CHAPTERONE
“Rusty!” Charlotte yelled, her voice reverberating down the corridor. “Come back, Rusty!” It was risky, bellowing like this, but she had no choice. She had to get the dog to come back to her.
Charlotte let out a groan of despair as she watched the dog’s tail disappear around the corner. The wretched thing was heading for the kitchen now, her precious letter fixed between its drooling jaws.
She set her jaw, determined, then hitched up her skirts, preparing to run. She shouldn’t have let that letter out of her sight, not even for a moment.
A strand of auburn hair fell across her face as she ran. She pushed it back crossly. Her own fault, of course, for not allowing her maid enough time this morning to finish her hair properly. But Charlotte had things to do. She hadn’t wanted to sit around being beautified all morning, even if that’s what her stepmother would prefer her to do every day of her life. A wave of panic surged through her at the thought of her stepmother laying her hands on the letter, reading those words that Lord Harry had written for her eyes only. The result would be explosive.
She rounded the corner, slowing for a second as she reached the kitchen. All she could hear were the usual sounds – the clattering of pans, the hubbub of voices of the household staff hard at work preparing the next meal for the family.
If the dog had run into the kitchen, there would be an uproar, surely? Shouts and crashes as the cook tried to chase it out, probably using colorful language into the bargain. But no, there were no such noises. The dog was not in the kitchen.
Where on earth had it gone, then?
She felt a gust of air on her face, cool against the heat of her cheeks, flushed from the exertion of charging around the house after the dog. Some fool must have left the back door open! Her heart racing, she ran out into the garden. She hadn’t had time to grab even a shawl, and the chill of the autumn air made her wince. There was a hint of the morning’s frost remaining. But she couldn’t falter now. She had to get that letter back into her hand and into safety.
She heard a tell-tale sound of claws scrabbling in the soil. She whirled around and saw a brown tail wagging furiously in between the leaves of the gorse bush in the border nearby. She slowed to a halt. Sudden movements would only unnerve the stupid creature and make it bolt again.
She took a breath, then called out. “Rusty? Rusty? Come to Charlotte, darling.” She felt slightly embarrassed by the wheedling tone of her own voice. The dog had never been a particular pet of hers, belonging more rightly to her sister Martha. But calling the dog to her was imperative. She had to get hold of that letter in his jaws. If it should fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be disastrous.
The dog continued to scuffle about in the soil. Charlotte could only see its back legs from where she was standing. Its front half was hidden in the foliage. She looked around her nervously. If anyone should see her standing here in the garden, in the middle of the morning, all alone and so inappropriately dressed, then questions would be asked. She shrunk into the shadows of the nearest ornamental hedge and called out again to the dog.
“Rusty, you sweet little dog, come to Charlotte!” She felt a flicker of irritation as the dog continued to ignore her. “Rusty!”
Her voice came out more sharply than she had intended, and the dog stiffened slightly in response, preparing for action. Her stomach dropped as she watched him turn his tail and start to run again across the garden and towards the gates.
She let out a huff, then grabbed a handful of her skirts, hiked them up to allow her the freedom to run, and sprinted after the dog. The thought of catching the beast felt hopeless, as he could run so much faster than her, but she had to try.
As she pelted through the gardens and gates, she felt that surge of dread passing through her again. She did not even know how the dog had managed to get into her chambers. She was usually vigilant at keeping it out. Him, she should say. Her sister’s beloved pet. She would never wish any ill on the creature, with its red-gold fur and shaggy tail, but Rusty only obeyed Martha.
“That dog is a menace,” she muttered under her breath as she ran. But because Martha was so beloved, by the household at least, her naughty pet was forgiven almost anything.
She had found him in her chamber when she returned from having breakfast. He was lying on the rug in the middle of the room, basking in the sunshine that streamed through the window as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She had scolded him as soon as she saw him, and oh, how she regretted the sharp tone she had used now! Her words had frightened the creature, and in its haste to run from the room, it had knocked a stack of letters from her dresser, grabbed one of them between its teeth, and then made a run for it.
At least the dog had not dropped the letter indoors. But she must not fool herself that she was out of danger now that the dog was outside. If he dropped the letter anywhere on the grounds of the house, it would surely still be discovered, the pale shade of parchment standing out against the dark of the mud or the green of the grass. Anyone could lay their hands on it - a member of the family, or the household staff, or any guest who happened to be taking a turn about the grounds. It could not be endured. The risk was too significant for both herself and her beloved Lord Harry. If only she’d had the good sense to pack the letters away! But tidiness was not her greatest virtue, nor patience.
Charlotte let out a yelp as the dog trotted through the gates and along the driveway, then veered off the gravel path that headed away from her father’s estate and towards the words. A further pang of terror hit her. What if the stupid dog got lost in the woods? Her sister would be distraught!
She knew the paths through the woodland like the back of her hand, though. She would catch him and retrieve her letter. She had to. She had everything to lose if anyone laid their hands on it.
Charlotte took a breath, increased her pace, and ran as fast as she could along the woodland path in the wake of the dog, his tail wagging gleefully as he scampered ahead of her.
She thought, just for a moment, that she was going to manage to catch him up, but then her foot caught on something, a tree root maybe, and she felt herself falling. The muddy ground rushed up to greet her, its earthy scent assaulting her nostrils. She hit the ground with a thud, and the wind knocked out of her. The sound of the dog’s paws pattering against the path disappeared into the distance as she struggled to stand. Her hands were hands covered in dirt. She looked down at her dress in despair. The muslin fabric, so fine when it was new a few of seasons ago, was now forever ruined, caked in mud, and torn at the hem. And the dog, with its precious cargo between its teeth, was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
Had the dog been black, larger, more hound-like perhaps, Luke reflected, he might for a moment have been afraid when the thing bounded towards him across the clearing, seemingly out of nowhere. Only for a moment, of course, until he righted himself, but afraid nonetheless. But this beast was perhaps the least terrifying dog he had ever seen.
Luke had been minding his own business, sitting for a moment on a fallen tree trunk while his horse munched on the lush grass in the clearing, when the dog appeared through a gap in the trees and ran towards him, its tail wagging gleefully. It then ran around the clearing in circles, barking happily, while Luke looked on in amusement.
He glanced across at his horse quickly, just to check that she was not troubled by the dog’s antics, but Bess was ignored the dog entirely, her mind focused on filling her stomach with as much grass as possible before she was called upon to carry her master home through the woods. Her chestnut head bobbed up and down as she took her fill of the vegetation surrounding her.
A few moments elapsed, and no human emerged from the woods in the dog's wake, so Luke concluded that it must be lost. He gave a sharp whistle and the dog obediently trotted towards him. Luke noticed now for the first time the piece of parchment fixed between its teeth. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as the dog dropped it at his feet, then sat perfectly still on the grass in front of him, panting slightly. The dog seemed to be awaiting his next command.
“Good dog,” Luke said, patting the golden-red creature on its soft head. “Are you lost, boy? And what’s this you’ve brought me?” He picked up the piece of paper, wiped it on his breeches to remove the worst of the dog drool from it, then started to unfold it, still seated on the fallen log that lay on the edge of the clearing.
To my dearest, most beloved Charlotte.
