A Disguised Duke’s Unlikely Love (Preview)

Chapter One

“I’m going to be late!” Miss Elizabeth Hawthorne muttered under her breath as she bent to tie the laces of her left boot. “Aunt Margaret is going to have my hide!”

Lizzie finished tying up the first boot and then looked around for the other one. To her dismay, she couldn’t find it. I took it off here, didn’t I? She was almost certain that she had removed her boots here, before sitting down to read and then nodding off. How long was I asleep? It was impossible to say, considering that the grandfather clock in the parlor hadn’t worked for more than fifteen years.

“Where did I put it?” she said out loud to herself, looking around the dilapidated, dusty parlor that had been abandoned for almost as long as she’d been alive.

And then it hit her: the boot must be under the sofa!

Bending down so that she was almost flat on her stomach, Lizzie peered under the sofa. It was very dusty down there and filled with cobwebs, but through the dimness, she could make out her missing boot.

“There you are,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to retrieve the boot. When she pulled it out, it was covered in a thin film of dust, but she quickly wiped it off on the sofa, put it back on, and began to lace it up.

Lizzie grimaced to herself as she thought about what her aunt would say if she could see how she’d wiped the boot on the upholstery of the sofa. Aunt Margaret would be furious, of course—even though Hawthorne House had stood empty for seventeen years, and no one cared at all if a little bit of dust got onto the sofa. In fact, not only did no one care, but no one would even know. As far as Lizzie knew, she was the only person who ever came to Hawthorne House. Most people in town, including her aunt and uncle, had told her it was probably dangerous to enter it. “The floorboards must be rotted by now!” they said, or “There are probably wild animals living in it!” No one knew that once a week—sometimes more—Lizzie visited the home where she had lived until she was five years old. She still had a key and would slip in through the back door to read in the parlor and work in the garden for several hours—or until she knew she had to get back to her aunt and uncle.

Speaking of which, she really needed to get back to her aunt and uncle’s house. Aunt Margaret was hosting a dinner party tonight, and it was essential that Lizzie be there. Aunt Margaret was counting on her, and although Lizzie was not particularly good at socializing with the families in the village, she didn’t want to let her aunt down. Not when Aunt Margaret was making increasingly frequent comments that she was dangerously close to being on the shelf and ought to marry.

Lizzie finished tying up the second boot and then began to hurry across the parlor toward the door that led out into the garden. The storm that had forced her inside earlier, where she’d curled up on the sofa to read, seemed to be over, although there were still several dark clouds. The sun was also low in the sky, which meant it was getting late.

I still need to bathe and have my hair done! Lizzie thought with a flicker of guilt. Lizzie was far from caring what she looked like at this dinner party, but she knew it was important to her aunt that she look her best.

Lizzie was almost at the door when a loud thud caught her attention. The sound had come from the window to her right, and she turned sharply to stare at it. There was nothing to see except for a small stain of red in the center of the window that looked suspiciously like blood.

Lizzie ran to the door, threw it open, and sprinted out into the garden. It was just as she thought: lying on the ground beneath the window was a small bird. It was twitching, so it wasn’t dead; it let out a small cooing sound. Lizzie hurried over and knelt down next to it.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured as she leaned over the bird. “Did you fly into the window? It’s an easy mistake to make. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you now.”

Lizzie knew she ought not to stop to rescue the bird. It was already so late, and Aunt Margaret was going to be furious with her. But all thought of Aunt Margaret faded away as she gently reached out and scooped it up in her hands. It was a small creature with a red breast and beautiful black wings tipped with gold, and Lizzie’s heart went out to it at once. She hated to see any animal in pain or suffering, and as she examined the bird, she quickly realized that its wing was broken.

“Don’t worry, we can fix that easily enough,” she said to the bird, smiling down at it. Of course, it couldn’t understand her, but she truly believed that speaking in a gentle tone to an animal put it at ease—even if it couldn’t understand the exact words.

In her many years wandering the woods around the village and looking after the plants and animals she had encountered, Lizzie had rescued several other birds with broken wings, so she knew what to do. She brought the bird over to the bird bath and tenderly laid it down in the empty stone basin. Then, she retrieved a small stick from the ground before tearing a tiny piece of fabric from the petticoat beneath her dress. With careful, deft fingers, she fashioned a small splint from the cloth and stick and set the bird’s broken wing. It cooed softly again as she moved the wing but didn’t try to peck at her, which made her hopeful that it wasn’t in too much pain.

