Page 2 of A Storme's First Noelle

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night…

Truly, he needed to sort himself, else these odd remembrances and verses from the Bible would overtake him. Never had he been overly fond of Christmastide, nor had he wished to delve into the reasonings behind the celebrations; it just didn’t factor into his life. And knowing he was now on the outside looking into the love and romance his siblings had found left him a bit cold and disappointed. This time of year always meant family, only now it made him feel all too much that he’d failed in an important aspect of his existence.

At four and thirty, he’d never married. Hell, after he’d returned to England following his stint in the war—where he’d lost his left arm—he’d thrown all his energies into opening the clinic with his brother. Their sole mission had been to take care of wounded soldiers who’d been shunned by society. He and Royce would patch them up, help restore some of their depressed mental states, and then assist them in reentering daily life.

Time had passed too quickly and now he was very much alone. Though he still saw his brother and he was much his best friend, the bulk of Royce’s attention was centered upon his wife, Isobel. As it should be, but that left little time for joking about as they’d done before.

“I miss him,” he told one of the bolder sheep who’d approached his side of the gig. “Everything has changed in such a short period of time I find myself at sixes and sevens.”

The sheep’s deep brown eyes never left his face as the animal chewed its cud. “Baah!”

“Bahindeed.” With another sigh, Trey rested the reins in his lap. He shoved his gloved right hand through his hair that had grown a touch longer than current fashion demanded. Then he stared at that hand—hisonlyhand. Was the fact he’d lost his left arm in the same Battle of Waterloo that had seen Jane’s husband Finn into a Bath chair the reason he’d never married? Did women within thetonthese days care whether a man had all his limbs?

He snorted. Asif he’d had time to attend any sort of society function. He might be the second son of an earl, but he’d done a slip-shod job of making inroads for himself within thebeau monde. Honestly, if a woman didn’t like the man he was now, he didn’t need her.

“Baah!” The loud noise from the friendly sheep gave him a start.

Trey stared at the animal with the springy woolen curls and ears that looked soft. “Where is your mate?” Of course, the sheep didn’t answer; neither did she move. “You seem quite well-adjusted… for a sheep,” he continued and felt more than a little silly to have a one-sided conversation with a barnyard animal. “That’s what I do, you see. I delve into men’s minds and make assessments as to whether the wounded soldiers can be rehabilitated into society.”

“Baah, baah.” The sheep flicked one ear.

“Yes, that’s always a concern. Sometimes those men don’t wish for anything to do with the public who turned their backs on them upon returning to England. It wasn’t their fault so many good men died during the war.” He blew out a breath. “But a man’s faculties are a large part of who they are. I’d like for them to be somewhat balanced before they leave the clinic.”

“You know, the first sign of madness is when a man talks to inanimate objects or animals who cannot talk back.”

Trey yanked his head up at the sound of a human’s voice. At least he hoped it was human. Once he glanced about, his gaze landed on a woman who stood on the opposite side of the flock. Clad in a navy cloak and a matching bonnet trimmed with flowers and ribbons, he couldn’t discern her form or shape. Blonde hair peeked from beneath the bonnet and a bit of a pink flush stained her pale cheeks.

Shocked, but grateful he wasn’t alone with the sheep any longer, Trey let the reins slip to the floor and then he jumped from the gig. With a pat to the horse’s neck as he came abreast of the beast, he waved. “Hullo!”

“Hullo!” She smiled and gestured at the sheep. “It seems you’ve met the resident flock.”

“Indeed. The herd doesn’t appear to want to move so I might continue on my way.” He frowned, for the woman seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her face.

“Did you know that a group of sheep can be called a flock, herd, or drove? Sheep may also be collectively referred to as a down, drift, fold, and trip.” Her laughter sounded like the gayest bell and immediately dispelled some of his melancholy. “I’m particularly fond of ‘trip’, but that word has largely gone out of fashion around here.”

“More’s the pity. It has a nice ring to it.” When he attempted to skirt around the first line of sheep, they closed ranks and prevented him from advancing. “Since you seem to be familiar with these lazy menaces, can you tell me how quickly they’ll leave? I can hardly maneuver my gig around them.”

“That’s largely up to the sheep.” She raked her gaze up and down his person, the blue in her eyes evident even from his distance. “However, they can be persuaded, but you’ll need to do much shoving… and that might earn you a few kicks.”

Trey huffed. “This delay is quite annoying.”

“Sometimes fate puts things into our paths to ensure we’ll slow down and enjoy our life in that moment.” She cocked her head to one side and gave him a wry smile. “We might as well make introductions, don’t you think?”

The melodious sound of her voice was more than a little interesting. “I suppose.” With another huff, he tried moving forward once more. His former sympathetic sheep bounced her head and gave him what he swore was a harumph. She refused to budge. “My name is Trey Marsden. I’m on my way to Worchester Park, but from the way the sheep are behaving, it’s unlikely I’ll make my destination before dinner.”

She giggled, as if it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Sheep are sheep, Mr. Marsden, and quite frankly will always be stubborn. Best to go along with it until they’re ready to move.”

Why did she have to make sense? He nodded. “It’s Captain Marsden, actually.” He didn’t know why he’d said that, but suddenly he wanted to appear impressive before this woman with amusement dancing in her eyes and dark pink lips that looked as if they were made for kissing. “Earned the promotion at Waterloo when I lost the arm.” If she hadn’t noticed his missing limb, she surely would now.

Did she have enough mettle to linger for further conversation?

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