On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Another unlooked-for success had been his readiness to accept her assistance with the Autumn Gathering and his new idea about schools. It might simply be that he saw her as competent, and he was willing, given the burdens he already shouldered, to let her help; nevertheless, it was a start. A step toward true sharing, which was, after all, what a real marriage was about.

A real marriage — that was her goal, the absolute achievement she'd promised herself. The marriage she intended to have.

At the end of the crosswalk, she looked up and ahead — to the stables, and the long building that extended beyond. From there came the unmistakable yipping of hounds.

Luc's treasures. Lips curving, she set out to view them for herself. She was quite partial to dogs — just as well, for Luc's pack of prize Belvoir hounds had been his hobby since boyhood. A lucrative one — the pack would be a source of income now, both through being leased to the local hunt and through breeding fees and sales of the offspring of champions like Morry and Patsy.

The kennels, clean, well run, spic-and-span, were reached via the courtyard around which the stable was built. A narrow aisle ran down the center of the long building with pens giving off on either side; there she found Luc talking to Sugden, the kennel master.

Luc's back was to her; he and Sugden were discussing buying another breeding bitch. Sugden saw Amelia first, colored, closed his lips and nodded, tugging at his cap. Luc turned, hesitated, then raised a brow. "Come to see my beauties?"

She smiled. "Indeed." That momentary hesitation hadn't escaped her — he was wondering if she was going to be upset at learning he was using her dowry to buy a breeding bitch. Letting real appreciation light her eyes — the entire pack were magnificent specimens — she nodded to Sugden and tucked her hand in Luc's arm. "They seemed to be calling me. How many do you have?"

He moved down the aisle with her. "They're just hoping you've brought dinner."

"Are they hungry? When do they get fed?"

"Always, and soon. There are nearly sixty all told, but only forty-three actually run. The others are mostly too young. A few are too old."

One of the "too old" was lying curled on a blanket in the last pen, the one closest to the potbellied stove that in winter would heat the area. The pen door was wedged open; the dog lifted its head as Luc neared, and thumped its tail.

Luc crouched, patting the greying head. "This is Regina. She was the matriarch before Patsy."

Amelia crouched beside him, let Regina sniff her hand, then scratched behind the dog's ears. Regina tilted her head, lids heavy.

Luc sat back on his heels. "I'd forgotten you like dogs."

Just as well, for in winter they were forever around. He even brought some — the very young and very old, like Regina — into the house when it was freezing out.

"Amanda does, too — we always wanted a puppy, but it was never fair, not living in London all the time."

He'd never considered — never thought that, although they shared such similar backgrounds in some ways, in others… he couldn't imagine not having a sprawling country house like the Chase, or the Place, to call home. Yet she hadn't; while he'd spent his summers riding the wolds, she'd been visiting here, visiting there — no single place her own.

The tenor of the hounds' call changed. Luc glanced back down the aisle, then rose, and reached down to take Amelia's arm. "Come on — you can help feed them."

She stood eagerly; he steered her back up the aisle, took over from the lads whose chore it was to feed the dogs, then showed her how much to place in each bowl. She took to it with alacrity, quickly learning to gently tap the hounds' noses out of the way long enough to reach the bowls.

At the end of the aisle, opposite Regina, Sugden was checking the latest litter. The pups were six weeks old, not yet weaned. Sugden nodded at Luc as they approached.

"This lot's doing well — might even have another champion here." He pointed to one puppy who was nosing along the edge of the pen, wuffling and snuffling. Luc grinned; leaning over the low barrier erected to keep the puppies in, he scooped the questing pup up and showed him to Amelia.

"Oh! He's so soft." She reached for the pup, took him in her arms; delight lit her face. When she cradled him like a baby and tickled his tummy, the pup closed his eyes and sighed.

Luc watched, struck — then he glanced around. When he looked back, Amelia glanced at him. "Later, when they're grown, can we send one to Amanda?"

She looked down at the pup, continuing to ruffle the downy fur on its belly. Crooning softly. Luc looked down at her head, at the golden curls. "Of course. But first, you'll need to pick out one for yourself." He took the now-dozy puppy from her, held him up again, checked the splay of his legs, the size and formation of his feet. "This one would be a good choice."

"Oh, but—" Amelia glanced at Sugden. "If he's a champion—"

"He'll be the very best dog to own." Luc bent and returned the puppy to its mother. "Belle will be honored." He stroked the bitch's head. She closed her eyes, then turned her head and licked his hand.

Luc stood. He nodded to Sugden. "I'll check with you tomorrow."

Taking Amelia's arm, drawing her away from the apparently fascinating sight of her little champion suckling, he guided her up the aisle and out of the kennels. "You'll have to think of a name for him. He'll be weaned in a few weeks."

She was still glancing back down the aisle. "Will I be able to take him for walks then?"

"Little walks, more like gambols. Puppies love to play."