She dined with Charles that night, and since Jason was again absent, the meal was delightful; but when it was over and Charles retired, she again found herself with time on her hands. Other than her trip to the stables and her adventure with Willie, she had done nothing today except wander aimlessly around with nothing to do. Tomorrow, she decided happily, she would go to work. She was used to being busy and she desperately needed something more to fill her empty hours. She hadn’t mentioned to Charles her intention of earning her keep, but she was certain that when he found out, he would be relieved that she was carrying her own weight and sparing him future tongue-lashings from his ill-tempered nephew.

She went up to her room and spent the rest of the evening trying to write a cheerful, optimistic letter to Dorothy.

Chapter Six

Victoria awoke early the next morning to the sound of birds chirping in the tree outside her open windows. Rolling over onto her back, she gazed at a bright blue sky filled with huge, puffy white clouds, the sort of sky that positively beckoned her outdoors.

Washing and dressing hurriedly, she went downstairs to the kitchens to get food for Willie. Jason Fielding had sarcastically asked if she could push a plow or drive a nail or milk a cow. She couldn’t do the first two, but she had often seen cows milked at home and it didn’t look particularly difficult. Besides, after six weeks of confinement on the ship, any sort of physical activity was appealing.

She was about to leave the kitchen with a plate of scraps when a thought struck her. Ignoring the outraged stare of the man in the white apron, who Charles had told her last night was the chef and who was watching her as if she were a madwoman invading his pot-bedecked kingdom, she turned to Mrs. Northrup. “Mrs. Northrup, is there anything I could do—to help here in the kitchen, I mean?”

Mrs. Northrup’s hand flew to her throat. “No, of course not.”

Victoria sighed. “In that case, could you tell me where I will find the cows?”

“The cows?” Mrs. Northrup gasped. “What—whatever for?”

“To milk them,” Victoria said.

The woman paled but said nothing, and after a puzzled moment, Victoria shrugged and decided to find them herself. She headed out the back door to search for Willie. Mrs. Northrup wiped the flour off her hands and headed straight for the front door to find Mr. Northrup.

As Victoria neared the compost pile, her eyes nervously scanned the woods for a sign of the dog. Willie—what an odd name for such a large, ferocious-looking animal, she thought. And then she saw him, lurking just inside the perimeter of the trees, watching her. The short hairs on the back of her neck stood up, but she carried the bowl of scraps as close to the woods as she dared. “Here, Willie,” she coaxed softly. “I’ve brought your breakfast. Come get it.”

The huge beast’s eyes flickered to the plate in her hand, but he stayed where he was, watchful, alert.

“Won’t you come a little closer?” Victoria continued, determined to befriend Jason Fielding’s dog, since she could never befriend the man.

The dog was no more cooperative than his master. He refused to be coaxed and kept his threatening gaze focused on her. With a sigh, Victoria put the plate down and walked away.

A gardener directed her to where the cows were kept, and Victoria walked into the spotless barn, her nose tickled by the scent of sweet-smelling hay. She paused uncertainly as a dozen cows looked up, regarding her with huge, liquid brown eyes as she walked along the row of stalls. She stopped at one with a stool and bucket hanging on the wall, thinking that this cow would surely be the most likely prospect for milking. “Good morning,” she said to the cow, patting its smooth face reassuringly while she tried to bolster her courage. Now that the moment was at hand, Victoria wasn’t at all certain she remembered exactly how one went about milking a cow.

Stalling for time, she strolled around the cow and plucked a few pieces of straw from its tail, then reluctantly took down the stool and placed the bucket in position beneath the animal’s pendulous udder. She sat down and slowly rolled up the sleeves of her gown, then arranged her skirts about her. Unaware of the man who had just stalked into the barn, she stroked the animal’s flank and drew a long, hesitant breath. “I may as well be perfectly honest with you,” she confessed to the cow. “The truth is—I haven’t actually done this before.”

Her rueful admission stopped Jason in mid-stride at the entrance to the stall, and his eyes warmed with fascinated amusement as he gazed at her. Seated upon the milking stool with her skirts spread about her as carefully as if she were seated upon a throne, Miss Victoria Seaton presented a very fetching picture. Her head was bent slightly as she concentrated on the task before her, providing him with a delightful view of her patrician profile with its elegant cheekbones and delicate little nose. Sunlight from the window above glinted in her hair, turning it into a shimmering red-gold waterfall that tumbled over her shoulders. Long curly eyelashes cast shadows on her smooth cheeks as she caught her lower lip between her teeth and reached down to move the bucket an inch forward.

The action drew Jason’s gaze to the thrusting fullness of her breasts as they pushed invitingly against the bodice of her black gown, but her next words made his shoulders shake with laughter. “This,” she told the cow in a revolted voice as she stretched her hands forward, “is going to be as embarrassing for me as it is for you.”

Victoria touched the cow’s fleshy teats and jerked her hands away with a loud “Ugh!” Then she tried again. She squeezed twice, quickly, then she leaned back and gazed hopefully at the bucket. No milk dropped into it. “Please, please, don’t make this difficult,” she implored the cow.

Twice more she repeated the same process, and still nothing happened. Frustration made her yank too hard the next time, which brought the cow’s head swinging around as it glared reproachfully at her. “I’m doing my part,” Victoria said, glaring right back, “the least you could do is yours!”

Behind her, a laughing masculine voice warned, “You’ll curdle her milk if you glower at her like that.”

Victoria jumped and whirled around on the stool, sending her coppery hair spilling over her left shoulder. “You!” she burst out, flushing in mortification at the scene he had obviously witnessed. “Why must you always creep up on people without a sound? The least you could do is—”

“Knock?” he suggested, his eyes glinting with laughter. With slow deliberation, he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles twice upon the wooden beam. “Do you always talk to animals?” he asked conversationally.