The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens
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around his chest and hugged him tight. “If Marigold isn’t able to care for him, we will.”
She reached to take the kid from his arms, but he pulled away.
“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not letting you coo over him. This one is mine, and I’ll do with him as I please. Send him to Ashbury’s estate. Banish him to a parsnip farm. Fatten him up for Christmas dinner. I told you she was breeding, and you didn’t believe me. I delivered the thing, and you weren’t here. You have no say in the matter.”
“I suppose that’s only fair.”
Although, watching him tenderly hold the little dear, she didn’t feel too worried about the kid’s future. Nor Gabriel’s. She would find it easier to part with him knowing he had some love in his life. Even if it came from a bottle-fed baby goat.
“Have you given him a name?”
“Considering what an insufferable pain he is, I’m leaning toward Ashbury.”
Penny chuckled. “I’ll tell you a secret about Ash. His Christian name is George. He hates it.”
He nodded. “George it is.”
George stirred and nosed at Gabriel’s chest and gave a warbling, plaintive bleat.
“We should take him back to the mews, to be near Marigold,” Penny suggested, “so they don’t lose the scent of each other. Perhaps she’ll feel strong enough to nurse him now. If not, I’ll help with the milking.”
George took another flask of milk a few hours later, and then again sometime after midnight, by the light of a lantern.
At some point, Penny must have fallen asleep, because she woke to the first glow of daylight. They’d leaned against each another in one corner of the stall, atop an uncomfortable heap of fresh straw.
Gabriel nudged her with his shoulder. “Look.”
The newborn goat was standing on his own wobbly legs, taking drunken steps. When he toppled sideways, he bleated indignantly.
Gabriel started to reach for him, but Penny held him back. “Wait.”
Marigold roused herself and ambled over to her kid, licking him about the head until George lurched and swayed himself to his hooves, and when he nosed at her swollen underside, she allowed him to nurse.
“Oh. That’s lovely.” Penny snuggled under Gabriel’s arm.
“Thank God she finally took to him,” he said.
“How could she not? Look how adorable he is. Best little goat in the world.”
For a few minutes, they watched mother and kid in exhausted silence. Then Gabriel caught Penny’s hand and brought it to his chest.
“They will all believe I ruined you,” he said quietly. “Married you for your money.”
They will. Penny tried not to betray how her heart leapt at those two simple words. Not “they would,” or “they might,” but “they will.” “I don’t care.”
“Others will care. Your family. Your peers. In society’s eyes, I’m unfit to stand on your carpet, much less share your bed.”
She smiled. “I’ve shared my bed with far muddier, furrier creatures.”
“You’re the daughter of an earl. I’m a bastard from the rookery.”
“You’re a self-made marvel of business acumen. A brilliant financier. Besides, just look at Ash and Chase. They married a seamstress and a governess, respectively. It can be done.”
“It’s not the same. Emma and Alexandra were elevated by those matches. You’d be the lady who lowered herself to marry a commoner. Not merely a commoner, but a criminal from the streets. The rumors would be vicious.”
She lifted her head. “And you believe I care what the gossips say? You can’t think so meanly of me as that.”
“I think that meanly of myself.” His eyes were dark with an emptiness that yearned to be filled. “You cannot understand. I can be wealthy as sin, live in the grandest houses, wear the finest clothes—and underneath, I’m still that starving, ragged boy from the streets. The hunger, the resentment … They never go away. I’ll never belong in the ton. I can take their money. I can command their fear. But I will never have their acceptance, much less their respect.”
“You’ll have my love. And if I have yours, that will be more than enough.”
“It’s romantic to think so. But years from now, when the respectable ladies still snub you in church, or when our children come home bruised or crying because their schoolmates were cruel … ?”
She laid her head against his shoulder. “Then I will tell them an amusing story about a hedgehog in a ballroom and give them a hug and perhaps a kitten to hold, and you and I will remind ourselves that children are stronger than anyone suspects.”
His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. He released her hand and eased out of her embrace. “I need to go bathe and dress. I have a hundred things to do to prepare for the ball.”
She cringed. “Do I truly need to attend?”
“Yes, you truly do.” He brushed the hay from his trousers. “A lady must attend her own engagement ball.”
Penny sat up straight. “Gabriel Duke. I know you did not just propose to me in the mews, without so much as going down on one knee, while my hair is a bird’s nest and we both smell like goat.”
“I didn’t propose to you.” He swung his arms into his coat. Before disappearing, he gave her a slight, mischievous grin and a single syllable that had her heart cartwheeling in her chest. “Yet.”
Between the hasty campaign of plumbing repairs, the hanging of wall coverings and draperies, and other frantic last-minute work on the former Wendleby residence, Gabe had put up with a great deal of noise in recent days. However, on returning to the house the following afternoon, he heard the most unexpected sound yet.
Laughter. Feminine laughter. He followed the sound to the drawing room, and when he saw the source, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Mrs. Burns.
He cleared his throat. “What’s going on in here?”
The housekeeper wheeled to face him. “Mr. Duke.” She tried to school her expression, but not fast enough. Laughter had transformed the housekeeper’s appearance. Her countenance was not dour and pale, but lively. Warm.
Human.
“I could have sworn I heard laughter.”
“Did you, sir?”
“Yes. Perhaps it was a ghost? Or maybe a raving madwoman chained in the attic.”
“It’s my fault.” Penny moved into view, carrying George in her arms. “I came to ask if there was anything I could do to help with the preparations.”
“To begin, you could take the goat back to the mews. This carpet was rescued from a French chateau. Its owner went to the guillotine. That kind of provenance comes dear.”
“I know, but look.” She set the kid on the floor, and George gamboled about the room, making high-pitched, chirping bleats. “He prances. Sideways. It’s adorable.”
The kid attempted a leap and stumbled drunkenly to the side, landing on the carpet before picking himself up and shaking his head.
Even Gabe had to admit it was rather adorable. Especially the way the newborn goat made its way to him from across the room, stopping at his boots to issue an entitled bleat. He was a