Page 76 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“Your enthusiasm is understandable,” George said courteously. “I ought to have considered that you ladies would wish to rest before exploring the grounds. Allow me to escort you inside.”

He offered Katherine his arm, a gesture that Cordelia found unexpectedly endearing, and led them toward the magnificent house. As they approached, she became aware of how truly enormous the manor was. The pale stone façade stretched across an impressive expanse, with tall windows reflecting the afternoon sunshine and graceful climbing roses winding about the lower walls. Broad steps led to a pair of imposing oak doors, which were opened by two liveried footmen as they approached.

The entrance hall was no less impressive than the exterior. A sweeping staircase curved toward the upper floors, its polished banister gleaming beneath the light of an enormous chandelier. Yet it was not the grandeur of the house that held Cordelia’s attention.

It was the animals.

A large gray cat lay sprawled upon an upholstered bench beneath one of the windows, entirely indifferent to the arrival of visitors. Another sat upon the lowest step of the staircase, washing its face with the dignified composure of a creature that considered itself the rightful master of the establishment.

A small brown dog emerged from beneath a console table, sniffed at Cordelia’s skirts, and then trotted away as though satisfied that she presented no danger. Overhead, perched on an elaborate wooden stand near one of the windows, sat a magnificent bird with glossy black plumage, its broad tail feathers displaying brilliant bands of crimson that contrasted beautifully with the darkness of its body. A splendid crest crowned its head, and its powerful, curved beak gave it an air of considerable importance.

“Good afternoon!” the bird announced suddenly.

Cordelia halted, and Katherine gasped.

George merely smiled. “Good afternoon, Horatio.”

“Pretty fellow!” the bird declared, bobbing its head and lifting its splendid crest.

Cordelia burst into laughter. “Oh, George! He speaks!”

“Rather more than is advisable, I fear.”

“He is Lord Templeton!” Katherine whispered beside her. “Do compose yourself, Cori!”

Cordelia felt a rush of warmth creep into her cheeks, realizing she had addressed him with a familiarity that was quite improper in her sister’s presence.

“Pretty fellow!” Horatio repeated with greater enthusiasm.

“An opinion he holds chiefly of himself,” George explained. “He is a red-tailed black cockatoo, a rather remarkable fellow from Australia, and I fear his vanity is exceeded only by his fondness for hearing himself speak.”

Cordelia laughed again, utterly delighted. “I think it is very interesting that he recognizes you are far too handsome. Now I am wondering who taught him to say it?”

George groaned with all the exaggerated suffering of a man being subjected to the most dreadful torment. “Cockatoos are remarkably intelligent and perceptive creatures. No one taught him.”

“He simply knew you were handsome?” Cordelia asked dryly.

“Naturally.”

Another parrot, this one adorned with brilliant scarlet and blue feathers, occupied a perch farther along the hall. It watched them with bright, intelligent eyes before issuing a shrill whistle that caused the little brown dog to bark indignantly.

“Good heavens,” Katherine murmured. “Even the house is full of animals.”

“Only the more sociable ones,” George replied.

“I have heard that the Duke of Devonshire keeps a cockatoo in his private menagerie, along with an elephant, a monkey, and several peacocks. Do you have any of those creatures here as well, Lord Templeton?” Katherine asked softly, her expression growing ever more awestruck.

“We have a few peacocks,” George replied. “We’ve also rescued bears and lions, though they were eventually sent to the royal menagerie.”

Cordelia looked about her in wonder. Then understanding began to dawn. The animals upon the lawns, the dogs wandering freely through the gardens, the cats sleeping wherever they pleased, and now these extraordinary creatures within the house itself. There was something profoundly unusual about the entire establishment, something that had little to do with the eccentricities of a wealthy gentleman who happened to enjoy keeping pets.

This was not merely an estate upon which animals were permitted.

It was a sanctuary.

She turned toward George, a question forming upon her lips, but before she could speak, a dignified woman in a dark gown approached them.

“Welcome to Seaview Manor, my ladies,” the woman said with a warm curtsy. “I am Mrs. Whitcombe, the housekeeper. His lordship has instructed that your rooms be prepared, and I trust you shall find everything to your satisfaction.”