Seeing the small brown wrapped packages from her excursion to the bookstore on the bottom shelf of her bedside table, she snatched them up on impulse, intent on stuffing them into her valise. She hurried from the room, hoping to find her mother waiting downstairs in the parlor, ready to leave.
It would take two days to get to London if they took their time and stopped for the night. Bella was eager to leave and hoped her mother was ready. A trip to the modiste’s always excited her. Mentally, she found herself thinking of dress colors. She longed to ask Mama to use some bolder blues and purples, arguably holiday colors, even if not the typical red and green. Now that her first Season had ended, perhaps her mother would consider it. Purple was one of the few colors that gave life to her violet eyes. Mama herself often commented on that. Pastels washed her out, and she hated debutante white. Bella felt alive and wanted vibrancy. New dresses always encouraged her mood.
“Good morning, Mama,” she said cheerfully.
“Are you bringing gifts?” her mother said, smiling and looking at the small packages.
Bella realized she had inadvertently grabbed Mary’s gift and the book she had purchased for herself. “Not exactly. I purchased a couple of books and thought they would be splendid company on the ride to London. Is Papa coming?”
“Yes, dear. And Percy is coming, as well,” Mama added warmly. “Your brother has business in London and said he would ride along.”
“Wonderful! We can all do holiday shopping!” Bella said cheerfully. She looked out the window and noticed her father’s and brother’s horses were already tied up near the carriage. She wished they could celebrate the entire holiday in London. They had never done that before. It could be fun. It would be even more fun if she got to see Slade!
Twenty minutes later, the family’s small caravan moved toward London.
Slade rode in silence,with Latham by his side. They had been on the road for a day already. His mother and sister were behind them in the carriage. He and Latham were a short distance ahead. Once Mother was told that Graham would be in London, that was all the impetus she needed. They were approaching the area where his father’s carriage had wrecked almost a fortnight ago. He dreaded passing the spot. The turn should be less than a mile ahead. He could see the road beginning at the turn.
Slade thought about stopping, but with Graham involved in the accident, he was certain the area had been picked apart for clues. Besides, it would only make the trip worse, and he was determined to keep his mood lighter, despite the weather and the tedium of the travel ahead of him. The weather was grim—cold and wet. While it was not raining, the skies threatened. The crisp, sunny days they had been having seemed over. He glanced over at Latham, who was riding in silence, too. They often rode great distances without having to speak, comforted by the other. It was as if they both knew what the other was thinking. He used to tease Latham that they were brothers from different mothers. About an hour into the ride, Slade slowed his horse. “Did you hear that?” Slade said, handing the reins to Latham. “It was in the bushes,” he whispered.
“It could have been a rabbit or squirrel foraging for food,” offered Latham.
“Possibly, but it whimpered. It sounded like a dog,” Slade replied, already walking toward the side of the road.
The whimper sounded again, this time more loudly.
“I heard it that time,” Latham offered.
“It sounds like it’s coming from that tree over there,” Slade said, pointing to a tall oak tree that stood behind hedges of mulberry bushes and other scrub bushes lining the road. “I cannot imagine what a dog would do there unless it was injured.” He parted the limbs of the shrubs and soon disappeared, except for the top of his beaver hat.
A few minutes later, he re-emerged, carrying a gangly looking white terrier in his arms. Over his shoulder was a length of heavy rope. “It is a female. She cannot be that old. Her eyes are bright, but she seems to have been tied up for a good while. She is nothing but ribs. There was a tin bowl left for water, but the water was long since gone. I am sure that anything it caught from the rain, it lapped up. She looks like she has not eaten in days,” Slade said, standing back and looking at his horse, trying to decide how to transport a dog. This would certainly complicate staying at the inns. But what else could he do? He did not have it in him to leave the animal. Besides, she looked like a dog he once had as a boy.
“Planning to keep it, are you?” Latham grinned. “You have always had a soft spot for animals. The way she is gazing up at you, I think you have found a forever friend.”
“I cannot imagine tying a dog up to a tree to die. Someone did that to this poor baby,” Slade remarked. His brows furrowed. “If it works out, I probably will keep her. My sister will insist.”
“I am surprised she did not chew through the rope,” Latham noted casually.
“Seems she tried but perhaps gave up. The rope is thick.” Slade showed him several spots the dog had tried to chew her way free.
“She will need to ride until she regains her strength. I have an idea,” Latham said, sliding down from his horse. He took the large black saddlebag and opened it, examining it. “It looks like it could be large enough,” he remarked. “I believe we have just invented a novel pet carrier.”
The two men laughed as Slade brought the small dog to Latham, who carefully opened the saddlebag and pushed it down, showing an opening large enough for the dog to rest in. They removed the rope and placed the puppy into the bag and secured her, folding back one side of the flap, and giving her a place to watch where they were going. “This is just temporary, little one. My mother’s carriage is a short distance behind us. They will insist you ride with them.”
“She may be starving, but she is at least a stone in weight. Maybe she has not lost too much,” Latham murmured, picking up the bag and showing that Slade should remount his horse.
Once Slade had remounted, Latham handed the bag to him, and he gently secured it around his neck and under his left arm, so it would rest snugly against his lower side.
“This could work. ’Tis much better than carrying her in front of me. I should have thought of the saddlebag, but mine is full of papers.”
“You are already taking your role more seriously,” mocked Latham.
“Right. They are the papers connected with our business—old bills of lading and things like that. I need to make sure they are all up to date. I am not sure how I mistakenly took them in my satchel with my clothing—but I did.
The dog whimpered softly and settled her head down next to his side. “Poor thing. She was lucky you heard her. I know this road gets traveled a lot, but she was not near the road for anyone to see her,” Latham remarked.
The dog’s head popped up, and she smiled, parting her shiny black lips to show a perfect under-bite, her row of small white teeth displayed like an upside-down grin. “I believe she likes the idea of riding,” Slade observed, smiling. “She makes me want to smile.”
Latham reached into this bedroll and pulled out a small leather pouch. “Here’s some tack. I have plenty and am glad to share it with the dog. She looks like she has not had a meal in days.” He looked back at the spot where the dog had been tied. “So many scenarios are going through my head. ’Tis almost as if someone did not want the dog to follow them.”
