Minx (3 page)

"Will you shut up!" Dunford commanded.

The pig, sensing authority, didn't just shut up—it actually laid down.

Henry did a double take, impressed in spite of herself. She had dashed downstairs the minute she saw the pig emerge from the stables, and had arrived in the front drive just as the new Lord Stannage was trying out his new lordly imperiousness on barnyard animals.

She ran forward, forgetting she hadn't managed to take that bath she knew she needed, forgetting she was still garbed in boys' clothes. Dirty boys' clothes.

"So sorry, my lord," she muttered, offering him a tight smile before leaning down and grabbing the pig's collar. She probably shouldn't have interfered, should have let the pig get bored of sitting on the ground, should have laughed when it came forward and did unspeakable things to the new Lord Stannage's boots. But she took far too much pride in Stannage Park not to try to salvage the disaster in some way. There was nothing in the world that meant as much to her as this smooth-running estate, and she couldn't bear that someone might think that free-roaming pigs were a common occurrence, even if that someone were a London lord of whom she heartily wanted to be rid.

A farmhand ran up, took the pig from her, and led it back to the stables. Henry straightened, suddenly aware of the way every last servant was gaping at her, and wiped her hands on her breeches. She glanced over at the darkly handsome man standing across from her. "How do you do, Lord Stannage?" she said, curving her lips into a welcoming smile. After all, there was no need for him to realize she was trying to scare him away.

"How do you do, Miss, er..."

Henry's eyes narrowed. He didn't realize who she was? No doubt he'd been expecting his ward to be a trifle younger, a pampered and spoiled young miss who never ventured out of doors, much less ran an entire estate. "Miss Henrietta Barrett," she said in a tone that said she expected him to recognize the name. "But you can just call me Henry. Everybody does."

Chapter 2

Dunford raised a brow. This was Henry? "You're a girl," he said, realizing how stupid he sounded even as the words left his mouth.

"Last time I looked," she said cheekily.

Somewhere in the background someone groaned. Henry was fairly sure it was Mrs. Simpson.

Dunford blinked a few times at the bizarre creature standing in front of him. She was wearing a pair of baggy men's breeches and a serviceable white, cotton shirt which, if the number of muddy streaks on her person were any indication, had recently been serviced. Her brown hair was unbound, freshly brushed, and flowing down her back. Rather beautiful hair it was, very feminine and somewhat at odds with the rest of her appearance. He couldn't quite decide if she was attractive or merely interesting or if she might even be beautiful if she weren't wearing something quite so shapeless. But there was no way he was going to make a closer inspection anytime soon because the girl smelled decidedly...unfeminine.

Quite honestly, Dunford didn't want to get within three feet of her.

Henry had been wearing eau de piglet since morning and had grown quite used to it. She saw the new Lord Stannage frown and figured he was probably reacting to her rather unorthodox attire. Well, there was nothing to do about that now, thanks to his early arrival and the giant pig's untimely appearance, so she decided to make the best of it and smiled again, wanting to lull him into thinking she was pleased to see him.

Dunford cleared his throat. "Forgive my surprise, Miss Barrett, but—"

"Henry. Please call me Henry. Everybody does."

"Henry, then. Please do forgive my surprise, but I was told only that someone named Henry was in charge, and so naturally I assumed..."

"Pay it no mind," she said with a wave of her hand. "Happens all the time. It often works to my advantage."

"I'm sure it does," he murmured, discreetly taking a step away from her.

She put her hands on her hips and squinted across the lawn at the stables to make sure the farmhand was securing the pig properly. Dunford watched her surreptitiously, thinking there had to be another Henry, that this girl couldn't possibly be in charge. For God's sake, she didn't look a day over fifteen.

She turned back to him with a rather sudden movement. "This is not a common occurrence, I have to say. We're building a new pigpen, and the pigs are in the stables only as a temporary measure."

"I see." She certainly sounded as if she were in charge, Dunford thought.

"Right. Well, we're about halfway done." Henry grinned. “Famous that you arrived when you did, my lord, for we could use another pair of hands."

Somewhere behind her someone coughed, and this time she was certain it was Mrs. Simpson.

Fine time for Simpy to get an attack of conscience, Henry thought, mentally rolling her eyes. She smiled again at Dunford and said, "I'd like to see the pigpen done as soon as possible. We don't want a repeat of this afternoon's unfortunate incident, do we?"

This time Dunford had no choice but to acknowledge that this creature was indeed running the estate. "I understand you're in charge here," he finally said.

Henry shrugged. "More or less."

"Aren't you a little, er... young?"

"Probably," Henry replied without thinking. Darn, wrong thing to say. That would only give him an excuse to get rid of her. "But I'm really the best man for the job," she quickly added. "I've been running Stannage Park for years."

"Woman," Dunford murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"Woman. The best woman for the job." His eyes glinted with humor. "You are a woman, are you not?"

Henry, completely missing the fact that he was teasing her, blushed painfully pink. "There's not a man in Cornwall who could do a better job than I do," she muttered.

"I'm sure you're right," Dunford said. "Pigs notwithstanding. But enough of this. Stannage Park looks quite splendidly run. I'm sure you're doing a good job. In fact, perhaps you should be the one to introduce me to the estate." Then he let loose what had to be his most lethal weapon: his smile.

Henry tried very hard not to melt at the sheer force of his grin. She'd never had occasion to meet a man who was quite as much of a... of a man, really, as this one, and she didn't like the way her stomach was fluttering one bit. He didn't look the least bit affected by her presence, she noted with irritation, other than that he obviously found her quite odd. Well, he wouldn't see her swooning all over him. "Certainly," she replied smoothly. "I'd be happy to. Shall we start right now?"

