Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"T he Duchess is doing quite well," Ernest said, sorting out the mess on Richard's desk.

Richard had finally given in and admitted that the system he claimed to have set up was most definitely not working as he could barely find anything he was searching for. So, Ernest proposed a different method of organization that would be implemented as soon as he had finished clearing and arranging the desk.

"Is that so?" Richard questioned from where he was seated by his window, watching his wife laugh as her puppy jumped over a small crate.

"Yes, Your Grace. The arrangements for the ball have progressed nicely, and Her Grace has the entire household excited to work on it. She is inquisitive, and she has brilliant ideas. I'm afraid your desire for a simple life might not last much longer because your ball is sure to be the talk of all of London," Ernest said.

He certainly had a point. Richard had already had more than his fair share of the ton's attention, and the last thing he needed was more of it. But Nancy had wanted to throw this ball, and she also seemed to be enjoying planning it.

Richard would not admit this, even if he were staring down the barrel of a gun, but he liked the gleeful look on her face. He liked her little smiles and the bright ones that were on display whenever she was outside. And he wasn't sure what that meant, neither was he going to question it too deeply.

"Woe is me, truly," he sighed, finally looking away from the window. "Have you heard anything from her family? Complaints or dissatisfaction with their new lodgings?"

"Nothing but good things, Your Grace. They seem delighted with their new living quarters, and I have heard that the Dowager Marchioness extends her gratitude on a daily basis."

Richard had also received letters, at least twice a week, since his wife's family moved into one of his estates not too far away. His mother-in-law had expressed how grateful she was in the letters, and she had said that he was a blessing to her family .

Yet another sentiment he couldn't understand.

All he had ever been to his own family was a blight on their name, and yet this woman he had barely spoken to thought him the opposite.

He couldn't help but wonder what his wife felt about him. Whether she thought him a blessing as well or merely a means to an end.

What does it matter? Did you not also think of her that way?

"I have finished, Your Grace," Ernest said, yanking him out of his thoughts, "The pile on the left is matters that need to be sorted urgently. The pile in the middle is the affairs you can handle at your leisure, but need to be resolved by the end of the week. And the right pile contains everything that you have already signed off on," Ernest explained, gesturing to the now organized desk.

"If it gets out of hand again, all you need to do is call for me, Your Grace. I will sort it out immediately," he added.

Richard peered at the top of the desk, noting that he did not feel as though his head was splitting in half.

Was it really that easy to start afresh?

"Thank you, Ernest."

"Anytime, Your Grace."

* * *

Richard had had no further interactions—if they could even be called that—with his wife's dog, so he had assumed that all of his lessons were paying off, and the dog had learned he wasn't meant to play with everyone. Or to stay away from him, at least.

But, of course, creatures like these often waited for their prey to lower their guard before they struck.

Richard had been spending a casual evening in his room, sipping some whiskey and trying not to think of anything other than the glass in his hand when he heard scratching at his door.

At first, he ignored it, but it persisted, irritating his ears more when he tried to pretend he did not hear it. Finally, he stood up, went to his door, and flung it open.

The puppy looked as innocent as it had the day it ran towards him, but it filled his veins with dark, pure fear.

Absentmindedly, Richard noted that Dash appeared to have grown a little bigger, but he seemed to look even less like a threat than when it was smaller somehow.

"Are you lost? I believe your owner's room is that one," he said, pointing in the direction of Nancy's room.

The dog did look in the direction he had pointed in but looked back at Richard the next moment as though he saw no reason to move from his current spot.

"You have a knack for bothering me at the worst moments," Richard sighed, prepared to wait a little bit with the dog.

If he was lucky, Nancy would come out soon, the way she had last time, in search of her pet. But after a few minutes, there was no sign of her, and Dash remained seated at his feet, occasionally wagging his tail but otherwise utterly quiet. It seemed that he, too, was prepared to wait.

Momentarily, Richard considered going to Nancy's room to return her property to her, but then he recalled the last time he had seen her at this hour and how much sleep he had lost as a result.

Not to mention that if he woke her up, they'd have to go over how ridiculous he looked when the puppy ran up to him. Pity was the last thing he wished to see in Nancy's eyes.

Perhaps it was best if he just let her be.

"Fine. You may stay with me—just for tonight. Do not make this into a habit," he mumbled with a sigh of defeat.

It seemed the dog understood him perfectly because he stood up and waited for him to step aside before he trotted into the room. Richard half-expected he'd have to scold Dash or issue warnings on what to do and what not to do, but the dog merely trotted to the rug by the fireplace and settled on it.

Right in front of where Richard had been seated while he drank.

Momentarily, he regretted his decision but swallowed any reservations he might have had, opting instead to return to his whiskey and the warmth of the fireplace.

Surprisingly, Dash made no fuss, and it appeared that all he needed was some company. The air between them was as silent as it was meant to be, but Richard could not keep himself from filling it.

"Do not mistake this for friendship," he stated. "This is merely… a truce. You are currently in need, and I am prepared to provide you with what you need on the condition that you do not make it a habit of coming to me when those moments arise. I will not enable such behavior. Do you understand?"

Dash simply blinked, and Richard immediately felt foolish.

"Wonderful. I am talking to a dog now. How low can one man sink?" he mumbled to himself as he downed the contents of his glass.

When he looked down at the dog again and met his blank stare, his mouth seemed to move without his permission.

"I… I apologize. I have no treats for you this time. Perhaps you should just sleep. I'll do what I can to reward you appropriately in the morning. Provided that you are on your best behavior. Does that sound to your liking?"

Dash yapped softly, and Richard took it as a sign of approval.

"Good. You may sleep now."

Slowly, Dash lowered his head to rest on his paws and within minutes, fell asleep. Richard scoffed at the sight, wishing he could find rest as easily as the dog had.

"Lucky beast," he muttered and knocked back another drink.

Strangely enough, the air around him changed, and he felt more comfortable than he had previously. He stared at the dog, noting how his brown and white fur shone in the warm glow from the fireplace.

And perhaps, for the first time, he could see why his wife liked the mutt so much. If this was the sort of feeling that surrounded the puppy, he understood why she valued him greatly.

Somehow, Richard also fell asleep on the settee next to Dash.

In the morning, he woke up early and found the dog already awake, staring at him.

The dog stood up when he did and obediently followed him to the door without a fuss or a sound, slipping out when it was opened for him.

And perhaps Richard could send word to the cook to have him prepare an entire chicken for Dash.

No one would have to know.