Page 6 of Reforming Lord Neil

“A pleasure, Miss Caroline.”

There was a long pause before the girl responded. “What is your name, sir?”

“Neil Duncan.”

“Oh. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Duncan.” There was a rustle above him and when he looked up he saw the girl had tucked herself closer to the tree trunk, her footing more certain. “My mother does not like me climbing trees,” the child said. “It isn’t ladylike.”

Interesting. But it was none of his concern who the woman was or how she knew what was and was not ladylike.

After his horse rested, he would be on his way. Even if he wasn’t certain of his destination.

The door at the front of the house opened. Neil looked over his shoulder, and then he moved away from the tree. The woman standing in the doorway with white cap, iron gray eyes, and a stern glare, commanded his immediate attention.

“Madam.” He bowed, the movement slight. A marquess’s son bowed low to very few. At least, a man raised in such a station need not lower himself overmuch for a countrywoman.

She took his measure with one appraising glance. “Sir.” Then she directed her eyes to the tree. “Come down, Cara. We have yet to study geography.”

A bare-footed, tree-climbing child had geography studies?

“Yes, Grandmama.” The girl’s voice lilted sweetly in her obedient answer, and Neil looked up in time to see her stepping down from one branch to another with as much grace as a fully grown woman descending a stairway. The last limb was several feet high, yet she jumped down as though it was nothing to worry her.

Miss Caroline grinned most impudently up at him, bobbed a curtsy perfectly adequate for a child of her age, and hurried by him and through the door to the house.

Her grandmother stayed outside the doorway, her eyes fixed upon him. “You are oddly dressed, young man.”

Young man? He doubted whether he was more than a dozen years her junior. Then again, there was some gray in her hair. She might be older than she looked.

“I am dressed for dinner.” He held his arms out, not at all self-conscious of his odd apparel. Best to accept his circumstances, after all. “Yet I find no one will ask me to the evening meal.”

The woman pursed her lips. “My daughter is caring for your horse?” While nothing in her manner was precisely rude, her tone struck him as somewhat commanding.

Neil adjusted his coat. “If your daughter is Mrs. Clapham, then yes. I am—” He stopped, considering the woman before him and the recent revelation in his parentage. The child had assumed a title when he had not told her he was a lord. Might the grandmother do the same? “I am Neil Duncan.”

“Mr. Duncan.” The woman curtsied, barely dipping. “Consider yourself invited for dinner.” Then she walked into the house, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Teresa did not move, as shocked by her mother’s hasty invitation as the stranger. She had come up behind him, ready to offer him something cool to drink, when she’d heard her mother’s pronouncement.

Though prone to trust more readily than most, Teresa had not thought to extend more than a moment of respite to Mr. Duncan. What was Mama thinking? Inviting a stranger to dine with them, unusual as it was, might prove dangerous.

“You need not stay, Mr. Duncan,” Teresa said softly from behind him. He turned around to face her, the surprise still as evident upon his face as it had been in his posture. “It will be humble fare upon our table.” She looked over his clothing again, noting that while it was highly unsuitable for riding, the cloth seemed fine, and it all fit him with a precision that indicated an exceptionally talented tailor had seen to the task.

His expression cleared, though Teresa knew the charming smile he bestowed upon her was not exactly sincere. “When a man is hungry, Mrs. Clapham, he takes his dinner where it is offered. If your husband does not mind the invitation, I will be happy to be a guest at your table.”

Her stomach tightened, though not from grief. Not anymore. A year and all that Henry’s thoughtless actions caused had made the mourning process short-lived, and his memory pained her less if only because she refused to think upon him.

No, it was nerves. Despite the man’s words, she doubted that a thick lamb stew and slices of dark bread would appeal to him.

“There is no husband to mind, Mr. Duncan.” Ought she have said so? Perhaps she should have pretended her husband would be back too late for dinner. Her mother always told her she was far too trusting. Teresa gestured to the door. “If you would like to pass your time in the house, you may, but dinner is yet two hours from ready.”

“I see.” He looked to the door, then to his horse. “I should tend to my animal.”

“There is a paddock behind the barn, where the cow is passing the afternoon. If you like, your horse may join her there.”

“Excellent idea. Thank you, Mrs. Clapham.” This time when he smiled, she caught the edge of another emotion entirely. He almost seemed tired.

Teresa began walking that way. “The easiest way is through the barn, if you wish to follow me.”