The small, fair girl flushed crimson. “Yes, milord.” She bobbed and hurried to carry out his order.
Dominic walked away, disliking how he’d scared her. This was not a task he was comfortable with. Miss Jenner. He must have her here. Hopefully, the townsfolk would come to accept it in time.
On his way to the stables, he admitted that coming north had proved challenging. He was not living the comfortable life afforded him as the earl, but he’d had years living without such comforts. It wouldn’t kill him. And he admitted, that despite everything, he enjoyed being here.
Seated on a wall, young Jim polished a saddle. The lad jumped down and bowed as Dominic approached.
“No need for that.” Dominic entered the shadowy, cool stables and found Fellows attending Onyx in his stall.
“He has good conformation,” Fellows said of Onyx as he shut the stall gate. “But he’s ornery.”
Dominic stroked the horse’s neck, pleased when the horse nudged him gently and blew through his nose. “He improves on acquaintance.”
Fellows chuckled. “It’s my experience that ornery women never improve on acquaintance, and I doubt horses do.”
“Your love life needs improvement,” Dominic said with a laugh, recalling an incident concerning Fellows and a fiery-natured woman when he was Dominic’s batman in Portugal. She’d dumped a dish of stew over his head.
“I’m embarrassed to admit it,” Fellows chuckled, “but I’ve found a friendly tavern wench here, so things could look up.”
Dominic grinned as Fellows gathered up the tackle. “I wish you success.”
“May I wish you the same, milord?”
“Does your wench have a friend?”
At Dominic’s riposte, Fellows laughed and disappeared inside the tack room.
Yes, a woman’s tender company would be agreeable, although he doubted he’d find one to suit him here in the north. It was quiet in the stables with the horses snuffling in their stalls. He leaned against the timber post and gazed with approval at his new acquisition. “We will become friends, you and I.”
Onyx’s big dark eyes fixed on him, his nose in his feedbag. The stallion pleased him because he railed against his lot and wouldn’t submit to authority unless he saw the sense of it. That showed spirit and intelligence. Dominic folded his arms and breathed in the familiar smells of hay and a clean, well-run stable. He heard his coachman, Grimsby, whistling outside, sweeping the cobbles with the broom. With little to do, he cheerfully performed tasks not assigned to him.
Miss Jenner pushed her way into his mind again. At the garden party in her crisp dress, her hands held demurely at her waist, a slight frown in her blue eyes. Far too attractive and too often on his mind. Would she become a test of his character? It was an unusual occurrence for any woman he sought to refuse him. He carried no illusions as to the reason. It would be a mutual agreement, suited to both parties. But not Miss Jenner. No, most unwise! He shook his head, and straightening, walked out into the sunlight.
He’d discovered life in the country moved slowly, from sunup to sundown, the days unfolding with no undue interruption. The rhythm and cycle of nature, and the farming which worked with it. While he appreciated it after the fraught demands of London society, he would need to guard against becoming bored and restless. That could prove disastrous with Miss Jenner under his roof.
Should he invite Lady Anne? He rubbed his brow. Difficult, as they did not enjoy the familiarity of lovers. He’d left London before anything of that nature occurred between them. Lady Anne enjoyed her freedom after a disastrous marriage to a much older man, becoming a social butterfly. She would expect to find suitable accommodation and entertainment. That meant a house full of servants and guests. Every night, dinner parties and card parties, perhaps a ball. He chuckled at the sort of fare his cook would serve. Dominic could apply to an agency in London for a chef and experienced staff, but that would take time.
He imagined the hall polished and sparkling. A house party. He’d invite Shewsbury and Pennington and a few others. But an impossible amount needed to be done to make the house habitable. And he found that right now he lacked the enthusiasm for such an undertaking.
“We’ll ride this afternoon, visit the gamekeeper and the farms,” he said to Fellows, who had followed Dominic outside. “Onyx and I can get to know our new home.”
“Right, milord.”
The afternoon sun dropped to the west when, some hours later, after a tasty luncheon of fresh baked chicken pie, the crust as light as any French chef could make it, he and Fellows approached the gamekeeper’s cottage. Clough had called to see Dominic, but he’d been away visiting the squire.
The gamekeeper, a tall, limbered man of some forty-odd years, emerged from the neat, thatched-roof cottage to greet them as Dominic dismounted. “Good to meet you, Clough.”
“Milord.” He turned to gesture at the doorway. “Will you come inside? Can I offer you both a tankard of cider?”
“You may indeed.” Dominic was interested in trying the local cider. He bowed his head under the low lintel as he and Fellows entered the dim interior. The small room was orderly, which made Dominic confident about the state of his woods.
“Do we have a good supply of birds for a shoot in October?”
Clough turned from the sideboard, where he poured the cider into tankards. “We certainly do, milord. There’s an oversupply.”
Drawing up a chair, Dominic sat and drank the sweet cider. “Made here?”
“Indeed, it is, milord. From estate apples.”
