The Duke's Bridle Path by Grace Burrowes

The hogs consumed the dropped fruit, fertilized the soil, and with their rooting, helped the ground absorb water for the next growing season. Running pigs through an orchard was an old Yorkshire custom, one usually reserved for autumn rather than the brisk, sunny days of early spring. Pigs like to wander, and sows that size go where they please.” “Maybe we should leave the gate open.” The entire herd had settled on the grass and damned if the largest of the lot-a vast expanse of pink pork-didn’t appear to smile at him. “She’s partial to our elderberry cordial.” Nathaniel vaulted a crumbling length of wall one-handed. “Granny will want a fair bit of coin for a public curse, sir.” Treegum opened the gate, setting off a squeak loud enough to rouse the napping hogs. I’ll gallop past the village just as some foul weather moves in, and she can consign me to the devil.” I should have Granny Dewar curse me on market day. If enough ladies swoon at the mere sight of me, then I will continue to enjoy the privacy due the neighborhood eccentric. “We can’t have you responsible for any more swoons.” “Mind you don’t give her a fright,” Treegum muttered, wading around the reclining swine to accompany Nathaniel to the gate. I will gratify her wish, in the spirit of true gentlemanly consideration.” “Her ladyship apparently longs to boast that she’s made the acquaintance of the master of Rothhaven Hall. “She probably has them displayed over her mantel like letters of marque and reprisal.” Nathaniel shoved at the hog milling before him, but he might as well have shoved at one of the boulders dotting his fields. “I’ve already sent Lady Althea two Stinging Rebukes,” Nathaniel replied. Swineherding was not among his many skills. Treegum was the Rothhaven estate steward. “Is it time for a Stinging Rebuke, sir?” Treegum asked, as a particularly grand specimen rubbed against him and nearly knocked the old fellow off his feet. Their march across the pastures had apparently tired them out, which was just too damned bad. Two more sows chose grassy napping places. “Then Lady Althea will have an excuse to come around again, banging on the door, cutting up my peace, and disturbing the tranquility of my estate.” “They seem quite happy here,” Treegum observed. “Encountered the lady, that is?”Īnother swine, this one on the scale of a seventy-four-gun ship of the line, tucked in beside her herd-mate, and several others followed. “Have you, sir?” Everett Treegum asked with characteristic delicacy. The sow was a mere four hundred pounds, a sylph compared to the rest of the herd rooting about in Nathaniel’s orchard nonetheless, when she flopped to the grass, the ground shook. “Lady Althea Wentworth is, without doubt, the most vexatious, bothersome, pestilential female I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.” The hog sniffing at Nathaniel Rothmere’s boots prevented him from pacing, though the moment called for both pacing and profanity.

The Duke's Bridle Path by Grace Burrowes