Then, he noticed that they would suddenly stop speaking when he entered a room. He had heard the name Conbatten more than once. Why did they talk about that duke?
Their plots were always so ill-conceived and even worse executed. The last had been over the summer, when they’d sent anonymous unsigned notes to Lord Van Doren, claiming the entire neighborhood was fed up with his scolding.
It had taken the lord all of three seconds to deduce who’d sent them. As restitution, the earl had made them each write Lord Van Doren a letter listing his good qualities. The effort had nearly killed them all and Lady Juliet had been reduced to complimenting a blue coat the lord wore occasionally, noting itwas very blue.
What were they up to now?
For that matter, what was that wretched dog up to? It had been constantly getting up and turning round for the past hour. It was becoming distracting.
Now it whimpered and turned itself once more.
Tattleton could not imagine what that canine had the nerve to complain about. As far as he could see it, the thing was eating them out of house and home. The creature’s belly was getting bigger by the day.
“What is wrong with that dog?” he asked. “Charlie, does it need to go outside?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Tattleton,” Charlie said, peering at the creature. “I just took our Bess out to the garden not a half hour ago.”
OurBess, indeed. Why cannot she be somebody else’s Bess?
Something caught Tattleton’s eye. He stood up and pointed at the dog. “Charlie, get that thing into the garden this instant. The crass cur is defecating right where it lays.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Huffson said, leaning down to look closer. “I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what?” Tattleton said, feeling a chill run down his back.
“The poor lass is having pups,” Mrs. Huffson said.
“What? No! You must be mistaken. Perhaps it is only dying.”
“She’s not dying,” Mrs. Huffson said, letting him down entirely over his only hope.
“But, you knew of this, Mrs. Huffson?” Tattleton asked.
“Only suspected, Mr. Tattleton,” Mrs. Huffson said. “She did seem to be growing in the midsection.”
“But that was from all the food! Everybody is always feeding it. I have been fearing to see the incoming grocer’s bills.”
“I am afraid that is not it, Mr. Tattleton.”
The lady seemed a deal more calm than she should be. Mrs. Huffson was certainly a deal more calm than he felt himself.
“No!” he cried. “No, it cannot dothatin here! I forbid it!”
“Charlie, get some towels, string, and scissors, there’s a good lad,” Mrs. Huffson said.
Charlie raced off as the maids and the footmen all surrounded the wretched dog.
“There now, mon ami,” Fleur said in her French accent, “tout ira bien.”
“She don’t speak French,” Benny said. “She’s an English dog.”
“You don’t know what she speaks,” Fleur said haughtily.
“She don’t speak anything,” Johnny said, “just pat her head, she’ll get the idea.”
Charlie came hurrying back with the supplies he’d been sent for. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Huffson, I helped the cats’ mum birth all her babies. I’ll help our Bess through her time just fine.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Huffson said. “Everyone, give Charlie and Bess some room.”
