Page 27 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)
Charles inclined his head. “We have.”
Elsbeth’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Excellent. Now, shall we adjourn to dinner? I would hate for the meal to grow cold.”
Charles stepped forward to offer his hand to his mother, assisting her with care as she rose. “I am rather famished,” he admitted.
“That is because you skipped your midday meal,” his mother lightly chided. “You must take better care of yourself, Charles. You need nourishment.”
Charles turned his head towards Eugenie, extending his hand. “May I?”
Eugenie hesitated briefly before slipping her gloved fingers into his. The contact sent a jolt of awareness up his arm, a sensation that left his skin tingling. Did she feel it, too?
“Thank you,” she murmured.
As they exited the drawing room, Charles fell into step beside Eugenie. “Dare I ask what you ladies were discussing when we walked in?”
A teasing smile curved Eugenie’s lips and he knew he was in trouble. “Your mother was sharing stories about you as a child,” she revealed.
Charles groaned. “Should I be worried?”
Her grin widened. “You should be.”
“Dare I ask what embarrassing tales she shared?”
“Well,” Eugenie mused, tilting her head, “I now understand that you had a habit of sneaking frogs into the nursery.”
“In my defense, I thought frogs deserved to sleep in a nice, warm bed. It was a flawless plan until my nursemaid stepped on one in the middle of the night.” He winced. “Her screams woke the entire household.”
“Frogs, truly?” Eugenie asked with a giggle.
“I was eight,” Charles admitted with a small shrug. “I had a fascination with reptiles. I even begged for a pet snake, but my parents refused.”
His mother, walking just ahead, cast him a knowing glance. “For good reason , ” she said. “The last thing we wanted was a snake slithering loose in our home.”
“My parents were no fun,” he said with mock solemnity.
“Do not get me started on the snails , ” his mother said.
Eugenie cast him a curious look. “Snails?”
“When I was five, I developed a deep fondness for snails,” Charles shared. “I had an entire collection . Unfortunately, one managed to escape and found its way into my mother’s slipper.”
Eugenie covered her mouth, stifling her laughter.
His mother sighed dramatically. “I discovered it only when I put my foot in the slipper.” She gave Charles a pointed look. “Crushing the poor thing in the process.”
“After that,” Charles said, “snails were banned from our home.”
Eugenie’s laughter spilled over. “I have to side with your mother on this one,” she said. “Snails are not meant to be pets.”
Charles placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“You know what would make a good pet?” Eugenie asked.
He arched a brow. “Enlighten me.”
“A dog . ”
“I did have a dog, actually. His name was Boots.”
“Boots?” Eugenie repeated, incredulous. “That is a terrible name for a dog. Was Slipper already taken?”
Charles feigned offense. “My dog had a particular fondness for eating my boots, hence the name. It was either Boots or Muskrat . In my defense, the dog did resemble a wet rodent.”
They arrived at the dining room, the warm glow of candlelight illuminating the richly adorned table. Charles moved ahead, pulling out a chair for Eugenie.
Elsbeth, settling into her seat at one end of the table, interjected. “I must agree with Charles. Boots did look like a rodent.”
His mother bobbed her head. “Boots was a rather unfortunate-looking dog, I’ll admit. Tufts of hair sticking out in every direction, and a face that looked permanently pushed in . But he was the only dog we could find on such short notice.”
Eugenie turned to Charles, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Your poor dog.”
“He was a beloved companion,” Charles admitted with a fond smile, “even if he wasn’t the brightest of dogs.”
“No, he most certainly was not,” his mother agreed.
“What was it that made him so dimwitted?” Eugenie asked.
Charles grew thoughtful. “Well, for starters, he had an unfortunate habit of running headfirst into furniture. Repeatedly. No matter how many times we tried to guide him away, he would charge straight into table legs, chair arms—he even knocked himself unconscious twice after misjudging the doorway.”
“Oh, poor thing!” Eugenie exclaimed.
“My father once joked that Boots had precisely two thoughts in his head at any given time—food and mischief,” Charles continued, shaking his head. “Though I daresay thinking was a rather generous term for what went on in that skull of his.”
Elsbeth interjected with mirth in her voice. “I do recall a certain incident with the Christmas pudding.”
“Oh, that was unforgettable,” his mother chimed in. “Boots somehow managed to sneak into the kitchen and steal an entire pudding off the counter . He dragged it under the dining table and devoured the whole thing before the cook even realized it was missing. ”
“Needless to say,” Charles added, “he had a rather difficult night afterward.”
“I think I rather like the sound of Boots. He had character,” Eugenie said.
Charles felt unexpectedly lighthearted. After the day’s events, it felt good to laugh, to indulge in these small, silly recollections of the past. With Eugenie. Everything always seemed better with her there.