Werepoodle Boyfriend: Padraic (rough draft)

Scandal seems to be so easy to come by and yet so hard to keep contained. For years my family struggled to keep up the sleek, dazzling veneer we have been known for. My father was a well known author, writing stories of haunting horror. He was well loved, well received, and highly reviewed by his peers. That was, until a bitter rival found out the family secret and spread it as far and wide as he could. My father wasn’t the writer, I was.

Being a woman, a young unmarried woman at that, the scandal was instant and venomous. The once lauded praise on my novels was instantly turned in garbage. My family was mocked, derided, my father was called as many horrible names as I was. I could easily write a book on the horrors we received in the post, but no one would read it now.

This was the reason I had used my father’s name to write my works. No one would believe a sane, well to do woman could write horror, let alone write at all. My parents believed in my work, they saw the virtue and talent within it. They still do despite what we are now facing. They have always let me and my sisters live our lives as best we could. But now, there is no other choice in the matter. In order to avert scandal and to protect me, they have agreed I should marry.

I was an unlikely prospect for marriage by anyone in our local circle, so my parents searched far from the city and deeper into the remote country. They figured there I would be safe, and I could find some rich lord who would care little for the affairs of city life. This made me more nervous than I expected, as I had lived in the city all my life. I knew nothing of the country aside from being far away from the amenities I was used to. I’d be far from family, my friends, but I had to concede it was the safest option for me.

Eventually my parents found a proper suitor, one they described as fancy, well groomed, and posh despite his rural home. He was a Baron who owned a great deal of land in the northern countryside. He kept a beautiful orchard, my mother said, as well as maintained an active social life, which she said would help me acclimate. I was to marry Padraic Chapdelaine after a brief meeting, which was his request. He said he would not marry until he heard from me in my own words.

I was taken to his estate, which was quite grand for something so remote in the countryside. The place was done up to look baby blue and primrose pink against the sea of the orchard behind it. There were white statues scattered about, as if that was the fashion. I did not know what to think of this man at all from the outside of his home. Was this all to his taste? Was he trying to impress someone? I couldn’t decide, and usually I could. As I was stepping from the carriage, the pink doors opened and a swarming herd of dogs came rushing down the stairs. I was surrounded by the sniffing, panting hoard, and I must admit, I was instantly enamored.

Each dog smelled like rosewater and were happy to be greeted. Some wore blue ribbons, others wore pink, but they all looked so meticulously put on. I was happy to pet and adore each one. I so loved dogs; in my youth, my sisters and I shared a Great Dane we called Mortimer, but upon his passing, we never had the heart to replace him.

A loud whistle breaks the dogs’ celebration and they go rushing back to the foot of the stairs where they all sit like proper little gentlemen and ladies. I rise from the cobblestones, smoothing out my skirts as my prospective husband descends the stairs. I am surprised by how foppish he appears. He is wearing a pink suit with gold applique and a cane to match. His hair is white and so perfectly coiffed I would almost believe he was born that way. His shoes, shined to a gemstone brilliance, have a pointed, long heel, giving his strong legs a well defined shape.

Despite all this glamour he imposes upon himself, he does not need it. For it is his face that shines the brightest, and I am flabbergasted by the beauty he has. His brows are dark and highly arched, his nose is sleek, his cheekbones are high, his lips are rosy, and his jawline looks sharpened by the gods. His eyes, too, capture my full attention; all he needed to do was look at me and I would be spellbound by him forever. Beautiful hazel with flecks of emerald and gold, lined by thick black lashes. My parents did not warn me! I will fall for him even if he is cruel to me. I have become my own withering female characters.

He bows before me with a sweep and not a hair moves out of place. I could swoon. I curtsy as elegantly as possible, afraid that already, by choosing a comfortable dress to wear for travel, I have already made a foul impression upon him. I am tired and I know it shows, I will never match his beauty, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.

“My lady Georgette.” He takes my hand in his gloved one and raises it, touching me with those beautiful lips. “I have been waiting.”

