“Beg pardon, miss,” he said with a nod. “I have come to pay my addresses to your mistress.”
The woman blinked at him. “I don’t ’ave a mistress, sir.”
“You are not in employ here?”
“I ’elp Bea when she needs me…” She furrowed her brow as if she were having trouble finding words. “But I ain’t ’er servant.”
“Whatever the case, I wish to go inside.” He eyed the donkey, now lightly snoring upon the steps. “Would you kindly get your beast to move?”
“I tried,” she said, sighing. “Bertrand doesn’t listen to anyone but my da.”
“If you don’t mind, I will have a go.”
“Are you certain?” She ran a dubious gaze over his clothes. Today his valet had dressed him in a charcoal frock coat, silver cravat, and Prussian blue waistcoat, his buff trousers tucking neatly into his polished boots. “When Bertrand gets angry, things can turn messy.”
“I can manage a donkey.” Having spent years mucking stables, he knew how to handle obstinate four-legged creatures. “The key is letting them know who is the master. Let me fetch something first.”
As he went to retrieve his secret weapon from his saddle bag, she said haltingly, “You’re not going to…’urt Bertrand, are you? ’E’s got a sensitive nature—”
“Ease your mind. I’ll not hurt the beast.”
He returned, finding her obvious relief oddly endearing. She was a tender-hearted thing if she cared about the troublesome ass. He couldn’t resist teasing her a little.
“I won’t need to use a whip, you see. Beasts sense and obey my natural authority.”
Her relief turned to skepticism. “Really.”
“Stand back and see for yourself.” Once she moved aside, he crouched next to the donkey. In his most ducal voice, he said, “I am your master, Bertrand, and you will do as I command. Arise, donkey.”
Bertrand sniffed, his ears flickering. His expression went from bored to slightly less bored. As Severin rose, the donkey followed suit. Hearing the servant girl’s astonished gasp, he hid a smile and lured the donkey away from the manor steps to the shade of a nearby tree.
“Youdidit.” The female followed them, her brown eyes shining with admiration.
“Did you doubt my abilities?” he asked in mock affront.
She bit her lip then nodded.
Her honesty was so enchanting that he asked, “What is your name?”
“Fancy Sheridan,” she said shyly.
The name suited her. Simple yet lovely, with a light-hearted ring to it.
“And you, sir?”
“Severin Knight,” he replied.
It was the name hismamanhad given him, true enough. He could have used his title. Yet being a duke was still new to him…and he wanted to prolong this unexpected moment of fun and freedom.
“It’s not that I didn’t trust in your abilities,” Miss Sheridan said earnestly. “But other than my da, I ’aven’t met any master o’ beasts—”
“The gent’s going to be a master o’ anangrybeast if ’e doesn’t give Bertrand whate’er ’e ’as in ’is coat pocket,” a new voice announced.
Severin turned to see the arrival of a wiry, grey-bearded man. The fellow looked like an elf from a children’s story, his twinkling blue eyes peering out from behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles which sat crookedly on his nose. He wore a turquoise velvet smoking jacket and a plaid waistcoat lined with mismatched buttons. His cap sported colorful and clashing patches.
“Take me word for it,” he said to Severin. “A donkey be an excellent judge o’ character and, if you pass muster, you’ll ne’er ’ave a truer friend. To stay in Bertrand’s good graces, I suggest you live up to your end o’ the bargain.”
Knowing the jig was up, Severin removed thefruit glacéshe’d hidden in his pocket, holding them out to Bertrand. The donkey swiped up the treats with its tongue, munching contentedly—as well it should. Those candied cherries came from a renowned confectionary in Paris, and they’d cost Severin an arm and a leg.
