Page 6 of The Gift of Patience
“Oh, dear,” Grace murmured.
“Is this the new pup?” Westwood asked. “Does he have a name yet?”
“I have not had long enough to assess his personality,” Joy proclaimed. “Thus far, Little Freddy is not fond of him.”
Big Freddy gave a look of disapproval to his namesake.
“I think he is jealous. He wants you to hold him,” Joy decided.
“I will take the puppy,” Patience offered. She had always been more fond of dogs than cats anyway. She liked Freddy Tiger, but he was somewhat indifferent to her unless she had scraps he wanted.
Mr. Cunningham handed her the partially dry dog, who was thankfully still wrapped in the blanket and seemed content to remain so. She looked down at the adorable little fellow, who licked her face, making her laugh. She sat down next to Grace so she could also meet their new pet.
Grace’s hand got a lick, and then the pup quickly fell asleep in Patience’s arms. She sat him in between them and continued to pet him while he slept. Maybe she needed her own companion. It certainly worked for Joy, who now had two.
After tea, Faith was tired and went upstairs to rest. Westwood, Lord Montford, and Mr. Cunningham went to the stables to see how the breeding was progressing, and Grace, Joy, and Vivienne went to visit the baby animals in the barn.
Patience stayed behind with the pup, who had yet to be named. As Joy left with Freddy Tiger, she turned and called back, “He will need to go outside when he wakes.”
“I think I can manage that,” she retorted.
Once there was a slight reprieve in the rain, Patience decided to take a walk. She already wore a serviceable grey muslin, and she quickly changed into her boots that she had been wearing back and forth to the barn through the mud, though the pup was determined to pull the laces loose as soon as she had them tied. She chuckled. “You are not so different from Freddy Tiger, you know. Maybe he will grow accustomed to you and stop hissing and growling.”
Patience took the cat’s lead and placed it around the pup’s neck. He did not seem to care for it and tried to grab it and chew on it. “Something else to become accustomed to,” she muttered.
Even though the rain had ceased for the moment, she could see there would be no way to return from an outing clean. Her boots sank into the squishy mud, as did the puppy, all the way up to the fur on his stomach. “I think another bath is in your future,” she warned as they set off.
She was always drawn towards the river, and she followed the path along the stream that eventually emptied into the Thames, even though the path was still covered in water much of the way.
The musky, fresh smell just after the rain helped alleviate some of her indoor isolation, as did watching the little pup run to and fro from tree to tree to smell and leave his own scent behind.
The roar of the river testified to the recent rains long before they came upon it. As they approached the stone bridge, the water was overflowing the banks and had diverted around it.
“Drat,” she muttered to the dog. He sat and cocked his head to the side at the sound of her voice. “There is no way to go forward right now. I am afraid we will have to turn around.”
They stood there watching the water run rapidly for a few moments before turning back. A short walk was better than no walk, she had to remind herself.
The pup—he really needed a name soon—began to pull hard to her right, so she allowed him to sniff. Likely he was chasing an animal’s scent. Was it not almost time for fox cubbing?
He pulled her to a small clearing in the tress, where it looked as though someone had set up camp. A stretched-out cloth was strung out, covering the remains of a fire, and a tent was set up just beneath the shelter of the trees.
It appeared to be deserted, but Patience could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise at the same time the pup began to bark. Without hesitating, she picked him up and began to run as fast as she could back to the house.
With no free hand to hold her skirts, she tripped and fell in the mud, barely releasing the dog in time not to fall on him. She stood and looked down at her ruined dress and could have laughed, except she was still spooked by the feeling of being watched near the bridge.
The puppy sat and waited for her, and she picked up his lead and decided they were close enough to the house that a slower pace was acceptable. Still trying to catch her breath, she looked back to make certain they weren’t being followed, then ran straight into Ashley Stuart’s arms. Of course. She looked like a drowned rat covered in mud.
Ashley had just arrivedat Taywards and was drenched and muddy from the ride from London. A nice long soak in a warm bath was calling out to him. He had just handed off his mount, Caesar, to a groom and rounded the stables when Patience Whitford came barrelling into him.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, trembling.
Ashley frowned. Something was wrong. The beauty was dishevelled and covered in mud. She was even more beautiful thus than when she was dressed like a princess.
“Major Stuart! I wasn’t expecting you,” she exclaimed breathlessly.
A sodden and muddy puppy was yipping at his heels, and he kneeled down to let him sniff his hand while he waited for her answer. “What is it? What has frightened you so?”
Her bonnet had fallen back, and she wiped a damp strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “I assure you it was nothing. I was spooked, is all.”
