Free Fortune Favors the Wicked by Theresa Romain Page B

aplenty.”
    He pulled forth a napkin-wrapped bundle. “Miss Maggie! Sir!”
    â€œI’m no ‘sir’!” Maggie tossed the stick again, then darted to the shawl and peered down at the pair of adults, panting slightly from her exertion. “Why did you call me ‘sir,’ Mr. Frost?”
    â€œI called your dog by that honorific,” Frost said gravely. “She is a Captain, and therefore she is my superior and I must refer to her with respect.”
    â€œSir.” Maggie laughed. “That’s a silly thing to call a girl.”
    â€œMaybe so. But would Sir like some beef?” He pushed forward the small packet. “Your aunt thought she would.”
    â€œAunt Charlotte! What a treat for her! Oh, thank you. She wouldn’t eat anything earlier today, but she’ll like this.” Swooping down on the beef, Maggie carried the small package several yards over to the stiff-legged Captain. The hound’s heavy ears lifted, and she nosed through the napkin to find the meat.
    Maggie laughed to watch her—not a sound of humor, but of someone taking delight in watching a beloved creature feel joy.
    Charlotte chuckled for the same reason. “Mr. Frost,” she said low enough that Maggie couldn’t overhear, “that was sly of you to imply the beef was my idea. I thank you.”
    â€œMy pleasure. As a traveler, I’m in people’s lives for only a moment, so I might as well hand along any goodwill that comes my way.” His tone was a little wistful—or maybe she was only imagining she heard the feeling that dwelled in her own heart.
    â€œThere’s nothing she loves better than Captain. I believe she thinks of that dog as a living link to her mother.”
    There, she’d said the m -word as though it were nothing significant.
    â€œMy sister,” she added. “Of course. The late Margaret Perry Catlett.”
    â€œI knew what you meant.”
    Charlotte slapped at an insect, then picked at the tasseled edge of the shawl spread beneath them. Captain seemed revived by the food and followed Maggie’s tossed stick at a tolerable lope, the girl following behind until she was nothing but silhouette and laugh.
    When Frost turned his face to hers, his expression held a pinch of roguery. “When your mother began telling me about the blind prophet Tiresias, you turned her away from some anecdote. I’m curious as to why. Would you be willing to tell me?” The way he posed the question meant she had simply to say no, if she wished.
    This made it much easier to say yes . “Although I warn you that it’s rather scandalous. Mama doesn’t always think of such things, but I knew it would give my father the vapors.”
    As a vicar’s wife, Mrs. Perry ought to spend more time with villagers and less time with ancient prophets. Every time Charlotte visited, though, the balance had tipped further awry, and her parents seemed more distant from each other. Now they were cordial housemates who had little in common. Surely it had not always been thus? Or maybe she remembered through the rosy glass of her own youthful blitheness, when all seemed full of promise and potential.
    â€œI cannot swear not to do the same. I’m easily shocked. I might need you to hold my hand to comfort me afterward.”
    She had thought him possessed of a pinch of roguery? Benedict Frost had it by the cupful.
    â€œYet somehow I feel you will survive.” She drew up her knees, folding her arms around them. “The story—which, I am slightly shocked to admit I learned from my mother—is that Tiresias was punished for some trespass against the gods by being transformed into a woman.”
    â€œOn behalf of present company, I find that insulting.”
    â€œYes, I never liked that either. But the ancient Greeks thought even less of women than does our present society.”
    â€œWell, that is not so lascivious a tale as I