Page 36 of Reforming Lord Neil

There was a bit of his old teasing back in his voice as he spoke. “As I have had to learn any number of things these past days. Tomorrow, I will have been here three weeks. Have I come along enough, do you think?”

“Certainly.” She snipped off a particularly awful knot, then immediately gave the dog a gentle pat. “Especially when it comes to mucking out the stalls. One would think you had previous practice.”

“Some. My specialty was actually in dog kennels.” He smirked, and then leaned his head back against the stall wall. “It was a regular form of discipline, for me to clean my father’s kennels.”

“Dear me. Regular.” Teresa kept combing, looking for more places where the teeth of the comb could not pass. “Were you a very ill-behaved boy?”

“I must have been.” Mr. Duncan’s eyes closed, but he kept comforting the dog. “But the punishment hardly mattered to me. I was never happier than when I was with the dogs. They are good creatures, when they are not half-starved before a hunt. They are loyal. Affectionate without reserve.”

Teresa heard something in his voice, something sad and lonely. She worked on the animal’s tail a moment before deciding to pursue her thought. “Not like people. People hold back their affection, they love conditionally.”

Mr. Duncan lowered his head again, his eyes green in the lantern light. “Especially the people that I know. Yes.”

“Even your sister?” Teresa asked, remembering his letter, and the odd relief that had come to her when she realized the lady was his relative. Only—she told herself—because that meant no one was calling him home right away.

Mr. Duncan shrugged, adjusted his hold on the dog, who nuzzled her nose back into his coat to hide. “Even my sister. I thought she was different. Growing up, the two of us were quite close. But Livvy—” He swallowed. “Olivia changed after she entered Society. She liked the games too much. Playing with people’s reputations, their hearts, and flaunting her popularity. I suppose she only did as our mother trained her to do.”

Teresa nodded a little. She had met women like that in the past. “Can we turn your dog to her other side, please?”

Neil carefully rolled the dog, putting her back to his stomach. She did not seem to like it, but as soon as his hand resumed his gentle attentions, she stilled again.

“Why do you suppose you are different? That you do not behave as your family does?” Teresa asked, taking him back to their conversation. When he did not immediately answer, she glanced up at him, wincing. “I have overstepped.”

“No.” His lips quirked upward, but his eyebrows had drawn together tightly. “I suppose I ought to confess to you that I am not different.”

“Your sister does not sound like someone who would bother herself to help a poor woman on her farm,” Teresa said lightly, working gently through the dog’s fur.

“I suppose not. But I am getting something out of our arrangement, do not forget.”

“A roof overhead, and peasant food.” Teresa kept her words light, amused. She accepted the truth of her situation well enough. “And you have never once complained.”

“Not out loud,” he corrected, though his smile had widened. “I have never heard you complain, either.”

“That is different. This is my life. What would complaining do, except place more weight and drudgery upon my shoulders?”

Mr. Duncan’s eyes softened, and he moved his arm to gently nudge her shoulder. “Come now, Mrs. Clapham. We both know there are people who complain about every facet of their lives. Even if there is no more wrong than a cushion misplaced upon their couch.”

A giggle escaped her, as she had known several ladies who would bemoan such a small thing as though their worlds were ending. “Mr. Duncan, we cannot judge others so harshly. Perhaps a misplaced cushion is the only tragedy they have ever known. They have nothing greater to measure it against.”

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head with a dramatic sigh. “There. You have proven again that you are a woman like none I have met before. Compassionate and merciful.”

Teresa lowered her gaze to the dog again, her fingers having found another knot. Never mind that she also wished to hide a pleased smile. “I can attribute those same qualities to you, sir, in this very moment.”

He spoke dismissively. “I am fond of dogs.”

“And kind to kittens, talkative children, stubborn cattle—I saw the chase Abigail led you on yesterday, you know—and respectful to women who have fallen from Society’s rungs. You cannot fool me. Perhaps you know how to play Society’s games, as your sister does, but I believe you are more the man who lives in my loft than whomever you were in a ballroom.” Teresa’s hands stilled. She bit her lip. Somehow, her little speech had gotten away from her. She had not meant to sound so admiring.

She cleared her throat when he said nothing, then snipped the last of the knots from the animal’s leg. “There. She ought to be fine now, if she stays out of brambles.”

Mr. Duncan took the dog from his lap and tucked her into the straw. “I need to find her a box. Dogs prefer smaller spaces to curl up.”

“I likely have a few. Or a basket, if we find a shallow one.” Teresa put her scissors in her apron pocket and stood, brushing off the dog hairs.

Mr. Duncan picked up the leather pouch she had brought and held it out to her.

“Oh. No. That is actually for you.” Teresa tucked her hands behind her back. Despite the heat burning in her cheeks, she met his steady gaze. “A shaving kit. I thought you could use it. There is even some soap inside. Powdered, I think.”

“Where did you get it?” he asked, lowering his hand. There was an intensity in his eyes that made her swallow, nervously.