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appalled at finding herself
in possession of a screaming child, but Mac lacked the patience to
care.
    As he lifted Bitsy from the floor and gingerly
tested for wetness, he watched Miss Cavendish wrestle with her
unexpected burden. Percy—Buddy—had apparently shut up long enough to
inspect his new keeper. His lower lip stuck out, suggesting he’d not be
quiet for long.
    “Did you have oatmeal for breakfast?” Mac heard her
ask as he wrapped a blanket around his niece in preparation for taking
her into the chilly morning air.
    Buddy nodded suspiciously.
    “Then you should have jam for dessert,” Miss
Cavendish informed him briskly. “Apollo likes apples and sugar cubes
after he eats his oats.”
    Mac briefly contemplated the possibility that he’d
handed his nephew to a lunatic, then realized she’d just compared Buddy
to her favorite horse. He was beginning to suspect she knew as little
about kids as he did.
    “Come on, little bit.” He swung the now quiescent
babe to his shoulder. “We’ll feed you sugar cubes and apples, too. Miss C
will turn you into a good, strong horsie.”
    Pamela gurgled happily and yanked on his hair.
    Grimacing, Mac joined Miss C in the yard and offered
the smaller child in exchange for the rambunctious Buddy. “He’ll
disappear into the mist if we let him go.”
    She didn’t look at him as they made the exchange,
but defiance tinted her whispery voice. “I wish to accompany you today
so that I may learn how to hire a thatcher without giving him money.”
    Hellfire. He didn’t need
this woman following him all over the countryside. He’d almost rather
haul the brats with him. “I’ll barter,” he said testily. “It’s nothing
you need worry your pretty head about.”
    Her pretty head jerked up as if he’d slapped her.
For the first time, she really looked at him, and her eyes spat the
fires of damnation. Mac was so surprised that he almost walked into a
rhododendron.
    “Don’t ever say that to me again.”
    She marched up the drive before he could process the
warning. He’d seen soldiers with less rigid posture. What the devil had
he said now?
    Balancing Percy on his shoulder, Mac strolled after her. “Don’t ever say what again?” he inquired with interest. Obviously she didn’t expect gentlemanly flattery.
    She didn’t turn around as he fell into step with her. “My father always
told me never to worry my pretty head. And look where that’s got me.”
She gestured at her unscythed lawn and tumbling roses. “I haven’t a clue
as to what I’m supposed to do about leaky roofs or unplowed fields or
sheep in need of shearing. I’m supposed to sit in my parlor and knit
while everything falls apart for lack of management, but I mustn’t worry
about a thing.”
    That gave him a glimmer of understanding as to why her estate showed such signs of neglect.
    “You’re supposed to hire a steward or caretaker or
some such. Or find a husband.” He added that with a hint of spite. His
parents had drummed the need for a wife into his head often enough for
the words to pop out without much thought.
    She glared at him from beneath the bonnet trim. “Oh,
very fine. I’ll send for Lord Knowles, shall I? I’ll tell him he can
have my father’s hounds in exchange for marriage. Then I can sit and
knit while he drives the hounds into the ground and my tenants into
penury. And if I’m truly fortunate, he’ll break his neck in a drunken
jump, and I’ll have to start all over.”
    Beatrice blinked in astonishment that she’d actually
uttered such scathing comments. She buried her face in the
sweet-smelling neck of the child in her arms, and tried not to look at
the tall man who was easily keeping pace with her and watching her with
such interest. Perhaps she dared speak her mind because he’d be gone in a
week or two. Perhaps she dared because he had no expectations of her.
    He didn’t seem to be appalled at her vehemence. He actually