dolt was clearly drunk as an emperor.
Apparently Francis did not approve of his restraint. The boy swiveled around to glare at the man’s back. “What a clodpate! Did you see? He didn’t look right or left when he stepped off the curb. If you weren’t such an excellent whip, you would have flattened him. Why didn’t you tell him so?”
Was the lad going to run back and defend his honor? The martial light in his eyes certainly suggested it, but then young boys were often quick to take offense.
“What purpose would that have served? Shakespeare, please!” The dog decided he, too, should share his thoughts with the tosspot, who’d now made it into the public house that had been his goal. “I appreciate your defense, but you are deafening me.”
Thankfully, Shakespeare subsided. Francis did not.
“But he was wrong .”
“Yes, and he was also drunk. Let it go.”
The boy’s jaw hardened. “If I were a man—” He bit his lip and flushed bright red.
“You’ll be a man soon enough, and by then I hope you’ll have learned not to take umbrage at every little slight. Save your anger for important things.”
Like abandoned children and desperate women.
He’d started his houses because he’d been angry at a fate that had taken his brother’s wife and child, but now he took so much satisfaction from them, especially the foundling home. It was humbling, yet inspiring to see how lively the children were, so different from the way they’d been when he’d found them. He always felt so encouraged after he visited. He should—
Good God, would his hearing survive this trip? Now Shakespeare was taking violent exception to a cur on the walkway. “Shakespeare, stop or I swear I shall throw you overboard.”
The dog must have believed him, because he gave one parting shot and then resumed his seat, looking rather pleased with himself. Well, he was riding in a stylish curricle while the other mongrel was running in the dirt.
It was unfortunate Shakespeare did not look a bit more stylish himself. They’d now reached the shopping district, and Jack could foresee how the tale that he was tooling around London with a mangy mongrel and a young boy would set the gossips’ tongues to running on wheels.
Perhaps he would be lucky. Perhaps no one would be out shopping today.
Perhaps the moon was made of cheese.
Lady Dunlee, London’s premier gossip, was the first person he saw, promenading with her good friend and equally talented gossip, Melinda Fallwell. Lady Dunlee’s eyes widened as she caught sight of them, and her jaw actually dropped. Bloody hell.
She waved. Jack waved back. Best act as if everything was perfectly unremarkable—except the women were already remarking to each other about the odd sight he and his companions presented.
Oh blast. To top it all off, here came Pettigrew.
“Jack!” Pettigrew shouted.
Francis stiffened and drew in a sharp breath. Any passersby who had not yet noticed them stopped to stare. Wonderful.
Pettigrew rode up and turned his horse so he could continue along beside them. He looked a bit nervously at Shakespeare. “Where did you get the dog? He’s not quite the thing, you know.”
Shakespeare growled. Francis looked as if he’d like to growl.
Jack quite understood. Pettigrew seemed to bring out the worst in everyone. “See? You’ve offended Shakespeare.” He wouldn’t mention Francis’s reaction. “I’ll have you know he’s quite accomplished, though I will admit he could stand to have a bath.”
Shakespeare’s ears twitched at the word “bath.” Damn. He did hope the animal wouldn’t put up too much of a protest when he encountered soap and water. Richard and William, his two sturdiest footmen, would not thank him if they got soaked.
“If you say so.” Pettigrew didn’t bother to mask his distaste; Shakespeare didn’t bother to stop growling—in fact, he progressed to a snarl.
Pettigrew ignored him, looking instead at Francis. His brows rose, and
Apparently Francis did not approve of his restraint. The boy swiveled around to glare at the man’s back. “What a clodpate! Did you see? He didn’t look right or left when he stepped off the curb. If you weren’t such an excellent whip, you would have flattened him. Why didn’t you tell him so?”
Was the lad going to run back and defend his honor? The martial light in his eyes certainly suggested it, but then young boys were often quick to take offense.
“What purpose would that have served? Shakespeare, please!” The dog decided he, too, should share his thoughts with the tosspot, who’d now made it into the public house that had been his goal. “I appreciate your defense, but you are deafening me.”
Thankfully, Shakespeare subsided. Francis did not.
“But he was wrong .”
“Yes, and he was also drunk. Let it go.”
The boy’s jaw hardened. “If I were a man—” He bit his lip and flushed bright red.
“You’ll be a man soon enough, and by then I hope you’ll have learned not to take umbrage at every little slight. Save your anger for important things.”
Like abandoned children and desperate women.
He’d started his houses because he’d been angry at a fate that had taken his brother’s wife and child, but now he took so much satisfaction from them, especially the foundling home. It was humbling, yet inspiring to see how lively the children were, so different from the way they’d been when he’d found them. He always felt so encouraged after he visited. He should—
Good God, would his hearing survive this trip? Now Shakespeare was taking violent exception to a cur on the walkway. “Shakespeare, stop or I swear I shall throw you overboard.”
The dog must have believed him, because he gave one parting shot and then resumed his seat, looking rather pleased with himself. Well, he was riding in a stylish curricle while the other mongrel was running in the dirt.
It was unfortunate Shakespeare did not look a bit more stylish himself. They’d now reached the shopping district, and Jack could foresee how the tale that he was tooling around London with a mangy mongrel and a young boy would set the gossips’ tongues to running on wheels.
Perhaps he would be lucky. Perhaps no one would be out shopping today.
Perhaps the moon was made of cheese.
Lady Dunlee, London’s premier gossip, was the first person he saw, promenading with her good friend and equally talented gossip, Melinda Fallwell. Lady Dunlee’s eyes widened as she caught sight of them, and her jaw actually dropped. Bloody hell.
She waved. Jack waved back. Best act as if everything was perfectly unremarkable—except the women were already remarking to each other about the odd sight he and his companions presented.
Oh blast. To top it all off, here came Pettigrew.
“Jack!” Pettigrew shouted.
Francis stiffened and drew in a sharp breath. Any passersby who had not yet noticed them stopped to stare. Wonderful.
Pettigrew rode up and turned his horse so he could continue along beside them. He looked a bit nervously at Shakespeare. “Where did you get the dog? He’s not quite the thing, you know.”
Shakespeare growled. Francis looked as if he’d like to growl.
Jack quite understood. Pettigrew seemed to bring out the worst in everyone. “See? You’ve offended Shakespeare.” He wouldn’t mention Francis’s reaction. “I’ll have you know he’s quite accomplished, though I will admit he could stand to have a bath.”
Shakespeare’s ears twitched at the word “bath.” Damn. He did hope the animal wouldn’t put up too much of a protest when he encountered soap and water. Richard and William, his two sturdiest footmen, would not thank him if they got soaked.
“If you say so.” Pettigrew didn’t bother to mask his distaste; Shakespeare didn’t bother to stop growling—in fact, he progressed to a snarl.
Pettigrew ignored him, looking instead at Francis. His brows rose, and
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