Page 101 of The Dueling Duchess

“You’re not old enough.”

She frowned, and Guy sensed that wasn’t the end of the discussion, by any means.

The theater was virtually empty, as it was that strange time of the day between rehearsals and the start of the first performances. That meant—hopefully—the dressing room would be unoccupied.

But when he opened the door, he saw Blade standing on a stool while Marie, the wardrobe mistress, did something to the hem of an unusual black skirt.

“Oh. We can come back—”

Marie waved him in. “’Most done,” she said through a mouthful of pins.

Guy glanced at Blade. “Do you mind us coming in?”

“No.”

“Er, new costume?” he asked.

She nodded, her strange pale eyes on Cat.

“Have you met Cat and George?” Guy asked, looking around for Blade’s familiar when the terrier’s ruff stood up and he began to growl.

“George—be a good boy,” Cat chided, her eyes all but glued to the same thing her dog was glaring at: Angus.

The huge bird was perched on the heavy wooden chandelier that lighted the small space. Somebody, Blade, probably, had removed two of the candles at some point so he could roost without setting himself on fire.

“We’ve not been formally introduced,” Blade said with a faint smile, nodding her thanks to Marie when the older woman finished chalking and pinning and stood.

“Er, Cat, this is Miss Brown.”

Blade smiled down at the little girl, her expression unusually open for the reserved woman. “Hello, Cat. I’m Josephine, but everyone calls me Blade.” She gestured to the raven, who appeared to be watching the proceedings with interest. “And that is Angus.”

Cat glanced at Guy, and he knew she was asking permission to call an adult by her first name. Or, in this case, her nickname. Guy’s mother would have been outraged, but things were more relaxed among theatrical people.

He nodded.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you . . . Blade.” Cat turned to Angus, her eyes widening.

“Er, Cat—can you make George stop snarling, please?” Guy asked. “I don’t think Angus likes being growled at.”

Indeed, the huge bird turned its glossy black gaze on the terrier and ruffled its feathers, making itself appear three times larger and prompting George to growl even louder.

Blade stepped behind the screen just as George barked.

“Stop it, George!” Cat scolded. “You mustn’t—”

Angus leaned low, his black beady eyes on the dog, and then he barked—the sound deeper, more of a mastiff than a terrier.

George yelped and backed away.

Blade chuckled as she changed out of her costume. “You want to meet him?” she asked the girl.

“Yes, please!” Cat nodded so vigorously it made Guy’s head hurt just watching.

“Let me finish changing and I’ll introduce you.”

Cat turned to her dog and crouched down beside him, giving him some reassuring strokes while she waited. “It is fine, George, Angus is not going to hurt me. I want you to sit and be nice.”

To Guy’s surprise, the dog sat.