“Ah…” said Simpkins with a tap to his nose. “Yes, of course, sir. And if I might be so bold, I am glad to hear it. I was trying to find a subtle way to suggest that a bit ofshore leavewas long overdue. In fact, can’t remember the last time that you…” Needing neither the cringeworthy lecture nor the reminder, Harry stayed him with another hand in stark warning. Simpkins winked, unrepentant, as he backed away. “I’ll have those buttons so shiny all the ladies will beable to see their swooning faces in them. You’ll look so resplendent you’ll have no trouble attracting—”
“Just go, will you!”
“Yes, sir!” A grinning Simpkins disappeared out the doorway, then immediately reappeared in it with placating hands. “I know that I’m probably talking out of turn, but it occurs to me that if someshore leaveis in the cards, then might I be so bold as to suggest that I lay out the newer breeches…” They also both knew that the newer breeches were a polite euphemism for the bigger breeches Simpkins had had made behind Harry’s back because, as much as he wanted to deny it, he wasn’t quite as lithe onshore as he had been out at sea. The lack of weevils in the biscuits and Mrs. Rigsby’s excellent cooking had added two inches to his waistline in the last two years that no amount of exercise seemed to shift. He kept himself fit and his belly was still as flat as a pancake, so he was determined to convince himself that those extra inches were the muscle which was meant to be there without the skimpy ship rations. But still—they galled. “They’ll be less… constricting when you’re…dancing, Captain.”
As much as the suggestion mortified him, for so many reasons that he was sorely tempted to blush when they both knew whatdancingwas a euphemism for, his faithful manservant made a valid point.
On their last outing, his old dress breeches cut him in places that breeches shouldn’t cut and, as a result, had distracted him all evening. He hadn’t purposefully gone onshore leavethat night, but if he had, those breeches would have ruined it, as he’d spent the entire evening willing them not to keep creeping up his backside and had ended up leaving early. He’d be a much better and more charming flirt if he was comfortable, so he gave the crude wretch a curt nod before he spun away and sprinted up the stairs.
The newer breeches would also be much easier for a willing woman to strip him out of before the long-overduedancingcommenced, which was, if all went to plan, the only reason he intended to wear them. Whatever it took, he had to banish his dangerous but growing obsession with Miss Rowe from his mind once and for all.
ChapterTHIRTEEN
Instantly floppy at the threat of a bath, Norbert glued himself to the entrance of the yard and refused to budge. Wise to his methods, Georgie simply attached some rope to his collar to tie him fast to the gate while the children went off to fetch the buckets and soap.
“It is your own stupid fault.” She was immune to his big, soulful, outraged brown eyes too. “I warned you not to swim in the Serpentine again, but you went and did it anyway.” There was no way she was allowing him inside when he was covered in mud, pond weed, and algae. Especially after the unfortunate incident with the fox excrement last week that Simpkins, quite rightly, still wasn’t fully over. The defiant dog had purposefully gone swimming through the most stagnant part of the lake to cover himself in algae, just as he had found what the fox had left and then gleefully rolled in it.
“Dogs like to hide their scent,” said Lottie as she helped Georgie drag the huge hound toward the gate post. At a loose end since her sudden dismissal from her last position, her friend had accompaniedGeorgie and the children to the park so that she could spill her most recent tale of woe to someone guaranteed to be sympathetic. “Just in case a predator is around.”
“There aren’t any predators here in Mayfair.”
“Animal ones, at least.” Lottie shuddered as she looped Norbert’s lead several times around the gatepost. “Sadly, there are all too many human ones, as I have recently learned to my cost.”
“You’ll soon find another job, Lottie. You always do.” With the dog secured and unable to escape, she gave her friend a comforting hug despite not being the least bit surprised Lottie had once again been caught red-handed riding a horse from her employer’s stable. That she had been discovered by the employer’s octopus-armed libertine of a son was unfortunate, especially as he had tried to blackmail her into keeping her secret in return for certainfavors. “Console yourself that at least you were wearing your breeches and sturdy riding boots when Lord Chadwell’s son made those unseemly advances toward you, as he won’t be in any position to importune another innocent employee for some considerable time.” Thanks to a house full of brothers, her friend had known precisely where to aim her knee to dampen the randy lord’s ardor. And, apparently, dampen it Lottie had, so thoroughly that the physician had to be called. “The hunter became the hunted.”
“There is that,” said her friend, grinning as she strode to the pump and made short work of filling a bucket while Norbert cowered at the prospect of an imminent dousing. Then whimpered.
