Chapter 21 #2
He reached for the pup, and Ophelia surrendered him with a sigh. “Thank you. He is such a scamp, this Samuel of ours. My hands are quite full, as you can imagine. Will you sit?”
One of the pups—he wasn’t sure if it was Charlotte or Christina—squatted on the Axminster and relieved her bladder, leaving a little puddle in her wake. Then she barked and raced away to hide beneath a Louis Quinze chair.
“Mary, you minx,” Ophelia scolded. “How many times have I told you that you must go to the door?”
He had been wrong. Charlotte and Christina were still biting each other’s ears and rolling about. Henry leapt on them both, before comically lolling to the side on his back.
“I’ll have to ring for a maid. The poor dears are likely growing tired of cleaning up after this lot.
” Ophelia sighed. “This is the thanks I get for allowing the children to take in a dog. As it turned out, there was a reason sweet Bitsy was so plump. Five reasons, in fact. Thank heavens nearly all the pups are spoken for.”
Samuel cuddled against King’s chest and began licking his ear. “Is this young lad spoken for?”
“Not yet.” Ophelia’s eyes brightened. “Would you like a new pup? He is already weaned and can go home with you today.”
King swallowed hard. Emma would adore a puppy; he was certain of it. He glanced down at Samuel, who stared back at him with soulful brown eyes. “I’ll take him.”
“Excellent.” Ophelia clapped lightly. “The children won’t be happy, but they have already reconciled themselves to the fact that we cannot possibly have six dogs running about in our household.”
“How are the children?” he asked.
Ophelia had a son and a daughter. Her marriage had been vastly unhappy, but she was an excellent mother, and she was fiercely proud of her progeny.
She smiled. “They are both doing quite well. Thank you for asking.”
“I am pleased to hear it.”
Samuel nibbled at King’s earlobe, dog breath falling hot across his neck.
It felt so damned good to hold a pup. He was going to have a devil of a time training the little fellow, he had no doubt.
But it would be worth it. And perhaps having a distraction from his misery would be just what he required.
“Would you care to sit?” Ophelia asked. “I presume the purpose of your call is not to relieve me of a sharp-toothed scoundrel, though I am very happy to see you taking Samuel under your wing.”
“That would be lovely.” He stepped over the exuberant pile of pups, which the hiding Mary had just rejoined, and seated himself in a chair opposite Ophelia’s.
Samuel settled nicely in his lap, happily chewing on the lapel of King’s coat. He noted that Ophelia had forgotten to ring for the maid to sop up the puddle Mary had left on the Axminster, but it hardly seemed to matter when Henry did the same nearby.
“Naughty lad,” Ophelia said, arranging her blue silk skirts. “Truly, I despair. This household has been mayhem for weeks. I think I shall sleep for an age when the last of these pups has found their homes.”
He chuckled, watching whilst little Mary toddled over to Ophelia and took up a mouthful of her hems, tugging. “Then you owe me a favor for taking one of these scamps off your hands.”
Ophelia shook out her skirts, admonishing the puppy before turning back to King. “I sense the true reason for your call is coming.”
“It is.” He paused as Samuel crawled up his chest and nibbled on one of the buttons of his waistcoat. “Are you familiar with the Wicked Dukes Society?”
“I cannot say I am.”
The pile of puppies on the floor barked and raced about.
“It is a secret club founded by myself and the dukes of Brandon, Camden, Whitby, Richford, and Riverdale years ago when we were all angry young rakehells. There is a subscription involved. Membership is selective and discreet. On several occasions throughout the year, house parties are held at Wingfield Hall by invitation only, where members are free to do as they like without fear of repercussions.”
She arched a brow. “Dare I guess that the house parties are scandalous in nature?”
He nodded, noting that Samuel had left a sizable mark of drool on his waistcoat before moving on to his sleeve. “They are, hence the secret nature of the society. Over the years, membership has grown and become sought-after. The funds that come from the subscriptions are quite lucrative as well.”
He knew that Ophelia’s husband had left her in uncomfortable financial straits, burdened by debts. The gown she presently wore was outmoded by several years, and there was evidence throughout the town house of her reduced circumstances. The income would likely be a much-needed advantage for her.
