Chase frowned. “The barn?”

“Oh yes,” Stephen said. “You’ve always liked the barn.” He gave a significant look at Harriet. “Hasn’t he?”

Chase glanced her way and caught the veriest hint of a grin. What was this? Captain Frakenham liked the barn? What were these two up to?

“I don’t remember being partial to the barn…Of course, I don’t remember much of anything. Did I spend much time there?”

“Oh yes,” Stephen said. “Nearly every day.”

Harriet nodded. “You were quite, quite fond of the barn. We couldn’t keep you away from it.”

“And the sheep,” Derrick added smugly, looking up from his plate for the first time.

“All told, Captain, it’s a good thing you’re here,” Stephen said cheerily, waving his fork in the air. “We could use your help with the shearing, especially since I hurt my leg.”

Chase paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I beg your pardon. Did you say ‘shearing’?”

Harriet nodded, her face wreathed in a smug smile. “Sheep. It’s what we do here at Garrett Park, we raise sheep, shear them, and sell their wool. And now that you’re here, you can help.”

Chase wasn’t entirely certain what shearing entailed, but it certainly sounded onerous. A hot, dirty task, he would assume. The Wards had to be mad to think he’d do such a thing—shear sheep indeed. It was one thing to pretend he was a sea captain, another to forget altogether who and what he was. And a St. John would never stoop to sheep shearing. Not this St. John, anyway.

Chase caught Stephen and Harriet exchanging a grin. They both looked as if they’d accomplished some fabulous trick. After a moment’s thought, Chase’s jaw tightened, and he reluctantly decided that they had indeed accomplished something quite unusual.

If the Wards said Captain Frakenham liked shearing sheep or digging ditches or wearing his cravat tied backwards, who was he to argue? He wasn’t supposed to remember anything, blast it. He couldn’t even defend himself. Well, he was pretending to be Captain Frakenham, wasn’t he? Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to pretend to enjoy shearing sheep.

Still, such coercion deserved retribution. He set down his fork. Captain Frakenham might not have a memory, but he sure as hell had a brain.

And if there was one thing Chase had learned from his brothers and sister, it was that turnabout was fair play. “It’s funny how I have no recollection of shearing, but I do seem to remember the barn. I was fond of it, wasn’t I?”

Stephen seemed surprised at Chase’s acquiescence, but nodded. “Very.”

“I seem to be somewhat unclear on the details.”

“Oh. Well, after dinner, I’ll take you there so you can see it again.”

Chase leaned toward Harriet and smiled down into her eyes. “I daresay we were fond of the barn, you and I.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“I seem to remember…” He stopped and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “I do remember…a woman. In the hay.”