“This wouldn’t be necessary if you’d have stayed on the grass like I asked, you daft dog.” Georgie tickled his ears. “If you are going to continue to live under the captain’s roof, you are going to have to buck your ideas up, young man, as nobody wants to live with a stinky dog, even if he is as delightfully mad as you are.” For all his faults,she had quickly grown to love Norbert. His constant, usually snoring presence, was soothing. Like a roaring fire on a cold night, there was something homely about a faithful hound by your side, and Norbert had taken to hovering around hers as soon as the children went to bed and keeping her company until she did.
There was, much to her surprise, also now something homely about Captain Kincaid’s fine house too. Enough that she felt almost as settled there as she had at Miss P’s, and in practically no time at all. The stickler might insist it was shipshape at all times, but he had furnished his house more with comfort in mind than for appearance’s sake and had filled it with so many unusual and intriguing souvenirs from his travels that it was a unique and interesting place to live. It was also a fascinating window into the stickler’s soul and one that again made him incrementally more likable. Vibrant rugs from Persia ensured the hardwood floors weren’t drafty and he had used all the silks he had collected from Asia to inject subtle pops of color into every room.
There was also a permanence about the place which she approved of. This was his home and not a transient billet like the succession of soulless places the colonel had dragged her to live in. The captain owned all four walls and all the furniture within them, whereas the colonel had only ever rented furnished places because he preferred to travel light. For her unsentimental and frigid stepfather, too many belongings, like too many emotions, simply got in the way. Already, Georgie knew that she would miss this welcoming enclave in Hanover Square when she would have to leave it. Almost as much as she would miss the boisterous Pendletons and their algae-covered mutt and, much to her continued chagrin, the confusing and often atypical military man who owned the house. Oddly, here already felt like home, although she was pragmatic enough to accept that it waslikely only one of many temporary homes in her future. But such was a governess’s lot, irrespective of how much Georgie secretly yearned for just one home. All of her own.
“Mrs. Rigsby told us to use the scrubbing brush,” announced the returning Felix, holding it aloft. “Just in case.”
Norbert took one look at it and balked, then tried to wiggle his head out of his collar so that he could escape. In case he managed it and wreaked havoc indoors, Georgie grabbed it. When that did not give her enough purchase to keep the dog still, she had no choice but to fling her leg astride his filthy fur to hold him steady.
She grabbed the bar of soap from little Grace’s outstretched hand and gestured to Marianne to let loose the first bucket Lottie had filled, gritting her teeth to brace herself for the cold and the inevitable battle ahead.
With a bit too much relish, Marianne sloshed the contents over the pair of them. As the icy water hit Georgie’s stomach, she yelped, and so did Norbert.
Except when he yelped, something jumped out of his mouth.
Something green and slimy and so unexpected that both girls began to scream.
“It’s a frog!” shouted Felix quite unnecessarily as Norbert bucked beneath her to try and capture the poor thing again. “Norbert brought a frog home!”
“So he did,” said Lottie, grinning, instantly more fascinated by the croaking amphibian in the yard than she was any help holding Norbert back. “And a big one at that.”
Relieved to be free, the frog hopped as far away from the dog and the screaming girls as he could while Georgie held on for dear life. It bounced across the yard at lightning speed, jumped up the front step to the kitchen, and then disappeared inside.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Catch it!” As Georgie issued thatinstruction, Mrs. Rigsby and Polly started screaming in the kitchen just as Norbert dropped to the ground, dragging her with him. She clung to him for as long as she could, but his fur was too wet and her fingers were too slippery as the dog wiggled and twisted beneath her for all he was worth. Then he was gone, leaving her sitting in a puddle of water and pond weed and goodness knew what else, still clutching his collar.
By the time she scrambled up and followed all the others inside, the kitchen was pandemonium. Simpkins had joined the fray and was chasing the hopping frog toward the pantry with a mixing bowl in his hand. As she was made of sterner stuff, Lottie seemed determined to catch the slimy interloper with her bare hands as she edged closer, while Felix was hanging off Norbert as if his life depended on it, doing his best to keep his dog from following the frog to the pantry and failing miserably. Marianne, Grace, Polly the maid, and Mrs. Rigsby were all hysterical now—Mrs. Rigsby screeching from atop the kitchen table—while the remains of what looked like supper lay scattered across the kitchen.
With a battle cry, Simpkins suddenly lunged with his bowl, and to everyone’s surprise, actually caught the frog beneath it. Or at least beneath it for as long as it took for the pottery vessel to break as it impacted on the flagstones. While the now prostrate Simpkins began to curse, the poor frog made another break for freedom. He hopped past Lottie’s grasping hands and back out of the pantry—straight into Norbert’s open jaws again.
Eyes bulging and mouth swollen as if he were holding a delicate egg, the dog evaded everyone and shot out of the kitchen in a blur. Grabbing a saucepan, Georgie dashed after him.
