Love Language (The Aristocrat Diaries 1)

Miles pointed to a broken fence. “There.”

I looked at it. It wasn’t just broken—it’d been smashed to smithereens by the two wrecking balls my aunt insisted were good pets. Wood had splintered and chipped all over the grass, and as far as keeping them contained went…

Well, a snowball had better chance in hell.

That fence was as useful as a fish with tits.

“They’re going to get right back out of that.” Way to state the obvious, Gabriella. “Can we fix it?”

Miles grunted. “Take a while.”

“Not long with the two of us, surely?” Alex asked, still shirtless. “Let me get some dry clothes and I’ll help you. Gabi, can you watch the goats for a minute?”

“Why do I have to?” I threw my hands up. “I have things to do!”

They both shot me a look that said they didn’t believe me.

I actually did have something to do, thank you very much. I had to find my wayward aunt.

“Someone has to do damage control.” I checked the chains were secure on the goats and stepped away. “I need to find Aunt Cat and try to fix this mess before Dad gets home and all hell breaks loose, so Alexander, you get changed, and Miles, you’ll have to—”

Muddy brown water splashed up and coated me, soaking through my dress. I gasped—it was horribly warm and sludgy, and my white floral dress was now a not-so-fabulous shade of brown.

Those bloody goats.

They’d deliberately stomped their feet in the water in a protest at being chained up, and I was the one who’d taken the hit. Me. The person who’d fed them extra strawberries and guided them in here nicely while those two had tried to round them up like cowboys at a rodeo.

Miles was as stony-faced as ever, but there was an amused twinkle in his eye that really pissed me off. Alexander didn’t even try to hide his amusement, and he was using what was left of the fence to hold himself up as he howled with laughter.

“I hate those bloody goats!” I stormed away from them, shaking my dress out to no avail.

“Where are you going?” Alex called after me.

I stopped, turning on my heels, and glared at him. My nostrils flared as I stared at the two men in front of me. “I’m going inside to shower and change. I’m not standing here covered in mud after I had to bail you two morons out of trouble back there! I don’t care what you do, just don’t let those stupid, godforsaken goats escape again!” I spun again, taking a shortcut path to a gate that would lead to the private gardens so nobody else would see me like this.

“She’s got quite the temper, hasn’t she?” Miles asked.

“I can bloody well hear you!”

My cousin barked a laugh. “Oh, yeah. She really has.”

CHAPTER THREE

Dear Lady Love,

My love language is a mix of acts of service and words of affirmation. How do I tell a prospective partner what I need without sounding needy? I feel like that’s such a clingy mix that I will never find anyone who understands me.

Thanks,

L from Perth, Scotland

Hi L from Perth,

That is definitely a tough mix. You may have to temper some expectations. You probably won’t get both of those things all the time, and you’ll also have to take your partner’s language into perspective. For example, if your partner’s language is acts of service, you could do things together that benefit you both, or you could consciously share household duties like cooking and doing the dishes. If theirs is physical touch, you will need to make sure to give them extra touches, even if you’re not a particularly touchy-feely person.

Just remember that if you doubt that you can be loved, you might find that other people may doubt that they can love you, too.

Good luck,

Lady Love

***

The weather had become overcast since I’d escaped the insanity of wrangling the goats and come inside to clean up. I’d long since showered and changed and there was still no sign of Aunt Cat returning.

Neither had Alex returned back to the house.

Since the cloud cover had lowered the temperature, I grabbed a knitted cardigan and put it on. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake of wearing nice shoes, so I stopped in the mudroom on my way through the house and put my wellies on instead.

Surprisingly, my mud-caked, forest-green wellington boots matched with my red midi dress and gray sweater.

Maybe I’d spent too long under the hot water.

That or I was simply losing my mind in general. Given the insanity of where I lived, that was probably the most likely scenario. Between my father’s matchmaking attempts and my aunt’s goats, it was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it?

“Would you like me to check on the goats, milady?” Arthur asked, hovering in the doorway. “It’s not a bother at all.”