“Delighted,” the viscount said.
She wondered if he really was delighted. He might be, or he might have only been polite.
“Tuesday next,” the duke said. “You’ll be back by then I am sure.”
Before the viscount could say whether or not he would be in London by that time, the door to the dining room crashed open.
“Papa,” Serenity said, a single tear meandering down her cheek.
“Let me guess,” the duke said. “You’ve found another dead bee in a garden. I’ve told you time and again—bees do die on occasion. If they didn’t, we’d be overrun with them and you would not like it.”
Grace naturally noticed the confusion on the viscount’s countenance, as he could not know that Serenity wept over any and all dead things she came upon.
“No, Papa,” Serenity said. “It’s just that I am afraid you will not like what I am to tell you and I should just cry and cry over it. But there is room in the carriages—there really is. It will be fine, I promise.”
“We do not need room in the carriages—Dashlend here has got himself sorted on his own.”
“Nothim,” Serenity said. Grace blushed at her tone, as it seemed to say that the viscount was of the least importance.
Patience, Winsome, and Verity appeared behind Serenity.
“Have you told him?” Patience asked.
“Have you mentioned how usual a case this is?” Verity asked.
“She has not mentioned how usual it is, because it is not,” Winsome said, challenging Verity’s supposition.
The duke sighed. “I am afraid this is not a circumstance of a dead bee.”
“No, Papa,” Serenity said. “It is about a dog who has tragically lost one of his legs.”
The duke sat up a little straighter. “I see. Now, you girls sit in here and close the door behind me. I’ll have a word with the innkeeper and we’ll put the poor thing out of its misery. Patience, cover Serenity’s ears, and Verity, cover Valor’s so they do not hear the shot.”
The viscount had jumped from his seat. “I will come with you, Your Grace.”
“You cannot shoot him!” Serenity cried.
“Why would you shoot him?” Patience asked.
“It is the kindest thing,” the duke said. “It would not be kind to prolong its suffering, even though the necessary outcome upsets you.”
“He is not suffering, though, Papa,” Serenity said. “He is ever so cheerful.”
This news seemed to take everyone aback, as nobody could imagine a dog who’d just lost a leg being at all cheerful.
“Verity,” Serenity said, “do go and get him while I make sure nobody goes looking for a gun to shoot him with.”
Verity hurried off and everyone stared at one another, very afraid they were to be presented with a dying dog.
“You will fall instantly in love with him,” Serenity said. “I feel that deeply in my heart.”
“I do not often agree with Serenity’s brand of heartfelt codswallop,” Winsome said, “but in this particular case I daresay she is right.”
Grace did not know what to think. They were to fall in love with a dying dog, and then perhaps even more strange—Winsome agreed with Serenity.
The door opened and everyone at table braced themselves for what they would be forced to witness. Valor went so far as to go under the table, taking Mrs. Wendover with her.
Verity came through with a very small dog with a rough-looking tan coat, bulging brown eyes, and three legs.
