Page 42 of A Lady of Conscience

James was indeed an excellent driver, just as she had assured her mother. Hannah had experienced little discomfort during their journey.

Not of the physical kind, anyway.

Good gracious, what had she been thinking to confide so much in him about her parents’ history?

But she knew what she’d been thinking. She’d been attempting to reassure him about his own family’s scandals. To show him that he wasn’t alone.

And not only that.

She supposed she’d been not-so-subtly attempting to warn him. He already found so much objectionable in her person—her shyness, her seeming lack of confidence, her unwillingness to enter London society. But there were other obstacles too. Greater obstacles. Far better he should learn about them now.

If any of it had changed James’s mind about pursuing her, Hannah couldn’t tell. He was as civil to her as he’d been when they had set out. It was only when he looked at her that she could sense his conflict. He did indeed appear as though he was trying to solve a puzzle, just as Charles had said.

Unhappy thought.

She stared out at the lush fields of the farm, refocusing her attention on the task at hand. “It seems a pleasant place,” she said. “Sweet William must have been quite content here before he was stolen away. I pray he will be so again.”

“It will certainly be an improvement over pulling a cart,” James replied.

“Indeed. I suspect the costermonger was unduly harsh with him. The way the poor creature cringed. It seems that…” She trailed off, her attention arrested by a startling sight in one of the paddocks that lined the long drive. It was an undersized donkey, serenely grazing on the grass. The little beast had one white ear.

Spying the distinctive feature, Hannah sat bolt upright in her seat. She stared at the donkey in alarm. “Oh no,” she breathed. “Look, James.”

James followed her gaze. His brows shot up. “Is that Sweet William?”

“I fear it is.”

“Then the donkey we’ve brought back⁠—”

“Is not,” she said hollowly. “He must be a lookalike.”

Up ahead, a portly man in a tweed cap stood at the gate of the cow pasture talking to two humbly dressed fellows. The farmer himself, Hannah presumed. He had a look of authority about him.

James pulled the curricle alongside him. “Do I have the privilege of addressing Mr. Fallkirk?”

“I’m Fallkirk,” the farmer replied, coming over to meet them. “And who might you be, sir?”

“James Beresford, Viscount St. Clare,” James said. “And this is Miss Heywood.”

Hannah inclined her head to the man. She didn’t speak. She was too embarrassed to do so. The donkey they’d brought with them was obviously not Sweet William. Not unless Sweet William had a near and identical relation.

Mr. Fallkirk bobbed his head at them both in greeting. Unlike the costermonger, he didn’t appear unduly impressed by James’s title. “How can I be of service yer lordship?”

“Miss Heywood and I had thought to return your missing donkey,” James said.

Mr. Fallkirk exchanged a surprised look with his farmhands. Together, they walked behind the curricle to view the donkey in question. They returned almost immediately, a look of collective consternation on their faces.

“He do resemble m’ daughter’s donkey, I grant you,” Mr. Fallkirk said. “But he’s a mite too big. Sweet William is far smaller, as you see. He was returned to us a week ago. T’weren’t stolen at all, as it transpired. He’d wandered off into the hills. One of my tenants found him and brought him back. M'daughter was delighted.”

Hannah at last found her voice. “I’m very glad to hear it,” she said. “Er, I don’t suppose Miss Fallkirk would be interested in a second donkey?”

“Don’t suppose she would, miss,” Mr. Fallkirk said. “Sweet William is a territorial little rascal, prone to chasing off any other creature that invades his paddock. M’ daughter spoiled him, that’s the trouble. Thinks he’s a dog not a farm animal.”

“Yes, I see,” Hannah said.

“You might offer this donkey at the sales this summer,” Mr. Fallkirk suggested. “He’s a good size for pulling one o’ them fruit carts you see about town.”

She winced.