Page 125 of The Lyon Whisperer
“What is that, Lady Frommer?” Amelia probed.
“Is it true you raise dogs?”
By some miracle of timing, the lady’s question rang out in the room, clear as a crystal bell. Amelia noted her father’s head shift in her direction, as had most everyone’s in the room.
She set her fork down and glanced across the table at her husband, who watched her with an unreadable expression. “Er…I do not so much raise dogs as rescue them. On occasion,” she hastened to add.
Her father jerked his head in Chase’s direction as if to ascertain her husband’s reaction.
Chase, in fact, said nothing.
Amelia fixed her attention on Lady Frommer and reached for her champagne. She took a hasty sip. “Who mentioned dogs in connection with me?”
“Lady Barclay. Claims she took one off your hands. Said you’d done a good job training it. Good disposition and all that.”
“Flora,” Amelia murmured, fondly. “Yes, such a sweet little thing. I thought she’d be good company for Lady Barclay’s ailing grandchild.” She thought she heard a snort coming from the other end of the table.
“Dogs are good for hunting, and for keeping out riffraff. This whole business of coddling them seems like a sign of the times,” Lord Selbie said.
Deciding his comment was not meant for her, Amelia chose to ignore it.
“Little Jessica has suffered much since her accident,” Lady Frommer mused, seemingly unaware of Lord Selbie’s acerbic comments. “Lady Barclay tells me her spirits are much improved since the arrival of…Flora, did you say?”
“Yes.”
Another snort. “Naming dogs after people, now? This is rich.” Lord Selbie’s laugh was not pleasant.
Amelia wondered if he’d had over-imbibed. Perhaps she ought to have stuck with six courses instead of seven. Just as well the evening neared its end.
“Evidently this Flora follows Jessica everywhere she goes,” Lady Frommer told her.
Amelia lowered her voice in hopes Lord Selbie might lose interest in the goings on at her end of the table if he had to strain to hear, not to mention she had hoped to gain her father’s approval with this evening’s success. Now she’d be lucky not to earn a withering set-down by the man who sired her.
She refused to contemplate what Chase must be thinking. He had, after all, told her not to bring the dogs to his home.
“I am not surprised to hear having a canine companion has had an elevating effect on poor Jessica. I have read numerous accounts of dogs, and cats for that matter, being successfully employed to help those with both physical and mental difficulties to live more fulfilling lives.”
A hush settled over the room. All eyes fixed on her, and she replayed what she’d said. Horror splashed through her. She’d openly referred to one of the journal articles the Ladies’ Literary Society had read on a topic which would, of a certainty, not be one considered by polite societybetteringfor females.
Equally dismaying, Lord Selbie had not lost interest. He regarded her with a glittering intensity. “Oh, well, now I’ve heard it all. A cat used to heal madness? What’s next? In addition to lining up at soup kitchens, the vermin cluttering the streets since the war all sign up to receive a blanket and a dog?”
Amelia felt her face grow hot. She dared not look toward her husband’s end of the table. She searched her mind for a way to change the subject.
“Fascinating,” Lady Frommer said, her tone banal—purposely so, if Amelia hazarded to guess. The gray-haired lady flicked Selbie a dismissive glance, then returned her attention to Amelia. “Have you more hounds from the same litter?”
Amelia found herself ridiculously on the verge of tears. As long as she lived she would remember the woman’s kindness. She decided to no longer bother lowering her voice. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yes, we have three. A girl and two boys. Rose, Fergus and Roddy.”
“Wherever did you find them?” Lady Culver asked.
Amelia blanched. She had ventured into the stews to retrieve them. Then Lady Selbie’s voice rose above the din, saving her from having to reply. “Did you say Flora, Rose, Fergus, and Roddy?”
Renewed dread washed through her. When had she and her puppies become the evening’s focus?
As if pressing through quicksand, she turned to face Lady Selbie. She pointedly avoided looking at the men. Still, from the corner of her eye, she saw both her husband and her father watching her.
“Yes,” she replied, pleased that her voice sounded normal. “There’s also an Edward, although he now resides in the country estate of my close friend, Mrs. Nancy Floyd.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you take the names from”—the marchioness ducked her head as if unsure—“Waverley?”
