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language she did not know.
“Welsh pony,” he allowed, and that was all the conversation between them as they crossed the sheltered valley on a better road.
Lord, I am weary, she thought as she sat so firmly upright on the seat beside the bailiff. She tried hard not to touch him, but it was a narrow seat, and he was the kind of man who overlapped. He sat easy, his eyes on the road in front of him, almost as though she were not there. He seemed relaxed, except that he kept tapping his feet, as though he could speed the passage. I suppose there is a sleepy wife somewhere and a warm bed, she considered.
“I don’t think the world would end if you leaned back and rested yourself.”
She shook her head, surprised that he had noticed. Hamptons don’t lean or lounge about, she thought. He shrugged and turned his full attention to the road again. Or he seemed to, at any rate; she couldn’t tell.
Susan closed her eyes once or twice as they moved slowly across the valley, always opening them before she felt herself leaning toward the bailiff. She must have had them closed longer than usual, because the next time she opened them they were stopped in the barnyard.
How did that get here? she thought stupidly, staring wide-eyed at the stone barn that looked as though it had been there since the Romans. Her mind was sluggish and starved for sleep, and she waited for the bailiff to help her down. To her dismay, he knotted the reins, climbed from the gig, and hurried on a half run into the barn without a look over his shoulder at her. “Worse-than-useless man,” Susan muttered out loud as she helped herself from the gig.
She wouldn’t have followed him into the barn, except that the wind was teasing her ankles again and lifting her skirts. She followed him inside, careful to watch where she walked. She sniffed the air and looked around her. They were in a cattle byre, pungent of cow and timothy grass. So this is where you were before you came for me, Susan reflected as she moved quietly down the stalls toward a lamp hanging on the far wall.
David Wiggins was sitting cross-legged on the hay-covered floor, a calf of ravishing beauty across his legs. He was rubbing her down with a piece of sacking, and speaking low in Welsh. He looked up at Susan and motioned her to join him. He nodded toward the fawnlike creature before him.
“This is why I was late, discounting the snow, Miss Hampton,” he explained. “I had to blow into her mouth to get her going, so I figured you could wait.”
Susan came inside the loose box and sat down on an overturned bucket, her eyes on the cow, a Jersey who gazed back mildly without missing any rhythm as she chewed her cud. Susan looked at the slimy rope on the hay beside the cow. “You had a hard tug of it,” she commented, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands.
“I did,” he agreed. He lifted the little thing off his lap, smiling as it raised up on back legs and pitched nose-first into the hay. “You come to a hard, cold world, lass,” he said, his voice soft. He leaned back against the partition, content to watch the animal struggle, fall, struggle, and rise, wobbly but on all fours.
David got up, too, wincing as though he ached from everywhere, and prodded the cow to her feet. “Cush, lass, cush,” he crooned, “there’s work afoot.”
The calf knew what to do. In another moment, she had found her way to the udder, nudged it, and settled to business. David sighed and rubbed his back.
“Now to you, miss,” he said, turning to Susan.
“I’m tired, not hungry,” she said. It was only a very little joke, but he smiled and held out his hand. She allowed him to haul her to her feet. Her eyelids felt weighted down with lead shot, and grainy in the bargain.
“There’s a place in the house for you,” he said, pulling her along the passageway. He chuckled. “I misdoubt it’s still warm from the last lady’s companion!”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed, but
“Welsh pony,” he allowed, and that was all the conversation between them as they crossed the sheltered valley on a better road.
Lord, I am weary, she thought as she sat so firmly upright on the seat beside the bailiff. She tried hard not to touch him, but it was a narrow seat, and he was the kind of man who overlapped. He sat easy, his eyes on the road in front of him, almost as though she were not there. He seemed relaxed, except that he kept tapping his feet, as though he could speed the passage. I suppose there is a sleepy wife somewhere and a warm bed, she considered.
“I don’t think the world would end if you leaned back and rested yourself.”
She shook her head, surprised that he had noticed. Hamptons don’t lean or lounge about, she thought. He shrugged and turned his full attention to the road again. Or he seemed to, at any rate; she couldn’t tell.
Susan closed her eyes once or twice as they moved slowly across the valley, always opening them before she felt herself leaning toward the bailiff. She must have had them closed longer than usual, because the next time she opened them they were stopped in the barnyard.
How did that get here? she thought stupidly, staring wide-eyed at the stone barn that looked as though it had been there since the Romans. Her mind was sluggish and starved for sleep, and she waited for the bailiff to help her down. To her dismay, he knotted the reins, climbed from the gig, and hurried on a half run into the barn without a look over his shoulder at her. “Worse-than-useless man,” Susan muttered out loud as she helped herself from the gig.
She wouldn’t have followed him into the barn, except that the wind was teasing her ankles again and lifting her skirts. She followed him inside, careful to watch where she walked. She sniffed the air and looked around her. They were in a cattle byre, pungent of cow and timothy grass. So this is where you were before you came for me, Susan reflected as she moved quietly down the stalls toward a lamp hanging on the far wall.
David Wiggins was sitting cross-legged on the hay-covered floor, a calf of ravishing beauty across his legs. He was rubbing her down with a piece of sacking, and speaking low in Welsh. He looked up at Susan and motioned her to join him. He nodded toward the fawnlike creature before him.
“This is why I was late, discounting the snow, Miss Hampton,” he explained. “I had to blow into her mouth to get her going, so I figured you could wait.”
Susan came inside the loose box and sat down on an overturned bucket, her eyes on the cow, a Jersey who gazed back mildly without missing any rhythm as she chewed her cud. Susan looked at the slimy rope on the hay beside the cow. “You had a hard tug of it,” she commented, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands.
“I did,” he agreed. He lifted the little thing off his lap, smiling as it raised up on back legs and pitched nose-first into the hay. “You come to a hard, cold world, lass,” he said, his voice soft. He leaned back against the partition, content to watch the animal struggle, fall, struggle, and rise, wobbly but on all fours.
David got up, too, wincing as though he ached from everywhere, and prodded the cow to her feet. “Cush, lass, cush,” he crooned, “there’s work afoot.”
The calf knew what to do. In another moment, she had found her way to the udder, nudged it, and settled to business. David sighed and rubbed his back.
“Now to you, miss,” he said, turning to Susan.
“I’m tired, not hungry,” she said. It was only a very little joke, but he smiled and held out his hand. She allowed him to haul her to her feet. Her eyelids felt weighted down with lead shot, and grainy in the bargain.
“There’s a place in the house for you,” he said, pulling her along the passageway. He chuckled. “I misdoubt it’s still warm from the last lady’s companion!”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed, but
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