When she was done, Lizzie scooped up the bird once more and tucked it into a pocket in her pelisse. Before leaving the garden, she grabbed a handful of birdseed from the nearby bird feeder. Then, she left the garden and headed for the woods. The injured bird needed to be in its natural habitat to heal properly. She took a few steps into the forest until she found a tree with a small opening in the side of it where she could put the bird for now. It would be out of the way of predators there. Placing it in the hollow, she spread the birdseed next to it, and it immediately began to peck at the food.

“And I’ll come back tomorrow to feed you again,” she promised as she traced her finger over the bird’s head. It cooed softly again, and Lizzie smiled. “Everything will be well, you’ll see.”

“Are you speaking to that bird?”

The voice came from behind Lizzie and nearly startled her out of her skin. Letting out a sharp gasp of surprise, she whirled around, her heart pounding, to see a man standing several feet away from her, grinning ear to ear.

Lizzie couldn’t help but gape at the man. Never before had she seen anyone like him. For one thing, he was covered from head to toe in mud. For another, he was in a state of undress she had never seen before, wearing no jacket and with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Thirdly, he was looking at her with unabashed curiosity, and while Lizzie was familiar with the feeling of being gawked at, no one had ever looked at her with so much interest before. And perhaps most importantly of all, this man was handsome. More handsome than any other man she had ever laid eyes on.

The man was tall—at least a foot taller than her—and strong and athletic. He looked as if he spent his days riding, swimming, and lifting heavy objects because his arms were strong and muscular, his shoulders were broad, and his legs were like small tree trunks. They seemed to burst from the pantaloons that clung tightly to him and which she had to wrench her eyes away from—all while her cheeks burned.

If his body wasn’t enough, then his face was even more proof that he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. He had long, dark hair, a strong chin, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and the most beautiful blue eyes that seemed to sparkle like the ocean itself.

Lizzie felt her mouth go dry, and her cheeks—already flushed from embarrassment—burned as she realized she was now going to have to reply to this man. But she had no idea what to say; she felt completely tongue-tied.

The man tilted his head to one side. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said more gently. “I was just curious what you were saying to the bird. Usually, I’m the one who talks to animals, and my friends are always telling me I’m rather daft for it, so I was intrigued to see that I’m not alone in the practice.”

“H-how long have you been watching me?” she asked, nervous bubbles churning in her stomach. It’s highly improper for me to be alone with a man unchaperoned! And if he’s been there for some time…

“Just a few moments,” he replied quickly. “I was passing by when I saw you placing the bird in the hollow of the tree. I’m very sorry if I frightened you—I promise, upon my honor, that it was not my intention.”

Lizzie swallowed, some of the moisture having returned to her mouth and throat. “You did frighten me,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen anyone else in this part of the woods.”

“To be honest, I’m not even sure which part of the woods I’m in,” the man said, glancing around himself unsurely. “I was training a horse that is considerably more wild than I had thought, and he threw me about a quarter of a mile back and then took off. I’m searching for him now. You haven’t seen a horse come through these parts, have you?”

“No,” Lizzie said, shaking her head. “No horse.”

“Ahh. I see.” The man shook his head and smiled. “The viscount will be furious with me, but I’ll just have to explain that such things happen when you’re breaking in a stallion.”

“The Viscount of Trenton?” Lizzie asked curiously, some of her defenses lowering slightly at the mention of the village’s most esteemed resident, whose estate bordered her parents’ much smaller plot of land. “You know the viscount?”

“I’m his groom,” the man said, bowing to her. “Or one of his grooms. My name is Mr. Jonathan Pritchard. I’m new at Trenton Stables. Although I probably won’t be there long once the viscount discovers I’ve lost one of his horses.”

Mr. Pritchard said this so kindly and without his smile slipping that Lizzie felt certain he wasn’t actually worried about losing his job.

“From what I’ve heard, the viscount won’t dismiss you for that,” she said. “He is known for being a generous and fair man.”

