Chapter 11
Another crash echoed down the hall. Cursing quietly to himself, Stephen broke into a run.
The hall ended in a round foyer, from which closed doors opened to various parts of the building. In the middle of the foyer were a few seats and three shockingly expensive vases set here and there.
There was now only one vase left. Dust wound himself around it, glowering down with righteous fury at the bouncing, barking dog a little way below.
“Tiny! Tiny, stop!” Nancy was yelling, jumping up and down, waving her arms ineffectually.
Stephen tensed. Dust was on edge, his back arched, his hackles raised, hissing. The dog was barking, its jowls flapping. Stephen caught a glimpse of long, white fangs, and his chest tightened.
“Get that dog away from Dust!” he bellowed. “Quickly!”
The cat moved to leap onto the next table, but of course, there were no more tables and no more vases. The dog leaped at the same time as Dust did, his long frame and scrabbling paws snatching the cat out of the air.
“Tiny! No!” Nancy squealed.
Stephen’s heart leaped into his throat, along with a rush of bile. Dust yowled. There was a crash—he was vaguely aware that it was the third and final vase shattering—and the two animals hit the ground together with a thump.
So, this is how Dust ends his final life. Between the jaws of a giant, slobbering mutt called Tiny.
Stephen raced forward, prepared to kick the dog away, already terrified of what he would find. A dog could tear a cat to pieces in a matter of seconds. It might already be too late.
He skidded to a halt, his leg already half-pulled back for a kick, and paused.
Tiny had pinned Dust to the ground with two massive paws and was joyfully licking the cat’s head, tail beating the ground in a sharp rhythm.
Dust, incandescent with rage, hissed like a snake, freeing one paw and slapping Tiny’s muzzle with rapid-fire blows until the dog flinched back.
Using the opportunity, Dust wriggled free and leaped to safety, clawing his way up the velvet curtains and out of an open window.
Apparently, he felt that rain was preferable to Tiny’s overtures of friendship.
The dog in question shook his ears and sat unhappily back on his haunches, staring mournfully out the window where Dust had disappeared. Sighing, he slid down to rest his head on his paws.
Stephen let out a long, shuddering breath. Nancy trotted up to stand beside him, casting an odd look up at him.
“Did you think that Tiny was going to eat the cat?” she asked, frowning. “Tiny would never do that. He gets terrorized by all the cats where we live.”
“I can imagine that,” Stephen managed, raking a hand through his hair. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he took long, deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
“Are you upset?” Nancy ventured.
“I suppose I am a little,” Stephen responded, offering her a quick, tight smile. “Dust and I have been friends for a very long time. I was glad when he came home with me, and while I wouldn’t dare call him a pet—cats are never truly pets, you know—I would certainly call him a friend.”
“He was very angry at Tiny,” Nancy murmured, swallowing.
“Not so angry as he could have been,” Stephen pointed out. “He hit the dog with his paw, no claws. That was rather kind of him, I think.”
Nancy’s lower lip wobbled, and she glanced down at her feet, sniffling.
“Amelia said I should be well-behaved while we are here, and that Tiny would have to behave himself, and we haven’t done either, have we?
Tiny only wanted to be friends. He’s just too big.
He can’t control how excited he gets when he sees new friends.
He can’t control his tail either,” she added miserably.
A downcast Tiny wagged his tail, swishing it across the floor and disturbing the shards of a broken vase.
Stephen sighed. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t quite sure which was funnier—Dust’s outraged exit or Tiny’s despondency at the loss of his new friend.
“Are you angry? Are you going to tell Amelia?” Nancy asked anxiously.
He glanced down at her, finding her staring up at him with something like panic in her eyes.
“No, I am not,” he assured her, crouching down so that he was at her eye level. “Although I’m sure that Amelia would find this every bit as funny.”
Nancy shook her head seriously. “She wouldn’t. Amelia is very serious. She was always smiling and laughing when Mama was alive. She was happy when Papa visited us, too. Then he stopped visiting, and everything changed.”
Stephen bit his lip thoughtfully. “Your papa?”
“Yes, our papa. We’re not allowed to say that he’s our papa. He just didn’t come one day, and then Marjory read in the paper that he’d died. We weren’t allowed to go to the funeral, and we had to move out of our house.”
“Do you miss your papa?”
