Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Old Fudds.”

Lord Brinkley stopped in his tracks and gave her a charming bow. If she wasn’t mistaken, he winked at her. Hallie didn’t believe for a moment it was a twitch. She heard him say in a lovely carrying voice, “Nice girl, Mr. Sherbrooke. Does she know a single thing about horses or is she only good at shining boots?”

“She trained Piccola, my lord.”

“Hmm. That would raise a man’s confidence, now wouldn’t it? Or terrify him out of his wits. Ah, but it’s still difficult—I don’t like books that don’t fit their covers.”

“Sometimes the books in question turn out to be unexpectedly interesting though, don’t you think?”

CHAPTER 20

The next morning it rained enough to make everyone, horses included, hunker down to stay warm and dry. Lord Brinkley sent them a messenger who looked nearly drowned when he knocked on the kitchen door.

Jason read the short note, then looked at Hallie. “Lord Brinkley is leaving for Inchbury, doesn’t want to wait until the rain stops. He sends you his direction so you may send him the recipe for his boot polish. He mentions you’re not to forget the exact amount of anise seed for Old Fudds.” He grinned over at her. “That was very well done of you, Hallie.”

“If he accepts me because of my dandy boot shine, then I’ll willingly accept it. Jason, I don’t suppose Delilah or Dodger have any interest in getting on with the business today?”

“Not a dollop, at least not when I saw them earlier. Henry came to the back door a few minutes ago, said Dodger was napping, said the nap looked to be a long one. The fact is, Dodger has no interest in females when it’s raining, unlike gentlemen, who are interested in females even when the snow is piled to their noses and—never mind that. Ah, where was I? Oh yes, Henry covered Dodger with a blanket he’d warmed on his own stove top, and kissed his forehead.”

“What you said, Jason—no, I’m not even going to think of snow all the way to gentlemen’s noses and why—no, I’m not.” Then she laughed. “Oh dear, I can picture Henry lovingly laying that blanket over Dodger’s back, and kissing him. What about Delilah?”

“When I looked in on Delilah before breakfast, she was eating. Henry said he’d allow her to eat as much as she wanted today. She was frustrated, he said, and eating helped her—all females actually—get through the dry spells.”

“Henry said she was eating because Dodger wasn’t interested in mating with her?”

“Oh yes. He also told me that was why ladies who didn’t have good men or were in what one might call a desert of, want, tended to be on the plump side.”

“I have never been in any sort of desert of want—indeed, I have no notion of what you’re talking about. Nor do I have a good man, if such a thing is possible—and I’m not plump.”

“You’re young and ignorant, so you don’t count. Angela’s plump.”

“Not much, and her husband’s been dead for years—that is—no, this is absurd. You’re making it all up.”

“Not a bit of it. As for Piccola, according to James Wyndham, she’s pregnant—she’s rubbing her belly against the stall door, a sure sign. Not that I ever observed a mare rubbing her belly, mind you. Have you?”

“No, never even once. What does Jessie say?”

“She said she always rubbed her stomach on doors when she was newly pregnant. James used to say it was ever so delightful to watch, but it wasn’t really good for anything except more play, that is—never mind that.”

Hallie punched him in the arm. “You’re making all this up, I know you are.” She looked down at her flat stomach. “Imagine rubbing your belly on something when—” She realized what she’d said and turned red to her hairline.

“You doubtless will be rubbing in the not-too-distant future.”

She stared up at him, said not a single word, looked at his mouth. She blinked. “Ah, I didn’t see you when you came in.”

“I went right to my bedchamber.”

“So you got soaked going to the stables this morning?”

He shrugged, took a step back from her. “Of course. But only one of us needed to get his bones soggy, and I did draw Angela’s shortest knitting needle. If anyone croaks of an inflammation of the lung, it will be I. You’re safe.”

“Well, you’re all dry now, and your wit is overflowing. You had more fun than I did, sitting around here in a blasted gown and ever-so-dainty green satin slippers.”

“Dainty? Do you really think so, Miss Carrick? I believe your feet are nearly the size of mine.”

She threw her empty teacup at him, grinned as he snagged it out of the air not an inch from his left ear. “You have very fast reflexes. What will we do today?”

“We will improve upon our bookkeeping. I’ve spoken at length with James and his steward, McCuddy. We will incorporate some of their practices, change others that fit our operation better. Come along, I’ll show you.”