“Do you know him?” Mr. Pritchard asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “We have not been introduced. My name is Miss Elizabeth Hawthorne. I live with my aunt and uncle on the other side of the village.”

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Hawthorne,” Mr. Pritchard said, bowing low to her again. He held himself very elegantly, Lizzie thought, and his accent was polished—much more polished than any accent she’d heard before on a groom. He must be from London, she thought. Undoubtedly, he has worked for some of the best families of the ton if he speaks like that.

“I’ve never met any of the viscount’s grooms before,” Lizzie said after a moment. “Although I don’t often see the viscount riding, either.”

“No, he is a rather sedentary viscount,” Mr. Pritchard agreed. “He doesn’t have much use of his horses. Perhaps that’s why this one was so misbehaved: it is not used to being ridden.”

Mr. Pritchard glanced around, then back at Lizzie. “Pray, forgive me if I am being rude, Miss Hawthorne, but is it usual for young ladies in this village to wander around the forest by themselves? If so, then I must say I rather like this village! Where I am from, the ladies are not so free-spirited.”

Lizzie flushed again, but the smile on Mr. Pritchard’s face was so friendly and his gaze so nonjudgmental that she relaxed after a moment or two and even managed her own smile.

“It’s not usual,” she said, looking down at her feet that were thankfully not bare like they usually were when she wandered around the forest! “If my aunt saw me here, she would be ever so cross. But the forest here is so lovely, and I love to be out in nature so much that I cannot help myself.”

“I understand perfectly,” Pritchard said, smiling at her warmly. “There is no greater delight in life than to be out in nature. Although I find myself a bit too covered in nature at the current moment.”

He gestured down at his clothes, and Lizzie couldn’t help but giggle. As she did, she saw Pritchard’s cheeks redden as well.

“Did that happen when you were thrown from your horse?” she asked.

“Indeed. The spiteful creature threw me off just as we were passing through a particularly muddy section of the trail. I think he knew it, too, and wanted to have his vengeance on me.”

“I’m sorry you were thrown,” Lizzie said. “That must have been very frightening.”

“It is no matter,” the man said, shrugging. “I like a horse that challenges me anyway. Who wants me to know he is my equal and will not bend easily to my will.”

Lizzie smiled. She liked this description of the horse. Most people, in her experience, talked about animals as if they existed to serve humans, whether that was as food or for manual labor. But the way Pritchard spoke of his horse made her think he respected him, that he saw him as a creature with a soul, not just something to be used for getting from one place to another.

“So what were you saying to the bird?” Mr. Pritchard asked after a moment, glancing once more at the hollow.

“Oh…” Lizzie flushed again. “I was just telling him that he would be all right and that I will be back tomorrow to feed him. He broke his wing, so I made him a splint.”

“You made him a splint?” Pritchard repeated, astonished.

“Yes,” Lizzie said, a rush of pleasure and embarrassment coursing through her at the impressed tone in Pritchard’s voice. “I’ve set birds’ wings before. It doesn’t always work. There’s a possibility he’ll never fly again. But one or two have worked, and I am hoping this one will take.”

There was a short silence, during which Mr. Pritchard gazed at her with something like wonder on his face. Lizzie’s instinct was to look down, to deflect this attention somehow, but she forced herself not to look away.

“You have a gentle heart, Miss Hawthorne,” he said after a long moment, and there was a warmth to his voice that made her heart hiccup in her chest. “I can tell.”

Lizzie didn’t know what to say to this. It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her, and it was being spoken by a stranger. She wanted to protest, to tell him that she wasn’t special, that anyone would do the same, but she was too tongue-tied to say anything.

At last, Mr. Pritchard blinked and smiled. “I should be on my way,” he said.

“Yes—I need to go,” she said quickly, unsticking her throat. “My aunt is expecting me.”

“But it was lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Hawthorne.” He bowed low to her, and when he looked up, his gaze was soft. “I hope I shall see you again while walking in these woods.”

She curtsied quickly but said nothing before turning and hurrying away, out of the woods and back down the path that would take her into town. Of course, she hoped she would see Mr. Pritchard again as well. But she also knew it was unlikely she would be allowed to spend much time around a stable hand—not when Aunt Margaret was so determined to raise the family’s fortunes through marriage.

