Page 29 of To Steal a Duchess

“Pickle,” she said, thinking of the tangy vegetable. “I shall call you Pickle.”

What she didn’t say aloud was that he would be her reminder that she truly had left her parents behind, and her new life had begun.

Though now, it would not be as lonely.

It was a while later, when the sun had only just begun its descent toward the horizon, when the main door opened and closed, and footsteps sounded through the hallway.

Eloise looked up from her dinner plate, for she had delayed eating in favor of feeding Pickle. She had spent the afternoon trying to get him acquainted with his new surroundings, and making a list of some of the supplies that she would need to procure for him.

He would need a bed, of course, though she was not opposed to him sleeping on her own. They would also need to get more cuts of meat from a butcher—any of the day’s last offerings would suffice, she’d told the steward she’d spoken to—and she requested some sort of leash and collar.

She wanted Pickle to belong, even if she didn’t even quite feel that belonging herself yet.

At least one of them could.

Pickle sat on his hind legs at her feet, his tail wagging eagerly every time she lowered a piece of meat from her plate to him. She assumed that it was terribly unlike a duchess to feed a hound at the dinner table, but there was nobody to properly judge her or tell her otherwise.

The echoing footsteps finally stopped as the doors to the dining room flung open, revealing the duke.

Eloise’s breath caught at the sight of his hair, hanging around his face with the exertion of the day, and his collar unfastened. His cravat was loose without being undone, but there was an unkempt way of him that made her unable to look away for a moment.

Her stomach dropped as her breath became heavier.

It had been so long, it seemed, since she had seen him, and now there was a certain focused look in his eyes that made him all the more handsome.

Her skin flushed all over as he strode toward her. She bit her lip, trying to force her reaction down, or at least to make it inconspicuous. He held her gaze, never once looking away first.

“Your Grace,” Eloise remembered herself and stood up from her chair immediately, curtseying, but the duke only frowned, waving away her respect.

“We are equals in title,” he dismissed. “Do not stand for me. I have told you this before.”

Eloise dropped back into her chair immediately. “You have been out for a while.”

The duke nodded, but he didn’t enter the dining hall properly. He eyed her plate, and his own empty one, set up out of assumption and propriety, at the other end of the long, empty dining table.

“I was visiting tenants,” he told her. “I am still making Oldcliff’s lands what they ought to have been for years. There are some repairs to sort out, and taxes to collect.”

“I see,” Eloise said, smoothing the napkin on her lap. “You must be hungry, then, after such a long day. Would you care to join⁠—”

“What is that smell?” The duke’s face pulled in tightly as he looked around

Eloise blinked at the sharp interruption.

As if sensing it ought to be him—Eloise had not yet ordered her new puppy to have a bath, with being busy assessing its primary needs—Pickle snuck out from her chair, giving a loud bark.

The noise echoed through the hall, and the duke stilled, staring across the space at Pickle as though it was a beast, rather than a small dog.

“What,” he spoke, his voice low and deep, “is this animal doing in my house?”

“Our house,” Eloise corrected haughtily, as she ate a potato from her dinner plate. “And he is called Pickle. I found him whilst riding today. He was in a bramble brush, and I rescued him.” Her smile flashed, wide and pleased. “I have decided to keep him. These grounds, and the area surrounding us, are no place for a lone dog, especially one so young and small.”

Her husband reared back as Pickle moved closer, his tongue hanging out in excitement as he edged further toward the duke.

“You… do not look pleased,” Eloise noted.

The duke grimaced. “I am not. I did not authorize a dog in my home,” he said curtly. Before Eloise could protest, he exhaled deeply. “But you are my duchess, and you may keep him if you wish. He certainly looks at home next to you.”

“I do wish to keep him, yes,” she affirmed. “He is most friendly. He did not try to bite me once. Not even while playing.”