traded places with Miss Rumsley, Miss d’Este’s chaperone, who had been waiting in Charlotte’s carriage.
'Oh, I am disappointed,' Miss d’Este pouted, as Miss Rumsley exclaimed her shock that they had returned on foot.
'I do apologise,' Charlotte managed. 'I was in such distress I never thought to go back for the phaeton. Shall I drive you over?'
Royal Miss d’Este’s features took on a most unroyally mulish expression. 'No,' she said. 'It shall do Miss Rumsley a world of good to walk with me.'
Not my concern, Charlotte told herself. She had been cultivating this friendship for the influence the silly girl could bring her, but she had quite had her fill today. Leaving the phaeton to walk through the Park, and with the likes of Miss Emilia Whitmore and her companion. It was unthinkable.
'Don’t forget to send Miss Whitmore an invitation!' Charlotte heard the impertinent Miss d’Este call as she walked away.
Charlotte gritted her teeth and took a long breath.
'Take the alley east,' she told her postilion. 'I can’t abide the congestion of carriages on the west side of the Park at this time of day.'
The driver did as he was told, and Charlotte settled back against the chaise’s seat with a sigh.
What a perfectly horrid day.
Up ahead, she saw that the carriage that had been blocking the enclosure’s gate had moved on. Miss Whitmore and her companion must have already passed through, she mused. Only a pair of gentlemen with—was it that horrid dog? She watched them as they passed through the gate as well.
Charlotte’s spine stiffened. She leaned out of the chaise, her eyes straining as she stared at the men.
It can’t be.
Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, her breathing becoming uncomfortably tight.