He silently hoped that they would catch the thief soon so he could return home to the bustling life he loved. He couldn’t fathom how Frederick found contentment in the slow rhythm of country living. The charm of the countryside was pleasant enough for a brief visit, but Nic longed for the energy and unpredictability of home.
Within minutes, he arrived at Mrs. Burls’ house. A few guests had already gathered, their polite chatter carrying through the garden. He recognized most of them from his morning walk—he had already exchanged pleasantries and didn’t feel inclined to repeat the small talk. Now, as he approached the door, he wondered if tonight’s gathering would be just another stretch of boredom or if perhaps, tucked away in this peaceful setting, there might be an unexpected turn that would break the monotony. After all, the peaceful countryside seemed to hold more than met the eye.
For a woman of eighty years, Mrs. Burls still carried herself with a striking elegance. Though her face was deeply etched with wrinkles and her hair was as white as freshly fallen snow, he couldn’t deny that there was something captivating about her. When they had first met four months ago, he had immediately recognized her generous spirit and kind heart. Her smile was infectious, lighting up the room, and her laughter—soft and musical—had a way of making everyone around her feel lighter, happier.
As their eyes met from across the room, Mrs. Burls raised her hand, beckoning him to come closer. He kept a warm smile on his face as he made his way toward her, weaving through the small gathering of guests. The others, sensing her wish, gracefully parted to let him pass. He reached her side, and as she extended her hand, he took it with a small bow, feeling the warmth and strength still present in her grip.
“Mr. Woodland,” she greeted him, her voice lilting with that familiar melody. “It’s been far too long since our last chat.”
He grinned and leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Indeed, Mrs. Burls. I can only hope I’ll leave here tonight just as enchanted as always.”
Her laughter rang out, and Nic couldn’t help but think that, even in this quiet countryside, perhaps there was more charm—and intrigue—to discover than he’d first imagined.
“Mrs. Burls, you don’t look a day older than forty.” He winked. “I confess that seeing you so lovely tonight makes my heart skip a beat.”
The old woman giggled as if she were in her childhood years. “Oh, you wicked man, Mr. Woodland. It is I who has the fluttering heart because of your false flattery.”
“False?” He placed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Mrs. Burls. I tell only the truth, you know. If not, the good Lord would choose someone else to lead this parish.”
She shook her head. “Then if you aren’t lying, you are stretching the truth farther than you have stretched it before.”
The others standing around her chuckled, and he smiled. “But forgive me for intruding on your conversation.” He glanced at the three other women and two men.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Clarkston said. She was probably the next-oldest woman in this township. “We enjoy your company, Mr. Woodland.”
He held up Mrs. Burls’ gift as he met her stare again. “I have brought you a gift, but I shall wait for more of your guests to arrive so that everyone can see your surprise.”
“Mrs. Stiles has a table set up in the other room, specifically for my gifts.” The old woman pointed in the general direction, toward the small corridor. “Please put it in there. I shall open my gifts in a few hours.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Burls. If you will all excuse me, then.” He bowed, turned, and strolled toward the room. As he walked by the front door, more visitors arrived. He smiled and nodded, but didn’t stop to talk.
As Nic entered the cozy sitting room, his eyes immediately fell on Mrs. Stiles. She stood by the window, engaged in conversation with two younger women. The ladies, with their backs turned to him, were unfamiliar faces. Nic, always quick to notice new arrivals—especially young women—was certain he hadn’t met them during his time in the small town.
Without hesitation, he moved toward the table, where various gifts were neatly arranged, and placed his own among them. Just as he turned back, he caught sight of Mrs. Stiles breaking away from her group and making her way toward him, her smile warm but unmistakably purposeful.
Nic straightened, his usual charm at the ready as she approached, wondering what conversation awaited him now. The unknown women behind her still piqued his curiosity, but Mrs. Stiles clearly had something on her mind, and he would soon find out what it was.
“Mr. Woodland. What a surprise it is to see you tonight.” Her gaze slid over his torso, and her eyes widened. “Oh my… You have lost a little weight, haven’t you? I didn’t know you had been that ill.”
He’d heard this phrase many times today. “Indeed I have, Mrs. Stiles.” He patted his stomach. “But I’m doing much better, thank you.”
“While you are here, let me introduce you to Mrs. Burls’ great-niece.” She moved aside and pointed to the young woman who stood behind her. “This is Miss Tabitha Paget from York.”
The name hit him like a fierce northern wind, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs.Tabitha Paget?What was she doing here, so far from home?
His mind went blank, and his tongue felt as heavy as lead. There were so many things he wanted—needed—to say to her, apologies that had long weighed on his conscience. But the words wouldn’t come. They couldn’t.
Because to her, he wasn’t Dominic Lawrence, the Marquess of Hawthorne. Would she recognize him at all? The thought sent a brief wave of dread through him, his heart sinking at the possibility. If she saw through his disguise, everything would unravel. Frederick’s plan, the investigation—all of it would be compromised. And worst of all, Frederick would never forgive him.
Chapter Three
Swallowing hard, Nicsteeled himself, forcing his emotions to stay hidden. No matter what, he had to keep up the charade. He couldn’t afford to let his true identity slip—not now, not when so much was at stake.
Tabitha turned to face him, offering a polite smile and a graceful curtsy. His heart flipped wildly, and for a moment, he struggled to catch his breath. She was absolutely stunning—more beautiful than he remembered from their last encounter, when he had unjustly accused her of murder. The transformation was astonishing.
Gone was the simple maid’s dresses she had always worn. Now, she stood before him in the elegant attire of a refined lady. Her gown, a rich yellow satin with a delicate white-laced overskirt, flowed gracefully down her figure. The short, slightly puffed sleeves framed her shoulders, lending her an air of effortless grace. A strand of small pearls rested at her throat, adding a touch of sophistication that took his breath away.
Her hair, once plain and pulled back, now cascaded in perfectly styled russet ringlets that rested on her shoulders. Nic couldn’t help but wonder if they were as soft as they appeared. His fingers itched to touch one and find out.
