Page 6 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

Miss Fairburn looked up, once again covered her mouth to hide a gasp, then lowered it and smiled, while the goat continued to nibble on whatever it was she was holding out to it with her other hand. Lucian maintained his unyielding demeanour, refusing to be undone by that winsome smile, or those dimples, or the way she reminded him of a golden-haired princess from a fairy tale.

‘Oh, you found her,’ she called out in that breathy voice. ‘I was wondering where Clawdia had got to. She usually comes out and greets me when I get home, but today she was nowhere in sight.’

Her smile beamed even brighter. He wished she would not do that. It was hard to remain staunch when confronted by such a sunny disposition.

He held the cat out to her, its four multicoloured legs dangling from his hand. ‘I found it in the garden,’ he said, in a voice he hoped showed his disapproval and made it clear he was not affected by dimples, blushing cheeks or welcoming smiles.

She sprinkled the last of the feed on the ground for the goat, gave it a quick pat on the head and walked towards him.

‘Clawdia likes to visit Edward and watch him while he’s working in the garden. Sometimes she even follows him around as if she’s helping. It’s so sweet. And there’s a sunny spot on your terrace she particularly favours. She’s even got her own cushion to sit on—or curl up on, I should say—and sleep.’

She came to a halt, presumably finally registering his dour expression and realising he was not here to discuss the cat’s antics and found nothing sweet about its behaviour or its friendship with his gardener.

‘I’m sorry, but just like Hamish she wouldn’t know there’s a new owner in residence.’

He thrust the animal into her waiting arms. She cuddled it against her breast and lightly kissed the top of its head. He’d prefer it if she didn’t do that either. Not that he wanted to receive kisses or cuddles from sweet, innocent young women with dimples. Far from it. Unlike his father, they were the sort of women he made a point of having absolutely nothing to do with. And if she kept her animals on her property, he would be able to continue to do so.

‘Now you’re here, you should meet the rest of the animals,’ she said blithely, placing the cat gently on the ground.

‘No, I…’ He looked at his father’s house, about to say he was far too busy, but as he had absolutely nothing to do, his words came to a halt, and he failed to think of an excuse quickly enough.

‘You’ve already met Clawdia,’ she continued in that lilting tone. ‘It’s spelt with a w, like claws,’ she explained, held up her hands, made a clawing motion and gave a little giggle.

‘She moved in recently and was in a terrible state after living on the street, but as you can see she’s much better now. You’ve also met Hamish, of course.’ She gestured towards a gaggle of geese at the bottom of the garden pecking away at something on the ground. ‘He’s down there with Fluff in the yellow ribbon, Pecky in the red ribbon, and Little Honk in the green one.’

She leant towards him and lowered her voice. ‘They were all destined for the roasting pan until I saved them. Can you believe it?’

Lucian had no trouble whatsoever believing it, but instead of saying so he simply nodded.

‘And that’s Marigold,’ she said, pointing at the goat, who having finished all the grain was now chewing on the ivy that lined the wall. ‘I found her wandering the streets looking lost and dazed. She had no identification, but I suspect she—’ once again Miss Fairburn leant forward and lowered her voice ‘—had escaped from an abattoir.’

Did she really think the animals might hear, understand and be upset?

Instead of asking that, he posed another more pertinent question. ‘Does the goat make much noise?’

‘No, not much.’

How much was not much? And was it enough to put off prospective buyers?

Miss Fairburn’s eyebrows drew together, and her usually smooth forehead crinkled. Not a good sign.

‘She’s usually reasonably quiet, but at the moment Marigold has been a bit…’ The colour tinging her cheeks intensified. ‘Well, I think she might need the company of other goats, or just one goat really, a male goat. I’m trying to find one for her.’

Two goats? And how much noise do mating goats make? Lucian could ask this but was sure it would only cause those cheeks to burn all the brighter and once more gain the answer Not much.

Instead, they both looked over at the animal in question.

‘The problem is there are not many goats in London, particularly in Kensington,’ she said wistfully.

Was this woman entirely mad? Of course there were few goats in Kensington because sane people did not keep goats in the middle of such affluent areas.

‘Why don’t you just take it out to the countryside? There’s bound to be plenty of goat farms out there,’ he said, stating the obvious.

She recoiled as if he had said something offensive, but he could see nothing to take offence at. It was a perfectly logical and suitable solution to the problem.

‘No, I couldn’t possibly do that. I did make some enquiries, but I can’t find any farms that keep goats as pets or maybe just for their wool. Most of them seem to—’ she lowered her voice ‘—kill them so they can be eaten, even the ones that have given years of loyal service providing their owners with lovely cashmere wool or milk. I have to find somewhere I know Marigold will be safe and loved for the rest of her days.’

She smiled at the goat, who gave a small bleat in response and went back to eating the ivy.