Free Rexanne Becnel by The Heartbreaker

help smiling. What a momentous concession! Without thinking, her gaze sought Lord Farley, who stared down at Izzy in amazement. Then he raised his eyes to meet Phoebe’s and grinned, and again Phoebe felt that unsettling curl of heat deep in her belly. The situation was turning dangerous.
    At once she focused back on Helen. “The point is, Leya will go home with Izzy, and Bruno will stay with us. If you wish to play with Leya today, you must allow Izzy to play with Bruno. And vice versa,” she added to Izzy. “Do you know what that means?”
    An irritated Izzy slapped the reins to make the sturdy cart horse increase its pace. “It means the crybaby has to let me play with Bruno.” She gave Helen a smug look. “I hope Leya wets your dress.”
    Phoebe sighed. It was a beginning. And at least Lord Farley had conceded the issue of Izzy’s name.
    As they came up the last rise to Plummy Head she scanned the grounds surrounding her home, the place she’d lived her entire life. It looked as it always did, never changing save as dictated by the seasons.
    But today she looked at it with a different eye, trying to see it as he might, and in the process, seeing all its shortcomings, just as her mother always had. The slate roof sagged on one side of the chimney; the exposed tails of the roof could bear a fresh coat of paint, as could the windows and doors. The narrow path up to the house was overgrown and rutted with water standing in puddles. The well house needed a new roof, and the lean-to barn was gray with age and had listed to the left ever since that fierce storm last August.
    But the garden was neat and orderly, she told herself, as was the orchard. And the early roses beside the front door were greening up very nicely. In the near meadow, Posie and the other browsing goats lent a contented aura to her little farm.
    The cottage on Plummy Head might be nothing when compared to the expanse and grandeur of Farley Park. But for all its shortcomings, it was snug and sturdy, the chimney drew well, and she had no reason to feel ashamed. Her mother might have been bitterly disappointed by her reduced circumstances, but Phoebe loved the place, peeling paint and all.
    Bruno started barking when he spied his now familiar haunts, and he and Helen jumped down together once Phoebe took Leya. Izzy jumped down too, but Lord Farley caught her by one arm.
    “Just a minute, young lady. It’s part of your responsibility as the driver of this conveyance to tend to your horse’s needs. Where may we water him?” he asked Phoebe.
    “I’ve a pot tied to the well rope. A pot, because my bucket is still missing,” she added to Izzy. “I need it back.”
    “Yes. What about that bucket?” the viscount asked. “And all the other things you’ve stolen from Miss Churchill?”
    Izzy rolled her eyes. “They’re in the woods.” She gestured vaguely with one hand. “I don’t know ’xactly where.”
    “You know where,” he accused the child.
    “Yes. I’m sure she does,” Phoebe interjected. “In fact, why don’t you go fetch the bucket and the milking stool right now, Izzy, and later I might show you how to use them. I’m sure it won’t take you long, and while you’re gone I’ll make sweet milk and spread some plum jam on fresh bread. It should be ready for you just about the time you return.”
    Leading the horse, Izzy sauntered to the well without answering. Lord Farley stared after her frowning, with his fists on his hips. “If you’re trying to bribe her with jam and bread, I don’t think it will work.”
    “It’s obvious your threats haven’t proven successful with her. Perhaps my rewards will.”
    He turned to study her. “Yes, but jam and bread? She had puff pastries with chocolate sauce for dessert last night. Why should bread and jam tempt her when she can have cake and other sweets as soon as she returns home?”
    Phoebe gave him an irritated look. “Because you haven’t tasted my plum jam and bread.”