"Henry!" Mrs. Simpson said, rushing over to her side. "His Lordship has just traveled all the way from London. I'm sure he'll want to repair himself. He'll be hungry, too."

Dunford flashed them another one of those deadly smiles. "Famished."

"If I had just inherited an estate, I'd want to see it right away," Henry said loftily. "I'd want to know all about it."

Dunford's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "To be certain, I do want to learn all about Stannage Park, but I don't see why I cannot begin tomorrow morning after I have eaten and rested." He turned back to Henry and inclined his head just a fraction of an inch. "And bathed."

Henry's face burned beet red as she realized the new Lord Stannage was telling her as politely as he could that she stank. "Of course, my lord," she said in a glacial tone. "Your wish is, of course, my command. You are the new lord here, of course."

Dunford thought he might throttle her if she inserted one more "of course" into her speech. Just what was she up to? And why was she suddenly so resentful of him? She'd been all smiles and welcomes just a few minutes earlier. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to have you at my disposal, Miss Barrett. I'm sorry, er, Henry. And from your rather pretty speech, I can only deduce you are at my complete disposal. How intriguing." He smiled blandly at her and followed Mrs. Simpson into the house.

Darn, darn, darn, Henry thought wildly, resisting the urge to stamp her foot. Why on earth had she let her temper get the better of her? Now he knew she didn't want him here and would be suspicious of her every word and action. He was no corkbrain, this one.

That was her first problem. He was supposed to have been stupid. Men of his sort usually were, or so she'd heard.

Problem number two: he was too young. He wasn't going to have any trouble keeping up with her tomorrow. So much for exhausting him into realizing he wouldn't like it here at Stannage Park.

Problem number three, of course, was that he was quite the best-looking man she'd ever seen. She hadn't seen too many men, that was true, but that didn't diminish the fact that he made her feel like...Henry frowned. What did he make her feel like? She sighed and shook her head. She didn't want to know.

Her fourth problem was obvious. Despite the fact that she didn't want to admit the new Lord Stannage could be correct about anything, there was no way around the truth.

She stank.

Not even bothering to conceal a groan, Henry returned to the house and stomped up the stairs to her room.

Dunford followed Mrs. Simpson as she led him to the master suite. "I hope you find your rooms comfortable," she was saying. "Henry's done her best to keep the house modernized."

"Ah, Henry," he said enigmatically.

"She's our Henry, she is."

Dunford smiled at her, another one of those devastating combinations of lips and teeth that had slain women for years. "Just who is Henry?"

"You don't know?"

He shrugged and raised his brows.

"Why, she's been living here for years, ever since her parents died. And she's been running the place for... let me see, it must be at least six years now, since Lady Stannage passed on, God bless her heart."

"Where was Lord Stannage?" Dunford asked curiously. Best to find out as much as possible as soon as possible. He'd always believed that nothing could arm a man like a bit of research.

"Mourning Lady Stannage."

"For six years?"

Mrs. Simpson sighed. "They were quite devoted to one another."

"Allow me to assure myself that I understand the situation correctly. Henry, er, Miss Barrett has been running Stannage Park for six years?" That couldn't be possible. Had she taken over the reins when she was ten? "How old is she?"

"Twenty, milord."

Twenty. She certainly didn't look it. "I see. And just what is her relation to Lord Stannage?"

"Why, you're Lord Stannage now."

"The former Lord Stannage, I mean," Dunford said, careful not to let any of his impatience show.

"A distant cousin of his wife's. She had no place else to go, poor dear."

"Ah. How generous of them. Well, thank you for showing me to my rooms, Mrs. Simpson. I think I'll take a short rest and then change for supper. You do keep country hours here?"

"It's the country, after all," she said with a nod. Then she picked up her skirts and left the room.

A poor relation, Dunford thought. How intriguing. A poor relation who dressed like a man, stank to high heaven, and had Stannage Park running as smoothly as the most posh London household. His time in Cornwall certainly wouldn't be dull.

Now, if he could only find out what she looked like in a dress.

Two hours later Dunford was wishing he hadn't wondered. Words could not describe the sight of Miss Henrietta Barrett in a dress. Never before had he seen a woman—and he had seen many women—who looked quite so... well, wrong.

Her gown was an irritating shade of lavender with far too many bows and fripperies. In addition to its general ugliness, it was also obviously uncomfortable because she kept tugging awkwardly at the material. Either that or the dress simply didn't fit her, which, Dunford noted upon closer inspection, it didn't. The hem was a bit too short, the bodice slightly too tight, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear there was a small tear in the right sleeve.

Hell, he did know better, and he would swear the dress was torn.

Put plainly, Miss Henrietta Barrett looked a fright.

But, on the brighter side, she smelled quite pleasant. Almost like—he sniffed discreetly—lemons.

"Good evening, my lord," she said when she met him before dinner in the parlor. "I trust you settled in nicely."

He bowed graciously to her. "Perfectly, Miss Barrett. May I commend you again on this smoothly running household."

"Call me Henry," she said automatically.

"Everybody does," he finished for her.

Despite herself, Henry felt a laugh welling up in her throat. Good God, she'd never even considered that she might come to like the man. That would be a disaster.

"May I escort you in to dinner?" Dunford inquired politely, offering her his arm.

Henry placed her hand on his elbow as he led her into the dining room, deciding there was no harm in spending an enjoyable evening in the company of the man who was—and she had to remind herself of this fact—the enemy. After all, she wanted to lull him into thinking she had befriended him, didn't she? This Mr. Dunford didn't strike her as a numskull, and she was fairly certain that if he even suspected she was trying to get rid of him it would take half of His Majesty's army to eject him from Cornwall. No, better just to let him reach his own conclusion that life at Stannage Park was not quite his cup of tea.