Still, as she half-walked, half-ran down the path and into the village, Lizzie couldn’t help but wonder more about the groom: who was he, and would she ever get to see him again?

There was a crack of thunder behind her, and Lizzie’s heart sank. The more important question, she knew, was whether or not she could make it home before the rain began.

Chapter Two

“Where have you been?” Catherine asked as she took in Lizzie standing in the middle of her room, dripping wet from the rain and pulling off her garments, while around her, the maid busied herself with preparing her bath. “Mama has been beside herself! She knows you were out all day, so don’t even try to pretend otherwise.”

“Oh dear,” Lizzie said, biting her lip as she took in the worried look on her cousin’s face. “Is your mother very angry?”

“Livid,” Catherine said, sighing as she flopped down on Lizzie’s bed and gazed up at her with wide eyes. “Can you at least tell me where you were? It might help to ease Mama’s anger if you can at least give her a good reason why you’ve been out all day.”

“I was visiting my parents’ house,” Lizzie said, wincing as the maid stripped off her stockings. The bottoms of the stockings were covered in mud, and Lizzie knew she had accidentally given her poor lady’s maid an extra few hours of work tonight. Getting those stains out would be no easy feat.

“Your parents’ house,” Catherine repeated, looking confused. “But why would you go there? It’s completely empty—not to mention potentially dangerous!”

“I just go to tend the garden from time to time,” Lizzie said, giving Catherine a reassuring smile. “It’s a project of mine to restore it so that someday, perhaps when I am married, I can move back into the house.”

Lizzie shivered from the cold, and Catherine’s expression became even more worried. “You really shouldn’t be outside for such long periods of time,” Catherine admonished. “You’re going to catch a cold!”

“I shall not,” Lizzie reassured her cousin. “I am used to being outside, and my constitution is very strong.”

But Catherine still looked worried, so Lizzie had the maid pull a screen in front of the bath and quickly lowered herself into it—the faster she got warm, the less likely she would be to get sick, and then Catherine wouldn’t worry.

Catherine was two years younger than Lizzie and her only friend in the world. Although she was a good, obedient daughter who followed her mother’s instructions for how to behave properly, she wasn’t unkind or judgmental of Lizzie’s more…unusual…behavior. For instance, she wouldn’t have made fun of Lizzie for speaking to the bird this afternoon, like her mother would have, and her admonishments now came solely from worry, from indignation that Lizzie was going to ruin the family’s chances of moving up in the world. Catherine was a kind, caring person, and Lizzie was grateful to have her as her closest confidant. She found most people difficult to talk to, but Catherine had always been easy for her to understand. Best of all, Catherine never made her feel like an oddity, which all the other young ladies in the village always did.

Not that there were many young ladies anymore; all those of Lizzie’s age had married and moved away. At twenty-two, Lizzie knew it was odd that she hadn’t married, and she understood why it was a concern of her aunt’s. And as much as she would like to have a husband—a companion in this life—she was usually too shy around gentlemen to open her mouth, and she had never had a suitor.

Although she had found herself able to speak in front of the man in the woods this afternoon. That was unusual, and as Lizzie thought of him—his blue eyes sparkling as they looked at her, his tanned skin that spoke to the many hours he must spend outside—she felt her heart hiccup again.

Once she was out of the bath, Lizzie began to dress quickly with her lady’s maid’s help. Catherine was still there, and she perched on the edge of the dressing table as the maid did her hair.

“I think Mama has invited several gentlemen tonight for you to meet,” Catherine said, watching Lizzie with wide eyes as the maid pulled her golden hair up and into an elaborate knot. Lizzie winced at the tightness of the hairstyle but said nothing; she knew Aunt Margaret would not allow her to wear her hair in anything other than the latest and most fashionable style.

“I thought she might,” Lizzie said, glancing at Catherine and trying to disguise her nervousness at the prospect.

“Perhaps you will like one of them,” Catherine said hopefully, her eyes shining as she gazed up at Lizzie. “Although hopefully, if you marry, you will not live too far away so that we can still see each other every day.”

