eye and busted lip, Brent knew he looked like a ruffian who’d been in a tavern brawl.
“Yes, sir,” the young man said quietly and moved slightly to stand between Brent and the lasses. “I remember you.”
Obviously, the young man’s job was not only to deliver the milk but to take care of the girls with him, as well. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stout and looked strong as an ox. Brent couldn’t help but think Lady Gabrielle would have done well to have had such a watchful lad as he with her yesterday morning. It would certainly have made Brent’s life a lot easier if she’d had.
“I am Viscount Brentwood,” he said, walking closer to the trio. “You have no reason to fear harm from me.”
The lad rolled his hat off his head, showing thick, unevenly trimmed brownish-red hair. He bowed and then fixed Brent with a wary gaze as he said, “I’ve never met a lord before.”
Brent did not doubt that. “No matter. I’m just like any other man you’d meet. What is your name?”
“Godfrey.”
“Very well, Godfrey, I want to ask you some questions.”
“I don’t rightly know how to talk to a lord, my lord. I just deliver the milk for me mum.”
Sensing his fear and wanting to make him feel comfortable so he would talk to him, Brent said, “That’s a very important job you have. Everyone wants their milk when they rise. Tell me, are these girls your sisters?”
The young man cut his eyes over to the two and nodded.
“That’s good, Godfrey. I want you to talk to me the same way you would if you were talking to them. It’s that simple, all right?”
He nodded again.
“Do you remember seeing the small dog I had with me yesterday?”
“Yes, my lord.”
A snicker sounded from one of the girls, and Brent and the lad glanced their way. The younger girl held a gloved hand over her mouth while the older one fixed her with a disapproving glare.
“I… we,” the young man hesitated and cut his eyes around to his sisters. “We remember the dog.”
Only too well, Brent thought. The milkmaid could cover her smile and muffle her giggle, but laughter showed clearly in her youthful eyes.
“Good. Her name is Prissy, or Pris. She answers to both. She wandered away from me yesterday, and I can’t find her. In your travels back and forth, have you seen her?”
“No, my lord,” Godfrey said while nervously twisting and squeezing his wool hat in his hands.
“Do you always pass along the same route through the park each day?”
“Yes, my lord, but sometimes we don’t.”
Brent wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but said, “If you see her and can catch her, bring her to Number 12 Mayfair Lane, and I’ll see to it you are handsomely rewarded.” Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling and threw it to the lad. He caught it up to his chest with both hands. “There will be more if you find her.”
Godfrey’s eyes rounded and brightened. Surprised gasps came from the two girls. “Th-thank you, my lord.”
Brent turned and walked back to his curricle. Within moments he was continuing his search for Pris. It was still too early for the sun to shine hot or bright enough to chase away the gray clouds, but it didn’t feel as cold as when he first arrived at the park. When he was close to the area where he’d last seen Prissy, he once again set the brake on the curricle and jumped down.
He intended to scour every inch of ground, including looking under every tree, bush, and shrub. Frustration mounted as he slipped on a patch of wet leaves and twisted his ankle, so it hurt a little every time he took a step. He knocked his hat off his head by a low-hanging branch, and a limb scratched the cheek that was still angry and swollen from his tussle with the duke’s men. But he found no sign of the pet.
Half an hour later, he was making his way back to the carriage when he heard what he thought was a familiar voice. He stopped and stood still.
“Prissy!” he heard a lady
“Yes, sir,” the young man said quietly and moved slightly to stand between Brent and the lasses. “I remember you.”
Obviously, the young man’s job was not only to deliver the milk but to take care of the girls with him, as well. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stout and looked strong as an ox. Brent couldn’t help but think Lady Gabrielle would have done well to have had such a watchful lad as he with her yesterday morning. It would certainly have made Brent’s life a lot easier if she’d had.
“I am Viscount Brentwood,” he said, walking closer to the trio. “You have no reason to fear harm from me.”
The lad rolled his hat off his head, showing thick, unevenly trimmed brownish-red hair. He bowed and then fixed Brent with a wary gaze as he said, “I’ve never met a lord before.”
Brent did not doubt that. “No matter. I’m just like any other man you’d meet. What is your name?”
“Godfrey.”
“Very well, Godfrey, I want to ask you some questions.”
“I don’t rightly know how to talk to a lord, my lord. I just deliver the milk for me mum.”
Sensing his fear and wanting to make him feel comfortable so he would talk to him, Brent said, “That’s a very important job you have. Everyone wants their milk when they rise. Tell me, are these girls your sisters?”
The young man cut his eyes over to the two and nodded.
“That’s good, Godfrey. I want you to talk to me the same way you would if you were talking to them. It’s that simple, all right?”
He nodded again.
“Do you remember seeing the small dog I had with me yesterday?”
“Yes, my lord.”
A snicker sounded from one of the girls, and Brent and the lad glanced their way. The younger girl held a gloved hand over her mouth while the older one fixed her with a disapproving glare.
“I… we,” the young man hesitated and cut his eyes around to his sisters. “We remember the dog.”
Only too well, Brent thought. The milkmaid could cover her smile and muffle her giggle, but laughter showed clearly in her youthful eyes.
“Good. Her name is Prissy, or Pris. She answers to both. She wandered away from me yesterday, and I can’t find her. In your travels back and forth, have you seen her?”
“No, my lord,” Godfrey said while nervously twisting and squeezing his wool hat in his hands.
“Do you always pass along the same route through the park each day?”
“Yes, my lord, but sometimes we don’t.”
Brent wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but said, “If you see her and can catch her, bring her to Number 12 Mayfair Lane, and I’ll see to it you are handsomely rewarded.” Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling and threw it to the lad. He caught it up to his chest with both hands. “There will be more if you find her.”
Godfrey’s eyes rounded and brightened. Surprised gasps came from the two girls. “Th-thank you, my lord.”
Brent turned and walked back to his curricle. Within moments he was continuing his search for Pris. It was still too early for the sun to shine hot or bright enough to chase away the gray clouds, but it didn’t feel as cold as when he first arrived at the park. When he was close to the area where he’d last seen Prissy, he once again set the brake on the curricle and jumped down.
He intended to scour every inch of ground, including looking under every tree, bush, and shrub. Frustration mounted as he slipped on a patch of wet leaves and twisted his ankle, so it hurt a little every time he took a step. He knocked his hat off his head by a low-hanging branch, and a limb scratched the cheek that was still angry and swollen from his tussle with the duke’s men. But he found no sign of the pet.
Half an hour later, he was making his way back to the carriage when he heard what he thought was a familiar voice. He stopped and stood still.
“Prissy!” he heard a lady
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