Connor shook his head with a wry chuckle. He did enjoy the antics of crotchety old men. “Meat for yer table, Barney. I kent ye like a fair chunk, aye? Plenty of it if ye breed a pair and build up yer numbers. Plus, there’d be a ready supply of milk for those wi’ children. Cheese, too. Cheaper to keep than a cow.”
“What are we supposed to feed them?” Tom wanted to know. With six bairns already, the man’s enthusiasm for a continual source of milk was tempered by the economy only a member of a large family could understand.
“They eat grass, Tom. We’ve all plenty of that.”
Chapter 7
Christmas has passed and the new year looms with the darkness of the executioner’s hood. Harry is not coming. There, I have admitted it. No more prevarications, nohopefully’s orsoon’s or hope at all is left within me. Whether he refuses to answer my letters because he agrees with Mother’s choice or doesn’t care, I don’t know.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, December 1892
Connor turned, as they all did at the soft feminine voice to find Mrs. Milbourne perched upon her horse a few yards away. He hadn’t seen her circle back around and wondered how long she’d been watching them work and listening to their conversation. Thank God he’d put his shirt back on. The mere sight of the lass in her form-fitting black velvet habit, her ebony locks pulled back from her glowing face and tucked up beneath a jaunty wee cap stoked his blood. If the caress of her bonny blue eyes were to graze his naked body, he’d likely lose all conscious thought.
He managed a nod of greeting while his men tugged off their hats. “Mrs. Milbourne. What a welcome surprise.”
“Mr. MacKintosh.” She inclined her head regally in response before casting a slight smile on the others. “I was passing by and couldn’t help but stop to appreciate the progress you’ve made. Well done, all of you.”
The men beamed and a few awkward bows bobbed among them.
Except for Barney, who spit again with a scowl. “You shouldn’t be out and about a’tall, beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am.” He cast a glance at Connor and added, “Plenty of mud after the rain. Horse could lose his footing and take a spill.”
“Thank you for your concern, Barney.” She bent and held out her hand to him. He took it, clasping her small hand between his reverently. “You know I would never venture where I wasn’t confident of my safety.”
She squeezed his with another smile and he released her, offering a respectful a tug of his forelock that had Connor adopting the doddering old fart’s frown. Blast, there was a double meaning to her words. It wasn’t mud and rain they worried about, it was him. Did the lass have the whole bloody county safeguarding her?
“The day’s getting late and thereisa lot of muck about,” he conceded. Aye, in more ways than one. “May I escort ye safely home, Mrs. Milbourne?”
Even as the courtesy passed his lips, Connor anticipated the same response she’d provided at the stables. A reflection of the suspicion she’d cast upon him the other day. Whatever it was about her that ensnared him and compelled his protection, her misgivings were too great for her to overcome.
Given that expectation, he was surprised when she inclined her head graciously. “I was hoping you might. Thank you.”
With long strides, he walked to where he’d hobbled his horse earlier near a narrow creek and under the shade of a tree a safe distance from those they’d felled. With each step, he was aware of the grumbles from the men he passed. They didn’t like it. Not one whit.
They didn’t have to like it. He did. The past two days without seeing her had felt longer than the months before. He saddled his gelding with swift efficiency, conscious of her lingering gaze. Aware his heart pounded like a callow lad’s at his first glimpse at a barmaid’s cleavage, he paused before mounting to tuck in his shirt and smooth back his hair in an attempt to regain some semblance of civility. Once astride, he rode back to the others, calling out crisp orders for the remainder of the day as he went.
Mrs. Milbourne kicked her horse into motion, leaving him to follow behind. As with their walk the other day, there was no precise destination implied by her direction for she headed not for Dinton Grange, any of the neighboring estates, or even the village of Aylesbury itself.
A reminder that he hadn’t yet been able to ascertain from whence she came.
“What do you expect the goats to eat, Mr. MacKintosh?” she asked when he drew alongside her.
“Ye said it yerself, lass. Grass.” She quirked a brow at him with a pucker of her lips, unappreciative of his sarcasm. Connor sighed. “I’ve hopes that I can convince the marquis to allow the cottagers to rotate them through his park.”
She blinked at him for a full five seconds then she bit her lip, not managing to catch the laughter before it spilled out. “That’s quite amusing, Mr. MacKintosh. Oh, you’re quite serious, aren’t you?”
“The estate has more than eight hundred acres of parkland and currently employs six gardeners to keep the lawns in check,” he said, disgruntled by her amusement. “Goats would manage that.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I had wondered…that is, the marquis has rarely made a personal appearance at Dinton Grange since his father’s death. The management of the estate and land has been left in Mr. Larkin’s hands all this time. Many were left wondering why Aylesbury would see fit to leave his wife’s brother in charge now.”
“I asked him.” Connor admitted to what he hadn’t even confessed to Fiona as yet. In his defense, his sister was easier to manage when she thought things were her own idea. Mrs. Milbourne’s eyes widened with open curiosity and he found himself explaining. “I’d been working alongside my brother’s steward for some time now, learning what I could to manage my own land. I’ve enjoyed the opportunity here to take what I’ve learned and implement some of the ideas my brother was hesitant to explore.”
“Such as goats?”
His feathers ruffled. He couldn’t help it any more now than he had when his eldest brother, Francis, likewise questioned him.
“Large estates like Dinton Grange lose tenants and money wi’ each passing year. If the marquis is to keep his cottagers on and no’ gi' over his land entirely to cows and sheep, changes will have to be made if he wants to keep enjoying the clink of sterling in his pocket.”
“He does like those. I hear.”
