“Hm,” she said, turning to follow him toward the office.
“It’s true,” he continued. “The healer woman. The wicked little Jewish miss. That pretty blonde girl with the ribbons …”
“Rosalind?” Vix suggested, raising her brows.
“Is that her name?” he asked, not nearly as cleverly as he thought. “Certainly, a good example. Where might Rosalind be this morn?”
“Probably a Presbyterian kirk,” Vix said sweetly. “Where she belongs.”
It made him chuckle as he opened the door and ushered her into the office. “We’re not that different,” he said, raising his brows. “Church of England, Church of Scotland. Siblings, practically.”
“Siblings, is it?” she asked, tossing her reticule onto a chair and guiding Bear into the room. “I didn’t realize you were looking for a sister in Christ in sweet Rosalind, Matthew. How perfectly chaste.”
He turned behind the desk and tossed her a little flash of a grin, flipping open his folio.
“Bear,” she said firmly. “Platz.”
The dog immediately collapsed, limbs askew, not unlike a raw chicken.
“Beautiful,” he said, blinking down at it. “Your dog is German?”
“Yes,” she said. “The registry.”
“I have it,” he said, holding it up and waving it in the air. “Perhaps a trade is in order. I never got a proper introduction to the lovely Rosalind, you know.”
“Matthew, keep your cassock on,” she snapped, reaching out for the page and failing to snatch it before he could whip it away. “Honestly. I will set this room on fire.”
He laughed, relinquishing the document to her and gloating over her huff as she smoothed it immediately with her fingers. “Arson is a sin,” he said with faux somber rebuke.
“No, it isn’t,” she snapped, eyes scanning over the document. “Your penmanship has improved.”
“How very dare?” he said, his voice going up a pitch. “It has always been immaculate.”
She smiled, glancing up at him and folding the paper toward her chest. “Thank you, Matthew. It’s perfect.”
“Of course it is,” he said, frowning.
“I have to go,” she said, snapping once, which brought Bear back to his feet. “I’m meeting my … mixed company at the modiste. Shall I mention you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I suppose it depends on what you say.”
“Who can know,” she said airily. “I rarely plan such things in advance. Oh, and I am throwing a ball. Three weeks from today. You shall attend.”
“Shall I?” he said, blinking.
“You shall.Hier, Bear,” she said, clicking her tongue. “We mustn’t be late.”
The air was bracing this morning, a gentle post-shower breeze winding its way through London and offering reprieve from the summer swelter. She might have otherwise found Bear’s propensity to stop and sniff every third blade of grass an annoying obstacle to her tasks, but for some reason, stopping and watching his delight at every new smell and sight was the most entertained she had felt in all her life.
“Do not roll in that,” she said, more than once.
Bear had not learned that command yet.
As a result, she was indeed tardy to the modiste, but the others did not seem to notice. Dinah, in particular, seemed beside herself wandering through the rows of fabric while the others chatted.
Mae’s singular charm was on full display this morning as she glanced over at Vix, down at Bear, then back up again, and said, “You know we do not need you to buy us dresses, Lady Bountiful. We are not poor.”
“Are you not?” Vix asked, blinking in innocent bafflement. “Then why do you always look like that?”
