“Jed Hamm, if you are here to argue again, I will not have it!” she said, bursting through the door, stopping short. “I beg your pardon. You are not Squire Hamm.”
Aunt Jane snorted in a most unladylike fashion. She was an octogenarian who found it convenient to pretend she had a few screws loose in order to say what she liked. She was a dear.
“I have not had the pleasure, no,” a deep, seductive voice said from above. She craned her neck to look upwards at least a foot, into a handsome face with blue eyes and blond hair. Delicious indeed.
“My name is Bergen, my lady; at your service.” He made an elegant leg, as Aunt Jane would say, and Elizabeth did her best not to stare at his finely shaped calves and thighs, which were in complete contrast to the spindly limbs borne by the Squire. She shook her head.
“I am Elizabeth Newton. How may I be of service?” As beautiful as this man was, she had no time for silly dreams. By the look of him, the man was a London dandy and was, in all likelihood, very aware of his charms.
“I happened upon a stray animal, and I was told you were just the person to see.”
She could feel her brow knit together. Who had been speaking to the stranger about her?
“If I have offended you, I beg your pardon.” He reached up and made to wipe away a speck of dirt before pulling his hand back.
Elizabeth flushed at his forwardness. She did recall from her days in London that the men were flirtatious. What a country bumpkin he must think her, but there was something seductive in his touch which made her feel heat in places that Horace never had.
“Was I misinformed?
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “No, I do have a tendency to acquire helpless creatures.”
“Excellent. Then may I show you what I have found?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth indicated for him to lead the way while she glanced at Aunt Jane, who was beaming and making hand signals behind his back. Elizabeth cast a warning look for her aunt to behave before turning back to Mr. Bergen. Or was it, Lord Bergen? He must be a lord! She would have to mind him closely. He would not be the first to think her widowed status meant she was free with her favours.
He waited for her to pass through the door through the kitchens, stopping by the larder to retrieve an apple, before following her down the steps into the sunshine.
“Over here,” he said as he held out his hand towards a beech tree to the side of the drive.
“A donkey? You found a stray donkey?” she asked in disbelief as she surveyed the dwarfed and odd-looking specimen. A small grey donkey stood in front of her. He had larger ears than she had seen on donkeys and blue eyes. One eye appeared crossed.
“Well, not precisely. He was abandoned by some gypsies at the inn where I was staying. I overheard them speak of leaving him.”
She folded her arms and looked at him sceptically. “The circus troupe? They are more wont to take than to leave anything behind.”
“They think he is cursed…” Bergen held out his hands. “…which is nonsense, of course.”
“How delightful,” she said dryly, even though she could use a donkey. They were known to be excellent protectors of herds, and a fox had killed a lamb recently.
“Does he have a name?”
Lord Bergen hesitated. “Clarence.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Did you say, ‘Clarence’?”
He held up his hands in defence. “He looks like a Clarence.”
Elizabeth stepped closer and the donkey bared his teeth at her. She jumped back. “Oh!”
“He will not hurt you,” Bergen reassured her, stepping forward and scratching behind the donkey’s ears. “I think he might be smiling at you.”
Elizabeth looked at him uncertainly, but stepped forward again and since the donkey was distracted with Lord Bergen, she patted the mealy coloured nose. Clarence showed his teeth again.
“I do think you are correct. He does appear to be smiling. How peculiar!”
“Everything about him is peculiar. No offence intended, Clarence,” he said to the animal. “But he does seem to be good-natured.”
“A characteristic ne’er visited upon any other donkey I have ever met,” Elizabeth retorted. “He is quite small, but that should not matter if I do not harness him to a cart. Where did you say you found him?”
“Tied to a mulberry bush near the inn I was staying at.”
“You poor dear,” Elizabeth said as she took a piece of apple she had in her pocket and fed it to him.
“He is yours now, whether you want him or not,” Bergen said with a laugh. “I fed him an apple and he has followed me since.”
“That will surprise no one. I am in the habit of adopting strays.”
“Why do you, if you do not mind me asking?”
She waved a hand. “I can, so I do. The poor creatures cannot help their sad circumstances.”
“How many poor creatures do you have, precisely?”
She wrinkled her brow and tapped her cheek with an index finger. “Let me see… Sheep, cows, horses, chickens, goats, pigs, five—no, six—dogs and ten cats, I think.” She threw up her hands. “I have no idea!”
“It sounds no more unusual than any farm,” he said, unconvinced.
“Yes, but they are not all, well…well…and then there are the children.”
“May I enquire how many children you have?” he asked politely.
“Only three of those, but they…” Clarence made the most horrific gaseous sound, interrupting her answer. Although
