Page 11 of Reforming Lord Neil

Neil put a hand around his cup, wishing it contained something much stronger than cider. “If it will not be an imposition, the barn loft will prove adequate. If Miss Caroline can sleep there with no more inducement than a kitten, I am certain I will manage.”

Mrs. Clapham looked to her daughter’s plate of cherries and grimaced. “I will show you the loft after dinner.”

* * *

When Teresa was but a child, her father had said, “It is rare that kindness is repaid, but rarer still that it exacts a price.” He had meant to teach her to do kind things without expecting a reward. That night, as she escorted Mr. Duncan to the barn, a pillow and quilt in her arms, she hoped he had been right about the lack of price.

The man did not act in a way that caused her suspicion or discomfort, though she knew little enough of his story. He had acted as a gentleman throughout the afternoon and evening. She would bolt the doors and shutters of her home and trust God to do the rest.

Mr. Duncan carried the lantern to the foot of the ladder inside the barn. He raised the light upward. “How often do you climb up this rickety thing?” he asked, his free hand giving the ladder a shake. It held firm, thankfully.

“Not often, this time of year. We will hire someone to put the hay up for us at harvest, then I will be up there more often to feed the animals.” She handed him the quilt and thin pillow, taking the lantern from him in turn. “There is a large door up there you may wish to open, to let air in. I am sorry our accommodations are not better.”

“They will do for tonight.” His gaze moved from the shadows of the loft down to meet hers. “Do you often shelter strangers?”

Teresa considered the question a moment. “No. But I would hope someone would do the same for me, or for my child, were either of us in need of a roof above our heads.” She gestured to the door leading to the pasture. “I will milk the cow and then leave you to your rest, Mr. Duncan.”

He surprised her by executing a very proper bow. Her knees bent out of habit, her curtsy as fine as it ever had been.

“Good evening, Mrs. Clapham.” He tossed pillow and quilt upward, where they land upon the loft floor with a thump, then he climbed up without a backward glance. She watched until his shoes disappeared over the edge, then turned her attention to bringing the cow in for the night.

The animal was quick to come in, eager to be milked. “That’s my good Abigail,” Teresa crooned as she brought the cow into her stall. In a moment, she had the stool in place and worked to fill a clean pail with milk.

She did not hear a sound from above, though she doubted Mr. Duncan had gone to sleep so quickly.

Whatever had caused him to wander about the countryside in dinner clothes, she hoped it would not leave him in poor straits for long.

Teresa hummed as she milked, as was her habit. The tune was one that had been popular the year she came out. The Season she had met Henry Clapham.

When she closed her eyes, leaning her cheek against the warmth of Abigail, she could still remember dancing with Henry to the music. He had charmed her completely, despite his relatively humble standing in Society. He had been so genuine, open, and kind. Perhaps not a great flirt, and that recollection made her smile, but his sincerity had been endearing.

He had not been a gambler or a liar when she married him. At least, she thought he hadn’t.

Once the pail was full and Abigail comfortable, Teresa took the milk and lantern with her back inside the house.

Mother sat in the kitchen, a book open before her and a candle on the table. She looked up when Teresa entered. “I think it is time to teach Caroline more about her role as a hostess.” Her lips turned upward. “And appropriate dinner conversation.”

That earned a chuckle from Teresa. “Valuable skills, for an eleven-year-old girl.”

“There is no time like the present.” Mother closed her book and regarded Teresa with a more serious expression. “She does not know why a wager is inappropriate, Teresa.” It went unsaid that the gambling aspect had hurt Teresa more than the child’s secrecy. She could not allow her daughter to make the same mistakes as her father had.

“I know.” Teresa lowered herself to the chair. “And we need a kitten, since our last barn cat disappeared for better hunting grounds.” She forced herself to smile, though she clasped her hands together tightly in her lap. “Mother, what do I do? I have no wish to tell her about Henry. She still thinks of him as a hero, slaying dragons for her in the fens.”

Mother stood and came around the corner of the table to wrap her arm about Teresa’s shoulders. “There is no reason to speak ill of the dead, dear one. Even if what they have done leaves us hurting. Let her keep her image of him unspotted, but warn her against poor habits.”

“Thank you, Mother.” As a woman grown, Teresa rarely referred to her mother by anything except the more formal title. Not out of a lack of love. It was quite the opposite. She adored her mother, respected her, and after taking on the role herself with Caroline’s birth, held her mother in the highest esteem. “I will do my best with her, as you did with me.”

“Good night, Teresa.” Mother kissed Teresa’s temple, then lifted her candle and went to the stairs.

Before following, Teresa bolted the doors and shutters. By the time she made it to her daughter’s room, Caroline had fallen asleep. The little girl, growing faster than Teresa had ever thought she would, lay curled on her side with one hand beneath her cheek, her hair unbound.

Teresa brushed the dark locks away from her daughter’s face, seeing freckles across the child’s cheek.

She took herself to her own room, grateful for the tiny amount of privacy it afforded her. She looked out the window, barely able to discern the shape of the barn in the darkness.

Hopefully, Mr. Duncan would sleep well, and go on his way in the morning.

Chapter Five