Page 20 of Reforming Lord Neil

Would he remain cheerful when he saw the list she had prepared for him? Teresa doubted he had ever performed a single task she had written or anything similar in his life. Yet she had never milked a cow before moving to Bramble Cottage. She had been as dainty a gentlewoman as any, with soft white hands, a maid to do up her stays, and the ability to take breakfast in bed.

If Teresa could change her lifestyle so drastically, Mr. Duncan could adapt as well.

When she entered the kitchen a short time later, pail in hand, her mother was laughing and Mr. Duncan sat at the table, smiling over the rim of his coffee cup. Caroline was in her chair, drinking warm milk.

Caroline saw her mother come in and stood to help with the milk. “Mama, Mr. Duncan said my kitten slept with him last night and seemed to be chasing mice in his sleep.”

Mother filled a cup and handed it to Teresa. “Mr. Duncan also did an impression of a yowling kitten, and no man ought to attempt such a thing.”

“I am sorry I missed the performance. Will there be a matinee later?” Teresa asked, inhaling the soothing and bitter scent of her coffee before attempting the smallest sip.

Mr. Duncan shrugged, tilting his head to one side as though considering. “I suppose it could be arranged. It depends, of course, upon my employer. I understand I have a full day of work ahead of me.” He did not speak with distaste. Not at all. He sounded as though he looked forward to his day.

Teresa saw the paper still upon the table, where she usually sat. She lifted it by one edge and slid it across to Mr. Duncan. “Here is what I have thought of thus far. Let me know if you have any questions. Tomorrow, we will all work in the orchard.”

He picked up the paper and held it up, sipping coffee as he read. He winced, but whether from the bitterness of the drink or the work ahead of him, she did not know. Mother put a pitcher of milk on the table, then plates of eggs and toast. Caroline served herself, as was her custom. Mother joined the table and did the same.

Mr. Duncan looked over their simple fare with raised eyebrows, but said nothing. Merely waited until the ladies had their food before serving himself. Yet another mark of a well-bred gentleman, Teresa supposed.

He salted his eggs rather liberally before eating. He glanced up as he did, catching Teresa’s stare. She hastily averted her gaze to look at Caroline. “Cara, I need your help in the field today. There are caterpillars in the lettuce. If we move them off now, it would be best.”

“Why not release the chickens into your fields?” Mr. Duncan asked abruptly. “They would surely eat all your pests.”

“And then become pests themselves.” Teresa lowered her toast as she spoke, meeting his eyes again. “Chickens love tender greens. They would do harm to the plants, too.”

He went back to looking at his list.

“I detest picking bugs off leaves,” Caroline muttered over her plate.

Teresa tried to hide her smile. She did not enjoy the chore, either. But what she was about to add would certainly make the prospect even less appealing to her daughter. “We will have your geography lesson while we work.”

Caroline groaned, and she looked to her grandmother. “But today is not geography day. Today is poetry, and literature.”

Mother raised both hands. “If I am not your tutor today, child, I do not choose the subject. If you wish, you might stay in the house with me and scrub the floors. I also intend to wash the upstairs windows.”

“I suppose I can help with the insects.” Caroline grimaced, and her lower lip protruded slightly. “I wanted to play with my kitten.”

“After your chores are finished.” Teresa put her hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind Caroline’s ear. The little girl worked as hard as any of them, truth be told. And she would not be little much longer. Teresa might as well have some mercy on her. “If you prefer literature today, you may recite your memorized poems to me instead of geography lessons.”

A smile twitched at Caroline’s lips, then she sighed. “All our poems are tiring. Isn’t there anything we can recite other than Shakespeare and moral verses?”

Her grandmother tutted. “There is nothing wrong with good, moral recitations.”

It was then Mr. Duncan spoke again, bringing all eyes to him. “I learned my share of morality poems as a child. Do you know this one, Miss Caroline?” He cleared his throat, then recited with great pomp and ceremony:

“‘A spaniel mightily well bred,

Ne'er taught to labor for his bread,

But to play tricks and bear him smart,

To please his lady's eyes and heart,

Who never had the whip for mischief,

But praises from the damsel - his chief.’”

He winked at the girl when she clapped for him. “That was The Spaniel and the Chameleon, by a Mr. John Gay, I believe.”