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whose jaws proved more effective than plump fingers accustomed to counting money and lifting nothing heavier than a silver spoon.

      In a matter of minutes it was over. The constable was vastly outnumbered, and had better sense than to try to control a score of overexcited canines whose only goal was to fill their empty bellies. No human being was injured in the melee. And when the dogs had cleared every plate and licked up every crumb from the floor, they took Donal’s advice and raced back out the door to scatter and lose themselves again among the two-legged folk who could not be bothered to take an interest in their welfare.

      Sir Reginald squirmed with delight and licked Donal’s chin. Donal slipped out the door on the heels of the last stragglers. Someone shouted behind him. He closed the door and strode briskly into the milling crowds of the marketplace, losing himself as thoroughly as the four-legged thieves.

      He knew he could find a way back to his rooms without attracting undue attention, and certainly no rational man could suggest that he’d had anything to do with an unprecedented invasion of street curs. Nevertheless, the waiter’s advice to “make himself scarce” seemed very sound at the moment, and once Donal had restored Sir Reginald to his human, he would lose no more time in visiting his mother’s acquaintance in Regent’s Park.

      The hallway leading to his rooms was deserted. He went on to Sir Reginald’s lodgings and knocked on the door, hardly expecting a response. But the door opened to the sober face of a tall man in well-cut but modest garments who raised an inquiring brow and kept the door half shut against any intrusion.

      “I beg your pardon,” Donal said. “I am seeking the gentleman who has engaged these rooms. I’ve been looking after his dog and wish to return him.”

      The tall man glanced at Sir Reginald, comfortably ensconced in Donal’s arms, and shook his head. “I fear that will be impossible, sir,” he said. “Mr. Churchill has but recently passed beyond this mortal coil.”

      “He’s dead?” Donal asked, stunned. “I saw him only an hour past, and he …”

      “It was very sudden, I believe.” He bowed his head for a moment of respectful silence. “I am Doctor Tomkinson. The maid summoned me when she found Mr. Churchill fallen on the floor.” He frowned into Donal’s face. “You say you saw him alive?”

      “He was indisposed, to be sure, but with a strong pulse and no indication of severe illness.”

      “His death was due to complications of dropsy, a weakness in the heart. Are you a physician yourself, sir?”

      “I am Dr. Fleming, a practitioner of animal medicine.”

      “I see. Then you were a friend of the deceased?”

      “We were never acquainted. His dog came to me in some distress, sensing his master’s illness.” Donal held the little dog more tightly, knowing the animal had not yet recognized his loss.

      “A clever beast,” Tomkinson said without inflection. “Unfortunately, there is no one to care for it here. I understand that Mr. Churchill was a bachelor with no relations who might take the animal. You must have the means to see it humanely destroyed….”

      With a wail as wrenching as any child’s cry, Sir Reginald launched himself from Donal’s arms and dashed between Tomkinson’s legs into the room. Donal didn’t hesitate to follow the spaniel to the sheet-draped form on the bed.

      Sir Reginald crept onto his master’s motionless chest, rested his head on his paws and whined piteously.

      “This is hardly appropriate …” Tomkinson began. Donal turned, silenced the man with a look and knelt beside the bed.

      “He is gone,” he said gently. “I failed you, my friend.”

      The spaniel made no response. Donal knew Sir Reginald would remain here with the body until he pined away from thirst and starvation, but neither Tomkinson nor the hotel staff would permit such a display of self-sacrifice. They would turn him over to the dog-catchers or put him out on the street to fend for himself.

      Donal gathered the limp dog in his arms and tucked Sir Reginald beneath his coat. “Tomorrow we’ll leave London,” he said. “I have one obligation to fulfill, but if you wait for me, I’ll take you to a place that I believe will be to your liking.”

      Sir Reginald sighed and closed his eyes. He would not be comforted now, but he was a dog; in time he would accept and find joy again. That was the way of the animals … to live fully in the moment instead of wasting the gift of life in regret, resentment and fear of the future.

      It was not so unlike life in Tir-na-Nog.

      Donal walked past Tomkinson to the door and paused when the physician cleared his throat.

      “You don’t really believe that beast understands you?” Tomkinson asked.

      “He understands far more than you can imagine. And he very much fears that if you continue to overindulge in hard drink, you will meet the same fate as Mr. Churchill.”

      Tomkinson might have managed some affronted response, but Donal didn’t wait to hear it. He returned to his room, made a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in a corner tucked behind the bed, and left the steak and a tin of fresh water for Sir Reginald. Once he was satisfied that the spaniel would at least be comfortable in his grief, Donal gave the dog a final pat and collected his bag.

      He was almost out the door when a rush of warmth and unrestrained love washed over him like summer sunlight. It was enough to carry him through the grim, unhappy streets of London, and nearly enough to make him glad that he was half-human.

       CHAPTER TWO

      “IT IS QUITE BEYOND ANYTHING I had imagined,” Theodora said, brown eyes sparkling in her plain and honest face.

      Cordelia Hardcastle squeezed her cousin’s arm and smiled, though she could not entirely share Theodora’s fascination with the many diversions available to the privileged visitors of the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park. She, Theodora and their friend Bennett Wintour, Viscount Inglesham—who had so amiably escorted the ladies on this sojourn to London—had already viewed the museum with its collection of stuffed birds, exotic skins and every conceivable sort of animal horn and tusk; admired the pleasingly arranged gardens and buildings; delighted in the antics of the beavers in their ponds and marveled at the Australian kangaroos, African zebras and South American llamas.

      But perhaps Cordelia had not marveled quite so much as Theodora and the other men and women who strolled about the grounds on this bright spring morning. For she, like a few of the Zoological Society Fellows who had established this impressive display in the very heart of the world’s greatest city, had actually seen many of these beasts in their natural habitats. And the sight of such creatures displayed for the general amusement of the Fellows’ guests filled her with a certain discomfort.

      “You can’t expect Cordelia to be impressed, Theodora,” Inglesham said, flashing his easy smile. “She has been twice around the world with Sir Geoffrey and has a menagerie of her own. I fear she may be finding this excursion rather tedious.”

      Theodora searched Cordelia’s face. “Is it all frightfully dull for you, my dear? Shall we return to the house?”

      “Certainly not.” Cordelia cast Inglesham a reproving glance and tucked her cousin’s arm through her own. “It was I who suggested this visit, after all.”

      “And have you found the answers you sought?” Inglesham asked.

      Cordelia suppressed a sigh and steered Theodora toward a bench under the spreading shade of an elm. “Lord Pettigrew was most generous with his time and advice,” she said. “But even he cannot suggest a reason for my animals’ malaise.”

      “I do not see why they are unhappy,” Theodora offered shyly. “Edgecott is a most beautiful estate, and they have pens of ample size. No one could care for them more conscientiously than you, Cordelia.”

      “One

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