“How nice of you, Stephen.” Sophia took a sip of her tea. “He’ll need boots, too.”

Chase stretched his feet before him, his boots so shiny that he could see his own expression. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Nothing,” Sophia said. “It’s just that they might get dirty.”

“And scratched,” Derrick offered from the depths of his books.

“Among other things.” Harriet held out her own feet. She wore half boots of an indiscriminate brown that had seen far more than their fair share of wear.

Chase wrinkled his nose. “Those aren’t fit to wear.”

“Neither will yours be if you try to stomp through the fields with them. They weren’t made for such wear. But never fear, we’ll get you booted and suited for the sheep.”

For some reason, Chase found her words less than reassuring. He was right. Within ten minutes of breakfast’s being over, Chase found himself standing beside an old farm cart where two farmhands of dubious age and ability sat snoozing. They were dressed in faded and worn clothing, much like the ones Stephen had given to Chase.

He looked down at his own clothes. He suspected that the shirt at one time had been blue but was now a murky gray. The pants were dyed an indiscriminate black and were a trifle short. Worst of all were the boots. Though of leather, they were so worn and old that they sagged about his ankles in a preposterous manner.

He grimaced.

How had he gotten himself into this mess? Had he known that helping the Wards would mean such a total loss of his self-respect, he would never have volunteered to stay and pretend to be Captain Frakenham. But it was too late now. Though Harriet might wish to pretend otherwise, it was obvious that things were desperate.

He sighed and rubbed his neck. They were waiting on Stephen and Harriet, who had disappeared into the barn. Chase spent a few moments with his horse before coming out to the wagon. The black gelding was in fine fettle, but badly needed to stretch his legs. Perhaps this evening, before the sun set, Chase would take the animal for a quick gallop.

A ponderous bark filled the air. Chase turned to see a huge dog lumbering across the yard in his direction. The dog…it was the same one that had saved him in the forest. Chase took a step forward; the dog saw him at the same time and came bounding across the yard.

Chase was over six feet tall and no lightweight. But neither was the dog, who had the favor of momentum on his side. Chase landed on his rump, a wet tongue laving his mouth and chin, while two huge paws pressed down his chest and made it difficult to breathe. With a joint cry, Sophia and Ophelia came to his rescue, struggling to remove the dog who took their efforts as encouragement and licked Chase’s face all the more furiously.

For an instant, Chase knew what it was to die of both compression and drowning. Derrick was finally roused enough to put down his book, climb off the wagon, grab the dog by his collar and pull him off Chase.