I am breathless and dumbfounded, I know already I will not be able to speak well. Curse me and this stupid heart that beats within. “Why?”

The sly smile that spreads on his lips curls into his dimples. “I must confess, I am a fan of your writing.”

My stomach sinks. “But I thought-” I need to regain my usual disposition and mindset to think and speak again. “My parents explained that you had no idea about our scandal.”

He keeps my hand in his as he leads me up the stairs, his army of dogs following neatly behind us. “I only wanted to placate your parents. I have been fond of your novels for ages, and despite the reveal that you were the real genius behind them, I decided to use the opportunity to meet you.”

The doors close behind me and the dogs all go into another room while Padraic and I stand in the foyer, which is done all in pastel blue and cream.

I am disappointed by his words. I would so love to marry him if only to look at him from across the room. “Oh, so then this meeting is not going to end in an engagement?”

“No, no, I still have high hopes it will.” He leads me into the room the dogs went, all of them are laying before a great fireplace done up in pink marble. “I am saying I wanted to meet my favorite author before I married her.”

My heart is aflutter. I feel foolish! Never has a man had such an affect on my senses. I thought I had built an immunity. “I wish I had something kind to say in return, Baron.”

His smile returns. “Call me Padraic, Georgette.” He offers me a seat before sitting down in a comfortable chair across from me. Some of his dogs come to his feet, curling up there while another hops into my lap.

“I hope you do not mind them,” Padraic replies. “If you do, I will have to send you home.”

I pet the dog in my lap, careful of the pretty pink bow around their neck. “I love dogs. So do not worry, I enjoy their presence already.”

Padraic’s dimples grow deeper. “That is good to hear,” he replies. “It is one reason I adore your books, the dogs in them never die.”

“I don’t see why they should.” I am having a hard time looking directly at him, much like the sun, he is too radiant for a direct gaze. “I think it is a cheap trick to elicit emotion.”

He leans upon his cane and nods. “I very much agree.”

“May I be frank with you?” I ask suddenly. “But I am not sure how to react to you still enjoying my works. Once the secret was published, everything I worked for was ruined. The praise my works once held was dashed, my books are now called trite and meaningless. Why does your opinion not change?”

Padraic tilts his head slightly, his face becomes smooth and serious while his brows arch slightly. “It is rare to find a book that you love. It is even rarer to find more than one. I grow bored quite easily, you see. I will confess I am a man who is extremely hard to please. I seek what will hold my eyes, and not many things do. I have colors I adore, I am fond of my orchard only during spring, and dogs are the only sort of living creature I trust. I may have a library but that doesn’t mean I like the books within. Only your books, your words have given me the pleasure I so seek in the world. They keep me pleased, keep my eyes upon the page, and as such, I do not care who has written them. In all fairness, I would be quite smug to say my wife has written them.”

How am I supposed to survive? I will never be able to write coherently again with this man in my presence. I need to know him, to see the real him in order to be able to breathe and write like I am used to. There must be some ugliness to him, something that will allow me to live fully. He said he was hard to please, that’s good. That must mean he is spoiled in some way!

“I am deeply affected by your words, Padraic,” I say breathlessly. “I must confess, your countenance and speech make quite an inebriating cocktail.”

He grins. “I am very well aware.”

I swallow hard, trying to maintain composure. “Is it something you maintain on purpose?”

“It is easy to sway opinion when you are beautiful,” he says with a grin. “My mother taught me that. She was a very cunning and dangerous woman, you know?” He waves a hand out. “She came from nothing, worked in scullery. She married a rich man and was able to socially climb into the upper echelon. She married a man even richer than him, then up again, and again until she held a wealth of her own to pass down to me.” He places his hand back upon the head of his cane. “I, too, wish to marry a smart woman.”

“I would not say I am smart,” I chuckle. “Creative, but not smart.”

“Do not say such a thing. Creative people are only able to mold their talents because there is a level of genius to them. Do not doubt that.” He rises from his chair and one of the dogs stands up. “Godfrey, fetch.”

