"I'm not certain that's such a good thing."

"Nonsense. Of course it is. Now, then, shall we be off?"

She reached out and grabbed the hand he was holding out to her. Slowly she rose to her feet. "Simpy makes very good biscuits," she said softly, the very tone of her voice implying a peace offering. "With butter and ginger and sugar. They're delicious."

"Splendid. If she doesn't have some on hand, we shall have to coerce her into making a batch. I say, we don't have to finish the pigpen, do we?"

She shook her head. "I was working on it Saturday, but mostly just supervising. I think the men were a bit surprised by my help this morning."

"I know they were surprised. Tommy's jaw dropped halfway to his knees. And please tell me you don't usually get up this early."

"No. I'm dreadful in the morning. I can't get anything done before nine o'clock unless I absolutely have to."

Dunford smiled wryly as he realized the extent of her previous determination to be rid of him. She really must have wanted him gone to get up at half past five in the morning. "If you detest morning people as much as I do, then I think we shall get on famously."

"I expect so." She smiled tremulously as they walked to the house. A friend. That was what he was going to be to her. It was a thrilling thought. She really hadn't had any friends since she'd reached adulthood. Oh, she got on very well with all the servants, but there was always that air of employer and employee that kept them from getting too close. With Dunford, however, she had found friendship, even if they had gotten off to a rocky start. Still, there was one thing she wanted to know. Softly she said his name.

"Yes?"

"When you said you weren't angry..."

"Yes?"

"Were you?"

"I was rather annoyed," he admitted.

"But not angry?" She sounded as if she didn't believe him.

"Believe me, Henry, when I get angry, you'll know."

"What happens?"

His eyes clouded over slightly before he answered. "You don't want to know."

She believed him.

An hour or so later, after they had both bathed, Henry and Dunford met in the kitchen over a plate of Mrs. Simpson's ginger biscuits. While they were busy fighting over the last one, Yates arrived.

"A letter arrived for you earlier this morning, my lord," he intoned. "From your solicitor. I left it in the study."

"Excellent," Dunford replied, pushing out his chair and rising to his feet. "That must be the rest of the papers concerning Stannage Park. A copy of Carlyle's will, I think. Would you care to read it, Henry?" He didn't know if she felt slighted by the fact that the property had gone to him. It was entailed, that was true, and Henry couldn't have inherited in any case, but that did not mean she wasn't hurt by it. By asking her if she wanted to read Carlyle's will, he was trying to assure her that she was still an important figure at Stannage Park.

Henry shrugged as she followed him into the hall. "If you wish. It is rather straightforward, I think. Everything to you."

"Carlyle didn't leave you anything?" Dunford raised his brows in shock. It was unconscionable to leave a young woman penniless and adrift.

"I suppose he thought you would take care of me."

"I will certainly make sure you are comfortably situated, and you will always have a home here, but Carlyle should have provided for you. I never even met the man. He couldn't have had any idea if I had any sort of principles whatsoever."

"I imagine he thought you couldn't be that bad if you were related to him," she teased.

"Still..." Dunford opened the door to the study and walked in. But when he reached the desk there was no letter waiting for him, just a pile of shredded paper. "What on earth?"

The blood drained from Henry's face. "Oh, no."

"Who would do such a thing?" He planted his hands on his hips and turned to face her. "Henry, do you know all the servants personally? Who do you think—"

"It's not the servants." She sighed. "Rufus? Rufus?"

"Who the hell is Rufus?"

"My rmbblet," she mumbled, getting down on her hands and knees.

"Your what?"

"My rabbit. Rufus? Rufus? Where are you?"

"Do you mean to tell me you have a pet rabbit?" Dear God, did this woman do anything normal?

"He's usually very sweet," she said weakly. "Rufus!"

A small bundle of black-and-white fur darted across the room.

"Rufus! Come back here! Bad bunny! Bad bunny!"

Dunford started to shake with mirth. Henry was chasing the rabbit around the room, stooped down with her arms outstretched. Every time she tried to grab it, however, it wriggled out of her grasp.

"Rufus!" she said warningly.

"I don't suppose you could have acted like the rest of humanity and gotten a cat or dog."

Henry, recognizing a reply wasn't necessary, didn't say anything. She stood straight, planted her hands on her hips, and sighed. Where had he gone off to?

"I think he darted behind the bookcase," Dunford said helpfully.

Henry tiptoed over and peered behind the large wooden piece. "Shhh. Go stand on the other side."

He followed her orders.

"Do something to scare him."

He looked over at her with a doubtful expression. Finally he got down on his hands and knees and said in a gruesome voice, "Hello, little bunny. Rabbit stew for supper tonight."

Rufus scrambled to his feet and ran straight into Henry's waiting arms. Realizing he had been trapped, he started to squirm, but Henry kept a firm hand on him, calming him down by saying, "Shhhh."