Braxton blinked at her in confusion. “Well, sure. A man gets hungry.”
Augusta leaned over the desk. “Phoebe, dear? Do you cook?”
Phoebe lifted her chin. “Quite well, thank you. I told you that yesterday.”
“So you did,” Augusta said. “Mr. Jones, would you care for a second cup of tea?”
Before he could answer, George lifted his head and let out a loudwoofat the sound of clapping outside. He shuffled out from beneath the desk and barked a few times.
Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest, probably bracing for some other disaster brought on by George. Braxton offered her a steadying nod. Outside, sleigh bells jingled somewhere down the street, festive and bright. George trotted to the tall windows and looked out.
Braxton rubbed his neck. Maybe getting himself a bride this way wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.
The next day, Augusta marched into the office. “I told you we should have worked longer last night.”
Margaret shifted her armful of folders. “And I told you we were about to fall asleep on our feet.” She looked toward the small kitchen. “Oh, dear. Poor George. He’ll have to be walked.” She went into the kitchen and opened the pantry door.
George burst out of the pantry like a cannonball. He barreled across the office and skidded into the door to the front hall, nails scrabbling on the floorboards. His tail, a stubby, enthusiastic nub, wagged so hard his hindquarters wiggled with it. The three had to admit, it was one of the most endearing things about him. What was not endearing, was how he raced around the office knocking things onto the floor.
“Good morning to you too,” Margaret said, bracing a hand on the wall as he ricocheted back to them.
Josie peered into the office and let out a small, strangled sound. “Is it safe?”
Augusta pressed a hand to her chest. “Of course it is. But it’s early yet.”
George bounded over to Josie, offering a crumpled paper as if it were a priceless treasure.
Josie took it with two fingers and shook it open. “This is Mr. Percy Trevor’s application.”
Augusta reached for it at once. “Give me that! We spent half of yesterday looking for it.” She held it with two fingers and frowned. “How did all this ink get on it?”
“I think I saw that in the pantry,” Josie said. She took the application from Augusta and dabbed at it with a rag. “Oh dear.”
“Stop dabbing,” Augusta said. “You’re making it worse.”
“The ink is dry,” Margaret said. “You can’t dab dried ink.”
Josie lifted the rag. “Oh, you’re right, it is dry.”
Augusta took in the re-scattered papers on their desks. Things got bad again after Mr. Jones and Miss Hale left yesterday. All because they were looking for Mr. Trevor’s application. “All right. We simply tidy before anyone arrives. Quickly.”
George yawned and plopped down in the middle of the floor. A small stack of bride applications underneath him.
Margaret pointed his way. “I’d best take him for a walk.”
George scrambled to his feet and barked.
“Yes, yes, I know.” Margaret disappeared into the back and emerged with a leash. She attached it to his collar, put on a coat, hat, and gloves and left.
“This is hopeless,” Josie said. “That dog has got to go.”
“Nothing is hopeless,” Augusta replied briskly. She tugged a drawer open, then another, then shut one when she found it full of dog biscuits. “We only need a system. First, we’ll gather everything off the floor. Then we…”
Josie held up a chewed hat. “What about this?”
Augusta stared at it. The teeth marks along the brim were unmistakable. It was Margaret’s.
“That,” Augusta said. “We never speak of again.”