“I met the most fascinating man this afternoon,” Lizzie said suddenly, without thinking. Catherine’s mouth fell open, and even the lady’s maid glanced at Lizzie with a surprised expression.

“You met a gentleman?” Catherine gasped. “Why did you not tell me this right away? Was it the viscount? I heard a rumor that he has returned to Trenton Hall.”

“No, it wasn’t the viscount,” Lizzie said slowly, biting her lip to keep from smiling at the memory of the man. “It was his stable hand.”

“His stable hand?” Catherine gaped at her. “Why on earth were you speaking to a stable hand? You know you should not speak to a man when you are unchaperoned!”

“I know, but it was only for a few minutes,” Lizzie said, shaking her head at the anguish on Catherine’s face. “He was looking for his horse—he’d been thrown off of him. He happened upon me as I was tending to a wounded bird.”

Catherine shook her head, looking more concerned than angry. “Oh, Lizzie, you are going to get yourself into trouble one of these days! You shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself, and you certainly shouldn’t be speaking to stable hands!”

“I know,” Lizzie said apologetically, lowering her gaze. “It’s not as if I think anything would come of it. I know that I cannot be friends with a man so far beneath me. But it was nice to meet someone who seems to care for the forest as much as I do. And he said he also speaks aloud to animals from time to time.”

Catherine bit her lip, and Lizzie knew she was thinking it was a good thing that Aunt Margaret had invited gentlemen to dinner tonight.

“You won’t tell your mama, will you?” Lizzie asked hurriedly. “I know I was being foolish, and I promise it shall not happen again.”

“Of course, I won’t tell her,” Catherine said, shaking her head. “What do you take me for? I would never betray any of your secrets. But,” she said more sharply, “I do not think you should be speaking to this man alone again.”

“Of course not,” Lizzie said quickly. She gave Catherine a small smile. “But he was very kind.”

Catherine laughed. “I don’t care about kind stable hands. All I can think of is how much I would like to meet a handsome gentleman! I wish Mama would invite the viscount to one of her dinner parties, but I think she worries he would not accept the invitation. They have been introduced, but it was several years ago, and he so rarely comes to his country estate.”

“You will certainly end up wedded to a handsome gentleman, probably even a duke,” Lizzie said with a giggle.

“And you, Miss Lizzie Hawthorne, will certainly not end up married into the aristocracy if you keep sneaking out of this house without permission and behaving like a wild little boy.”

Both Lizzie and Catherine started and turned toward the door. Standing in the doorway, looking imperiously and furiously down at them, was Aunt Margaret. She took a step into the room, her eyes sweeping over Lizzie’s hair, which was still not completed, and the frown of disapproval on her lips increased.

“Where were you all afternoon?” her aunt demanded. “I couldn’t find you anywhere! And don’t tell me you were wandering around the forest again.”

Lizzie bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell her aunt she’d been visiting her parents’ house. She knew that Aunt Margaret would not approve. But if she didn’t want to hear that Lizzie was in the forest, then she didn’t know what to say. That is where she’d spent the majority of the afternoon.

Her aunt seemed to read the truth in her eyes because she sighed and brought her hand to her brow.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” She sighed, closing her eyes as if the horror of it all was too much to bear. “When your poor parents died, I told myself that I would take care of you and raise you into a proper young lady. And yet, here you are, at two-and-twenty, and still behaving as if you were a child! You will not listen to reason! And thanks to your strange and unladylike behavior, you are still unmarried! What would I say to your parents if I could speak to them now? They would never forgive me for how I have failed you.”

“You have not failed me, Aunt Margaret,” Lizzie said, turning at once to her aunt and gazing up at her softly. “I was just walking in the woods. It is good exercise!”

“You were walking barefoot again, weren’t you?” her aunt accused, her eyes narrowing.

“N-no, I wasn’t,” Lizzie lied, but Aunt Margaret merely snorted.

“And look at your face! You are as tanned as a farmhand! You were clearly walking about for hours without a parasol or bonnet!”

This Lizzie could not deny, and she lowered her eyes. “I am sorry, Aunt Margaret. Next time I am out, I promise I will bring a parasol to keep the sun off my face.”

