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He bowed, clutching half a sack of hay behind his back; he looked utterly bewildered.

"This is your home. You're allowed to visit wherever you like."

He could not have been more than a few years older than Henry. God, she missed the little ones already. Meeting the boy's gaze, she gave him a warm smile at the innocence of his words.

"I thought the same."

The boy blinked.

"Pardon, Your Grace?"

"I thought I was allowed to go wherever I liked, too," she laughed softly.

"It appears it is rather more complicated once you are a grown-up,” she continued.

The boy looked thoroughly confused.

"What is your name?" she tried.

"My name?" His eyes were still wide with shock. "John, Your Grace."

"And how old are you?"

"Eleven, Your Grace."

Eliza's smile faltered a little. He was just a boy. It was not uncommon for children in the village to begin working from the age of five, but the Didleys had never permitted any of the children beneath their roof to do so. Instead, they had been encouraged to focus on their studies, scripture, and the discovery of their own talents and passions.

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, John. May I meet some of the horses?"

John nodded and immediately abandoned his hay, brushing off his arms before stepping out from behind the stable door.

"Of course, Your Grace.”

He began walking through the stables, which had four stalls on either side, each housing magnificent horses that looked as though they had been carved from obsidian, with each horse possessing a coat of polished ebony that caught the light with every small movement.

"His Grace personally selected all but two of the horses here," he said, pointing to one of the smaller horses. "That's Siggy. She's the mare from His Grace's stallion, Fido over there."

He pointed to another horse, and Eliza nodded, listening to every word. More than the horses themselves, she found herself fascinated by the way the boy's face came alight when speaking of the animals in his care.

She was also not surprised that her husband oversaw and controlled all aspects of the estate. He probably picked the iron from which the carriages he frequently sat in were smelted.

"They're magnificent,” she said, and John puffed with pride.

"Will you be getting your own horse, Your Grace?" he asked.

She desperately wanted to tell him to call her Eliza, but she feared the poor boy's eyes would fall out of his skull if she did, so she was taking it slow with him.

In truth, she did not know how to answer his question. Come to think of it, she did not know the proper protocol for purchasing something. She had no money, and judging by the morning's lessons, she doubted it was considered fashionable for a Duchess to get a job. Did she ask her husband?

She realised she had left the silence lingering a second or two longer than was polite before answering John.

"I am not sure," she said hurriedly, "but as soon as I know, I shall come and find you to tell you. How about that?"

John blushed a little from the attention, and his candour slowly changed, making him seem more boyish than the hardened eleven-year-old she had first encountered a few moments ago.

"Would you like to ride, Your Grace?"

She had never ridden a horse before, but she was enjoying his company, and she supposed she could give it a try. Surely it could not be terribly difficult. If she were truly to become a Duchess, she imagined riding belonged somewhere amongst the ever-growing accomplishments she was expected to possess.