Her smile widened. “It is a most wonderful story, but Georgie had to sell all of Papa’s books to a circulating library to fill our larder last winter.”
Bloody hell. How bad off were they? “I see.”
Seemingly dismissing him from her thoughts, the child climbed the bale of hay, lowered herself to her stomach, and propped her chin on her hands. “Hetty can be scary,” she said in a rather dramatic whisper. “Do be careful.”
“The fowl?”
The child nodded solemnly, and he smiled, almost against his will. “I am more fearsome than a chicken.” Lowering his tone, he said, “I’ll spit the fowl on a stick, slowly roast it, and devour it should any trouble be given.”
The pitying look the child gave him had Daniel reconsidering that assertion. He approached the coop with determination, aware of the little girl scrambling off the mound of hay to creep behind him. Daniel paused and glanced over his shoulder. She grasped onto his trousers below his knee and whispered, “Is it Hetty?”
Amusement rushed through him. “I am wondering why you are following me.”
“To help with Hetty.”
He did not reject the offer of assistance, thinking her a most charming child. Peculiar that, for he had never been too fond of children. He stiffened, trying to follow the trail of thought that would lead to more understanding of himself, but the memory eluded him like wisps of smoke. Pushing it aside, Daniel ventured forward and located a gate, which was attached by a loop of twine.
“I’ll wait for you here,” little Annabelle said. “Do remember that Hetty is still our dearest friend despite her contrary nature. She is the only brown hen.”
His mouth twitched, and Daniel nodded solemnly to match her grave demeanor. He opened the gate and refastened the twine behind him. The area of scrubby grass contained a few chickens who ran out of his way, squawking. He moved toward the battered wooden coop and opened the door, which hung crookedly. Daniel had to bend to enter and was hit by a pungent stench that made him cough and his eyes water.
What the hell is this?What Daniel was most certain about was that he had never encountered such a damn horrid scent before. That would have lingered with him, even without his memory intact.
Snapping his teeth in annoyance, he turned away, intending to return to the manor. Daniel frowned. If he did not do this chore, who would? His wife? Her sisters?Bloody hell. He could not allow it. They were bloody genteel young misses! How could they be so reduced?
Spinning around, he walked toward the pen enclosure. Blinking, he found the interior dark, and the smell did not get any better. There were a number of roosts with hens sitting on them. Where in God’s name were the eggs?
On the heel of that thought, little Annabelle lifted her voice to say, “Hens sit on their eggs, Mr. Stannis. You should look underneath them. We need about eight!”
He approached the first broody hen, instinctively using stealth. As he slipped one of his hands under her feathered bottom, she squawked and tried to peck at him, flapping her wings. He jerked back and glared at the damn hen. A muffled giggle floated to him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Annabelle standing on her toes to observe him. Swallowing the sigh, Daniel ventured forward once more and pushed the hen out of the way. There were a couple of eggs underneath, and he picked them up. But one felt strange and when he looked at it, he realized it was made of china. He put the china egg back and the real egg in his basket, then, dealing with the other hens, he collected another seven eggs.
Daniel swore Hetty watched his approach with a warning glare, informing him the hen was indeed a character. When he reached toward her, though, she flew up to his face and pecked at him, making furious squawking noises. He tried to cover his face, to get around her, but the damn hen was relentless with her pecking, allowing him no room to advance and snatch any eggs from her.
Daniel jerked back and scrambled from the coop. He fled, carefully carrying the basket and running for safety, pursued by an indignant Hetty, who was not deterred by the gate and flew over it and viciously tried to peck at his legs.
“This way!” Annabelle cried, her little legs pumping with impressive speed.
And for reasons that might elude him for a lifetime, Daniel found himself running alongside the child, basket clutched to his chest, and the damn hen giving chase.
How in God’s name am I to live like this?
Chapter Eight
Georgianna stared in astonishment, the mixing bowl and flour forgotten, when the earl sprinted across the back lawns, clutching a basket in his grip, and Hetty chasing after him. A laugh choked from her, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to contain her hilarity.
Lizzie rushed to her side to peek through the windows. “Why is the earl running, and why is Anna running beside him making all those noises of encouragement?”
“I think Hetty might be in a pecking mood,” Georgianna gasped, trying to stifle her laugh.
Lizzie groaned. “This is terrible!”
“What is?” Georgianna murmured, leaning to press her face to the window for a better view.
“Lord Stannis is considered one of society’s most elusive catches, and you are having him collect eggs from a chicken house! Am I not to emit groans of dread? I cannot escape the feeling that this is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“He will be doing much more than collecting eggs. He… Anna!” Georgianna cried when her sister tripped and fell to the ground.
The earl skidded to a halt, stooped, and slung her into his arms before resuming running, Hetty chasing with furious squawks. She glanced at Lizzie, and they dissolved into laughter. Georgianna felt…oddly charmed.
