Kenneth frowned and turned around when a familiar figure ran toward him. Chestnut-colored hair bounced beneath a bonnet, where it had fallen out of its bun, and the tear-streaked face of Joanna came into view.
“My Lady,” he said, utterly shocked to see her again under these circumstances.
Joanna stopped short and snatched the dog from his arm with a little too much force. “Rudy,” she cooed and petted the animal, who immediately started licking her face.
“So, this is your dog? What a coincidence,” Kenneth said, attempting to sound cheerful. “I found?—”
“A coincidence?” She looked up at him, and to his dismay, he saw her eyes flashing with anger. “Rather an odd one, do you not think so? What are you even doing here? Did you see me with Rudy and decided to steal him to get back at me for what I said yesterday?”
The accusation felt like a slap across the face.Was this lady really accusing him of stealing her dog because of their petty spat?
“You cannot mean it. It is utterly preposterous. I didn’t even know this dog was yours. Perhaps if you are so worried about him, you should not let him walk unattended,” Kenneth retorted as he glared at her.
This time, it appeared thathiswords landed like a slap across the face as she stepped backward, her cheeks even redder than the first time they’d met.
“I did not leave him unattended. I took off his collar for a moment to clean it after he played in the mud, and he ran away. I followed him at once and thought he’d gone to play with another puppy, but I was mistaken. I thought I had lost him…” She paused. “I do not owe you an explanation, Your Grace.”
Kenneth watched her as she spoke and realized that there was something different about her that day. She appeared subdued, as if something were troubling her beyond the dog’s briefdisappearance. Her eyes flitted around the park as if searching for something or someone.
Something appeared amiss. But what was it?
“Of course not. In any case, I am glad the dog is well and reunited with his owner. Good day, Lady Joanna,” he said and was about to walk away when he remembered he was there to see her father.
What was it about this lady that affected him so much?
“Your Grace?” Joanna called, and he turned back as she walked up to him, still clutching the dog. “I thank you. And I wish to apologize, I didn’t mean to accuse you. I have been rather vexed as of late and, I must admit, not at my best. I know you did not mean to steal him.”
Her change of tone was stark because the harshness and anger had been replaced by sincerity, and sadness. When he looked into her blue eyes, he saw someone who was utterly lost, a shocking difference from what he’d seen there the day before.
“I am glad we can agree on that. Although I dare say he is a rather lovely little fellow. How old?” he asked, not sure why he was looking to prolong the conversation.
It wasn’t as though they were acquainted. Yet, something about Joanna made him want to be near her if only to find out who she really was. A rude spitfire or a wounded bird.
“Three months. I only collected him this morning,” she replied. “Our gamekeeper’s dog had puppies, and Rudy was finally weaned this week.”
“How lovely. I’ve always wanted a dog,” Kenneth said, looking into the puppy’s brown eyes.
“You should have one, then.” She smiled. “Mr. Jones still has three puppies. Perhaps you could take one.”
Kenneth was about to reply that he might just consider this when Lord Carlisle came into view. A tall gentleman he vaguely remembered from the House of Lords walked beside him.
“Ah, Your Grace,” Lord Carlisle greeted, waving his top hat.
“Oh, no,” Joanna mumbled, loud enough for Kenneth to hear. When he looked at her, he saw that the redness had left her cheeks, and she was utterly pale. She held the dog closer to her chest and took a step back.
“My Lady?” he asked, alarmed by the change in demeanor.
Alas, before he could ask what the matter was, Lord Carlisle had closed the distance between them and greeted him as though they were best friends.
“I see you met my daughter. Again. Under better circumstances this time, I hope. Say, have you met Marcus Birks, the Marquess of Worcester?” He pointed to the tall man beside him.
Indeed, the name was familiar.
Worcester. Hadn’t his wife passed away around the same time as his father, or perhaps a little before? Is that why his eyes carry such heaviness?
“My Lord,” Kenneth said and extended his hand, which the Marquess shook.
“Your Grace, I hear you are involved in Our Lady of Mount Carmel’s Orphanage alongside my dear friend?”