The dog marches from the fireplace and leaves the parlor.

“What is he fetching?” I ask.

He eases back down into the chair and I notice something strange about one of his legs and the way it moves. “One of the kitchen staff. I have changed my mind about something for supper.”

I nod my head with my mouth opens. “Oh.”

“Each dog has a separate trained job,” he explains. “Godfrey is trained to fetch the kitchen staff, Brunhilde fetches cleaning, and so on and so on.” Padraic smiles at me. “I will have to get another dog or two so I can train them for you.”

“I don’t need-”

He holds up a finger to stop me. “To fetch you, I mean.”

There it is, something to help me see through his radiance.

A woman dressed all in pale blue comes into the room and bows. “Yes, Baron?”

The Baron glances back at her. “I have decided I do not want coq au vin tonight. Instead I would much prefer a duck confit.”

The chef looks annoyed but she nods. “Baron, the coq au vin is very nearly done, and the duck confit, if started now, would arrive later than you are used to.”

He cuts his eyes to her. “Then you best start now.”

I am stunned to say the least. He really is spoiled. “I do not mind having the coq au vin, Padraic. Why not have the duck tomorrow?”

He looks back at me with the same sharpness as his chef. “I do not want it tomorrow, and trust me, you will prefer it tonight too.” He waves his hand to the chef. “That will be all. Make the changes now.”

“Yes, Baron, it would be my pleasure.” She walks away, but I can see her eyes roll as she turns.

I am a bit miffed but I am unsure how to bring about this conversation. “I really would have enjoyed the meal that was already prepared.”

“But I wouldn’t.” His annoyed expression shifts back to a smile. “Are you still writing?”

My mouth opens and shuts. I cannot ruin this by poking holes in it. My parents are concerned for my safety, and if Padraic is the only one willing to see this through to marriage, I know I must keep things peaceful for now. “I had a manuscript almost complete,” I confess. “But after the scandal-”

Padraic’s expression brightens. “Where is it?”

“The garbage, I assume,” I say weakly. “I’m sure the publisher threw it away as soon as they could.”

Padraic’s eyes cut and another dog rises. “Go on, Maxima,” he commands and the dog trots happily from the room.

“Who do they fetch?” I ask curiously.

“My assistant, I want to dictate a letter to your publisher right away,” he says decisively. “I want your manuscript returned and unharmed, or else I will sue them.”

“Padraic! I am shocked!”

He looks at me with that sharp gaze again. “Do not be, Georgette. This is simply me.” He rises when the assistant arrives with Maxima. He leaves to dictate his letter, leaving me with the dogs and the warm fire. I hear shouting from another room, heated words and passion. It does shock me he would do this, right now, I do not feel worth it. I hate to admit that I feel as though my works really weren’t good at all.

When Padraic returns, he offers me his hand again. “Come, I would like to show you something.”

I take his hand, walking with him down the hall. I see the assistant leave the building with a letter in hand. Padraic then takes me into the library which is done in pale blue and pink as well.

“I have a collection of your books here, different editions, different languages.” There is a wall behind the desk where the shelves are carved out of a solid piece of marble. “I have hunted them down just so I can have a complete collection.”

I can’t help but smile. “I am honored.”

He turns and looks down at me. “There is just one complaint I have. In your book, ‘The Wolves of Saber Castle’, your version of werewolves is horribly barbaric despite the fact the werewolves themselves were men of well renown and fortune.”

“It is the wolf in sheep's clothing approach that-”

“No,” he says curtly. “Lord Saber was a wonderful man until the reveal. Intelligent, courteous, a bit stiff, but other than that, he was a man. Once you reveal his so called affliction, he becomes this slobbering, pitiful creature.”

“But werewolves-”

Padraic cuts me off. “Do you know any?”

I start to laugh. “No. Of course not. They are fiction, Padraic, a mythical creation. No one would sooner know a werewolf than they would a mermaid.”

Padraic takes my hand into his. “You write of the supernatural, of horrors of another side to this world. Yet you do not even believe that there is a possibility they could exist?”

