The tiny pug snorted in delight as he continued to thrust against the footman’s foreleg.
Nora hurried forward and plucked the bucking puppy from the man’s ankle. Captain Pugboat immediately burrowed against her bodice and gave her bare arms a happy lick. He indeed smelled of puppy and morning rain. Nora could not have fallen more deeply and instantly in love if she’d tried.
The rest of the servants immediately fled before Captain Pugboat could greet them anew.
He was too busy trying to lick the side of Nora’s face.
She laughed and turned toward the baroness. “He’s adorable.”
“That is why I acquired a pet,” Lady Roundtree said with a nervous flutter of her hands. “My husband does not share a favorable opinion. He believes the only useful animals to be horses and hunting dogs. You are to ensure Captain Pugboat does not bother him.”
Nora nodded.
Avoiding Lord Roundtree would be her easiest task to date. Nora had glimpsed the baron only once in the week since she’d been installed in their household, and doubted his wife saw him much more than that.
To Nora, the idea of practically remaining strangers with one’s husband even after years of marriage was baffling. She recognized that the upper classes often wed for reasons far removed from love, but the idea that they wouldn’t try to make the best of things once they’d tied the knot had not occurred to her until she’d seen the phenomenon firsthand.
According to Lady Roundtree, her situation was far from unusual. In fact, many aristocratic men kept mistresses whose company they preferred over their own wives. Not that the wives were much different: once they’d produced the requisite heirs, a few even found their own lovers, although careful to be discreet about it.
There was no way Nora could ever withstand atonmarriage.
Not that anyone was asking.
A delicious shiver whispered down her spine at the memory of Mr. Grenville enquiring whether there was space on her dance card. She had not been able to quit the moment—or the man—from her mind since. All she could think about was what might have happened if she’d been at the ball as a guest. As anequal.
Perhaps hewouldhave begged a proper introduction and stood up with her for a dance. Perhaps a cotillion… or perhaps a waltz. A full quarter hour with nothing to do but be whirled about in his arms amongst all the other dancers.
Not that Nora would have eyes for anyone but Mr. Grenville. He had charmed her so effortlessly with mere words. What would the touch of his hand do? His arm, wrapped about her waist? Her breath quickened. A waltz with him would leave her head in the clouds for the rest of her life.
If she were someone other than Nora Winfield, that was.
She cuddled the new puppy to her chest and turned to the baroness. “Where did Captain Pugboat come from?”
“I ordered him.” Lady Roundtree beamed with satisfaction. “Dogs are fine companions. Addington has one, Underhill has one, even that dreadful Epworth has one. Pugs are the present rage, you know.”
Nora did not know. But she was glad to have a puppy in the house. She had been in London scarcely more than a week, and each hour had seemed even lonelier than the last. The baroness might regard Nora as an employee like any other, but a dog would be delighted to have her around. Already the day seemed brighter.
“Who gave him his name?” she asked.
“I did,” the baroness answered with pride. “Leviston thought I should call him Spot or Goldie. Such uninspired twaddle. I prefer Captain Pugboat to stand out from the crowd.”
Perhaps it was Lady Roundtree who stood out from the crowd. Nora smiled. Anyone who would name a pet Captain Pugboat with a straight face had a clear sense of whimsy. Perhaps the baroness wasn’t as difficult to please as Nora had feared, but rather a lonely woman in search of companionship, wherever she might find it.
Nora curtsied to her patroness. “I think you chose splendidly. I shall be honored to care for him while I am here.”
“I should hope so,” the baroness said with a sniff. “You’re paid to do whatever I desire.”
Nora bit back a sigh. More proof she would forever be seen as an employee, not a cousin. Or even as a thinking, feeling person who loved animals and silly puns and filling her sketchbook with fashionable gowns. Here in London, she would never be worth anything as herself.
She was just as anonymous as her caricatures.
Chapter 5
Under normal circumstances, Heath would have enjoyed a balmy afternoon at the Vauxhall pleasure gardens. The Turkish Tent and the House of Mirrors were both charming, and the Rotunda was a particular favorite.
Today, however, he had not paid for admission merely to join the well-heeled throngs taking in the fresh air along the Spring Gardens. He was not even primarily here to act as escort to his mother and sisters. Not only did the women of his family not require a male gaze hovering about, the task was itself impossible. The moment their half-booted feet stepped free of the family coach, all four women immediately dispersed in opposite directions, leaving Heath standing alone amid the sculpted gardens.
Momentarilyalone, that was.
