Page 8 of Reforming Lord Neil

“Henry was a good husband while he lived,” Mother argued, her eyes softening. “We cannot know what led to his mistake at the end. Your brother-in-law did not tell us enough to know for certain what drove Henry to gambling away your portion.”

“Frederick told us what he could.” Though she had never quite trusted her brother-in-law, when he brought paperwork written up by the family solicitor, she could not doubt what he had told her. Teresa approached her mother on the pretense of looking into the dinner pot. “What do you think of Mr. Duncan?”

“I think he will make an interesting dinner guest.” Mother took Teresa by the shoulders and smiled softly. “My darling, we must look for sunshine amid the clouds all our days. Let us be grateful for the entertainment a visitor offers and return to our work tomorrow.”

Teresa sighed and hugged her mother. Together, the two of them had accomplished a great deal. They had moved to a house far from what either of them knew, repaired as much as they could with her mother’s funds, and lived a simple life without servants to wait upon them as they had both once done.

“Very well. I look forward to this evening, then.” Teresa went to the door and opened it to find Caroline chatting amiably with Mr. Duncan as he sipped at his tin cup, nothing in his expression showing disappointment in their special concoction.

Perhaps the gentleman would not mind their dinner so much, either.

Chapter Four

Never in his life had Neil prepared for an evening meal by waiting outside of a house for dinner to be served. But as the ladies of the household had disappeared inside, without inviting him in, he went looking for things to occupy his time. If he sat still, he thought on the marquess’s cruelty as much as he wondered after his own parentage. As he could do nothing about either circumstance, dwelling upon them would do nothing for him.

It was best to stay busy.

He had walked about the paddock where his horse grazed on long grass and dandelions alongside the black cow. He found a few slats of wood that appeared loose, the nails holding the board in place sticking out at odd angles. There had been a variety of tools inside the barn. Perhaps, to secure his animal’s safety, he could correct the problem.

It might silence the thought in his mind that he had watched a gentlewoman fetch water for his horse, while he stood about like an imbecile. Doing a good turn for Mrs. Clapham would restore the balance of decorum he had unknowingly upset.

Upon entering the barn, after his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Neil searched out the tools he had seen. The hammer found, he took himself back outdoors. The first nail he worked upon bent horribly out of shape with his strike. He glared at it, adjusted the angle at which he held the hammer, and swung at the next protruding bit of metal.

That one went in straight.

Neil repeated the action on as many boards as he found that needed it, then tested the work by shaking the boards. Several of them appeared rather old. Likely in need of replacement.

It took very little time, and the work was oddly refreshing. Sweat beaded upon his brow, and the muscles in his shoulder tensed and released with each swing. It was almost a shame when he could find no more nails to fix in place.

With hammer in hand, he returned to the barn. He noticed straw upon the ground, and a broom standing in one corner. Straw didn’t generally belong on walking paths, he knew well from his own father’s barns and kennels.

In his youth, he had once been punished by the kennel master for smuggling treats to the dogs. The master had kept the animals half-starved during fox hunting season, claiming it made them better hunters, and Neil had attempted to feed his favorites scraps of bacon from his own breakfast. When the master caught him, he’d given Neil the singularly disgusting task of cleaning out the straw in the kennels, from where the dogs lived to the main aisle.

The punishment had taught Neil two things. The first, of course, was how to properly go about disposing of filthy straw. The second was how to better sneak past the kennel master. His favorite dogs had not starved before the hunts that year.

Taking off his coat, Neil surveyed the stalls and the barn. It was not in desperate need of work, but the building did need more attention. He could take care of one more small thing to show his gratitude for the women’s kindness. And hammering home a few loose nails was not, perhaps, enough to make up for her waiting upon him.

Neil found a rake suitable to the task and started moving the straw out the door. If he put it into a pile, it was something to do, and Mrs. Clapham might use the straw either in garden beds or burn it. He cared not. He merely needed to occupy his hands and mind.

His horse came to stick its head over the door, staring at him as though surprised Neil had lowered himself to a laborer’s work.

“It is odd,” he said to the animal as he raked the straw into a pile at the center of the barn. “But I cannot allow myself to be indebted to these women.” No one ever hung a debt over Neil’s head. He was the one who claimed favors, not the other way around.

Not that it had done him any good of late. As word of his father’s anger traveled, the people who owed Neil anything would be less and less likely to settle with him. Without the marquess’s backing, Neil was as powerless as a pauper.

The horse nickered at him. Neil glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged. “They are alarmingly trusting, are they not? Three females alone, letting a man into their midst.” Were all people in their poor circumstances so generous? Neil doubted it.

“Foolish women,” he muttered. “What if I wished to rob them?” Though it did not appear they had much of value, given their clothing and lack of servants.

How had gentlewomen fallen so low as to fetch water for a stranger’s horse and snap beans in the kitchen yard? There ought to have at least been a man of all work about to look after them. Such a servant could not require much in payment.

They sent the little girl out to tell him dinner was ready. She came with a bounce in her step, and shoes on her feet. She had changed into a different dress, her hair was down, and she smiled brightly at him.

“Mama said you ought to wash with the bucket, by the pump. We haven’t anywhere else prepared for guests to clean up before a meal.” She looked at his pile of straw with interest. “Did you do that?”

“Merely to pass the time.” Neil fetched his coat from where he had thrown it over a stall door. “I will wash and be in directly, Miss Caroline.”

She stared at the straw a moment longer, then looked up at him with a smile upon her face. “Thank you for doing one of my chores.” Then she skipped away, directly for the kitchen door.