Chapter 9
“Rupert darling, do you want a piece of bacon?” gushed Lady Allen.
Rupert, who was Mama’s mastiff, lumbered out from underneath the long table and plunked his dinner plate-sized head in Lady Allen’s lap.
“Who’s a good boy then? What a good boy you are.” Lady Allen, whose hair was still up in her kerchief as she sat in her dressing gown at the breakfast table, proceeded to grab several pieces of bacon and dangle them in front of Rupert’s jowly face.
The dog looked at her with absolute and utter adoration.
Agatha’s mama loved dogs, as did her papa, as did the whole family.
Dogs were remarkable creatures. They were often far better than humans, and frankly, in Agatha’s opinion, humans didn’t deserve dogs.
Dogs were creatures who had somehow magically given themselves over to the caretaking of humans, and it was a good thing too, because she was fairly certain it had saved humans from complete catastrophe.
Oh, there was still catastrophe, because so many humans did seem given to sadness, but not so much because of their canine compatriots.
Yes, humans needed to be cheered up, especially in England when the weather was terrible. Luckily, it was springtime and flowers were daring to show themselves, but it seemed to be a particularly wet year.
And as the rain fell outside, leaving a grey gloom? Rupert did cheer up everyone, as did Rupert’s brothers: Percy, Claude, Herbert, Dash, and Maximillian, known as Maxi by the family.
The scent of bacon was simply too much for the other six mastiffs that lived in the house, as well as the two small Yorkshire terriers and the poodle.
The terriers were the bosses of the lot.
No, the Allens did not have a dog. They had an army of lick-loving dogs. And as Agatha sipped her tea, she smiled as they all came out to give their love to the whole family.
Agatha’s little brother, Reginald, let out a squeal of protest as one of the dogs immediately grabbed a bit of bacon right out from his hand.
“Mama, you encouraged them too terribly,” her brother piped up.
Her sister, Eugenia, took a drink of chocolate. “Mama, you treat the dogs as if they are your children.”
“Well, darling,” her mother said, “you are all growing up so fast. I must have little babies to cuddle.”
“Mama,” said Agatha’s brother, “you still cuddle us.”
“And they are not little,” added Iris, eying the lumbering pile of dogs who were all in complete heaven at present.
It was true that her mother still cuddled her family. Often and whenever possible.
Her mother was an extremely affectionate person who adored her children.
And her animals.
She loved cats as well as dogs.
The cats? The cats were clever. The cats were in the library curled up on settees, drinking in the little light that came in through the windows, nestling into cushions, ignoring the troubles of the world.
Cats, unlike dogs, were not there to save humans from themselves. Cats were there to remind humans how silly they could be. And so, her family knew that one needed a good balance of both animals.
“What a night it was, my dears,” her mama said as she patted each dog’s head in turn.
Her father was sitting at the end of the table, a kerchief also upon his head. He did not have his wig on this morning. His great robe was wrapped about him, and he was happily eating a boiled egg as if he had not been up until dawn discussing the best way to raise a herd of dairy cows.
The dogs immediately began chasing after each other, going for the bacon that Reginald threw to them.
They circled wildly around the table and then raced out into the hallway. The happy dog sounds filled the air.
It was a delightful row of puppy paradise. None of them were actually harming each other. They were just like the siblings of the household, constantly wrestling, constantly bickering, and then eventually all landing in a great big puddle and taking a nap.
The relationship of the dogs really often reminded Agatha of how she and her brothers and sisters were as children. They too rowed, they too wrestled on occasion (though she was too old for that now most of the time), and they too often ended up napping in the afternoon.
“You were a triumph, my darling,” her mother said, as if the noise of the dogs meant nothing, and it really didn’t.
The whole family was used to it.
“It’s true,” Eugenia said. “Can you believe it? You were the star of the night.”
“No, I was not,” she said swiftly, taking a boiled egg and rapping the top soundly with a spoon.
“Yes, you were,” her siblings and parents all said as if in a chorus.
And they were a chorus of blond-haired, blue-eyed people. The resemblance in the family was shockingly strong.
It was as if her mother and father, when producing children, had decided that basically just stamping one out right after the other to look almost identical was the best idea.
“I certainly didn’t do it on purpose,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter if you did it on purpose, my dear,” her mother assured as she sipped from her bright pink teacup. “It’s simply that you are so marvelous that, of course, you gained the notice of a duke last evening.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, dancing to Mozart in a hallway can do that. I was quite a surprise to him, I think.”
Her mother laughed. “Well, then I shall have to tell all my girls to dance in hallways to Mozart.”
“Don’t, Mama,” Agatha protested before she salted her egg and took a fortifying bite. “We do not know how this will turn out. He might never speak to me again. Perhaps that’s for the best, in any case.”
Though she couldn’t ignore the part of her that dearly hoped.
And as those words left her lips, there was a knock on the door and then the bustling of their butler, who came in with his wig askew, for the dogs had no doubt been at him, with a small card upon a silver platter. “There is a calling card for you, my lady.”
Lady Allen waggled her brows. “I wonder who it could be,” she said, before quickly eating a bite of toast. She wiped her fingers on her napkin, grabbed the card and the note that went with it, and let out a squeal of delight.
“My darling girl, I knew it. I knew it in my bones. You have conquered him. You are already the Duchess of Westfort.”
“Mama, cease,” she replied, though she couldn’t stop herself from blushing with secret enjoyment.
“I saw how he looked at you,” her mother enthused. “He is yours.”
Her father let out a loud harrumph. “Whilst I agree the duke was captivated, he is a man of utmost control, and I do not think he intends to marry so far—”
“What?” her mama asked.
Her father cleared his throat. “Well, out of his usual circle,” he said, before turning to the newssheet and reading the latest information on horses for sale.
