Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)

A nervous giggle escaped her. “Oh, I assure you, I can. I haven’t your bravery, Mr. Linnet.”


Her remark fell into the silence like a lead weight. Davy made no answer. Drat. Sophia chastised herself with a sharp tug on her apron. That was badly done of her. It was awkward enough that she’d asked him for milking lessons; to engage him in flirtation was unspeakably insensitive. Still, she needed to learn how to do this. Every hour Davy spent at milking was an hour he couldn’t be standing watch.

Emboldened by the desire to complete this lesson quickly, she reached out in a flash, capturing the goat’s second teat with her thumb and forefinger. “Like so?”

“Yes, miss. And now you roll your fingers down, one by one …” He demonstrated, and a jet of milk hit the tin pail with a sharp trill. Sophia imitated his movements. Nothing happened. She tried again, earning only an impatient shuffle of the goat’s hind legs.

“Try again, a bit faster this time.”

She tried again, pulling harder. Nothing. The goat bleated, in seeming irritation at her ineptitude.

“Don’t wring it, now. You want to coax the milk out, one finger at a time, see?” He sent a few more squirts of milk pinging into the pail. Taking a deep breath, Sophia began again, painstakingly imitating the rolling pull of Davy’s hand. When a thin stream of white shot from the teat, she could not suppress a small cry of elation. In truth, if she hadn’t feared it would startle the nanny dry, she would have done a little dance. She tried again, with greater confidence. Another spurt of milk came forth.

“Good,” Davy said, after she’d removed enough yellowish milk from the goat to cover the bottom of the pail. “You’ve the way of it now.” He continued milking the other teat, and they settled into a quiet, contrapuntal rhythm.

“Did you do this often at home, then?” She hoped conversation would feel less stifling than silence.

“Often enough. Every day, when I was a boy.”

Sophia smiled to herself. No, she supposed he wasn’t a boy any longer.

“Who tends them now that you’re gone?”

“My sisters, I expect.”

“Sisters? Are they older or younger?”

“I’m in the middle. The eldest, she got herself married already. By the time I see her again, she’ll have a brat of her own, I reckon.” His voice deepened in pitch, as though the prospect displeased him.

“Shouldn’t you like to be an uncle? Just think of the exotic tales and trinkets you’ll bring home. You’ll be a returning hero. The children will swarm around you like bees.” She imbued her voice with a coy lilt. “All the girls will be mad for you.”

He fell quiet again. Frustrated with herself, Sophia gave a harsh yank on the goat’s teat and narrowly missed a swift kick to the thigh. It would seem she’d lost the ability to converse rather than flirt, if she’d ever developed that talent at all. What was her reasoning, precisely? That a man couldn’t possibly hold himself in high esteem without the benefit of her flattery? Or that he’d see no reason to esteem her without it?

Davy finally said, “So long as I come home with my wages, I don’t expect they’ll turn me away.”

She let the soft splashes of milk fill the silence. At length, she asked cautiously, “Aren’t you happy for her, your sister who married?”

“I don’t know that it matters, how I feel about it.”

“But she’s your sister. She matters to you.”

His hand stilled on the teat. “The man she married, he’s too old for her. My father’s the one that arranged it. I think …” He squeezed out another jet of milk. “I think my father was in the man’s debt, more than he could pay.”

“I see.”

Her dismay must have been evident. Davy’s voice grew robust with defense. “She weren’t forced into it, mind. She didn’t marry him against her will.”

“No. No, of course not. Just against her heart. I do understand. It’s the way of things for women, sometimes.” After all, it had nearly been the way of things for her. “You don’t suspect he’ll mistreat her?”

“He’ll treat her fair enough, I reckon. My father wouldn’t have let her go, otherwise.”

“Then that’s some comfort.”

“Aye.” He shook a few last drops from the goat’s teat, then released it completely. “Just the same, I didn’t like it. I don’t like to see her married to a man she didn’t choose.”

Sophia continued milking on her side, settling into a hypnotic rhythm. “Of course you don’t. She’s your sister. If you care for her, you want to see her well cared for. If you love her, you want to see her loved.” If only she’d been so fortunate, to have a brother to want the same for her.

“Aye.” His voice cracked slightly on the word, and he paused. It must have been a full minute before he spoke again. “He’s a good man, the captain.”

Her hand stilled. “The captain?”