After ducking and shoving through a particularly thick snarl of undergrowth, Grace came upon the young boy andgirl crouching beside a half-grown terrier that was hopelessly ensnared in the strong, woody vines of honeysuckle. An extraordinarily large ginger cat stood guard at the poor little dog’s head, hackles up, tail puffed and paw lifted and ready to strike Gastric’s inquisitive nose.
Grace snapped her fingers. “Come, Gastric. Behind me, please. We mustn’t frighten them.” The jolly dog immediately obeyed, plopping down behind her as if ready to take advantage of the shade and enjoy a nap. Turning back to the children, she offered them a smile as she knelt in front of them. “My name is Grace, and I shall have your poor pup freed in no time.” She eyed the cat that had flattened its ears and shifted its glare to her while continuing to vibrate with a warning growl. “Would you please tell your friend I only mean to help?”
The boy stood and gave her a formal bow. “I am Connor, and this is my sister, Susannah. I call her Sissy, and you can too if you really mean to help us.” He pointed at the cat. “Galileo there is Hector’s best friend and always protects him.”
“As best friends always should,” Grace said to the cat.
Poor, trussed-up Hector whined and frantically twitched, his little sides rapidly rising and falling as he panted with fear.
“It’s all right, Hector.” Grace extended her knuckles so the animals could sniff her hand. The cat gave her a leery look but no longer growled. Poor little Hector whined even louder. “I carry a penknife in my boot. It will make quick work of those vines. Do not be alarmed as I draw it out, all right?” she told the children.
Both of them nodded.
After cutting the small dog free, Grace noticed blood on Hector’s front leg, and that he refused to put any weight on it when he stood. “Poor thing. The vines must have injured him. I carry balm and bandages in my saddlebag. Let’s get him carried out, and I’ll see to him.”
Connor pushed his way between her and the dog. “I’ll carry him. It’s my fault he got caught.”
“Hector was after a rabbit,” Sissy explained. “It is not Connor’s fault. He thinks he has to take the blame for everything.”
“It was an accident,” Grace said. She stood and tucked her knife back into her boot. “Young dogs often get themselves into dire straits because they don’t know any better.”
“You talk like an adult,” Connor said as he scooped up the dog and held it close.
Grace laughed. “Iaman adult. Did you think me a child?”
“You are just not very big for a man,” Sissy said. “And why would your parents name you Grace when you are a man?”
“Sissy!” Connor angled a fierce scowl at his sister.
“You never find out if you do not ask,” Sissy argued. “He’s dressed like a boy but says he is grown.”
“I am ashe,” Grace said as they tromped their way back to level ground, where Pegasus and the other three dogs waited. The ginger cat sprang into the lead, growling and hissing at the trio of hounds to keep them at bay. “And these are myadventuringclothes. Riding habits tend to get in my way when I explore the countryside.” She nodded at Sissy’s dress. “Your mama will not be pleased about those stains and tears.”
“Our mother doesn’t care,” Sissy said. “The governess told us we could be dead, and our mother wouldn’t even bother to come back for our funerals.”
“What a horrible thing to tell you.” Grace clapped her mouth shut, her suspicions building. Two young children. On the edge of Broadmere property that adjoined the Wolfebourne estate. If these two were who she thought they were, the freedom of her adventuring clothes could well be over. “The Duke of Wolfebourne wouldn’t happen to be your older brother, would he?”
Both children bowed their heads and remained silent, a silence that shouted she was correct. They halted in front of Grace’s line of foxhounds, Connor hugging Hector to his chest, and Sissy now holding the cat.
“I am not asking so I can tell on you,” Grace told them. “I am asking because I really do not like it when adults see me in my adventuring clothes. It makes my brother angry.”
“Who is your brother?” Connor asked.
“The Duke of Broadmere.”
“If you promise not to tell our brother we were on your land, we promise not to tell anyone about your adventuring clothes,” Sissy offered with the grace and aplomb of an extremely experienced diplomat. Wiliness battled with pleading in her dark brown eyes.
“Agreed,” Grace said as she fetched the bandages and balm from her saddlebag. She hoped the children kept to their word as faithfully as she intended to keep to hers. “Now, let’s get Hector’s leg seen about and then we’ll get you home, shall we?”
As she knelt to take care of the frightened pup, she tipped her head homeward bound. “Gastric, Pete, Moses, Ferdinand—home.”
All four dogs stared at her as if hoping she would change her mind.
“Home,” she repeated in a more authoritative tone. “Now, please, or no soupbones.”
The dogs took off, leaving poor Gastric at the back of the pack, struggling to keep up.
“They listen to you?” Connor asked in amazement.
