Page 39 of Deceiving an Earl
“I most certainly have. Watched a few sows give birth, too. Had to help one little piglet into this world because he got stuck.”
Philip groaned and turned white. “Is this my mother’s way of punishing me?”
“No. This is you being obligated to your estate, your land, and the people who rely on you. It’s you being an earl.”
“And what if I refuse?”
Oliver drove in silence, because he didn’t know what he would do if Philip flat-out refused. He had no recourse. He wasn’t the lad’s father and couldn’t punish him.
“Then you will disappoint your mother.”
…
Philip stared at Armbruster’s retreating curricle in disbelief. The bastard had actually left him here. With the pigs!
If he thought for one moment that Philip was getting in that mud with those pigs then he was highly mistaken. Philip would show him who was earl of this estate, and it certainly wasn’t Armbruster.
“There you are.”
An older gentleman hobbled toward him, with bowed legs and bowed back and gnarled, dirty fingers. “We been waiting for ye. This way.”
The man turned around and shuffled away, obviously expecting Philip to follow. Did he not know protocol? Did he not realize that he was to walk behind Philip?
Incensed, Philip hurried after him to give him a piece of his mind and a lesson on etiquette, but the stench of the pigs stopped him cold. He wanted to gag. Only pride kept him from doing so.
The odor did not seem to affect old Potter.
“We’re short a hand,” the man was saying as he hurried between the pens. “My oldest son broke his leg.” Potter stopped and turned to wait for Philip to catch up. “By the way, my wife thanks ye for the food from the main house. Taking care of him has been her full-time duty, so the food helped.”
“Uh. You’re welcome.” Philip wasn’t aware of any food but thought it nice that his housekeeper had thought to send some to the Potters.
“These’ll need mucking. Lord Armbruster said ye wouldn’t mind.” Potter eyed Philip’s pristine, if not a bit wrinkled attire.
“Listen, Mr. Potter, there’s been some sort of miscommunication between you and Armbruster, regarding my services here.” He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the stench but feared he failed.
“His Lordship said ye would help. Yer father and his father afore that helped when needed. No complaint.”
“It’s not that I’m complaining. It’s just that surely there is someone else…more qualified to help.”
Potter laughed. A guffaw that had him slapping his knee. “More qualified. You don’t need no qualifications to muck a pigpen. I’ll show ye where the shovels are.”
And he was gone. Even though it was apparent he had bad hips that pained him, the man moved fast through the mud.
Philip looked down at his ruined shoes, caked in smelly brown muck.
He hurried after Potter, determined to convince the man to find someone else. He had a few shillings in his pocket, surely more than enough to hire an extra hand.
“Mr. Potter, I have some—” A shovel was thrust into his hand and reflexively he took it.
“Just shovel the shite out,” Potter said. “Ain’t nothing to it. You can start with that one. The sows are tame but be careful. Some of ’em can be nasty.”
Potter disappeared so fast that Philip’s mouth was still open to tell him about the shillings.
Philip looked at the pigpen and the huge animals nosing around through the mud.
Disgusting creatures.
“Bet you like bacon, though.”
