1. Part I #2
He hadn’t been visibly injured when she’d found him two years ago.
But he had been small, and wet, and cold, and his little nose had scrunched up and made a terribly pitiful a-choo noise when she’d scooped him up in her hands, the hem of her dressing robe leaving a trail of wet dew across the front hall as she’d marched him up to her room and made a cozy nest for him in the top drawer of her commode.
Her intention had been to nurse him back to health and then release him back where she’d found him, but in the three weeks it took to bring proverbial color into his little cheeks, they’d both grown irrevocably attached to each other.
Much to the annoyance of her parents and the delight of her younger siblings, Mr. Roundtop had gradually become a regular member of the family during his twenty-four month tenure with them.
Courtesy of special pockets sewn into Persephone’s skirts, he attended most breakfasts (dinners, especially with guests, were one of the rare places he was not invited), long strolls through the gardens, and had even made the journey to London–twice!
Lady Montague had drawn the line at Mr. Roundtop attending balls, but Persephone had managed to sneak him into the theatre a time or two while Lady Montague had chosen to look the other way.
One thing her mother could absolutely not abide, however?
Stolen pie.
“Mr. Roundtop!” Persephone hissed, peeking around the edge of the drape as the hedgehog continued his determined march across the floor. He’d nearly reached the table, and from there it was a surprisingly quick climb up the chair to the pie. “Mr. Roundtop, that is not for you!”
He didn’t hear her.
Or perhaps more accurately, he didn’t listen to her.
Hedgehogs were notoriously bad listeners, something Persephone hadn’t realized until after she’d taken one in.
The almost silent slice of a knife as it cut through the first piece of cake? His round little ears immediately swiveled toward the sound, no matter if he was on an entirely different floor. But her shouting his name in a loud whisper from four feet away?
Utter deafness.
“Mr. Roundtop, if you don’t come back here this instant–drats.”
“…see to it that the dahlias are cut and immediately placed into water, then arranged for centerpieces in the east wing parlor and sitting room.” Lady Montague paused in the doorway, her lips pursed in thought, while the housekeeper, Mrs. Galloway, stopped two steps behind.
“Pinks and purples only. You know how I cannot abide red. It’s much too garish. Don’t you agree?”
Mrs. Galloway bobbed her head. “Yes, my lady.”
“Excellent. I do love the sight of fresh flowers in the house.” Lady Montague’s gracefully lined countenance brightened when she saw what was waiting for her in the middle of the drawing room. “Is that rhubarb? My favorite. Oh, it smells delicious. That will be all, Mrs. Galloway.”
“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper bobbed her head again, a bit lower than last time, and even though Persephone was holding in her breath so tightly that her lungs ached, she could have sworn that Mrs. Galloway looked straight at her before she turned on her heel and walked briskly away.
“I really shouldn’t,” Lady Montague murmured to what she believed to be empty air even as she settled herself at the round sitting table and unfolded a napkin across her lap. “But surely one little piece won’t hurt anything.”
Just as Lady Montague was about to bite into her first forkful of pie–which everyone knew was traditionally the very best piece of pie–Mr. Roundtop made his move.
While Persephone watched helplessly behind the curtain, he began his ascent up the chair, his nose quivering with mad, feverish delight.
Abandoning the slick wood for Lady Montague’s skirts, he sped up, his sharp claws hooking easily into the fabric.
Almost absently, she went to brush him away, as if he were a light breeze or a stray curl of hair.
But when her fingertips encountered the hedgehog’s wet, pointy nose, she let out a shriek that rattled the crystal and scared poor Mr. Roundtop so much that he abandoned his pursuit of pie, curled into a ball, and rolled down her skirts and across the floor.
“PERSEPHONE!”
Double drats, Persephone repeated silently.
Fingers knotted together and cheeks pink with embarrassment, she stepped out from behind the curtain and hastily scooped up Mr. Roundtop, who nestled into the bodice of her morning dress with a cross squawk of annoyance at having been scared away from his pie.
“Mother, I’m terribly sorry–”
“This is the third time this month,” Lady Montague snapped, tossing her napkin across the table, “that I have been accosted in my own home by a rat!”
“Mr. Roundtop is a hedgehog–”
“It is not sanitary, Persephone, to have a rodent in the drawing room!”
“He’s actually not a rodent–”
“How can you expect to catch a husband with a mouse in your pocket?”
Ah.
Persephone’s nose scrunched.
There it was.
The real reason for her mother’s ire.
“Mother, I do not need to catch a husband,” she said for what felt like the thousandth time. “I have one waiting for me. The Earl of Ashcroft–”
“Has likely forgotten all about the wager your father lost on your behalf,” Lady Montague said, not unkindly.
“We’ve discussed this, dear. You made your debut nearly four years ago.
If Lord Ashcroft intended to pursue the marriage, he would have done so already.
Given that he has not replied to any of my letters, nor any of our calling cards, I believe it safe to set our sights elsewhere. ”
“Is he married?” Persephone countered.
“No, not to my knowledge. However–”
“Perhaps he is waiting.”
Her mother’s smile strained at the corners. “For what, darling?”
“Well, I’m not sure, precisely. But I am certain he has a very good reason.
” Persephone had given her arranged marriage a great deal of consideration.
She’d had the time to do so. Four years, as her mother had pointed out, which was how long ago her parents had set her aside and explained the terms of the contract her father had signed on her behalf.
At first, she’d been furious. Or as furious as she ever became, which was to say, not very furious. She simply didn’t have the heart for anger, and once her mild annoyance had subsided, curiosity had grown in its place.
She’d wanted to know everything about her future husband.
Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much to find out.
The earl, it seemed, was a rather private man, and despite Lady Montague’s efforts, they’d never so much as met for a cup for tea.
Still, Persephone remained firmly committed to a stranger she had yet to meet.
A stranger her father had promised her to when she was but an infant.
She couldn’t say why, exactly. It was…it was a feeling.
Deep inside. In the same place where her innate love for animals and her nurturing spirit dwelled.
The Earl of Ashcroft was going to be her husband.
She was sure of it.
Any day now, he was going to walk through their creaky front door, and–
“My lady! My lady!” A maid, her mob cap askew, rushed into the room stopped short. “We’ve a visitor.”
“Do we?” Lady Montague pursed her lips. “Odd, I am not expecting anyone. Either way, settle them in the front parlor with tea and I’ll be there momentarily to receive them.”
“It’s…” The maid lowered her voice. “It’s a gentleman caller, my lady.”
Persephone’s mother sat straighter in her chair. “Really? Whom is it?”
“The Earl of Ashcroft. Here to call upon Miss Persephone.”
Lady Montague’s eyes went as wide as the pie she hadn’t gotten to eat. “Hide the rat.”