The Primrose Path by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page B

run with.”
    “That’s why Bunny is here, my lord. I thought you understood about Lady Sophie’s pets. She took a lot of them in because no one wanted them. Squire would have destroyed poor Bunny, only because she isn’t a very good foxhound, but she’d be an excellent companion for a young boy. And she does keep our gardens free of rabbits. Perhaps she could patrol your grounds?” she asked helpfully.
    Corin snapped his riding crop, which he had refused to relinquish to the butler and the leather-eating Sadie, against his booted leg. Ajax stood. Corin decided to lay the whip atop the mantel. Now he had nowhere to vent his simmering spleen. Except at the interfering, in-the-way Miss Armstead, of course. “Thank you for another brilliant suggestion, ma’am. You have been most helpful. But no, since I already have a competent grounds staff numbering hundreds, I do not believe I want a harebrained hound chasing through my gardens, digging up every bush she suspects might harbor a rabbit. What, are your attics to let?”
    Ajax took exception to Corin’s raised voice. He stood, the hairs at his neck ruffled.
    “Are yours, you gudgeon?” Angelina answered, soothingthe big dog. “I suggest you take a seat and stop shouting.It displeases Ajax. And me.”
    He sat, keeping a wary eye on the big dog. “My apologies again, ma’am. The morning has been somewhat trying.” Especially for someone momentarily expecting the arrival of a French spy. Deuce take it, Corin couldn’t have the Scribe knocking on Miss Armstead’s door. In two shakes any Gallic gallant would also be knocking on the door of her bedchamber. Now that the companion wasn’t looking so pulled, he decided, she was almost attractive. Lena would never be a beauty, but those wayward curls and wood-sprite eyes had their own appeal. Seeing her pointed chin and prim little mouth, no self-respecting Frenchman would be able to resist the challenge of melting Miss Armstead’s icy unapproachability. Corin could barely resist himself. If not for his given word and the gigantic dog, he’d be sorely tempted.
    No, he had to get rid of Miss Prunes-and-Prisms. Therefore, he had to get rid of the dogs. Making an effort at keeping his voice and his emotions—which had been composed and collected before he met the maggoty old maid—under control, Corin sat back and wondered how impossible his task was going to be. “Are all of Aunt Sophie’s pets as hopelessly unadoptable as the foxhound?” he asked.
    “Bunny’s not in the least hopeless, except as a hunting dog. And no, the others aren’t necessarily here because they failed to meet someone’s standards. There’s Pug, for instance, whose mistress died. Her heirs sold the house and were ready to toss out poor Pug, who’d been fed kidneys and cakes his whole life, to fend for himself.”
    Corin hated pugs, with their protuberant eyes like nearsighted dowagers. Still, ladies seemed fond of them, so he’d have no trouble reducing the canine population at the cottage by at least one. He could send Pug to his mother in Bath. Which left ... “Precisely how many dogs are there, anyway, ma’am?”
    Angelina whistled, two short birdlike notes. Suddenly the room was swarming with animals, big, small, recognizable breeds and mixtures unrecognizable for ten generations back. Most were barking or jumping about for attention until Angelina managed to greet each one and pet each head. “These are the public rooms dogs,” she informed the viscount, who’d managed to shut his mouth before it got filled with flying dog hair. “Then there are the upstairs dogs, the kitchen dogs, the servants’ dogs, and the outdoor dogs. In all, I would guess—”
    Corin held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. Let me have one more night’s decent sleep. But I would appreciate a list of the animals, their breeds and so on, so I can ask around if anyone is interested in acquiring a new pet.”
    “Not without my approval, my lord,” she