Page 19 of Reforming Lord Neil

Mr. Duncan was tall enough, and appeared healthy enough, to perform physically demanding tasks that would be nearly impossible for her to accomplish on her own.

Her mother’s voice startled her. “You are up early.”

Teresa turned, hoping she did not appear as tired as she felt. “I suppose it was difficult to sleep, given our change in fortune.” Though no money had appeared in their purses overnight, every task Mr. Duncan accomplished was one less for her to worry about, and something she did not have to pay another to do for her.

Mother raised her dark eyebrows, then shrugged and went to retrieve cups for the coffee. She put three upon the table. “Where will you direct Mr. Duncan first?”

Teresa put the paper on the table, smoothing it flat. “Cleaning out the entirety of the barn, the chicken coop, and chopping wood.”

“Ambitious. But they are simple enough, I suppose, even for a man unused to the work.” Mother lifted the list. “You wish for him to prune the cherry trees?”

“When I spoke to Mr. Putnam about the trees last month, he said to remove dead limbs as quickly as possible, or we could lose a whole tree. Now that the cherries are all growing, it is easier for me to tell which branches need to be pruned.”

Mother nodded and continued reading the list. “Do you think the sheer number of tasks will drive him away, Teresa?”

Teresa adjusted her shawl. “I hope not. Our money is nearly all spent. With Mr. Duncan taking on this much, perhaps we can finally produce an income from the orchard. The cherries Caroline picked two days ago were nearly perfect. We can harvest them and drive them to market ourselves, with Mr. Duncan’s horse.”

Lifting the pencil, Mother added “drive the cherries to market” to the list. “You will have more time to dry herbs, too. With the nearest apothecary four miles away, we will need to supply ourselves with as much of our own powders as possible.”

A creak of the floorboards heralded Caroline’s presence. She came into the kitchen blinking and yawning. “Good morning, Grandmama. Mama.” She went directly to the door and unlatched it.

“Where are you going?” Mother asked, a knowing smile upon her face.

“To check on my kitten.” Caroline smiled, a hint of sleep still in the expression.

Teresa shook her head. “You had better not until you know Mr. Duncan is awake. Here.” She lifted a basket from a hook hanging near the window. “Go find eggs for breakfast, but leave the sour, old black hen alone. She’s brooding, and any extra chickens will make our Sunday dinners this winter better.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose, but accepted the basket and went on her way out the door.

When they had first come to the farm, Caroline had attempted to name the chickens, as though they were pets. Killing one for a meal had left the child dismayed and saddened for some time. But after cleaning up after the irritable animals, and realizing her favorite dinners were those with poultry, Caroline had accepted that chickens on a farm were for eating.

Mother went to the peg where her apron hung, taking down Teresa’s to hand it to her. “Do you intend to wait until the gentleman wakes up to see to your chores?”

Teresa looked to the milk pail upon its shelf, where it waited clean and empty. “I suppose I had better not. Abigail should not be made to wait.”

She tied her apron on and collected the pail. “Did we do the right thing, Mother? The man is a complete stranger.”

“Yet we both feel no threat from him.” Mother touched Teresa lightly under her chin, looking her daughter directly in the eye. “We need the help. He may well be an answer to our prayers, or we, an answer to his.”

With a chuckle, Teresa stepped to the door. “He does not strike me as the praying sort.” Then she left the house, bucket swinging at her side.

When she arrived at the barn door, she hesitated. Ought she to knock, as though the whole of the barn was the man’s residence? That would be rather absurd, considering the barn and everything in it belonged to her. He was in her employment, too.

Instead of knocking, Teresa pushed the door open enough to slip inside and called out as she entered. “I am coming in to milk the cow. Are you awake, Mr. Duncan?”

There was a shuffling in the loft, then a muttered word that sounded something like a curse. Teresa had woken him. Guilt made her wince, but a moment later she tipped her chin up. Their day started early, and he would have to accustom himself to their hours. She came in, humming to herself as was her custom.

In her early days caring for Abigail, it had taken the two of them time to become used to one another. Abigail had been standoffish, and Teresa had been afraid. Humming had soothed them both. As had talking to the cow as though she were a person. Not that Teresa intended to do that in front of someone like Mr. Duncan.

Except for her usual greeting to the cow. “Good morning, Abigail. My sweet cow.” She gave the gentle beast a rub of the ear, rather like one would to a favorite hound. The cow always seemed to enjoy it. Teresa settled her milking stool and went to work, humming.

The loft above creaked, then she heard boots on the ladder rungs. With a thump, Mr. Duncan landed upon the barn floor. He came to the stall and leaned over it as he had the night before. He had surprised her then, watching as she milked. This time she was ready for him, eyes open and expression neutral.

“Good morning, Mrs. Clapham. I apologize for oversleeping. I am afraid I ignored your rooster this morning.” He spoke with his usual charm and a barely concealed smile. He wore his clothing from the day before, including the blue neckerchief. If it were green instead of blue, it would have made his eyes stand out even in the dim light of the barn.

This time she spoke to him while keeping her milking rhythm. “No apology necessary, Mr. Duncan. Coffee will be ready in the kitchen soon, if you wish, and breakfast too. Toast and eggs this morning.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a rather cheerful sort of smile, placed his hat on his head, and walked away.