Lydia’s silence stretched out, her mouth slightly open and a look of confusion on her face, while they followed Captain Neville’s fast progress down the path. “Is he always like this?”
“Yes,” Arnaud said, “and please do not ask me to explain. He’s a rude swab who doesn’t care what anyone thinks.” After a few seconds, he added, “But there’s no one better to have by your side in a fight.”
Sophie reached out with her gloved hand and applied soothing strokes to the small dog’s sore paw. He peered out from the firm grip Arnaud held him in, but still shivered and shook from his close call with the horses’ hooves. He lifted his head and gave Sophie a look of pure devotion.
“I think I’m in love,” she said, and elicited a start from Arnaud. “I mean with the little dog,” she was quick to add. “Just look at those eyes. How could anyone be unkind to him?”
After giving the mongrel back to Sophie, Arnaud helped her up into the carriage and swung up to take the seat next to her. He asked Cullen to pull out a blanket from beneath the rear seat.
The coachman eased them back into traffic on the path.
Sophie took the blanket from Cullen and covered her lap. The dog came to her and curled up in the middle while she wrapped the ends around him. She looked down at the dried mud stains on her new wine-colored woolen carriage dress and decided she could brush off most of the damage that night with a brush. Any guilt she might have over marring one of her new dresses evaporated when she looked at the love emanating from the puppy’s eyes.
Arnaud shook his head. Cullen covered his mouth but still shook from laughter. Lydia leaned forward and tried to reach the dog for a few pats while he leaned back onto Sophie’s chest.
“What are you going to do with him?” Lydia cooed at the small beast and roughed up the soft fur beneath his chin while leaning over the carriage seat. “Grand can’t be around animals because of her breathing problems.”
Sophie had a sudden feeling of panic. Whatwouldshe do with the little dog? “I’m not sure what I should do with him. Perhaps Mrs. Withers has suitable lodgings where he could stay.”
Arnaud grimaced. “My mother is the living, breathing version of St. Francis in our time. After all, she harbors an impossible cat. I’m sure she would be happy to welcome the scruffy creature. Her footman, young Charles, is very good at controlling the cat. I suppose he could take on a stray dog as well. A mongrel cannot be any more trouble than a tom who terrorizes the neighborhood.”
“But he needs me,” Sophie said, and the dog looked up with trusting eyes as if to emphasize the point. She turned her gaze toward Dr. MacCloud. “I suppose I could visit?”
“Of course,” Cullen said. “I’m sure you would always be welcome at Arnaud’s mother’s home.”
Arnaud checked both directions when they turned onto Park Lane and then kept a lookout behind them. He’d given the coachman directions to make several meandering turns along Brooks Street headed toward Hanover Square, rather than a direct route along Oxford. He gave Sophie a quick, furtive look before the carriage eased into traffic on the busy street. The dog eyed Arnaud with suspicion and raised his paws to cuddle closer onto Sophie’s chest.
“Crafty little dodger,” Arnaud mumbled in nearly a whisper, and the dog growled.
“What did you say?” Sophie asked.
“Nothing important.”
When they finally pulled up in front of his mother’s townhouse on Hanover Square, her footman came out with steps and stood by to offer assistance. Arnaud climbed down to help Sophie exit the carriage with her grimy little, growling charge. She’d covered most of his fur with the coach blanket and Arnaud had to admit the stray looked almost respectable with only his furry, spotted head showing.
“Charles,” Arnaud said, and pointed toward the now writhing blanket Sophie struggled to keep in her arms. The young footman approached Sophie and with an expert tug of the blanket took charge of the whining pup. She hesitated but finally gave over her small charge.
“You will be kind to him?” she asked, a hitch in her breath.
“Of course, Miss Brancelli. A bath first and then perhaps a meal and a bit of a sleep by the fire?”
“Bless you, young man.” Sophie turned away and allowed Arnaud to lead her into the front hall while her small charge was carried down the stairs to the kitchen area.
“So you see, Sophia, no one blinked an eye at your bringing a stray creature to my mother’s house.” Arnaud gave Cullen a wink over Sophie’s shoulder.
Arnaud’s mother Honore joined them in the family sitting room, ahead of a maid carrying a tea service. “I see you had a good time. Sophie and Lydia’s cheeks are pink from the crisp air.”
“I am so sorry about the little dog,” Sophie began.
Honore stopped her by extending a hand. “All small creatures are welcome here,” she assured Sophie. “When Arnaud is at sea, the house seems lonely and empty. Pets give us all something to do.” She paused and a mischievous smile curved at her mouth. “They give us something to talk about.”
She poured cups of tea and stopped when she came to Sophie. “Have you named him?”
Sophie took the cup and paused a few moments, a wrinkle in her brow just above her nose. “I suppose I should. When I was worried about him, I was afraid to name him. What if he belongs to someone?”
Arnaud interrupted. “Whoever owns him, and I doubt anyone does, they certainly don’t have a care letting him run loose in the park. And besides, all the dirt and grime on the little beggar would seem to bespeak an ownerless stray.” Arnaud had scarce lifted his cup to his lips when Sophie peered out Mrs. Bellingham’s windows overlooking Hanover Square’s park, she gave a little squeak. Putting down her cup and saucer with a clatter, she gathered up the skirts of her heavy wine-colored carriage dress, and raced out into the hallway.
Arnaud followed close behind, shouting, “Sophia—stop.”
