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Her heart wrenched. “Good heavens. How can anyone find pleasure in such suffering?”

“I have asked myself that question more times than I care to remember.”

The reddish-brown bull lifted its head and began moving slowly toward them. George reached for a bucket of feed positioned near the fence. “This fellow is Samson.”

Cordelia watched the enormous animal approach. “He is magnificent.”

“He is also remarkably gentle, considering what he endured.”

Her heart sank. “He was used for bull-baiting?”

“Yes. When he was brought here, he had several deep wounds about his muzzle and shoulders. One of his horns had been damaged, and he was so frightened of dogs that he would charge at the mere sound of barking.”

She looked at the great creature, whose dark eyes now regarded them with placid curiosity. “How dreadful it must have been for him.”

“It took a long time for him to learn that he was safe.” He offered the bull some feed. Samson accepted it, then lowered his great head toward George’s hand.

Cordelia watched in astonishment as the viscount stroked the animal’s broad forehead. “He trusts you.”

“I hope so.”

“May I touch him?”

George considered her for a moment. “Very gently. Remain beside me.”

She stepped closer, her heart beating with a little apprehension, and extended her hand. Samson sniffed at her fingers before permitting her to stroke his forehead. His hide was warm beneath her palm. “Oh,” she whispered. Here was an animal that had once been subjected to unspeakable cruelty for the amusement of strangers, yet he now stood quietly beneath her gentle touch. Tears stung her eyes. “He is beautiful.”

“Yes,” George said softly. “He is.”

They spent several more minutes with Samson before moving toward another enclosure, where a group of dogs rested beneath a shaded shelter. Some were large, powerful animals with broad heads and muscular bodies. Others were smaller, their coats marked by old scars.

“These were rescued from fighting pits,” George explained. “Some were trained to attack other animals. Others were used merely to provoke them.”

Her expression tightened. “How can men be so cruel?”

“Cruelty is often easier when one convinces oneself that the creature suffering possesses no feelings worth considering.”

He crouched beside a broad-chested dog whose muzzle bore several old scars. “This is Hector.”

The dog lifted his head and wagged his tail.

“He was once used in bull-baiting. When he could no longer fight, his owner intended to have him destroyed.”

Cordelia knelt carefully beside George, and Hector approached her with surprising gentleness. She stroked his head, her heart aching. “You poor, brave darling.”

The dog leaned against her.

George watched them for a moment before speaking. “Many people believe animals such as Hector are vicious by nature, but he is among the gentlest creatures I have ever known. It was men who taught him violence.”

Cordelia looked up at him. “You taught him kindness.”

Something shifted in his expression. “I merely gave him the opportunity to discover it.”

She regarded him, too moved by his words to find a fitting response. As they continued through the grounds, Cordelia discovered that the estate also sheltered neglected sheep and injured birds. George explained that some animals remained permanently, while others were eventually placed with families or farmers who could provide suitable homes.

Rounding a bend in the path, she heard children’s laughter. Beneath a broad oak, several village children were feeding carrots and apples to two small ponies, while a little girl of perhaps five solemnly brushed the coat of a patient gray donkey under the watchful eyes of two women.

She stopped. “Are those children from the village?”