Little Bart came hopping towards her and fell over her legs in excitement. She picked up the little pup and pressed kisses into her soft fur.
“Oh, my little one, how are you?”
Lucy found a gnawed-on little stick tucked away in the basket. Lucy tossed it, and Bart stumbled after it with a high-pitched yelp. She fell on her nose several times but returned with the stick, refusing to give it up. Lucy laughed as she tugged on it.
“You need to be trained, little miss.”
Bart yelped, then rolled on her back, sticking her little legs into the air. Lucy scratched her soft pink tummy. Then she heard firm footsteps in the corridor, and male voices approaching.
Lucy blanched. She’d forgotten about the time. The duke was coming, and he would catch her sitting on the floor playing with the puppy. There was no time to flee. There was only time to hide. Her eyes darted around hectically. The cabinet? Too small. The curtains? Too obvious. The footsteps stopped in front of the door. Too late.
She dove under the desk.
Little Bart thinking it was a fun game, barked, and followed her.
The desk was massive, so there was enough space for her underneath to curl up in one corner, behind Bart’s basket. It had a wooden board on the bottom, so they would not see her from the other side.
“Shh,” she mumbled. Little Bart bit playfully on her fingers and rolled up in her lap as the door opened and someone entered the room.
“I have papers here explaining these figures.” The voice seemed to belong to his secretary, Brown.
“Excellent. I want you to examine them and take notes. Report on the newest developments now. We have half an hour until supper.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The footsteps came closer and Lucy held her breath. The chair was pulled aside, and she saw a pair of shiny Hessians.
He sat down and crossed his legs. One of his feet dangled in front of her nose. If he moved his foot, he’d touch the tip of her nose. He had big feet, long and narrow. She supposed that made sense since he was a tall man. Back when he was gardener Henry, she’d not noticed because he’d always hunched.
Bart yipped. The duke lowered his hand. He evidently expected Bart to come to him, so Lucy pushed him forward.
Mr Brown droned on and rattled off figures, and Ashmore scratched Bart’s ears. Lucy watched his long fingers hypnotically.
Listening to the duke conduct his affairs with his secretary was soporific. She suppressed a yawn.
Then, Mr Brown’s chair scraped on the floor and his footsteps sounded across the room. The door opened and closed. He’d left.
She held her breath. What was Ashmore waiting for?
She heard the leather crunch in the chair as he leaned back and crossed his legs. He took his pipe, lit it, and the smell of tobacco wafted through the air.
Lucy stopped breathing.
Any moment now she would sneeze.
She held her nose and suppressed it. Relieved when she didn’t make a sound, Lucy slumped against the desk.
It took him forever to finish smoking. She heard the clank of the pipe on the ashtray. He pushed his chair back with a creak.
“I trust you’ve made yourself comfortable underneath my desk, Miss Bell,” he said. “No doubt you’ll venture forth in your own time.”
The game was over.
Lucy scrambled out with a scarlet face.
He didn’t look in the least surprised to see her there.
“How did you know?”
