The Wallflower Wager - Tessa Dare Page 0,20

her hands together. “God never blessed us with children of our own, milady. It would be a true joy to look after the animals. We need creatures to love.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Brown gave Angus a smack on the rump. “I’d wager this old girl is a fine milker.”

“That’s a Highland steer,” Penny said.

“Oh!” The farmer—if indeed he was a farmer—peeked under Angus’s tail. “So he is. Out in Herefordshire—”

Mrs. Brown elbowed her husband. “Hertfordshire.”

“Out in Hertfordshire, we don’t often see this breed.”

Penny could have pointed out that the breeding organs of cattle remained largely the same, regardless. She didn’t bother. Whoever these people were, they were not parsnip farmers from Hertfordshire. They weren’t farmers of any sort.

“Well, then.” Mr. Duke clapped his hands. “Shall we load them all up?”

Just how far did he intend to carry this ruse? Did he think Penny had taken a headfirst tumble off a parsnip wagon?

“By all means,” she said. “And while you do that, I’ll fetch my things.”

“Your things?”

“Yes, of course. With no offense intended to Mr. and Mrs. Brown, I have to see and judge the place for myself.”

“The journey will take two days.” His tone was clipped. “Each way.”

She smiled. “I’ll pack accordingly.”

“Fine. You do that. Mr. and Mrs. Brown will be waiting.”

Before she could take his bluff to the next level, “Mr. Brown” intervened. “Hold a moment, sir. What is this mischief, I ask you? Two days’ journey, in either direction? Inconceivable.”

The man’s amiable country accent had transformed into full-throated Shakespearean declamation, complete with trilled R’s and flourishes of the hand.

The woman purporting to be Mrs. Brown confronted Mr. Duke in a faintly Irish lilt. “We agreed to a onetime engagement, sir. A single afternoon playing the humble farmer and his wife. What’s this about travelin’ to Hertfordshire? We’ve a Drury Lane performance in a few hours. I’m not giving my scheming little understudy a chance at Lady Macbeth.”

“I’ll have you know I make an appearance in the first act, sir!” the farmer bellowed. “I cannot miss the curtain.”

“As if anyone would notice, Harold. You’re naught but scenery.”

Harold puffed his chest. “In the theater, there are no insignificant roles.”

“Oh, to be sure there aren’t. Size doesn’t matter. Keep tellin’ yourself as much.”

Mr. Duke dug in his pocket for money. “Just go, the both of you.”

Penny waited until the actors had gone. “You are unbelievable. And unimaginative, too. A parsnip farm?”

“Very well, there’s no farm. But in my defense, I had every intention of purchasing the first available bit of pasture.”

“The first available? You promised me they’d have the best available. With people who care.”

“You handed me a mile-long list of animals. Where am I supposed to find a pension home for aging livestock?”

“This was a terrible idea. I should never have accepted your offer to help. If you’re going to mock me, there’s no point in this at all. You agree with my aunt. I’m silly and pathetic, and it’s time for me to give up.” She turned to retreat into the house. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He caught her by the wrist. “The two of us . . . We’re from different breeds. Different species, even. I can’t pretend to fathom what you’re doing with all these animals. However, I doubt you approve of the way I live my life, either.”

That was fair to say, she supposed.

“There is, however, one thing we have in common. I’m stubborn as hell, and I’d formed the impression that you don’t surrender easily, either. Or was I mistaken?”

“You weren’t mistaken.”

“It’s settled, then.” His gaze held her captive. “I’m not giving up, and neither are you.”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there. Good God. She was thinking about kissing him. Not merely remembering kissing him the other night, but thinking about kissing him again.

She was a fool. A naïve, trusting, sheltered fool.

And Gabe wanted to corrupt her so damned badly, his bones ached.

He had to get this absurd task accomplished, and soon.

“I’ll buy some property in the country. We have to find a place to put them all at once. How do you feel about Surrey?”

“Surrey? I’m ambivalent about Surrey.”

“Everyone’s ambivalent about Surrey. I’m not certain there’s any other way to feel about Surrey.”

“It doesn’t matter. We aren’t ‘putting them’ on a random parcel of land. We’re meant to be finding them homes. Ones with real people.”

“The problem is, real people need to eat. They don’t have time to take on animals with dietary restrictions and missing