Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“I HAVE IT!” Mrs. Barton called out with triumph.
“Don’t hurt her!” Emma pleaded as she rushed to her side.
“Emma, it is but a chicken. Come here at once,” Alice ordered, walking toward Emma with a stern expression that I felt was well-deserved.
“Ashington, tell her not to hurt Drusilla. She is frightened! I tried to rescue her from her near doom, but she ran in here.” Emma threw out her hands in frustration. “The place she needed rescuing from. She’s not a very bright chicken.”
“Indeed it appears she is not,” I agreed. Although I was sure the chicken had been perfectly fine until Emma had let it free.
“I am sorry, my lord. I was simply taking Miss Emma for a morning walk and she saw the chicken,” Alice began explaining, but I held up my hand to stop her.
“It is alright, Alice,” I assured her. It wasn’t the governess’ fault that Emma was so head strong. That would be the Compton blood in her veins. “If you will take Emma back to the cottage, Mrs. Barton will bring biscuits and jam. I shall come for a visit later this morning.”
Emma ran over to me and clutched my hand tightly in both her small ones. “But what of the chicken?”
“Do you want me to have Mrs. Barton feed it biscuits and jam?” I asked teasingly.
She frowned up at me. “No, Ashington. Chickens don’t eat jam.”
“Well then, I believe there is no cause for concern then.”
She pointed toward the door leading outside. “But it was in a cage. What are the plans for Drusilla? Are we to eat her?”
I glanced up at the cook then back down at Emma. There was no point lying to the child. I did not believe lying was a healthy habit, even if it was to protect their innocence. Not with something like this. “Yes, I do believe Drusilla was on this evening’s menu.”
Emma covered her mouth with both her hands and gasped loudly.
“However, it seems you have taken a liking to… Drusilla, so I see no reason why we can’t change the main course for the evening and allow Drusilla another chance at life.”
“Oh, thank you, Ashington. I promise Drusilla will be an excellent pet.”
“Chickens are not pets, Emma,” Alice informed her as she came over to take the child’s hand. I was grateful for her interruption because I had not intended for Emma to assume Drusilla was to become a pet. Just that we would refrain from making her our meal, tonight. I wasn’t sure on how to proceed with the future of the animal after that point.
“And why not?” Emma asked with indignation.
Alice gave her a tug and led her toward the door. “I will not discuss this further, Lady Emma. It is well past time for your breakfast. Come now,” she ordered as they left through the back door.
Once she was gone, there was an audible sigh amongst the kitchen staff. They all began cleaning up the feathers and other forms of chaos the chicken and Emma left in their wake. I turned and left the room, unsure what I would say to my guests upon my return. Had they heard any of that? The kitchen’s location was far enough that much of it should have been muffled, but the loud squeals had surely carried down the hallway.
Bringing Emma had been asking for such as this but leaving her in London was too much of a risk. I had much rather deal with this sort of situation than chance Nicholas finding out about her existence. Protecting Emma was my priority as was finding her a suitable mother.
Laughter rang out from the dining room as I drew closer and I stopped just shy of the entrance to listen to Miriam telling her aunt and uncle about the time she had first tried to cook breakfast for her family.
“I was washing flour out of my hair for weeks,” Miriam finished and her audience chuckled.
“But how did the biscuits taste?” her aunt asked.
“I do believe mother broke a tooth on one,” Miriam informed her with glee.
“Oh dear,” her aunt laughed.
“Yes, twas quite a learning experience for me. I appreciate a good soft biscuit ever so much these days,” Miriam quipped.
I found myself smiling at the easy banter and familiarity Miriam shared with her aunt and uncle. There was no stiff formality or hushed whispers about the ruckus they had obviously heard when I had rushed out. They took it in stride and carried on with their breakfast. Miriam Bathurst may not be what one would consider the perfect countess, but she may indeed be my perfect countess. Emma needed someone who wouldn’t feel faint after an event like the one I just dealt with.
I turned the corner and entered the room. Miriam was sipping her cup of hot chocolate and her eyes seemed to brighten when she spotted me. That was a nice reaction a man could get used to. “Lord Ashington, you just missed the tale of my unique culinary achievements,” she informed me, causing her aunt to giggle once more.