“The next time you are out?” Aunt Margaret repeated, thunderstruck. “Lizzie, I pray there will not be a next time! You are far too old to be wandering around the woods all day! You should be at home, perfecting your accomplishments, like playing the pianoforte or covering screens.”

“But I am so at home in nature,” Lizzie said, trying hard to keep the desperation from her voice. “I don’t see what harm it causes, Aunt Margaret, really—”

But her aunt held up a hand to silence her, and Lizzie stopped speaking. The look on her aunt’s face was one of such acute disappointment that she felt tears well in her eyes. Despite their difficult relationship, Lizzie was grateful to her for taking her in when she was a child, and the last thing she wanted was to disappoint her.

“We will have no more discussion of this,” Aunt Margaret said. “From now on, you are not to go wandering in the woods. It is far past time that I put an end to this. If I cannot control you, then I can only hope that a husband can. I pray that he will finally get you to see sense and to stop behaving as if you are not a respectable young lady and member of Society.”

Aunt Margaret gave Lizzie one last disapproving glance and then snapped her fingers at Catherine. “Come, Catherine. Leave your cousin to contemplate the consequences of her actions alone. I am lucky at least that you have not followed in your cousin’s path and don’t spend your days walking barefoot through the muck.”

Catherine threw Lizzie an apologetic look, then followed her mother from the room. As the door shut behind them, Lizzie turned back to the mirror, a dull feeling in her chest. It had always been like this: no matter how hard Lizzie tried to conform to her aunt’s rules, to fit into her ideas of what a proper young lady should be, she failed. The woods, fresh air, and animals simply called to her, and she found herself restless and sad if she did not find ways to sneak out into nature and be alone with her thoughts, the cool whisper of grass beneath her bare feet.

Maybe there is something wrong with me, she thought, as the lady’s maid finished her hair. Why can’t I just act like a normal young lady?

That’s what her aunt was trying to make her into, she knew, and she shuddered when she remembered Aunt Margaret’s words: If I cannot control you, then I can only hope that a husband can.

Lizzie didn’t like this one bit. She hoped to marry, but not to someone who would control her.

With trepidation, she prepared to go downstairs and join the dinner party, wondering just what kind of gentlemen her aunt might have invited to meet her.

Chapter Three

“How did Regent treat you, Your Grace?” The stable hand, a boy called Otto, asked as Henry Cavendish, Third Duke of Ashbourne, handed over the bridle of the horse he had spent the better part of the afternoon chasing. “Was he as difficult as the viscount warned you he would be?”

“Oh, he was difficult,” Henry said, chuckling as he patted the stallion on the side of his neck. “Not only did he throw me off after only twenty minutes, but then I had to trudge all over the countryside looking for him!”

Otto’s eyes grew wide. “Your Grace, I’m very sorry—I warned the viscount that Regent was wild, but I didn’t realize he would buck you!”

“Don’t worry at all,” Henry said, giving the stable hand a reassuring smile. “I like a challenge. And Regent was certainly a challenge.”

“Well, I’m glad of that, at least. And you are unharmed from the fall?”

“Oh yes. Fear not, good man. Many a horse has thrown me off in my years of riding—and none yet have managed to cause me any injury.”

Otto shook his head. “You’re an inspiration, Your Grace. I’ve read about your stables in Oxfordshire, you know. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Then you’ll have to come visit sometime,” Henry said generously. “Come ride the horses, get a feel for our training methods. Maybe I’ll even poach you from the viscount.”

Otto laughed and shook his head. “Very good, Your Grace. I’ll be taking Regent out now for a cool-down.”

“Goodbye, Regent,” Henry said, running his hands over the horse’s neck. The horse gave him one last cheeky side-eyed glance before Otto led him away toward the paddock. Of course, Henry was probably imagining this, but he had a way with animals, and he could usually get a feel for their spirit—and their feelings about him—after only a few hours in their company. Regent, he was fairly certain, saw him as an interloper, an upstart who thought he could break him, despite the fact he was new to these stables and hadn’t yet proved himself.

Well, he certainly showed me, Henry thought to himself with another smile. If there was one rival he didn’t mind being bested by, it was a horse. I’ll just have to try again tomorrow—prove to him that I’m no upstart, that I’m every bit the horse whisperer people say I am.

