She was irritatingly loud for such a small dog.
Lion winced. “I told you to take it to the stables where it belongs.”
“You’ll have to take me to the stables as well,” Miss Fox announced over the incessant barking.
In the next moment, the dog wedged herself through the door and raced off down the hall.
“Dandy!” Miss Fox called after her.
The dog, quite predictably, didn’t listen. Instead, Dandelion rushed down the staircase.
“Oh, bother,” Miss Fox muttered.
He couldn’t deny it. Watching the mongrel’s flagrant refusal to heed Miss Fox pleased him immeasurably.
“It seems your hound obeys as well as you do, madam,” he couldn’t help but gloat.
“I don’t obey, sir.”
With a huff, Miss Fox whisked past him, treating him to another tantalizing glimpse of her bare ankles and toes. Lion watched her rush off after the errant French bulldog and tamped down an unwanted rush of appreciation.
Mayhem.
That was what this was.
The sooner Miss Adelia Fox and her furred nuisance were gone from Marchingham Hall, the better.
CHAPTER 3
The dinner table was quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery on plates that had seen more than their fair share of wear. Mama would have been appalled to see her table laid with crockery so well-used. Marchingham didn’t seem particularly ashamed of the plates or the plain fare offered for their meal.
But then, he hadn’t been expecting guests.
From his aloof silence, Addy suspected he didn’t often entertain. Or if he did, he was appallingly bad at it. She supposed either could have been possible.
But as the disapproving quiet stretched on, she found she could no longer hold her tongue, even if Aunt Pearl was doing her utmost to enjoy her meal. Alfred had taken his dinner belowstairs, leaving just the two of them to suffer the duke’s icy presence.
“I’ve yet to see a Christmas tree here at Marchingham Hall,” she blurted.
Marchingham paused in the act of cutting a piece of meat, his glacial stare lifting to her. “That is because there isn’t one.”
She gasped. “No Christmas tree? At home, my mother has the servants erect the tree at least three weeks in advance.”
With Christmas a mere fortnight away, it had rather shocked Addy to discover nary a hint of anything festive to be found on her cursory exploration of the manor house. Dandy had led her on quite a merry chase through the halls and rooms. But there had been no kissing boughs, no mistletoe, no fir branches, no candles or trees or ornaments. The entire edifice was bereft.
“As you can see, you are not at home, Miss Fox,” he pointed out, his tone cutting.
The urge to fling a forkful of bland roast at his handsome face was strong. But summoning all of her restraint, Addy controlled herself.
She pinned a false smile to her lips. “That’s as obvious as the nose on your face.”
One golden brow rose, his countenance forbidding. “Are you commenting upon the size of my nose, madam?”
Aunt Pearl made a strangled sound at Addy’s side, and Addy cast a glance in her direction to make certain she wasn’t choking on her food. Aunt Pearl hastily took a sip of her wine, giving Addy a meaningful look.
Her aunt wished for Addy to hold her tongue, she knew. But there was something about the wretched duke and the misery of her present circumstances that brought out the very worst in her. As the snow exhibited no sign of slowing, she was stuck with him, all whilst her dear friends were nowhere near. At least after she had located Dandy, she had slipped the French bulldog back into her room without Marchingham taking note.
The victory was Addy’s sole source of comfort at present.
