“Eeeeeeeorrrrrrrr!” Kicked-up clumps of mud covered them both.
“Damn it, donkey! I am trying to help. Hold still.”
The donkey tried to turn his head towards him and seemed to be moving his lips as if pleading. Bergen did not sense any aggression.
“There, now. That should do it.” Still holding the rope, he freed the donkey and patted him on the rump, hoping to send him on his way, but the donkey stayed. He pulled up his lips and showed his teeth.
“Oh, there! Is that a smile? I have never seen a smiling donkey…and with blue eyes…” Bergen laughed out loud. “Well, your eyes do not quite line up, but you are a friendly fellow despite your predicament. Not the temper I have normally experienced with your brethren, I will say.”
Bergen fished in his saddle-bag and pulled out an apple he had packed before leaving on the trip. “Here you go…Clarence. You look like a Clarence, I think.”
The donkey accepted the apple and nudged Bergen’s arm in a gentle show of thanks.
“Very well…off with you, Clarence. Time for me to go.” The donkey starred at Bergen and slowly walked off in the opposite direction.
Once back in his saddle, Bergen urged Merry into a canter. “I am suddenly in a good mood, old girl. I have done a good deed today.” He began to whistle and suddenly heard what sounded like a donkey braying along to his song. Bergen turned slowly. There stood Clarence, smiling his odd smile.
“Clarence, what am I to do with you?” He looked upward at the position of the sun. It had to be two hours past his early meal already and he had hoped by this time to be well underway. He could not take a donkey into London with him, so there was nothing to do but retrace his steps to the inn. Grabbing up the rope, he looped it through Clarence’s collar. “That is an interesting collar you have, Clarence. Does it mean anything significant?” The words of the gypsy came back to him. Amulet, cursed. “Well, it is odd, but I do not think I have ever heard of a cursed donkey. I think you might be the funniest one I have met, however.”
A thunderous sound exited the small animal; soon they were both enveloped with a sulphuric stench.
“Goodness, Clarence! Was that you…good God!” Bergen grappled with the ropes while at the same time trying to move away from the animal.
“Whew! All right now, let us go back.”
On reaching the Cock Inn, Bergen noticed Perry in the yard and whistled. A deep bray mimicked him from behind. Unable to stop himself, he laughed.
“Yes, my lord? Are you returning for the night?”
“No…I found myself in the company of this…Clarence.”
“A donkey?” The young man smiled in amusement. “You named him Clarence?”
“Yes. It seemed to fit.” Bergen chuckled. “Clarence seems in need of a home.”
“Oh, I see, my lord. Well, the master here already has a donkey for his cart and though I shouldna say so, he is a bit of a skinflint. I do not think he would take to this little fellow, but there is a place…” Perry scratched his head and smiled.
“Lady Newton in the big house up the lane, there…” He pointed towards the other end of the High Street. “…she takes in strays. She heals them and gives them a home. Been known to take all kinds of animals. I reckon she’d like this little donkey—er, Clarence.”
“Thank you, Perry. Could you give me a better description of her house?”
“My lord, it be the first one you see as you pass out of town. On the right, it is. It has a short, black iron fence surrounding it, and the yard is full of plantings—I think roses. Yes, red ones.” He nodded, seeming pleased with his directions.
“Thank you, again, Perry. You are very helpful.” Bergen turned to Clarence.
“Well. old boy, it appears we are going to make a social call. This should be interesting.” He gently tugged at the donkey, but before he would move, Clarence turned to smile at Perry.
***
“Lizzie!” Aunt Jane shouted from the back door, loud enough for anyone in the county to hear. “There is a delicious gentleman arrived!”
Elizabeth cast her gaze heavenward. Aunt Jane thought any human with different parts and of marriageable age was delicious. Dear Horace had only been dead for two years, and Jane never tired of trying to see Elizabeth remarried.
“I will be there directly,” Elizabeth replied as she shut the door with her foot and set down the pail of fresh milk without spilling it. The milkmaid was away, caring for her ailing mother, so Elizabeth had taken on the extra task. She did not mind, really. There was something soothing about the repetitive tasks of farm work.
After untying her apron, she placed it back on the hook beside the door and made a fool’s attempt to tidy her hair.
“Why bother,” she muttered, “Most likely it is only Jed Hamm come to convince me to give the children away.”
They had gone ‘around and around’ her propensity to take in helpless children and animals, and he was constantly haranguing her about giving them to an orphanage in London. Building her ire as she walked up to the drawing room from the kitchen, she was ready to go to war with him by the time she was at the door to the formal room where they received their guests. It was bright with white, blue and light touches of yellows with fresh daisies in vases around the room.
“Jed Hamm, if you are here to argue again, I will not have it!” she said, bursting through the door, stopping short. “I beg your pardon. You are not Squire Hamm.”
Aunt Jane snorted in a most unladylike fashion. She was an octogenarian who found it convenient to pretend she had a few screws loose in order to say what she liked. She was a dear.
“I have not had the pleasure, no,” a deep, seductive voice said from above. She craned her neck to look upwards at least a foot, into a handsome face with blue eyes and blond hair. Delicious indeed.
“My name is Bergen, my lady; at your service.” He made an elegant leg, as Aunt Jane would say, and Elizabeth did her best not to stare at his finely shaped calves and thighs, which were in complete contrast to the spindly limbs borne by the Squire. She shook her head.
