Page 104

But she’d squeezed his fingers and told him his mother and sisters—even Hamish!—cared about him, and wouldn’t mind if he ate silently with them.

He did.

When was the last time he’d regularly eaten with his mother and sisters? Perhaps when his father had been alive. Years ago. Decades. After the accident, he’d been confined to his room for over a year, and by then it had been easier to eat alone. Then there’d been tutoring and university, and being a duke had been a fine excuse…

There’d been silent, somber, subdued holiday meals, but this…

It turned out his sisters were actually quite interesting, in their own ways.

Either Mother had long since given up on trying to halt Amelia’s habit of bringing pets to the table, or she no longer noticed. Granted, her eyesight wasn’t the best, but surely she couldn’t confuse the ball python wrapped around her youngest daughter’s shoulders like a ruff?

Even that wasn’t as surreal, however, as the armadillo who spent the meal curled in a ball beside Amelia’s plate, unfurling long enough to steal a tasty morsel she offered, then darting back into its protective shell.

Perhaps Mother thinks it’s a bowling ball.

His dining companions—his family—seemed not to notice or care about Amelia’s strange companions.

Olivia, who’d insisted on moving to his side, would lean closer to whisper an explanation of what new pet they were seeing as the five of them ate clustered at one end of the long table. He pretended to be listening, instead of merely inhaling her sweet scent and imagining what page from A Harlot’s Guide they might try that evening.

“That’s a tortoise,” Olivia whispered that evening, leaning closer to take his hand. “She’s putting him to work.”

Alistair, who’d been busy imagining her bent over the edge of the bathtub, as she’d been last night, blinked, then frowned. Tortoise?

“The thing knocking into your foot—oh, I see you just realized what I was talking about,” Olivia chuckled as Alistair winced and reached under the table to rub his shin. “His name is Mortice, he’s older than Hamish, and Amelia is trying out a hypothesis.”

Alistair raised a brow in question just as the elderly reptile lumbered from under the table. Then he saw someone had outfitted the thing with a table—a tray?—across its back, and he didn’t have to wonder for long.

“There you are, Mortice darling,” Amelia crowed. “I am finished with my soup, come take it away.”

Rocky stepped away from his place by the wall, where he’d been staring off into the middle distance, likely counting his nostrils. Assuming he could count to two. “You want me to get your bowl, Lady Whichever?”

“No, no, thank you. I am training Mortice. This way, Mortice darling.”

From the other side of the table, Amanda was pantomiming something apparently involving a set of garden shears, a live spider, and a miniature pony.

“Oh, yes,” Amelia murmured. With a small smile, and picked up her spoon from beside her bowl and tossed it over her shoulder. “Could you fetch that, Rocky?”

As the footman bent over, Alistair noticed Amanda, Olivia and his mother craned their necks to watch.

Dear God, his mother?

Amelia, meanwhile, had lifted her soup bowl down to carefully balance it atop Mortice’s tray. “There you go, Mortice darling. Toddle off to the kitchens, would you?”

“Um, Lady Whichever, the kitchens are downstairs,” Rocky rumbled, straightening up.

Amanda sighed in disappointment. “Tortoises cannot climb stairs, Amelia.”

“Mortice!” gasped Mother. “Mortice the Tortoise! I only just figured out his name! Is that why you named him that? I thought you had become interested in woodworking.”

Alistair raised his brow. Amelia suddenly developing an interest in—and knowledge of—wooden joinery would be surprising indeed.

Though perhaps he shouldn’t underestimate her. She’d built a tortoise-driven tray, after all.

“Lady Whichever,” prompted Rocky, giving a little wave with the spoon. “You want me to go catch him before he falls down the stairs?”

With a sigh, Amelia flicked her fingers impatiently. “Frankly, I would be impressed if he actually listened and headed toward the stairs, but yes, please.”

As Rocky trotted off dutifully, Amanda laid down her own spoon in a manner of one about to make an important announcement. Which, as it turned out, she was.