Henry turned back to the house and began to make his way up the path to the front door. He was tired, cold, still covered in mud, and ready for a hot, hearty meal. Fortunately, his friend, the Viscount of Trenton, had an excellent cook, and he could count on a delicious meal this evening.

After being admitted inside by the butler, Henry asked to be taken to the viscount. The butler’s eyebrows went up as he took in Henry’s mud-splattered appearance.

“Like that, Your Grace?” he asked tactfully, and Henry laughed.

“Yes, like this. I must speak to the viscount on an urgent matter.”

The butler hesitated, clearly uncertain about the protocol of bringing a man dripping mud into the entertaining parts of the house, but then he relented. “Right away, Your Grace. Follow me.”

As Henry followed the butler, he was glad he hadn’t mentioned the urgent matter in question: mainly, the need to learn more about the identity of the beautiful and mysterious woman he had met earlier in the woods.

The butler showed him into the parlor, where Lord Philip Somerville, Viscount of Trenton, was sitting on a settee reading the paper. The moment Philip saw Henry, his eyebrows shot up.

“What in God’s name happened to you out there?” Philip demanded, lowering the newspaper and gaping at Henry.

“You were right about Regent,” Henry said, moving to the sideboard and helping himself to a brandy. “He’s a wild one. I wasn’t able to keep my seat.”

Philip snorted. “Really? You, the Horse Whisperer of Oxfordshire, were thrown off a horse?”

“It happens more often than you’d think. Turns out, when you have a reputation for knowing how to handle dangerous horses, people love to test that.”

“I did tell you Regent wasn’t ready for a ride in the forest,” Philip said.

“I know. That’s why I said you were right.” Henry winked at his friend as he went to sit down across from him.

“What are you doing?” Philip gasped as Henry sat down. “You’re covered in mud! You’re going to ruin those seat cushions!”

“My dear Philip, I will pay to have them cleaned if that is what you are concerned about,” Henry said, waving a dismissive hand.

Philip groaned and put his head in his hands. “I didn’t realize that allowing you to come visit would result in my house turning into a pigsty,” he lamented without looking up.

“I’ll go up to change shortly,” Henry assured him. “But there was an urgent matter I needed to discuss with you.”

Philip looked up, his expression sulky. “Well couldn’t we discuss it standing? You’re truly a mess, Henry.”

Henry chose to ignore this. He had more important things to worry about than a little bit of mud on a seat cushion. Namely, the identity of the fair forest maiden he had met today.

“I had an adventure today,” Henry said, leaning forward and grinning at his friend. “An adventure that involved meeting a beautiful young woman in the woods.”

“A beautiful young lady?” Philip repeated, raising an eyebrow. “In the woods? Was she a fairy? Should I be worried you’re going to be stolen away to the land of Eternal Youth?”

“We’re not in Ireland, my good friend,” Henry said good-humoredly. “And no, she was very much a real woman. She had rescued an injured bird and was nursing it back to health.”

This made Philip’s eyebrows shoot up even higher on his forehead. “Now I am convinced that this woman was in your imagination. I have never heard of such a thing! She cannot be a lady. She must be a local farmer’s daughter to take such an odd interest in animals.”

“I don’t think so,” Henry said slowly as he mulled over his memories of the young lady. “She comported herself very gracefully, and her speech reminded me of that of a lady. I am inclined to think that she is the daughter of some minor member of the landed gentry.”

“It’s possible,” Philip relented. “There are some families like that in this area. But why would a daughter of the landed gentry be alone in the woods, caring for a sick animal? I’ve never heard of anything so preposterous!”

“Maybe she likes being out in nature,” Henry suggested, but Philip rolled his eyes.

“No lady cares for nature that much.”

“Hmm. Well, this one seems to. In truth, I was quite bewitched by her and stunned by the gentle way she shielded the bird and cared for it. She’d even made a splint for its broken wing!”

Philip’s eyes narrowed. “What truly odd behavior. Did she say what her name was?”

“Miss Elizabeth Hawthorne. Do you know her?”