“I believe there is much that we do not know or can explain, but I can also admit when things sound ridiculous. Do you believe in such things?” his hand squeezes mine a little tighter. “If so, I apologize.”

“There is something about myself I must share with you. If we intend to marry at all, which I know you have to. We will also have to have children, and with that in mind, this is something you will have to be well aware of.”

I try to pull my hand away. “You’re frightening me.”

His fingers slip under my chin and he turns my head so we look into each other’s eyes. “My family is one to be feared. But not for being bloodthirsty monsters. Do you understand me, Georgette?”

“No!” I snap. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me at all!”

“I would like to do this before dinner since we are having duck now.” He lets go of me and steps aside. “Best you know now rather than on our wedding night. You will have time to adjust.” he removes his coat and folds it delicately. He then takes off his heels and sets them on the desktop and aligns them. He undoes the buttons of his shirt and I look away in shock.

“I know what men have, Padraic!”

“Not that!” He snarls. “Look at me, watch me, and you will see the world your words have touched.”

I turn slightly, looking from the corner of my eye. His skin is growing whiter, no, he is sprouting fur! I look directly at him in shock as his body shifts and grows. He lurches with growth, his face changes shape, snapping as the bones reform. Sharp teeth gnash, black claws tug at his clothes. He stands before me much changed, canine in appearance, fluffy white puffs of fur and long ears.

He looks at me, sharp gaze boring into my own wide eyes. “Do you see? I am still the same as I was, though I am a beast, as so you say.”

My jaw hangs open in awe. “You’re a...a...a..” I gasp.

“Yes,” he growls. “I am a werepoodle.”

I stare in shock for a moment longer before my mouth bursts open with wild laughter. I have to hold myself for my sides begin to ache.

Padraic’s expression becomes confused and annoyed. “Stop that!” He snaps. “Why are you laughing?”

I snort and spew more laughter, leaning onto the desk when my head becomes light from lack of breathing. I do not know why this has tickled my funny bone in such a way. Perhaps my mind is attempting to cover up my fear and panic by having me express myself with joy. Perhaps the word ‘werepoodle’ tickled me so hard I can do nothing else. All I can admit to is that I am laughing, hard, heavy, and I am no longer afraid of him.

“Georgette!” He barks.

Barks! He wants me to stop but he barks! I must laugh harder.

Padraic grabs me with his paws. Paws! I laugh harder and harder this instant! He gives me a firm shake and I try to catch my breath.

“What is so funny?” He demands an answer, but I fear my response will only enrage him more.

“We will have puppies!” I am wheezing, my chest aches, my face hurts.

His lip curls up and he growls. “You are laughing at me!”

Tears roll down my cheeks freely. I am praying to God to stop my laughter, but I fear he will only make me laugh more.

Padraic releases me. “Of course you laugh! You have no knowledge about what is happening aside from falsehoods and lies.”

“I! Am! Sorry!” I manage to sputter out. “I can’t stop!”

“Oh,” he growls, “I will stop you. I know how.” He drops his cane then grabs me with both hands. He kisses me, impassioned, heated, except for his cold wet nose. I snort and shiver against his kiss, still laughing until I begin to melt. He pulls away as soon as I stop and smiles pridefully at his success.

I clear my throat. “I would like some water.”

He picks up his cane, using the desk as support. “I showed you because I felt as though I could trust you. Despite how wrong you are about my kind. You deserve to know the truth. Our children will be born this way, and I do not want you reacting harshly to them.”

“You still want to marry me?”

His expression is sharp again. “I would rather marry you, who has some footing into the unknown, than someone like my father who only fears.”

I look him up and down, and the leg I had noticed before has dark scars around the ankle. I look back into Padraic’s eyes. “I would rather marry you than someone who would mock me for my works.”

Padraic nods his head. “Then we are agreed?”

“Yes,” I murmur. “I will marry you, and I will give you puppies.”

His eyes narrow upon me. “How dare you?”