Page 77 of A Duke at the Door

He must wash. Should he bathe in the brook? His essential self rolled in his aura; how he wished they could run there in their lionskin, but he’d only just landed in the good books of all here and would rather not frighten even the smallest fly.

Ought he to light a fire? It wasn’t terribly cold, and yet he knew Tabitha suffered from the lack of heat. His lion snickered even as Alwyn shushed him.

He stood in the center of this haven, hand on his heart, and reveled in the trust shown him, by Lowell and his duchess, by the hierarchy and the pack, to live amongst them, untroubled, until he was able to accept their welcome. To be welcomed when he had been so misused, to be accepted when he had thought he was so lost. To heal, at their hands and through the good graces of Miss Tabitha Barrington.

Soon to be Your Grace, his lion quipped.

“My Grace,” he agreed. “Mine.”

***

The Lowell Hall contingent gathered in the drawing room whose mantel was covered with figurines. Mr. Coburn announced Tabitha in his typically stentorian tones, but today his visage was so warm and welcoming, he seemed on the verge of winking at her.

The room was full to bursting with personages: the hierarchy of both the Lowell Pack and the Osborn Sleuth were present, as well as His Highness and several of his attendants. Palu forbid he should mix with even his most exalted subjects without sufficient evidence of his consequence.

“I apologize for my lateness. I was talking to Delilah,” she said after the flurry of greetings and bows and curtsies and embraces died down. “She sends her regards.”

Lowell huffed, sounding very like his wolf; Felicity had told her, on pain of death if Tabitha let it be known, that she called himAlfie. “I would not be surprised to learn you can speak withanimalis pura,” he said.

“Miss Barrington has a great gift.” The Dowager Duchess of Osborn sat in state in the corner. As Alwyn did, she ensured she had full view of the door and was next to a window. Tabitha suspected the vigilance would be with both of them for some time to come.

Despite her years trapped in the Shape of her bear, the dowager had lost none of her presence as a woman of the upper echelon; yet for all of that, the warmth of her character shone through. Her sons sat on either side of her on the sofa, with their wives standing behind them, and her grandchildren leaned against her legs. While she was exhausted by her travails, she was the picture of contentment with her family around her.

“Your Grace.” Tabitha approached and wished she had Beatrice’s facility with deep curtsying, for no one deserved that tribute more. “I am honored to have done you service.”

With a wave of a duchessy hand, a royal footman produced a chair. Tabitha sat and could not help herself: she reached out and took the woman’s pulse; the rate would have been dangerously lethargic in a human. “Interesting,” Tabitha remarked. “I findversipellianpulses run rather slow.”

“Except when they don’t,” Charlotte mumbled.

“And depending upon whose pulse,” her husband added.

“Hush, you two, you haven’t changed a bit. Always a saucy comment,” the dowager scolded, and both blushed and smiled and fought happy tears. “My gratitude knows no bounds, Miss Barrington.”

“I was merely following your lead, ma’am,” she replied. “I am curious to know how you knew I was able to free you?”

“It is pure chance I was able to escape at all.” The dowager, as frail as her voice sounded, sat strong and tall. “The roustabouts were up in arms, as their wages had been shorted once again, and they chose to spend what they had on drink. The night handlers were lax in their duties and failed to close my, my cage”—here her voice stuttered and her entire family leaned in to her in support—“so it was the work of a moment to free myself. I had only the sense of my beloved bear to carry me forward, for weeks on end, until I came upon the Peaselys.” Her countenance lightened. “As we had left Drake’s farther and farther behind, my human senses slowly returned, and while I did not know who they were precisely, I knew them for allies.”

“They will be rewarded.” Osborn’s voice was husky with emotion, and Beatrice rubbed her hands over his massive shoulders. “They will be known herewith as the Peasley Troupe of Traveling Players, by Appointment of Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Osborn.”

“That is rather a mouthful, Arthur,” Beatrice said. Charlotte and Ben burst into hysterics, curbed in a trice thanks to another censuring glance from the dowager.

“I am sure they will be gratified beyond words,” Tabitha said.

“I hardly think Mr. Peasley ever finds himself beyond words.” The dowager smiled. “They were so kind, especially Mr. Quincy, who took such wonderful care of me. The farther we journeyed south, the more impatient my bear and I became, and then when we arrived here, and we saw you…” She took Tabitha’s hands in hers and held fast. “It was the first time my bear and I had spoken to each other since we were caught. We saw you and knew you were not one of us but able to see us.”

“Are humans able to do this?”

“Only humans who are capable of thevera amorisbond, which is not as common as you might imagine, despite the recent bondings in this part of the world. It is a particular gift that is only brought to bear—”Ha, ha, said her entire sleuth. Her smile lit up the room. “Is only brought to bear once in a generation, if at all. It is extremely rare, and the knowledge of it has fallen out of circulation. What times we live in that we should see this.”

“Thank Freya you knew of it,” Ben said.

“Thank her and all her Valkyries,” the dowager agreed. “When we saw you, we started to come back to ourselves, despite the gold. So we looked and looked until you saw.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Her insight was helpful, if not entirely instructive. “I wish I knew how to use this gift, to be more aware—”

“You have simply to be, my dear.” The dowager squeezed her hand. “That is more than enough.”

Charlotte’s glare over Tabitha’s shoulder alerted her to the royal presence.

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