Impulse Read Free Page A

the family crest. Anyway, it had to be traveling to the castle. What else was there out this way except Bridbury? And who else would be coming here in a carriage except her brother? Unless, of course, she thought with a groan, it was someone like Great-aunt Hepzibah, coming to spend a few weeks with Grandmama. Having endured such a visit from her grandmother’s other sister only two months earlier, Angela was not sure she could bear that.
    She gathered up her drawing pencils and pad and scrambled off the rock, whistling to the dogs. Socrates, who had been roaming in search of some mischief to get into, came bounding back, ears flopping comically. Pearl, sound asleep stretched out on a flat rock in thesun, merely rolled an eye, unwilling to make the effort to move until she saw that her mistress was actually going somewhere.
    â€œCome on, you lazy dog,” Angela told the toy spaniel. “It’s time to go home. Why aren’t you like Trey? See? He’s already up and ready to go.”
    Trey wagged a tail in acknowledgment of her praise, and she bent to scratch first him and then Pearl behind the ears. At that moment, Socrates plowed into her, pitching her sideways, and thrust his head under her arm to be included in the petting.
    â€œSocrates, you foolish dog,” she scolded affectionately. “If ever a dog was less deserving of a name…”
    He answered by giving her cheek a swipe of his tongue before she could dodge away.
    â€œCome on,” she said, standing up and picking up the pad and pencil box. “Let us see who our guest is.”
    They started off down the side of the slope. It was shorter walking down to the castle this way than along the more winding route the road took, so she knew she would arrive not long after the carriage did. Socrates led the way, his plumed tail waving, ranging ahead of them, then dashing back every few seconds to make contact with them again. Angela kept her pace slow to accommodate Trey, who, though he got around well on only three legs, could not keep up a consistently fast pace. Pearl, in her usual companionable way, stayed at Angela’s other side, distracted only now and then by an errant scent.
    When they reached Bridbury, Angela saw that it was indeed Jeremy’s coach pulled up in front of the door. The servants were still unloading trunks from atop it. She ran lightly up the steps and through the front door. “Jeremy?”
    She started toward the main staircase, then stopped as an old yellow dog, his coat liberally shot through with gray, came hobbling up to greet her. “Hello, old fellow,” she cooed, bending down to pet him. “I’m sorry we ran off without you today. It was just too long and difficult for you.”
    The look in his old eyes was wise and dignified. Angela curled an arm around his neck and gave him a hug. Wellington was her oldest pet, almost fifteen years old now, and, if the truth be known, still her favorite deep in her heart. It always hurt her to leave him behind. However, it was just as painful, if not more so, to see him struggling to keep up and always falling behind, and if they went far, he simply could not make it.
    At that moment, an orange cat came daintily down the banister of the stairs and made the short leap onto Angela’s shoulder. It draped itself with familiarity around her neck. Angela went up the stairs, her collection of animals following her, and along the hall to the drawing room her grandmother preferred. Along the way, another cat joined the group, this one a fat gray Persian with a face so flat that Jeremy said it looked as if it had walked into a door.
    The two dowager Lady Bridburys, both her mother and grandmother, were in the drawing room, her mother half reclining on a fainting couch and her grandmother sitting ramrod-straight near the fire. The elder Lady Bridbury let out an inelegant snort at the sight of Angela surrounded by her animals.
    â€œHonestly, Angela,