Having made his point, Oyster stopped barking.
“How do you know our names?” Lucinda demanded, putting her arm protectively around her sister.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Eleanor said after a second’s silence during which Villiers tried to figure out how to say Because I’m your father.
“Looking for us? Why?” The girl’s chin jutted out. “You can tell Mrs. Minchem that we hope she falls over and the pigs eat her ankles, because we aren’t going back.”
“I agree,” Villiers said.
“Ever.”
“Would you like to get out of the blanket box now?” Eleanor inquired. “I can assure you that Oyster won’t hurt you.”
The bolder girl climbed from the box. She was wearing hardly any clothing, just a rough gown with no stockings and one shoe. Oyster started forward and began smelling her legs with an air of deep interest.
She certainly had an interesting odor; Villiers identified it immediately as Scent of Sty. In fact, now that he thought of it, all four of them were likely pungent.
“Oyster won’t hurt you,” Eleanor said encouragingly. “He’s just a puppy.”
Lucinda gave Oyster a pat. He had finished sniffing her legs, so he sat back down, looked up at her face and gave a brisk command.
“What does he want?” Lucinda asked.
“He wants you to give him a proper pat,” Eleanor said. “And scratch his ears. He likes that. Would you care to come out of the box?” she asked Phyllinda.
Phyllinda shook her head.
Lucinda sat down on the floor of the carriage while Oyster jumped into her lap. She started giggling helplessly as the dog licked her face. Villiers watched with some interest as the shape of her face emerged from all the dirt.
But he didn’t see what she really looked like until he pulled Oyster outside, bringing Lucinda with him. And then he almost dropped to his knees in surprise.
Her eyes were a gorgeous dark lilac, the color of larkspur in late summer.
“My grandmother’s eyes—” he started to say to Eleanor, then realized that she was still inside the carriage. He poked a head in to find that she had coaxed Phyllinda out of the box.
“He’s not a bad dog,” Eleanor was saying. “If you just peek out the door, you’ll see your sister playing with him. Oyster is just a puppy.”
But Villiers took one look at Phyllinda’s terrified, obstinate face and knew that it was all too much for her. She was five years old, and she’d spent the night in a pigsty, presumably terrified of being eaten; she’d escaped the sty only to find her way—God knows how—into their carriage; and now she was risking being chewed by a wild dog. Her instincts for self-preservation had clearly been honed inside the orphanage.
“Here,” he said, plucking her off the seat.
Her body went rigid, but he scooped her against his shoulder and backed out of the carriage.
It was only when he turned around that he realized what an audience they had drawn. By now, most of the Duke of Gilner’s household had emerged from the house and were watching transfixed.
Eleanor bent over Lucinda, now sitting on the ground with Oyster in her lap. “If you stand up and come with us, Oyster will come as well,” he heard her say.
The coachman was staring straight ahead, as was proper, but Villiers could see his ears practically wiggle as he listened.
“This is Lucinda, and this is Phyllinda,” he said. “Lucinda, stand up.” She scrambled to her feet. There was a little rustle among the servants, as if wind blew through a pile of straw.
“Does anyone know where my son is?” Villiers inquired.