Page 22 of The Viscount Who Vexed Me

“Miss Woodchurch.”

She looked up.

He held out the letter. “Read it, please.”

Miss Woodchurch took the letter and read it, then looked at the request for payment beneath it, which clearly detailed the delivery of goats. Or, at least, Mateo thought it did. Miss Woodchurch’s brow furrowed with confusion.

“Please, have I confused the wordsgoatandsheep? You may tell me that I’m in error, but for the life of me, I can’t determine what I’ve done wrong.”

“You’ve not confused any words that I can see.”

“Is there any reason of which you are aware a man might deliver goats in error, not once, but twice?”

She bit her lower lip, her gaze still on the letter. “Not that I am aware.” She peeked up at him, and he realized she was trying to hide a smile.

“Are you laughing at this?” he asked sternly.

“Oh, my lord!” she said, and he anticipated a profuse apology. “Only a little, really. Don’t you find it amusing?”

“I am too exasperated to be amused.” He gestured to her desk. “Please. To Mr. Callum.” He rethought that. It was possible Callum was the problem. “No. Send directly to Mr. Feathers.”

She jotted that down.

Mateo put his hands to his waist. “Sir: I thought I was perfectly clear in my last letter that I wanted sheep. Not goats. How one might confuse the two is impossible to imagine.”

Something that sounded a bit like a strangled cough came from Miss Woodchurch, and Mateo glanced at her. She was bent over her paper, her pen moving across it.

He faced the window and continued. “I am confounded, sir, that I must again ask that you collect the goats and deliver the sheep.”

Miss Woodchurch made another strange sound. Mateo turned back to her. “Is something the matter, Miss Woodchurch? Are you unwell?”

She shook her head.

He continued. “If you cannot distinguish between—”

Another strangled sound from Miss Woodchurch, but this time, she put down her pen, crossed her arms tightly across her middle, and laughed. The womanlaughed. With glee, with abandon—she didn’t seem to care that he was being made a fool.

“Miss Woodchurch!”

Tears of laughter sparkled in her eyes. She tried to calm herself, but it was pointless—another peal of laughter burst from her lips, followed by more laughter. “I beg your pardon, I do,” she said, wheezing a little, “but who could possibly mistake goats for sheep twice over?” Her laughter again was uncontrollable. “What are we to think? That he’s grown too fond of the sheep and can’t bear to part with them? Or he is absentminded, and keeps forgetting that he’s sold sheep, and not goats? Or that he is losing his sight and they look the same?” She suddenly gasped. “What if he means to vex you?” She squealed with delight at this suggestion, and bent over with laughter.

It was hard not to laugh, too, and despite his exasperation with Mr. Feathers, Mateo smiled.

“I don’t truly believe he means to vex you, my lord,” she said, gathering herself. “That’s quite a lot of trouble to go to in the hopes of earning a laugh, isn’t it?”

“One would think,” he said. He pointed to the paper. “Shall we finish the letter?”

“Of course.” She sat up, touched her fingertips to the skin beneath her eyes to dab away any tears of laughter, but she was still smiling broadly when she picked up the pen and began to write again.

Mateo returned to his desk, her smile shining in his mind’s eye. He liked happy people. He liked being near them. He wondered what it would be like, to have the ability and the lack of self-consciousness to laugh with abandon like she had.

After a quarter of an hour, she stood up and walked to his desk, and handed him the letter she’d written.

To Mr. Feathers,

Sir:

I have received your invoice as well as your delivery and find myself quite at a loss. I have ordered sheep twice now, and on both occasions, you have delivered goats. I trust that you are aware of the difference in the two animals, but in the event you are not, and are sending herds of whatever sort of livestock you find milling about your grounds, I offer you these renderings to assist.