Dangerous Deceptions by Sarah Zettel Read Free Book Online

Pierpont reached out and steadied herself against the table. For a moment, I was truly afraid she’d faint. Fortunately, Cavey saw this as well and handed my aunt a glass of wine. I had never seen Aunt Pierpont gulp a drink before, but she did so now.
    “I think Miss Pierpont has not yet heard the joyful news, Your Highness,” I said.
    “You didn’t tell her? Peggy, what were you thinking!” I cast my face into the proper lines of regret at this admonishment. “I am sorry, Miss Pierpont,” the princess went on to Olivia. “You should have been told. Guinevere’s breeding. She’s going to have puppies!”
    Olivia possessed the ability of all mothers to instantly tell their babies, whether two or four legged, apart. She unerringly picked Guinevere up out of the busy flock and turned her over to see her distended belly and teats. How is it possible for a small dog to look insufferably proud?
    “She is! How wonderful, Your Highness!” Olivia rubbed the aforementioned belly, so that Guinevere wriggled and snuggled closer into the crook of her arm.
    “She and Arthur are properly married now, of course.” The princess gently pulled on Guinevere’s ears, so she closed her eyes in puppy bliss. “I am sorry you could not be at the wedding.”
    Olivia arched her brows at me over the royal curls. I grimaced and indicated with a tilt of my head that I would apprise her of the details later. Princess Anne had decided, quite naturally, that Puppy Arthur must have been the father of Puppy Guinevere’s impending offspring and that therefore they must be properly married. Lancelot stood as best dog, and ten of us had been invited to the small private ceremony.
    It was another measure of the power of royalty’s aura that all those invited did attend and not one dared laugh through the entire marriage, or the wedding breakfast—not even the Prince and Princess of Wales. Should any reader feel inclined to envy this invitation to so intimate an occasion with our future sovereigns, I wish to point out that selecting an appropriate wedding gift for a royal lap dog is no easy task.
    I mouthed a reminder at Olivia, and she frowned impatiently at me. “So, please tell me, Your Highness, what are the arrangements for Guinevere’s confinement?”
    “Her confinement?” Princess Anne drew back.
    I nodded. “You know that when an English lady is ready to be delivered of her baby, she traditionally goes into confinement.” I had taken pains previously to explain this was an English custom, because it was most definitely not the one being followed by our German-born Princess of Wales, who was at least as pregnant as Guinevere. “It is for her health, as well as for the baby’s. Well, it is the same with puppies. We can’t have Guinevere giving birth in a draft, can we?”
    “Oh. I hadn’t thought.” The princess looked decidedly nervous at the idea, and I felt a moment’s guilt.
    “Olivia is very experienced with puppies,” I went on, making sure I caught Olivia’s gaze so I could lift my brows in a significant fashion. “And you know there is no one who loves Guinevere more.”
    The princess, however, was reaching her own conclusions. “You think it will be better because of . . .” Her Highness’s eyes shifted sideways toward the Portland.
    I nodded, but all I said was, “I think it will be better for Guinevere and her litter.”
    The princess squinted dubiously up at me, and for a moment, I feared I had gone too far.
    “All right. But . . . you’ll send me bulletins, won’t you?” Princess Anne looked pleadingly into Olivia’s eyes.
    “Of course you shall have bulletins,” Olivia replied. I waggled my eyebrows frantically at her and saw the light dawn. “I can deliver them personally, if Your Highness wishes it.”
    “Oh, yes!” Princess Anne grabbed the chair arm and jumped up and down. This caused much flapping of curls and ruffles. It also caused Lady Portland to make the most amazing sound, very