Werepoodle Boyfriend: Padraic (special preview)

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.”