“What?”
Her father held the door open to reveal the pup sitting outside. “You might as well come in and get something to eat. I know she’s been feeding you on her rounds,” he told the dog. “A smart dog always knows a soft heart when it sees one.”
Kitty grinned and squatted to call the dog to her. “Terry, come!”
“You’ve named him already?” Pa shook his head. “I should have known. I’m surprised a dozen mutts haven’t followed you home since you started waking people.”
“For your information, I just came up with the name.” Kitty planted her fists on her hips, playfully indignant. “He’s a terrier, so Terry will suit him.”
“Yes, it will. I suppose we should pull out the basket?” Her father raised a dark, graying brow.
“You kept it?” she asked, surprised.
Her mother had brought home a stray when Kitty was ten. Buford had been some kind of hound dog, and as he grew, he began going with her father on his night watch. Buford had slept in a large basket next to the stove, and she’d seen the tears in Pa’s eyes the night Buford thumped his tail but didn’t get up to accompany his beloved owner. A few weeks later, the hound had passed in the night. Both the hound and basket had disappeared that morning, and Kitty never had the heart to ask her father about them. That was six months ago.
“We’ve had a dog most of your life,” he said. “I’d feel better if you had someone, er something, with you when you go out. If you continue this through the winter, the mornings will still be dark.”
Kitty threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you, Pa.”
Her heart was light as she made her rounds with Terry on her heels. When she came to Mr. Cooper’s home, she cursed the wings taking flight in her stomach. Once again, he pulled back a curtain, and they both waved in acknowledgment.
The week went by quickly, and Terry soon knew her route as well as she did. Kitty had begun creating a fantasy around the handsome solicitor. In one daydream, he was a man in a mask and dark cape, riding on horseback to save her. In another, he was a pirate who stole her from a ship and made her his accomplice bride. Yesterday, he was a prince in hiding, escaping the duties of his royal family.
“I should be a novelist with my imagination,” she confided to the terrier. “I’ve turned a dull solicitor into an adventurer without ever holding a conversation with him.” Terry barked his agreement.
They left the Miss Fenleys, and she stopped again to pull two dried peas from her pocket. She had worked up a sweat playing with Terry, running back and forth in the alley as he chased her. She pushed back her hood to allow the breeze to cool her neck and face. When she reached Mr. Cooper’s house, she was surprised to see him at the window before she could even pop a pea in her mouth.
He lifted the sash and leaned out. “Good morning, Miss Felton.” He had a wonderful smile, white teeth, and blond hair that was sticking up in several directions.
She giggled. “Good morning, Mr. Cooper.”
“Who is your helper?” he asked, nodding at the dog.
“This is Terry. He’s new and still in training,” she said with a grin, appreciating the opportunity to study this man more closely. His eyes were the color of honey, a golden brown, and she found it hard to look away.
“Is he a fast learner?” asked Mr. Cooper, that smile sending her stomach into a tumble despite the tousled hair.
“He is, but the pea shooter is giving him a bit of trouble. I think it’s the lack of fingers,” she said, gazing up at the window. She pushed a hand through her black waves self-consciously and noticed his eyes widened. Was her hair mussed too?
“The what?” His brows furrowed, then understanding smoothed them as she pulled out her tool of the trade. “Ah, I remember using one of those when I was a boy. A lack of hands would definitely hurt Terry’s progress.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I won’t be able to let him go on his own until he masters it,” she said, her tone serious. “However, his accompanying bark after I shoot does seem to be helpful.”
Mr. Cooper laughed. A warm, welcoming sound like a hot toddy on a cold day. “Well, thank you for the knock up.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said, watching him lower the sash.
As she walked away, she heard him exclaim, “Bollocks.”
CHAPTER 3
Bishopsgate
Ben stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to smooth down the points of hair taunting him. For the love of saints, why hadn’t he checked his appearance before sticking his head out the window.
How was I to know?
Yesterday, he’d caught a jarring glimpse of Miss Felton. Very pretty from what he’d seen. All this time, he assumed “my Kitty” was Felton’s wife. If this raven-haired prime article wasn’t his daughter, then Ben had misjudged the night watchman. So today, he thought he’d get a better look. With a sigh of disgust, he splashed water on his face and rubbed his hair before taking a comb to it.
