It was simple.
Kit tramped through the woods. There were always streams around. He would find one. The rain-damp forest floor was covered with ferns and thickets and years of twigs and leaves. Squirrels scattered at the sound of his booted steps, and birds heralded him. He noticed a path. It was narrow and muddy. He followed it and after several minutes of walking, came to a pool of water.
Sunlight filtered through the trees. Kit moved toward the edge. It didn’t look deep. There were tracks all around marking it as a watering hole.
It would serve his purposes. He reached into the deep pockets of his greatcoat and felt a dry sliver of soap. It had been there a while. Not too long ago, he’d been more fastidious. What had happened?
He knew the answer. He’d let his role of PrinceHal go a bit too far. Men had that talent, he’d come to realize. They could become so wrapped up in their own motives, they forgot themselves. He’d seen that truism played out repeatedly as school friends had gone out into the world. They’d changed. They became ambitious. Some ruthless.
And what was he? That was the question.
Kit had never had a titled father to guide him. His uncle, who had been his guardian until he came of age, was a self-made man, and a busy one. He wasn’t one for garden parties or balls or mentoring. Yes, he had rebuilt the Winderton fortune that Kit’s father had almost lost... but he didn’t understand the nobility. He expected Kit to be productive. To work.
Meanwhile, tutors had never pressed Kit on his studies. His mother had spoiled him. His friends had turned to him for favors that he could not deliver, and then he had created his own problems... and soon, Kit had been convinced he was the worst duke in the world.
Leaving had forced him to be himself.
He still wasn’t certain what hisroleshould be, except he wanted to be more than a title. Exactly what that was kept eluding him.
Right now, his “self” needed a good wash.
Kit took little time to strip down. He set his still damp boots under a tree, the socks with a hole draped over the side to dry. He placed his folded clothes with his beloved hat on topof them and then waded into the pool with the sliver of soap.
His eye ached, reminding him it was bruised. No wonder the coach driver hadn’t wished to stop. The fresh water would feel good on it.
With a whoop, Kit dove under. The bottom was shallow but he managed to swim a few strong strokes before popping his head up. For a long moment, he drank in the perfection of nature, of being surrounded by the green beauty that was England, and he felt rich in a way few of his acquaintance could appreciate.
Since he’d begun his travels, he’d had many moments like this one. He’d come to value his freedom and enjoy the simple pleasure of just being. He chafed at rules and restrictions. He liked living as he pleased, until his drinking had led him astray.
And that is when Kit realized something that should have been quite obvious... if he’d only stopped to think: The problem was not with the world. It was with himself. He was the problem.
He brought his feet to the bottom of the pool. The water gently lapped around his waist. The muddy bottom was soft and silky between his toes. He stood there in the ring of sunlight and allowed himself to just be while he turned this new awareness over in his mind.
Kit had been furious when he’d left London. Kate’s rejection had humiliated him. He’d not behaved in his best manner. He’d done everythingexpected of him... and it hadn’t been enough—not to win Kate’s heart, or earn him respect, or be comfortable in his own skin and feel as if he mattered in this world.
Now, in this pool, with barely a shilling to his name, a calm settled over him.
What if life wasn’t about striving and achieving? Or deadening emotions that were uncomfortable? Why couldn’t it always be like it was now, when he savored the moment? He enjoyed the warmth of the air around him and the crispness of the rain-cooled water. He had a clear head and no obligations. None.
If he wished to disappear, he could. He could wander forever.
And Kit didn’t know what he thought of that. Because there were things he did miss. His mother was one. She’d always been his champion, perhaps too much of one at times. Smythson, the sprawling home that was his ancestral seat, was another. He’d once imagined raising his children there, teaching them to ride, to care for the livestock and the land, to value their family history.
What he didn’t miss was believinghecould do no wrong.
The soap in his hand was melting. Kit looked down at it. There wasn’t much left. He’d best put it to good use. For months he’d been living by doing the next thing in front of him. What he wanted now was to be clean. To notreek.
The rest would sort itself out in time.
With that decision, Kit began scrubbing. The little maid was correct. He had not taken care of himself.
He marveled at how lean he’d grown through his travels, gaunt even. His muscles were long and hard. His hair was in need of a barber. He could almost pull it back in a short queue.
His beard was the worst. He had been snipping at it from time to time with a small pair of scissors he carried. However, rubbing his hand over it, he realized its patchiness and unevenness made him look as if he had gone to seed. Time to be done with it.
He lathered the beard with the very last bit of soap in his hand. Then he waded to shore, going to his greatcoat to search the pocket where he carried a small leather traveling case—scissors on one side, a razor on the other. He picked up the coat and was startled by the sound of Elise’s sharp gasp of surprised alarm... even as Tamsyn came panting up to him, happily wagging her tail.
Elise was not so friendly.
