Wicked Godmother by MC Beaton

sudden compression of her soft mouth. So little Miss Metcalf had already found out about his mistress. ‘Your dog attacked her mount, and she was thrown.’
    ‘Was she badly hurt?’ asked Harriet.
    ‘Mrs Romney was fortunate, Miss Metcalf. Only in her pride.’
    ‘And Lizzie?’
    ‘My companion was naturally in a rage. She threatened to have your maid dragged off to a round-house.’
    ‘Poor Lizzie. She is little more than a child.’
    ‘A sick child, I fear. Did you not notice the unnatural pallor of her skin?’
    ‘I did not,’ said Harriet, feeling dreadful. ‘I never go to the kitchens. I only saw the girl once on my arrival. Oh, how thoughtless and uncaring I seem. First Beauty and now Lizzie. And Miss Romney? Perhaps I should call on her to offer my apologies.’
    ‘I think not, ma’am.’
    ‘No, no, of course not,’ said Harriet miserably. ‘Miss Romney is your mistress, is she not?’
    ‘Curb your tongue, Miss Metcalf, or have you as little control over it as you have over that pesky dog?’
    Beauty oiled up to the marquess, licked his hand, and drew back his black lips in a sycophantic smile.
    The marquess scrubbed at the back of his hand with a handkerchief. ‘That animal looks almost human. Does he always smile like that?’
    ‘I had not noticed. I did not think animals capable of smiling. I think he just looks as if he is.’
    ‘Where did you find such an unusual lapdog?’
    ‘It was after my parents died. They had the typhoid, you see. Papa would not clear out the cesspool. He said the gentry should have a mind above such things. Papa was always saying things like that. It made Sir Benjamin laugh, and I remember at the time wishing that Sir Benjamin would press Papa to do some practical things instead of always laughing at him. In any case, Mama and Papa died, and I learned I should have to sell up and move to a small cottage and that I would not be able to afford any servants. I am quite capable of looking after myself, but . . . but I did feel so lonely, and I found Beauty in a sack with a litter of other puppies by the side of the river. Someone had thrown the sack from the bridge with the puppies in it, but it had missed the water. Only Beauty was alive . . .’ Her voice trailed away, and she looked down at her hands.
    ‘You said you were lonely,’ prompted the marquess, ‘but surely the Misses Hayner called on you.’
    ‘I could not really expect them to call at my little cottage,’ said Harriet. ‘But I did see them when Sir Benjamin was at home, for he always invited me to dine at Chorley Hall.’
    ‘But there are other people in this village, surely.’
    ‘Of course, but very few gentry, practically none, and I am afraid my parents were very high sticklers and would associate only with Sir Benjamin, considering everyone else beneath them. But there is a Miss Spencer, who is a very dear friend of mine. I became acquainted with her after I had taken Beauty as a pet, so I am now not lonely at all. And here in London I have Sarah and Annabelle. Here is Rainbird. May I offer you a glass of wine, Lord Huntingdon?’
    ‘Thank you.’ The marquess watched Harriet while Rainbird poured him a glass of canary. He waited until the butler had left and then he said, ‘May I offer you a word of advice, Miss Metcalf? Unless you learn to curb your unruly tongue, then I fear you will end up with only your dog for company.’
    ‘But I have never said such things to anyone before,’ said Harriet ingenuously. ‘Only to you.’
    ‘What have I done to merit such unbridled honesty?’
    Harriet tilted her head a little to one side and studied him thoughtfully.
    ‘I think it is because you irritate me, my lord, and also because you have a great reputation as a rake.’
    Harriet sat, appalled. What on earth had come over her! Her eyes filled with tears.
    He set down his glass carefully on the table and got to his feet. ‘Miss Metcalf,’ he said, studying the top of her bent head, ‘I have