Read Online The Frog Earl by Carola Dunn - Free Book Online

said Wickham doubtfully.
    “Please, don't call me that. Mr. Hurst, if you like, but `lad' will do very well.” He smiled at Mrs. Wickham. How was he to avoid revealing that his father was a negligent landlord who despised his new heir? “The marquis is a busy man. My cousin, Lord Litton, suggested that I couldn't do better than to learn from you, sir.”
    “I've a high opinion o' Lord Litton,” grunted Wickham. “If his lordship wants me to give ye a hand, I'll do it, and keep my mouth shut too. And so will ye, mind, Bess,” he admonished his wife.
    “Thank you, both of you.”
     Going off with the bailiff to set about the morning's studies, he wondered whether it was nonsensical to insist on keeping his incognito. No, if his true identity was revealed, his aunt's neighbors would be offended at being deceived—and no doubt they would expect him to start dressing and behaving like an earl. He had had enough of attempting that in London.
    Besides, he wanted his dance and kiss from the princess before she found out who he really was.
     Some six hours later, he saddled his horse and set off to call at Salters Hall. It was still raining, but after Wickham's stuffy office the air was clear and fresh and Simon was glad to be outside. Besides, rain made it more likely that Miss Lassiter would be at home, he thought, cantering past the mere and across the flat green pastures. He did not flatter himself that the prospect of his visit at an unspecified hour would have detained her.
    Rather than going around by the lanes, as the carriage had, he had asked Wickham for directions across the fields. His bay gelding, Intrepid, was no hunter so every gate had to be opened, then shut behind them.
    He was performing this task when he realized that the paddock before him must be the one his hostess had referred to last night. The pond in the hollow had a raw, new look, without reeds or other water plants, only a solitary golden-green willow sapling growing to one side. A gray heron hunched near the edge. Three horses stood beneath a chestnut at the far end of the field, staring at the strangers but showing no disposition to leave their shelter to investigate.
    Miss Lassiter might be pleased with a report on the progress of her liberated tadpoles. He rode down to the pond, reined in Intrepid on the muddy, hoof-trampled bank, and dismounted.
    The heron fixed him with a beady eye, flexed its wide, arched wings, and flew off with an indignant honk. As the ripples of its departure faded, Simon saw that the raindrops plinking into the pond made it impossible to see beneath the surface. Remounting, he rode on.
    The Lassiters' butler admitted grudgingly that his mistress was at home, but he made no move to invite Simon in. His gaze appeared to be fixed on the floor. Puzzled, Simon glanced down. His boots had picked up a generous quantity of mud by the pond, and even as he looked, a small clod broke off.
    His laugh was rueful. Surely no one would believe he was a nobleman if he tried to claim it! “Since I am come to see Miss Lassiter's tadpoles, perhaps I had best go straight round to the kitchen door, if you will kindly direct me thither and inform her of my arrival.”
    “That won't be necessary, sir.” The butler's manner thawed somewhat. “May I suggest that I call a footman to remove the boots and give them a quick cleaning before I show you to the drawing room.”
    This expedient being adopted, Simon was ushered into Miss Lassiter's presence a quarter hour later with nothing worse than a sort of tidemark around his ankles.
    The young lady's dark head was bowed over a piece of needlework. On hearing his name announced, she looked up and smiled.
    “How do you do, Mr. Hurst,” she said demurely. “How kind of you to visit us in this sadly damp weather. You met Mrs. Forbes last night, of course.”
    He bowed to the faded chaperon with a vague recollection of having been introduced. “Of course. How do you do, ma'am. I trust I find