Henry let her shoulders rise and fall in another expressive shrug. "He likes mutton."

"I do not believe you for one second, Miss Henrietta Barrett."

"Oh, all right. The mutton was my idea. No need for him to know how well he can eat here."

"Your little plans are going to be the death of you."

Henry leaned closer to the housekeeper. "Do you want to be turned out on your ear?"

"I don't see—"

"He can do that, you know. He can turn every last one of us out. Better to be rid of him before he can be rid of us."

There was a long pause before Mrs. Simpson said, "Mutton it is, then."

Henry paused before she opened the door leading out to the rest of the house. "And don't cook it too well. A little dry perhaps. Or make the sauce just a touch too salty."

"I draw the line at—"

"All right, all right," Henry said quickly. Getting Mrs. Simpson to prepare mutton when she had beef, lamb, and ham at her disposal had been enough of a battle. She was never going to succeed in getting her to prepare it badly.

Dunford was waiting for her in the small dining room. He was standing in front of a window, staring out over the fields. He obviously didn't hear her come in, for he started when Henry cleared her throat.

He turned around, smiled, motioned to the window with a tilt of his head, and said, "The land is lovely. You have done an excellent job in your management."

Henry flushed at the unexpected compliment. "Thank you. Stannage Park means a great deal to me." She allowed him to pull a chair out for her and sat down just as a footman brought in breakfast.

They ate in near silence. Henry was aware that she needed to eat as much as possible—the noonday meal was sure to be a dismal affair. She glanced over at Dunford, who was eating with similar desperation. Good. He wasn't looking forward to porridge either.

Henry speared her last sausage with her fork and forced herself to pause in her virtual inhalation of food. "I thought I might show you 'round Stannage Park this morning."

Dunford could not give an immediate reply, as his mouth was full of eggs. After a moment he said, "An excellent idea."

"I thought you'd want to become better acquainted with your new estate. There is much to learn if you want to manage it properly."

"Is that so?"

This time Henry was the one who had to pause as she finished chewing the last of her sausage. "Oh, yes. I'm sure you realize that one has to keep abreast of rents and crops and tenants' needs, but if one wants real success, one really must go the extra mile."

"I'm not certain I want to know what this 'extra mile' entails."

"Oh, this and that." Henry smiled. She looked down at Dunford's empty plate. "Shall we be off?"

"By all means." He stood as soon as she did and let her lead the way out of the house.

"I thought we might begin with the animals," Henry said.

"I suppose you know them all by name," he said, only half-joking.

She turned around, her face lit up with a brilliant smile. "But of course!" Really, this man was making it easy. He kept handing her the loveliest opportunities. "A happy animal is a productive animal."

"I'm not familiar with that particular axiom," Dunford muttered.

Henry pushed open a wooden gate that led into a large, hedgerow-lined field. "You've obviously spent too much time in London. It is a commonly expressed sentiment around here."

"Does it also apply to humans?"

She turned around to face him. "Excuse me?"

He smiled innocently. "Oh, nothing." He rocked back on his heels, trying to figure out this oddest of females. Was it possible she had names for all the animals? There had to be at least thirty sheep in this field alone. He smiled again and pointed off to the left. "What is that one called?"

Henry looked a little startled by his question. "Her? Oh, Margaret."

"Margaret?" He raised his brows. "What a delightfully English name."

"She's an English ewe," Henry said peevishly.

"And that one?" He pointed to the right.

"Thomasina."

"And that one? And that one? And that one?"

"Sally, uh, Esther, uh, uh..."

Dunford cocked his head to the side, enjoying watching her trip over her tongue.

"Isosceles!" she finished triumphantly.

He blinked. "I suppose that one over there is called Equilateral."

"No," she said smugly, pointing across the field. "That one is." She crossed her arms. "I have always enjoyed the study of geometry."

Dunford was silent for a moment, a fact for which Henry was extremely grateful. It hadn't been easy coming up with names at the drop of a hat. He'd been trying to trip her up, asking for the names of all those sheep. Was he on to her?

"You didn't believe I knew all of the names," she said, hoping her direct confrontation of the issue would diffuse any suspicious thoughts he was harboring.

"No," he admitted.

She smiled loftily. "Have you been listening?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Which one is Margaret?"

His mouth fell open.

"If you're to run Stannage Park, you must know which is which." She tried very hard to keep any trace of snideness from her voice. She rather thought she succeeded. To her ear she sounded just like someone whose only concern was the success of the farm.

After a moment's concentration Dunford pointed to a sheep and said, "That one."

Drat! He was right. "And Thomasina?"