Philip frowned as he considered this name. “Miss Hawthorne…No, I don’t believe I have met her. But the name is familiar. Hawthorne…There were Hawthornes who lived in the village many years ago, but they died in a carriage accident. I believe they did have a young daughter, so perhaps that is your Miss Hawthorne. If I remember correctly, the daughter was taken in by her uncle, the local vicar, and his wife. So she would still be living in the village if she had not married by now.”

“That’s very tragic,” Henry said, his heart going out to the woman he’d met. If she really were this daughter, it might account for her fondness for broken, defenseless animals and why she had shown such tenderness for the creature. And that must have been the Hawthornes’ abandoned house that she was coming out of.

“They were minor landholders,” Philip continued. “She probably has a good dowry if she was their only child.”

“I’m hardly thinking about her dowry!” Henry said, shaking his head. “I just found her to be an intriguing young lady—different from the Society types my mother is always trying to introduce me to.”

“And what did this intriguing young lady make of a duke splattered in mud?” Philip asked, grinning. “Was she shocked by your appearance?”

“No, not exactly.” Henry hesitated. For some reason, he felt embarrassed to admit to Philip what he had done. But he also knew he had to tell him the truth, as it would probably come out anyway if he ran into the lady in town. “I didn’t tell her I am the Duke of Ashbourne.”

“Oh!” Philip looked surprised. “Did you not introduce yourself?”

“I did,” Henry said, and he fidgeted. “But I gave her a different name.”

“Really?” Philip smirked. “And what name was that?”

“Jonathan Pritchard,” Henry said. “I told her I was a stable hand.”

“You what?” Philip stared at him, aghast. “Why would you do such a thing? There’s every chance you’re going to run into her in the village, and then the truth will come out!”

“And so what if it does?” Henry grumbled. “Why shouldn’t an errant duke be allowed to hide his identity for a day or two? I’ve spent my whole life with the weight of the dukedom hanging on my shoulders, affecting every relationship with every person I meet. For once, it was nice to just be me—and not the Duke of Ashbourne.”

“Except you are the Duke of Ashbourne,” Philip pointed out. “You can’t just erase that part of yourself. It affects every other part of you.”

“Well, maybe I want to find out if there are parts of me that exist separately from my title,” Henry said stubbornly. “Don’t you ever wonder who you might be without the viscount title weighing on you?”

“I don’t mind the weight of the viscount title,” Philip said with a small smile. “Unlike you, I am appreciative of the privileges it has given me in life.”

“I’m appreciative,” Henry muttered. “I’d just like to experience at least a few days of my life that don’t revolve around others’ expectations of and plans for me.”

“You mean your mother’s plans,” Philip said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m assuming she hasn’t tracked you down here yet?”

“No, not yet,” Henry said. “And I hope to keep it that way for a while longer. She is so determined to have me married that she cannot let it rest for more than a few hours before she brings it up again.”

“Well, you should marry,” Philip said reasonably. “You are a duke! You must continue your bloodline.”

“Not you, too,” Henry said, groaning. “Carry on like this, and I’ll have to leave.”

“Good. At least then you’d stop muddying up my furniture.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Well, I can’t leave yet. Not until I’ve had another chance to speak with Miss Hawthorne.”

Philip rubbed his temple, a morose look on his face. “I feel a headache coming on just thinking about this exceedingly terrible idea,” he moaned. “I would suggest you don’t start a romance with a local orphan, Henry. She might have a modest dowry that impresses the local gentry of this village, but she is certainly not from the stock that marries dukes. Your mother would not approve.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Henry said crossly, his friend’s snobbery making him angry. “I would just like to get to know her better.”

“Just be careful,” Philip warned. “You might like to pretend you are Jonathan Pritchard, stable hand, but in reality, you are Henry Cavendish, Third Duke of Ashbourne. And your actions have consequences.”

This was true, and he did think about it all that evening as he changed out of his muddy clothes, bathed, and then sat down to dinner with Philip. If Miss Hawthorne knew he was the Duke of Ashbourne, she might have certain expectations about what he could offer her—and he would have to disappoint her. Because Philip was certainly right that his mother would never, ever allow him to marry a girl from a minor landowning family.

Which is why it was best for everyone that he kept his identity hidden. He had to remain Jonathan Pritchard so that he could have, perhaps for the first time in his life, a real friendship unburdened by the pressures of his title.