Lord Day and Lady Night

45. Beards for Breakfast

Trying to ignore the accusing stares he was sure his thirty-five generations of deceased ancestors were sending him from up above, or down below, in the case of Lord Wilbert Hibernius "Headsmasher" Day, Lord Patrick placed a gentle hand on Jo's shoulder. Though still a bit too boney for his liking, even after weeks of Mrs Morris's fattening, she was reassuringly solid. Very different from the little scarecrow with eyes too large for her face that he had first met weeks ago.

It still didn't make him feel better about what he had just heard.

He glanced over at Miss Amy Weston, who was watching him intensely, as if he were a tensed warbow about to snap. Well...in that, she was wrong. He was not about to snap. He was about to fire.

"Never?" he growled, low enough for only Amy to hear. "They've never been outside that hellhole? They've never been in the country? Breathed fresh air?"

Amy gave him a long look. "'ow would dey?"

He opened his mouth—and closed it again. How indeed? Was he just naïve by coincidence or was he actively trying? He definitely was doing one hell of a job!

Which, repeat, repeat, a noble personage such as himself was not supposed to have to do in the first place. Jobs were for plebeians!

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second.

Focus. Pay attention to what matters. This is not about you, remember?

He glanced down at the girl sitting in his lap. She was still staring hungrily at the lambs out on the meadow, and not in a way that made him think she was contemplating dinner. She rather looked as if she had her nose pressed against the display window of a pet shop, staring at her future best and most furry friend.

Clearing his throat, he leaned down towards the girl. "Do you...like them?"

The little girl stiffened in his arms, quickly glancing away from the lambs as if they had burned her. "N-not really. I mean I wouldn't ever presume...presume ta..."

Drat! That was not what I was aiming for. How does one speak to children about pets again? How does one speak to children, period?

"I asked you" he said, taking hold of her tiny chin and stared straight into her eyes, like he would at one of his debating opponents in the House of Lords, "if you like them. Speak, Miss!"

All right...that probably is not the way to do it.

"Aye." Her voice was tinier than she was, and that was saying something. "Aye, I do."

What do you know? It worked.

He glanced over at the other children, and their faces spoke volumes. Volumes full of pretty animal pictures and horrifying spelling mistakes. It was as if he were ten again and staring down at a tiny Angeline, begging him with her puppy-dog eyes.

"Would you like to see more animals that are similarly..." For a moment, His Lordship searched for a word to describe sheep that wasn't "ovine". "...adorable?" he finally settled. "As part of the landed nobility, Lord Wetherston has a great number of farms, and I bet there are many more animals to look at. Don't you agree, Mr Karim?"

Karim struggled with himself for a long moment. He truly did. But in the end, the brave warrior was unable to resist the begging doe-eyes. "If my memory does not deceive me, there is a farm three miles north of here that breeds small, long-eared furry beasts," he conceded. "They should fit the requirements."

"Yay!"

Nearly leaping out of their seats, the five girls pounced on the unfortunate bodyguard, hounding him with questions. Patrick used this opportunity to strategically withdraw into a corner. Pounding his walking cane against the roof, he called out to the coachman. "Did you hear? We're changing directions!"