“Give me the dog, Milly.”
Taking the squirming bundle of ugliness, he lowered it to her feet, where it promptly put its nose to the ground and headed for the grass.
“Now you.” Placing his hands on Milly’s waist, Joseph refused to acknowledge the spark of awareness he felt as her hands settled on his shoulders and she allowed him to lift her down.
She is nothing to me now.
“If you will point me to the road that the stage will travel down, my lord, I-I shall be on my way.”
“Enough, Milly. You’re tired and hungry. Sleep, then I will personally take you to Spindle in the morning.” Releasing her, he then picked up her sack, took her arm, and urged her toward the steps.
“Your horse, my lord?”
“Will make its way to the stables, where my stable hand will take care of it.”
Milly stopped to watch as Monty did just that; at a trot he headed round the side of the house and disappeared.
“Please let me beg your forgiveness once more, my lord. It was rude to have slept as I did.”
“For two hours,” Joseph said. “And yes, it was, but then I would rather that than listen to chatter.”
“I-I do not chatter!”
“No, you slept,” he added, pushing aside his anger. She’d know something was wrong if he continued to speak in a cold, clipped tone.
“And I have apologized for that. But you could have woken me.”
He didn’t reply. He’d spent that time looking at her and battling his emotions. For now he would not betray his knowledge. He needed to sleep on what he had learned. Stepping up to the front door, he rapped the knocker loudly.
“But you will wake your servants, Lord Ellsworth!”
“I have done so before, and as the house is locked, there is no other course open to me,” he said, ignoring the twinge of guilt at her words.
“B-but it is not right. They need their sleep.”
“As do I, and as I pay their wages, I’m sure they will not be too put out.”
She made a small tsking sound that suggested she was displeased, but he cared not. What he cared for at that moment, was to get away from this woman.
The door opened several long minutes later, and his butler appeared, pulling on his jacket, followed by his two dogs. Bending, Joseph scratched behind long, shaggy ears and murmured a greeting to them both.
“Good morning, Bailey. Forgive the time, and my intrusion on your sleep, but I have arrived home earlier than planned.”
“No intrusion at all, Lord Ellsworth.” His butler bowed and smothered a yawn at the same time.
“Now these, Milly, are real dogs,” he said, taking her arm. “Virgil, and Horace, are skilled at hunting.”
“You named your dogs after Roman poets?”
“I did.”
“They succeed because they think they can.”
“A governess who quotes Virgil, how interesting,” Joseph mocked, remembering Millicent’s love of the poet.
“I must be able to help those I serve.”
“How commendable.” He nearly choked on the platitude.