Her father loved to buy horses.
Despite her mother’s enthusiasm, her nose wrinkled. “I will say, my dear. I can’t stand the Westforts, but how could one say no to a dukedom?” But then her mother frowned. “Actually, when I think about it, perhaps it’s a terrible idea.”
And then she began to tear up the card. “They’re such stuffy people.
No, stuffy is not the right word. They are adventurous, they are interesting, but, well, they’re so limited in who they believe they should associate with.
They look down on people like your father and myself.
Would you wish to marry someone like that? ”
“Mama,” she exclaimed, nearly jumping up from her seat. “Do not tear up the note as well as the card.”
Her mother gave her a knowing grin. “Of course not, my dear. Forgive me, I wondered if you were as disinterested as you claim, though I confess everything I said was true.”
“You’re terrible, Mama.”
“I am.” Her mother patted her curls. Then she skimmed the note, narrowing her eyes, for she needed spectacles but refused to get them.
“Now, it says we have been called to have tea this afternoon with the Duchess of Westfort. She wants to meet us in an intimate setting.” Her mother lifted her gaze, her look almost pitying.
“This is it, my dear. Indeed, you are now being interviewed for his wife.”
“With his mother?” Agatha gasped.
“Of course with his mother,” Lady Allen said. “Who else decides who marries a duke but his mother?”
She shrugged. “Then we shouldn’t go.”
“Why ever not?” Lady Allen said.
“Because I won’t be able to repress how I really feel,” she said swiftly. “You know I can’t keep how I think inside my head. I know that my thoughts should stay in my head, but they just blurt out one after the other, so I think it’s probably best if we just stay home.”
“Marry him or no, and I rather think you shouldn’t. We’re going,” her mother returned with a wink. “I want to see inside her house.”
She laughed. “All right, Mama. I suppose if that’s the reason why we’re going. So that we can see inside the house.”
“Can I come?” her little brother Reginald asked.
“Yes, and me too?” Eugenia asked, her eyes lighting with excitement.
“No.” Their mama tsked as she took up a fried egg and put it on her plate. “Alas, it is just for the two of us.”
“How incredibly boring,” Eugenia said, tossing down a scone on her plate. “I had every intention of having a good view of him. I’d like to see him close up.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“What do you mean you want to see him close up?”
Eugenia made the appearance of swooning, placing her hand delicately upon her brow. “He is so handsome. I do think that you will have made the conquest of the year. But, Aggie, you shall have a target on your back. All the ladies want him.”
Eugenia was but a year behind her and was preparing for her first Season, taking dancing classes and many other things that one could only get in town before she had her own debut next year.
“Oh, good grief.” Agatha sighed.
“Well, it’s true,” Lady Allen said. “Do you want that, my dear? Or would you rather we just…”
“Mama,” she said. “I want to go. I’m very curious. And you want to see the Duchess of Westfort’s drawing room.”
Her mother nodded, forking up her egg.
“So you want to marry him?” her father said, his gaze popping from his paper, which he likely had not been reading. Her father loved marriage talk.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I do think he’s quite interesting.”
“They’re a dratted lot,” he said, his wrinkled brow furrowing. “They can’t be bothered with interesting books, they don’t love dogs, they don’t like being out in the air, and they’re very difficult.”
“And how do you know this, Papa?” she asked. “You know this from the newssheets? Surely the newssheets can’t be entirely accurate.”
Her father harrumphed, one of his favorite responses, as he snapped his paper straight. “It is true, my darling. But I have seen them from afar over the years. I want you to have a happy marriage, and I cannot imagine you happy if you marry into that family.”
“Why not?” she asked, her heart twisting, for she knew her mother and father wouldn’t ever keep her from a match they thought would be a loving one. Nor did they think little of themselves. They did not worry about station as some did.
“Because as far as I can tell, their family motto is Be Unhappy. They don’t think it is.
They think that they have a grand old time.
But I’ve seen them, though on the peripheries.
I saw the father; he was a miserable lout.
I saw his father before him, another miserable lout.
All they really care about is money, power, and standing, my dear.
And no matter how he might try to convince you that he does not care about those things, ultimately, that is how he was raised.
And you must be careful when someone is raised a certain way.
It’s very hard for them to abandon that.
Just like it’s hard for you to keep your wayward thoughts in your head.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t do it.
He won’t be able to keep his care of money and power behind whatever feelings he has for you. ”
She fought a groan at her father’s quite reasoned argument “Well, this is a dreary end to our conversation,” she said.
“I’m not saying not to go,” her father protested. “But just be careful.”
“All right, Papa,” she said, standing and crossing to him and giving him a kiss atop his head.
Her father took her hands in his, kissed the back of her hands, and gazed up to her with adoring eyes.
“He is perfectly charming to all that see him, but to him? Charm is a tool to get what he wishes. I love you too much, my darling, to let you marry a man like that if he does not love you with every bit of himself, from the top of his head to the tips of his boots. I just fear that he has no real soul. I think gold might be where his heart is, and titles and documents where his soul should be.”
“He didn’t seem that way when I spoke with him.”
Her father nodded sagely. “Well, what he wants for himself and what he actually is can be two very different things. We can’t be having you miserable, my dear.
We have spent our entire lives trying to make certain you would be happy, and we’re not going to stop now just because a duke has noticed you. ”
Her mother lifted her cup of coffee and said, with surprising vim and vigor, “Hear, hear, my dear. All I want is to see the house, and then we can leave and find you a splendid fellow who loves a good life, and a bit of land, and will happily laugh with you for all the rest of your days.”
She swallowed.
She actually really did have trouble envisioning the Duke of Westfort laughing for the rest of his days. But she couldn’t ignore the way he made her feel, and she couldn’t ignore how something deep inside of her was saying that she wanted him, and him alone.