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    Exe 19

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    Tongue Tied
    The document describes a woman named Evie finding a lamb alone in a field and insisting on bringing it with her. Despite some reluctance, the Earl agrees to help. Evie cares for the lamb, naming it Posy, and wonders about being a mother for the first time.

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    Exe 19

    Uploaded by

    Tongue Tied
    14 views1 page
    The document describes a woman named Evie finding a lamb alone in a field and insisting on bringing it with her. Despite some reluctance, the Earl agrees to help. Evie cares for the lamb, naming it Posy, and wonders about being a mother for the first time.

    Original Description:

    Weston spent the rest of his afternoon inspecting the new aqueduct system being installed on the eastern, crop-rich edge of the estate to ferry water to the western side where drier conditions had yielded poor returns for over a decade. When he finally returned to the manor, just shy of sunset, he was informed that he had a visitor waiting for him.

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    exe.19

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    The document describes a woman named Evie finding a lamb alone in a field and insisting on bringing it with her. Despite some reluctance, the Earl agrees to help. Evie cares for the lamb, naming it Posy, and wonders about being a mother for the first time.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as txt, pdf, or txt
    14 views1 page

    Exe 19

    Uploaded by

    Tongue Tied
    The document describes a woman named Evie finding a lamb alone in a field and insisting on bringing it with her. Despite some reluctance, the Earl agrees to help. Evie cares for the lamb, naming it Posy, and wonders about being a mother for the first time.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as txt, pdf, or txt
    of 1

    side, and long, spindly legs that were knobby at the knees.

    The lamb was as


    adorable as it was pitiful, and Evie could not conceive abandoning it where it was
    to either slowly starve to death or be picked off by some sort of creature. She
    gazed beseechingly up at Weston. “We have to bring it with us.”
    “Bring it…no,” said the earl with a curt shake of his head. “Absolutely not.”
    “Why?” she demanded. “It’s all alone. It needs us.”
    “There’s easily five dozen sheep standing right over there. They can take care of
    it.”
    “Well they’re not doing a very good job, are they?” Resolute in her decision, Evie
    carefully placed one hand on the lamb’s chest, another under its belly, and scooped
    it up. It weighed less than a bag of feathers, and was in such shock that it didn’t
    even raise a fuss, but instead pushed its head in the crook of Evie’s elbow. Within
    moments, its rapid breathing had steadied, and the lamb fell fast asleep.
    “This is stealing, you know,” Weston commented as they made way out of the field
    and onto the road. But he reached for the lamb to lift it over the fence without
    Evie having to ask, and as she climbed between the wooden boards, she would have
    sworn his mouth curved into a shape that suspiciously resembled a smile.
    Giving her skirts a good thwack with the palm of her hand to clear them of dust,
    she straightened her hat as best she could and tucked a limp strand of hair behind
    her ear. She must have looked like a positive fright but, for once, Evie didn’t
    care about that. Her first concern was the slight, vulnerable animal being so
    tenderly held in the arms of the gruff, surly Earl of Hawkridge. Except no one, not
    even Weston, could look gruff or surly when they were cradling a lamb.
    “We’ll find the farmer and pay him fairly for it,” she said dismissively. “No harm
    done.”
    “We’re not buying anything,” Weston said. “We’re returning it at the first
    opportunity. I already have one uninvited houseguest to deal with. I’m not adding
    another.”
    “Shhh,” Evie said, frowning. “She’ll hear you.”
    “She?”
    “Yes. Doesn’t she strike you as a girl?” It was likely the lingering effects of the
    brandy, but Evie felt a distinctive maternal tug as she reached out and stroked the
    top of the slumbering lamb’s head. Strange, as she’d never been particularly aware
    of any mothering instinct before.
    As a child, she hadn’t played with dolls as much as she’d used their hair to
    practice braiding. When she grew older and her friends began to discuss how many
    children they were going to have, she’d been more concerned with keeping pace with
    the latest fashion trends coming in from Paris via the Boston Women’s Quarterly
    which was at least four weeks behind than using the petals of a daisy to dictate
    whether she was going to have two boys or three girls.
    All that to say, Evie knew she’d have to have children someday if she wanted to
    marry well, as the production of an heir was all but written into the contract. But
    she’d never given much consideration into what kind of mother she wanted to be.
    Or what kind of father she wanted for her children.
    Wealth and prestige were much more important factors in determining a suitable
    husband. At least, they had been until Weston absently rubbed the lamb’s ear and
    Evie’s heart did an odd pitter-pat inside of her chest.
    “We should call her Posy,” she whispered, glancing up at him from beneath her
    lashes.

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