A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(23)

“Come now, Badger. That’s a good boy.” Kate pursed her lips and made encouraging noises. The pup sniffed and advanced a little, but not quite far enough.

Recalling Corporal Thorne whistling for the dog yesterday, she pressed her lips together and gave a short, chirping whistle. That did the trick. The pup came darting out—a furry bullet shooting straight into her lap.

Kate fell back on her backside with an oof. She laughed as Badger devoured the bacon from her hand, then set about licking every trace of salt from her palm and fingertips.

“You will get me into so much trouble,” she whispered. “And I’ve no strength to chide you.”

Badger knew it, too. He cocked his head. Then his ear. Twitched his nose. Wagged his tail. As if to say, Look upon my arsenal of adorable behaviors . . . and tremble.

“This naughty little dear is Badger,” she said. “He’s the reason I came in today, Sally. I was hoping you’d have something I can use as a leash. Carrying him in the basket obviously won’t do. And perhaps you’d have some stray bits of something for him to chew? Last night, I let him destroy a copy of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom.”

Sally crossed her arms. “I might have a dog lead in back. As for things to gnaw . . .” She considered a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I know. What about Finn’s old leather foot? He’s been fitted with a nicer prosthetic now.”

Kate shuddered at the thought of Badger gnawing away at a human limb, even a false one. How macabre. “That’s a . . . creative . . . thought, but perhaps we’ll just stick with Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom. It is a very useful book.”

Mrs. Highwood came down from the stepladder and examined the dog. “Wherever did you acquire such a mongrel, anyhow?”

She gave Badger a brisk rub. “Corporal Thorne picked up the little urchin from a farmer.”

Sally perked up. “That’s Thorne’s dog?”

“Well, he’s my dog now.” She covered Badger’s ears, lest he hear himself being disparaged. “It’s only a mongrel pup he took in on a whim.”

Kate knew she couldn’t offer a growing puppy the most suitable of homes. But she could give Badger love, and that was what he needed most.

Sally shook her head. “Are you certain? Rufus told me Corporal Thorne’s been wanting a coursing hound. He’s had one on special order from a breeder. The pups come quite dear, I understand.”

Kate stared at the dog in her arms. Valuable? Badger? Such a funny-looking thing, all long, thin limbs and patched fur that was not quite straight, not quite curly. He was like an animated heap of cowlicks.

And if Thorne prized him, surely he would have told her so.

“Sally, I think you must have your puppies confused.”

“For the love of St. Ursula!” Mrs. Highwood cried. She’d moved to the window. “This, I’ll have you know, is why this place is called ‘Spinster Cove.’ While you featherbrained girls carry on about mongrel dogs, there is a gentleman walking down the lane. A tall, marvelous-looking one, carrying an expensive walking stick. I detect no hint of marriage in his demeanor.”

Diana laughed. “Mama, you cannot determine a man is single just by viewing him from across the lane.”

“But I can. My intuition has never failed me.”

“His name is Lord Drewe,” Kate said. “He’s here on holiday with his two sisters and an aunt.” She prolonged the suspense another moment. “And he’s a marquess.”

“A marq—” Mrs. Highwood swayed on her feet. “An unmarried marquess. Oh, my nerves. I will faint.”

The men of the Spindle Cove militia were not particularly interested in a visiting marquess. And the addition of a few more female oddities to the Queen’s Ruby coterie was simply the normal course.

But it wasn’t every day they had a chance to needle their commander.

“Engaged to Miss Taylor?” Aaron Dawes exclaimed, once drill was finished for the morning.

Thorne ignored the question. He stretched his neck to one side until it cracked.

“Thought you went to Hastings for a hunting dog,” Dawes said, “not a wife.” The blacksmith shook his head. “I must say, never saw that coming.”

“None of us saw this coming,” said Fosbury. “Exactly how did you woo her, Corporal?”

“This is Thorne we’re discussing,” Dawes said. “He doesn’t woo. He commands.”

“But that wouldn’t work on Miss Taylor. She’s got spirit.”

“And humor,” said the vicar. “And good sense.”

Yes, Thorne silently agreed. All that, plus distracting beauty and a mouth so lush and sweet, he’d spent the whole night dreaming about it and woken with a rod of forged steel between his legs.

“Yes, Miss Taylor’s a very sweet girl,” Fosbury said. He eyed Thorne with good-humored curiosity. “Makes a man wonder . . . What’s she see in you?”

Nothing. Nor should she.

“Enough,” he said. “We have a great deal to make ready before the ladies have their fair. My personal affairs are none of your concern.”

“Don’t think we’re concerned for you,” Dawes said. “We’re concerned for her. Miss Taylor has a great many friends in Spindle Cove. None of us want to see her hurt. That’s all.”