“A little.” She nodded. “But I miss Mama more. She took to her bed after we had to leave our house. I wish Amelia could be happy again. Marjory says we have to wait for her to get better, but it’s taking ever so long. Do you think Amelia might be happier now that we are here?”
Stephen gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. Do you?”
Nancy shrugged loosely. “At first, I thought we could try and cheer her up with lots of jokes and maybe some nice food, but Marjory said that she wouldn’t like that at all. Is it bad that I’m not as sad about Papa’s passing as Marjory and Amelia?”
“I don’t think so. They knew him longer than you, didn’t they? How often did he visit?”
Nancy considered. “He always came on our birthdays and Mama’s. He brought presents and things. I liked him very much, but it was always strange to think that he was our papa. Other people’s papas are there all the time, aren’t they?”
Stephen nodded. “Yes. I spent every day with my papa, growing up.”
“And we can’t say that our Papa was our papa, not even now.”
“That must be difficult.”
Nancy sighed. “Yes, but it’s more difficult now that Amelia is so sad. Should I be sad, too?”
“There’s no harm in being happy. Not for you, and not for Tiny,” Stephen assured her.
At the sound of his name, Tiny’s tail began to wag again.
Nancy gave a small smile, her face brightening a little. “You are a good monster,” she murmured.
Stephen blinked, taken aback by the comment. Clearing his throat, he reached out and lifted her into his arms.
“Now, there are pieces of pottery all over this foyer, and you must be careful not to cut yourself. I’m going to take you back to the breakfast room. You too, Tiny.”
The dog leaped to his feet, picking his way delicately among the shards. Holding the little girl in his arms, Stephen turned to go back down the hallway and stopped dead.
Amelia stood in the entrance to the foyer, watching him. There was a strange look on her face, which vanished as soon as their eyes met.
“I’m sorry that Nancy and Tiny are making trouble,” she said, holding out her arms for the child.
“They aren’t,” he responded brusquely, handing Nancy over. “I hope you all settle in nicely, but don’t get too comfortable.”
Amelia faltered. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing terrible,” he assured her. “I’ll explain tonight at dinner. Good day to you.”
He stepped past her and strode away, not entirely sure what to make of the way his heart hammered against his ribs.
I need to clear my head. Now.
Across the cavernous boxing room, the sound of gloved fists hitting leather punching bags echoed. Here and there, a few men had taken to the rings, squaring off against each other.
None of them glanced up as Stephen strode by.
Why would they? Orion membership had swelled over the past few years, as most of London’s fashionable youth strived to be admitted to either the Orion or the Ton’s Devils.
The famous founder of the Orion, Orion himself, was known to be anonymous, so why on earth would he risk striding through the clubhouse in broad daylight, bold as brass?
Stephen reached the backmost room of the clubhouse’s boxing floor, guarded by a serene-looking manservant.
If anyone tried to slip into the private rooms, he would unleash deceptive strength and twist them into knots.
He recognized Stephen, however, inclined his head, and stepped aside to let him through.
Inside, a man stood with his back to the door, aiming a few lazy blows at a punching bag. He glanced over his shoulder as Stephen entered, revealing thick auburn hair and heavy brown eyes.
“Tristan, you’re here already,” Stephen greeted.
“Thought I’d warm up a little before you arrived,” Tristan responded with a lazy grin. “I was in two minds about coming, what with Madeline’s condition.”
“Ah, yes, you’re about to be a father. I keep forgetting.” Stephen chuckled, letting his satchel slip from his shoulder.
Inside were his boxing gloves, a clean shirt, and a few rolls of gauze, just in case. There was also a flask of whiskey, because one never knew when a nip of something might come in handy.
“I wish I could forget,” Tristan sighed. “I’m terrified. So is Madeline. Is it normal, do you think, to be so afraid of parenthood?”
Stephen clicked his tongue, stripping out of his jacket and waistcoat. The shirt came next, baring his skin to the cool air. Goosebumps rose over his chest and shoulders, but he knew that boxing would warm him up quickly.
“I think that anyone who is not afraid of becoming a parent cannot possibly understand the difficulties of parenthood,” he replied. “Children are not easy to raise. Childbirth is a dangerous thing. I’ve been told that the worry over one’s children never quite disappears.”
Tristan grimaced. “You’re not doing much to alleviate my concerns.”
“I wasn’t trying to alleviate your concerns. I think you should walk into parenthood with a full understanding of what is expected of you. To do otherwise is to risk disappointment, don’t you think?”