Page 9 of My Own True Duchess
Diana was looking at Jonathan as if he’d doubled in height, while her mother was clearly pleased.
“The poor dog was tempted from proper decorum by an unruly child,” Mrs. Haviland said. “One cannot blame a mute beast for undignified behavior when an otherwise intelligent girl sets such a bad example for him.”
Diana’s lower lip jutted at an angle Jonathan had recently seen from Miss Dora Louise.
“Diana, Comus is large enough to challenge a bear,” he said. “He’s fierce enough to kill a grown man, and if he shows the least bad manners, he’ll lose his place as a trusted pet. He won’t find another home willing to dote on him as my aunt and uncle do. If he forgets the habit of obedience, his life will be short and miserable. Don’t risk his happiness for the sake of your momentary pleasure.”
That jutting lip quivered gratifyingly. “I only wanted to pet him.”
“Then you should have asked,” her mother said. “Reward the dog for disobedience, and you condemn him to a terrible fate.”
Comus sat panting and clueless at Jonathan’s side, probably doing more to acquaint the girl with a guilty conscience than all the lectures in the world could.
“I’m sorry, Comus,” Diana said.
“And?” Jonathan prompted, for he knew childish rebellion in all its guises.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I should not have run up the path by myself, and I should not have scratched Comus’s belly without permission.”
Despite the subdued tone and teary eyes, the girl was doubtless swallowing back a thousand arguments for why her behavior—tempting an enormous dog to ignore his master in public—really wasn’t that awful. Jonathan took a leaf from the dog trainer’s book and caught the pupil being obedient.
“Perhaps you’d like to walk Comus around the perimeter of the clearing?” Jonathan said. “Your mother and I can supervise from the bench. If Comus must heed the call of nature, you wait for him. Otherwise, he’s to stay by your side while he investigates the undergrowth.”
“I can walk him? Truly?” The teary-eyed gaze was gone like dandelion seeds in a brisk breeze. “You’ll let me walk Comus by myself?”
“Anybody who has lost her park visitation privileges for the next week, who will be dusting the house from top to bottom, should take advantage of what liberty she has.” Jonathan passed over the leash. “Yes, you may walk the dog.”
“Diana, wait.” Mrs. Haviland withdrew a black ribbon from her pocket and rebraided the loose plait, then retied the other ribbon more snugly. She accomplished this in less than five seconds, and then Diana and Comus were off across the grass.
“He seems like a good dog,” Mrs. Haviland said.
“She seems like a high-spirited child.” Had her mother ever been that independent and contrary?
“Let’s sit. Keeping up with Diana can leave one winded.”
“Have you other children?” Jonathan asked, escorting the lady to the bench.
“No, and that one is enough for any six mothers.”
Diana held Comus’s leash while the dog rooted in the hedgerow. She was talking to him, her words snatched away by the racket he created and the spring breeze.
“You worry about her.” And clearly, Mrs. Haviland loved that contrary girl.
“To be a parent is to worry.”
Jonathan’s parents had worried—about their latest amour, their latest marital battle, the latest scandal, or the latest gossip. They had not worried about their son, when they even recalled they had a son.
“She’s lucky to have you,” Jonathan said, “as I was lucky to make your acquaintance last night.”
In the afternoon sunshine, Mrs. Haviland’s maturity was more apparent, or perhaps what showed in her eyes was fatigue. She was a pretty woman, and she’d likely been a beautiful young lady. Today, she was a tired mother, a bit overwhelmed, and in need—as Jonathan had been in need—of a respite.
“She knows,” Mrs. Haviland said. “I don’t know how Diana pieced it together so early in life—servants’ gossip or native wit—but she knows if she’d been born a boy, our circumstances would be different. I lost track of her while searching for the missing hair ribbon. Waste not, want not.”
If Jonathan made enough discreet inquiries, he might have unearthed the details of Mrs. Haviland’s circumstances—and drawn attention to his interest in the lady. Perhaps that explained why Mrs. Haviland had volunteered what nearly amounted to a confidence.
“I take it an inheritance was involved?”
The dog was on his back legs, front paws braced against a tree trunk. In that posture, he stood taller than most men. Diana waited with uncharacteristic patience while Comus satisfied his curiosity about the path of a long-gone squirrel.
