Page 56 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

The carriage pulled away at eleven. Evander stood with Frederick on the front steps and watched it go down the avenue, the beeches making a corridor for it, the wheels throwing up dust from the dry gravel. Seraphina had come out to wave and had gone back inside when the carriage turned the corner. Frederick had his hands in his pockets and was squinting into the morning light.

Aurelia had not come out at all. She had said her goodbyes upstairs. He had heard Miss Penrose’s voice from the landing, laughing and crying. He understood that some goodbyes were better dealt with in private. Especially since he had not spoken to her properly since the garden.

He had thought about it in the last two days, and each time it had stalled at the same point – he would have to explain what he had felt and now suspected when he saw Frederick's hands around hers.

“Good people,” Frederick said, watching the empty avenue.

“Who?” Evander blinked.

“The ones who just left.” Frederick pointed down the drive. “Miss Penrose is… she's something, isn't she? She told me at breakfast yesterday that my cravat was tied incorrectly and then fixed it before I could respond. I wasn't sure whether to be offended or charmed. Seraphina gave me a mouthful for that.” Frederick looked sideways at him. “Your wife did not come downstairs.”

“I suspect it was too much for her.”

“I don’t know. She has a stronger constitution than you give her credit for.”

Perhaps too much, Evander thought privately.

“She was upset, in the garden. Aurelia,” Frederick said. “When I took her hand, I half expected her to punch me with it instead.”

He absolutely did not want to talk about that moment in the garden. He was well aware of Frederick’s feelings for Aurelia. They could not have been considerable or he would not have run away with Seraphina. But Aurelia was another matter entirely. And there was still that same feeling of misappropriation. Something he couldn’t shake – though he wished he could.

Suddenly, a phaeton came around the side of the house. On it was a man Evander didn't recognise with a bag beside him.

“Your Grace?” It was Howes, behind the cart, looking apologetic in the way he looked when something had happened with the animals. “Mr. Briggs is here. The farrier from the village. He knows a thing or two about dogs too. I sent for him about Nike, as you asked.”

Evander had asked him to do this three days ago and had completely forgotten about it. “Put him in the stable yard,” he said.

The doors opened again. Aurelia came out still in her morning dress, her hair not quite finished. She had clearly come down quickly. “I heard about the farrier,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I want to come too, if it concerns Nike.”

He looked at her, defeated. “Come on then,” he said.

To his jealous disappointment, Frederick trailed after them and quickly began updating Aurelia about the situation.

The stable yard was warm and smelled of hay. Nike was in a small pen by the south wall looking, Evander thought, deeply unconcerned about the proceedings. Titan sat outside the pen watching with the seriousness of a senior official, finally looking like the guard dog he had been bred to be.

Mr. Briggs examined Nike for several minutes, while the three of them stood in a row along the fence. Evander leaned on the fence while Aurelia and Frederick spoke, trying his best not to listen and pretending he was anywhere else.

“Well,” Briggs said as he returned. “She's expecting, right enough.”

“Good God, Violet was right. How many, do you think?” Evander asked, turning.

“Hard to say at this stage. Six or eight, perhaps. She's in good health. No cause for concern.”

Nike came out of the stables behind him, tongue lolling. She looked at Evander as if to confirm this and then looked away to find Titan.

“The question,” Evander said carefully, “is how.”

Briggs looked at him. “In the usual way, Your Grace, covered by a stray likely, if it wasn’t your other boarhound.”

“Titan was cut three years ago.”

“Then it wasn't Titan.” Briggs picked up his bag. “Something else got to her, covered by a stray, aye. A few weeks back, by my reckoning... You'd want to think about what dogs have been on the property.”

Evander looked at Howes. “The groundskeeper's dog has been about,” he said slowly. “A lurcher. Big grey one. The dog’s been coming up from the village with him most mornings, but I could have sworn she was a bitch.”

“You never confirmed this with him?” Evander said.

“I didn’t want to look, Your Grace.”