“Why do you tell me this?” she asked.
“Because the six of us are now married men, in love with our wives, and we no longer want to be tasked with hosting the house parties or otherwise running the club. None of us needs the funds, but we hate to see our efforts of so many years end. We are looking for new blood to take the reins.”
She gave a short laugh. “My blood is hardly new. I am five-and-thirty.”
“Ancient,” he said lightly, “as I am only four-and-thirty.”
“You know what I am saying, King. Such clubs are for the young and wild and reckless. I am none of those things.”
Samuel had returned to King’s ear, licking it exuberantly. He gently guided the pup back to his lap before resuming his explanation.
“You have been the epitome of discretion for as long as I have known you, Ophelia,” he said softly. “Your marriage was a misery, and we both know it. You have lived for your children alone. It is time you lived for yourself.”
She laughed, looking startled. “What use do you think I could possibly have for a scandalous club? I’m not looking for a lover.”
He shrugged. “You need not be. That is the beauty of the club. You may participate or not. Many of our members prefer to be masked. No one needs to even know it is you. Do as much or as little as you like. The funds are more than handsome, and if you gather a group of similar-minded friends as we did, you can share the duties, and all reap the rewards.”
“What you speak of is madness,” she said, but there was a hint of curiosity in her voice that he didn’t miss.
Henry began chewing enthusiastically on a chair leg in the next moment.
“Henry,” Ophelia chided. “You must not eat the furniture. It is badly done of you.”
The pup wandered off in favor of a potted plant.
“It need not be madness,” he pointed out, scratching Samuel’s silky neck. “The six of us have orchestrated it for years with great success.”
“And now you wish to take your leave because you are all happily wed? Forgive me for saying that you don’t look particularly contented.”
“That has nothing to do with the club and everything to do with my own actions,” he conceded gruffly. “I have rather made a mess of my affairs, and I am now paying the price.”
“I thought yours was a love match.”
“It was,” he said through a throat gone thick with emotion. “It is. But I have wronged my wife, and she left me a fortnight ago. I have been merely existing in her absence, hoping she will forgive me one day and return.”
“So that is why you look so gaunt and sleepless,” Ophelia said.
He reckoned he must look dreadful, but he hadn’t bothered to examine his reflection in recent memory. What did it matter anyway?
“It is.” He shifted Samuel in his lap, and the pup stared up at him adoringly whilst taking a bite of his trousers and upper thigh. It was fortunate that the little beggar still had his milk teeth.
“Why are you sitting here in my drawing room?” Ophelia demanded. “Why are you not wherever she is, begging her to come back to you?”
“Because I owe her the space and time she requested.”
“But if you love her, why wait?”
His heart thumped. Why indeed?
“I am paying penance.”
Ophelia shook her head. “Life is short, King. Fight for her.”
“Then perhaps you should also consider your counsel. Life is indeed short. Why not do this, Ophelia—if not for yourself, then for your children? The club earns thousands of pounds per annum.”
Her eyes went wide. “Thousands?”
Wetness began spreading on his trouser leg, and he realized that young Samuel had pissed on him. Well, if that wasn’t appropriate, he didn’t know what was.
“Thousands,” he confirmed. “Now, then. I do believe my new companion has relieved himself upon me. My valet shall be apoplectic. I ought to go. But think about what I have offered, Ophelia. It would be lucrative for you, and we are running out of time. Another house party is set for next month. All you would need to do is play hostess for one week.”
She was quiet, obviously considering his words with care, before she nodded. “Very well, I shall think upon it. Would you care for a towel? Or perhaps Corbett’s trousers? He was a bit shorter than you, but I do think they might suffice.”
King wasn’t sure which was more unappealing, the notion of traveling back to his town house in dog-urine-soaked garments or donning a dead man’s trousers.
“If you don’t mind,” he decided. “A change of trousers might be just the thing.”
Half an hour later, he left Ophelia’s town house wearing trousers that were two inches too short, carrying a wriggling pup in his arms, and firm in his determination.
He was going to go to Riverdale Abbey. He was going to throw himself upon Verity’s mercy and hope she would come home to him.
He didn’t think he could bear another fortnight without her.
But first, he had one stop to make.
He needed to find a bloody forget-me-not.