of all the hysteria, scampered along the elegant marble hallway, darting behind vases and under tables in their dash toward freedom.
The dog added to the noise, barking excitedly and jumping up to snap at the enticing ruffles on one of the women’s skirts, then darting after the fleeing mice, then whirling back to leap again at the ruffles, which were fluttering as the woman jittered agitatedly atop the bench.
One of the boys dived under a narrow hallway table to grab one of the mice and knocked against one of the legs. The vase of flowers on top of the table wobbled and overturned with a crash, spilling blossoms and water. The boy let go of his quarry and whirled around, reaching out just in the nick of time to catch the vase as it rolled off the table. He let out a whoop of joy at this feat and jumped up, setting the vase back on the table and rejoining the chase.
As Megan watched in fascination, the footman hurried into the fray, grabbing the frantically barking dog and pulling him away from the offending ruffles. The women, she thought, were abysmally silly; their screeching and dancing about were only serving to excite the dog even more.
“Hush, Rufus! Down!” the footman shouted.
His words seemed to have no effect on the dog, who whirled around, breaking the man’s hold on his collar, and ran after the boys, barking like mad. His long tail caught a tall, slender vase standing on the floor as he passed, and it toppled over. At that, a wail went up from the footman, and he rushed to the vase to examine it.
Megan reached up to her hat, untying it and whipping it from her head. As the tiny mice ran toward her, she squatted down, putting her hat on the floor in front of her like a scoop, and quickly swept up several of the mice as they tumbled into it.
She folded the edges of the bonnet together, trapping the squealing, squirming mice inside. Turning toward the dog, now barking and jumping and whirling in delirious circles in front of her, she raised her voice, saying in a sharp, firm tone, “No! Rufus! Down!”
The note of command in her tone reached the dog, and, amazingly, he stopped whirling and barking. Instead, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth in a foolish doggy grin, he gazed up at Megan.
“Good boy,” she told him. “Sit.” She pointed down at the floor.
Rufus promptly sat, and Megan reached down with her free hand and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Good boy, Rufus.”
“That’s wizard!” one of the boys said, sliding to a stop beside the dog. He held a box in one hand, and from the scrabbling noises issuing from it, Megan assumed that it held some of the mice. “Rufus did exactly as you said. He hardly ever does that.”
The other boy let out a cry of triumph, pouncing on a mouse that had just emerged from the fringe encircling a gold settee. Sticking the little animal in one of the pockets of his jacket, he trotted up to join his brother.
Megan looked at the boys. These must be the charges who had run off almost every tutor in the city. They didn’t look, she thought, like such monsters.
They were twins, identical in looks, and though they were a little messy—their black hair tousled, a smudge of dirt across one’s forehead, the other’s shirttail hanging out in back—they were undeniably handsome lads, and intelligence shone out of their green eyes. She had expected them to look arrogant and spoiled, but she saw neither of those qualities in their faces. Instead, she saw interest and an unabashed admiration for her dog-handling skills.
“It isn’t that hard. It’s the tone of voice one uses,” Megan explained. “You see, Rufus wants to be good.”
“He does?” The first twin looked surprised and glanced down at the dog.
“Yes. You just have to let him know how to do that. Praise him when he’s good and let him know when he has misbehaved. A firm voice—you don’t have to be loud, but he has to know you mean it.” She bent over the dog, rubbing her hand back over his head. “Isn’t that right, Rufus?”
The dog’s tail thumped, and he leaned into her hand, gazing at her with a silly, infatuated look. With a final pat, Megan straightened up.
“I’m Alex Moreland,” the twin holding the box said politely. “And this is my brother, Con.”
“How do you do?” Megan extended her hand to shake each of the boys’ hands. “My name is Megan M—Henderson.”
“Miss Henderson. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Con replied with exquisite politeness.
“Now, I believe these are yours?” She extended her other hand, still holding the bonnet edges firmly clamped together.
“Yes, miss. Thank you ever so much for catching them.” Alex opened the lid of the box of mice, and Megan slid her catch into the box with the others.
Con quickly pulled another couple of mice from his pocket and smiled at her. “You didn’t scream or anything. Most girls do.”
He cast a contemptuous glance back down the hall, where the footman had helped the ladies down from their perch. The older of the women was now sitting on the bench, leaning back with her eyes closed, her hand to her head, moaning, while the younger woman fanned her vigorously.
“Not all girls are used to such things,” Megan told him, grinning back. “I had the advantage of having three brothers, you see. But may I ask what you are doing, carrying all these mice about the house?”
“They’re to feed our boa constrictor. That’s where we were taking them. Would you like to see the boa?”
“We have a parrot, too. And a salamander and some frogs,” Alex added.
“My goodness. I’ve never seen a boa,” Megan said. “That does sound interesting.”
Their words apparently reached the fainting woman, for she sat straight up with a little cry, her eyes flying open. “A snake! In this house?”
The younger girl glanced around her uneasily, and Megan wondered if she was going to climb back onto the bench. “A snake? Where?”
“He’s upstairs. You needn’t worry,” Alex assured her.
“In a cage,” Con added.
“That’s horrid!” the older woman exclaimed, agitation propelling her to her feet. “Is the duchess aware of—of these wild animals?”
“They aren’t wild,” Con protested. “Well, I mean, I suppose they aren’t tame, but they don’t do anything. They’re in cages. Well, the salamander and frogs are in a terrarium, but they can’t get out.”
“Or, at least, almost never,” Alex added gravely, and Megan was certain that she saw a flash of amusement in his eyes as he spoke.
The girl let out a shriek and clapped her hand over her mouth at Alex’s words. “Almost!”
“You wicked creature!” the older woman cried, starting forward with such anger on her face that Megan instinctively moved to block her way to Alex.
Alex, however, seemed to need no help, for he squared his shoulders and came up beside Megan, as did his twin, facing the older woman’s wrath.
“Someone
