“I cannot give you those assurances, much as I’d like to. I’m very fond of those ladies, and they are quite valuable. They are also particular.”

Rothhaven straightened a crease in his breeches. They fit him exquisitely, though Althea had never before seen black riding attire.

“The whims of your livestock are no affair of mine, Lady Althea.” His tone said that Althea’s whims were a matter of equal indifference to him. “You either retrieve them or the entire shire will be redolent of smoking bacon.”

He was bluffing. Nobody butchered hogs in the spring, for any number of reasons. “Do you know what those sows are worth, sir?”

He quoted a price per pound for pork on the hoof that was accurate to the shilling.

“Wrong,” Althea said, pouring him a cup of tea, and holding it out to him. “Those are my best breeders. I chose their grandmamas and mamas for size and the ability to produce large, healthy litters. A pig in the garden can be the difference between a family surviving winter or starving, if that pig can also produce large, healthy litters. She can live on scraps, she needs very little care, and she will see a dozen piglets raised to weaning twice a year without putting any additional strain on her upkeep.”

The duke looked at the steaming cup of tea, then at Althea, then back at the cup. This was the best China black she could offer, served on the good porcelain in her formal parlor. If he disdained her hospitality now, she might…cry?

He would not be swayed by tears, though he apparently could be tempted by a perfect cup of tea.

“You raise hogs as a charitable undertaking?” he asked, accepting the cup and saucer.

“I raise them for all sorts of reasons.” Not the least of which was to donate many to the poor of the parish.

He took a cautious sip of his tea. “What must I do to inspire you to come get your sows? I have my own swineherd, you know. A capable old fellow who has been wrangling hogs more than half a century. He can move your livestock to the King’s highway.”

Althea hadn’t considered this possibility, but she dared not give quarter when she’d finally flushed Rothhaven from his covert. She put three sandwiches on a plate and passed it to him.

“My sows are partial to their own swineherd,” she said. “They’ll follow him anywhere, though after rioting about the neighborhood on their own, they will require time to recover. They’ve been out dancing all night, so to speak, and must have a lie-in.”

Althea could not fathom why any sensible female would comport herself thus, but every spring she dragged herself south, and subjected herself to the same inanity for the duration of the London Season.

This year would be different.