“I am Elizabeth Newton. How may I be of service?” As beautiful as this man was, she had no time for silly dreams. By the look of him, the man was a London dandy and was, in all likelihood, very aware of his charms.
“I happened upon a stray animal, and I was told you were just the person to see.”
She could feel her brow knit together. Who had been speaking to the stranger about her?
“If I have offended you, I beg your pardon.” He reached up and made to wipe away a speck of dirt before pulling his hand back.
Elizabeth flushed at his forwardness. She did recall from her days in London that the men were flirtatious. What a country bumpkin he must think her, but there was something seductive in his touch which made her feel heat in places that Horace never had.
“Was I misinformed?
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “No, I do have a tendency to acquire helpless creatures.”
“Excellent. Then may I show you what I have found?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth indicated for him to lead the way while she glanced at Aunt Jane, who was beaming and making hand signals behind his back. Elizabeth cast a warning look for her aunt to behave before turning back to Mr. Bergen. Or was it, Lord Bergen? He must be a lord! She would have to mind him closely. He would not be the first to think her widowed status meant she was free with her favours.
He waited for her to pass through the door through the kitchens, stopping by the larder to retrieve an apple, before following her down the steps into the sunshine.
“Over here,” he said as he held out his hand towards a beech tree to the side of the drive.
“A donkey? You found a stray donkey?” she asked in disbelief as she surveyed the dwarfed and odd-looking specimen. A small grey donkey stood in front of her. He had larger ears than she had seen on donkeys and blue eyes. One eye appeared crossed.
“Well, not precisely. He was abandoned by
some gypsies at the inn where I was staying. I overheard them speak of leaving him.”
She folded her arms and looked at him sceptically. “The circus troupe? They are more wont to take than to leave anything behind.”
“They think he is cursed…” Bergen held out his hands. “…which is nonsense, of course.”
“How delightful,” she said dryly, even though she could use a donkey. They were known to be excellent protectors of herds, and a fox had killed a lamb recently.
“Does he have a name?”
Lord Bergen hesitated. “Clarence.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Did you say, ‘Clarence’?”
He held up his hands in defence. “He looks like a Clarence.”
Elizabeth stepped closer and the donkey bared his teeth at her. She jumped back. “Oh!”
“He will not hurt you,” Bergen reassured her, stepping forward and scratching behind the donkey’s ears. “I think he might be smiling at you.”
Elizabeth looked at him uncertainly, but stepped forward again and since the donkey was distracted with Lord Bergen, she patted the mealy coloured nose. Clarence showed his teeth again.
“I do think you are correct. He does appear to be smiling. How peculiar!”
“Everything about him is peculiar. No offence intended, Clarence,” he said to the animal. “But he does seem to be good-natured.”
“A characteristic ne’er visited upon any other donkey I have ever met,” Elizabeth retorted. “He is quite small, but that should not matter if I do not harness him to a cart. Where did you say you found him?”
“Tied to a mulberry bush near the inn I was staying at.”
“You poor dear,” Elizabeth said as she took a piece of apple she had in her pocket and fed it to him.
“He is yours now, whether you want him or not,” Bergen said with a laugh. “I fed him an apple and he has followed me since.”
“That will surprise no one. I am in the habit of adopting strays.”
“Why do you, if you do not mind me asking?”
She waved a hand. “I can, so I do. The poor creatures cannot help their sad circumstances.”
“How many poor creatures do you have, precisely?”
She wrinkled her brow and tapped her cheek with an index finger. “Let me see… Sheep, cows, horses, chickens, goats, pigs, five—no, six—dogs and ten cats, I think.” She threw up her hands. “I have no idea!”
“It sounds no more unusual than any farm,” he said, unconvinced.
“Yes, but they are not all, well…well…and then there are the children.”
“May I enquire how many children you have?” he asked politely.
“Only three of those, but they…” Clarence made the most horrific gaseous sound, interrupting her answer. Although she could not keep her eyes from widening in dismay, it was too funny to contain her laughter.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed this preview. If you would like to purchase the Earl of Bergen, please see the links on the next page.
Also by Anna St.Claire
Earl of Weston
Earl of Bergen
Embers of Anger
Silver Bells and Mistletoe
The Earl She Left Behind
About the Author
Anna St. Claire is an avid reader, and now author, of both American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their two dogs and often their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby.
Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, always encouraged Anna’s interest in writing, after discovering short stories she would write in her spare time.
Her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss’ books, Shanna and Ashes in the Wind, Anna became hooked. She read every historical romance that came her way.
Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys almost any period in American and British history.
A great day would include a good book, dark chocolate, and a place to curl up and read with her pup curled up by her side.
Anna would love to connect with any of her readers on her website – www.annastclaire.com, through email—[email protected], Facebook –www.facebook/annastclaireauthor/about/.com/ or with BookBub – www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire.
Acknowledgments
There are always many people to thank when a book gets written. There are my friends who always cheer me on… Betty Phillips, Elizabeth Johns, Jessica Cale, Myra Platt, Lauren Smith, and Amanda Mariel.
A great big thank you goes to my team of readers who spent time and gave up evenings to help me smooth out the rough edges. Thank you, Betty, Heather, Pat, Theresa, Aunt Tricia, Tina and Lori! Your help is always greatly appreciated.
And last but never least, my own hero—my husband and best friend, Roger. He reads every one of my stories.
The Earl She Left Behind (The Noble Hearts Series; Common Elements #1) Page 13
