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“Wait. You mean to tell me that Mr. Steele from the fields is not one of the shepherds?”

The pitying look on Cassie’s face as they walked in Allington again was enough to clench Martha’s stomach for the second time in the space of a minute, and it was no less unsettling.

She had spent over an hour with Mr. Steele and his companions the other day, talking about everything and nothing, walking after the herd of sheep and watching in fascination as they sheared most of them. No one had given her any indication that Mr. Steele did not belong with the others, no one had been uncomfortable with the situation or the company, and no one had addressed Mr. Steele in any specific way to indicate he was anything but what he had said.

No one had addressed him at all, as she thought about it.

They had spoken to him, of course, but they had never called him Mr. Steele or sir or any title to distinguish him from the others.

She had genuinely liked the man. He was handsome, to be sure, but he had seemed so earnest and genuine, so comfortable in his surroundings and in her company. He had been at ease with the sheep and among the others, had not flattered her or given any offense. His speech had been careful and refined, and yet held no elegance to it.

He’d seemed an honest sort, just as she expected Mr. Cummings to be at any given time or place.

Yet what she had felt for him in no way resembled what she felt for Mr. Cummings.

At all.

Not that she could describe her feelings as something significant. But she would admit to fascination, for certain. And a tendency towards his direction when she rode. Or walked. She hadn’t seen him again when she rode, and her walks had not taken her so far as yet, mostly because she had yet to find a manageable walking route that did not exhaust her. But she had been drawn in that direction, it was true.

Now, however …

Well, now she was determined to march in that direction quite directly and ask the man what he meant by intentionally not revealing the nature of his identity. She had no doubt it was his name in truth, but he had clearly let her assume that …

That what? That he was a man, just as the other men were? That he had no airs or high opinions? That he did not see himself as above others in rank or situation? That he could walk among the animals and the land without offending his sensibilities?

Which, she had to admit, she was also doing.

She didn’t know much about animals or land, and the only sensibilities she had were the ones she didn’t care for and sought to replace, but she was certainly acting outside of the realms to which she had been accustomed. She was doing so proudly and with great determination. She was throwing off the bindings Society had placed on their young ladies and deciding her own identity.

But for how long? How deep was this adjustment of hers going to sink? How permanent would these changes become?

And how could she judge Mr. Steele for doing exactly as she was in his own way?

Martha shook her head now, frowning more at herself than anything regarding him. “I must speak with him. I must know why he did not tell me.” She turned and started away, still shaking her head.

“Why does it matter?” Cassie asked as she hurried to walk along beside her, the skirts of her blue cotton gown rippling with her quick steps. “If Lord Hillier did not offer his title when he met you, why should you care?”

“Lord Hillier?” Martha repeated without altering a single step. “More to be questioned, then. And truth be told, Cassie, it might not matter. I spent a lovely afternoon learning more about sheep than I could possibly imagine, and I enjoyed it immensely. But what purpose did it serve to keep me in ignorance as to his identity? I don’t know why, but I do care about that very much.”

“Perhaps it was to spare you mortification?” her friend suggested, one hand clutching at the top of her straw hat to keep it from dislodging in the breeze. “By your own account, you happened upon them unexpectedly.”

Martha considered that, her strides continuing to be long and purposeful as her arms swung in time with them, insofar as her trim redingote would allow. “That would be a rather pretty, gentlemanly way of managing the error. I cannot say if my conversation with Mr. Steele would have changed overly much had I known he was Lord Hillier, but we will never know for certain. I have interacted with earls and lords and viscounts in London, and it is rare to find good conversation among them. Perhaps I might have borne some prejudice had I heard his title.”

“Exactly,” Cassie said with some relief in her voice. “Lord Hillier is somewhat new to the area, Martha, and I think new to the title. Perhaps he is not comfortable with it yet? I have heard only good of him when he comes into Allington. Even Papa says so, and he is a stern judge of character.”

“Does he know Lord Hillier himself?” Martha asked her, something eager leaping within her chest at the idea.

Cassie pursed her lips a little. “Not directly, no …”

Martha nearly groaned at so swift a disappointment. “Then how can he say so? I must meet his lordship as he is and ascertain for myself if he is the man I met or a pretender.”

“You intend to walk to Pontcaster from here?” Cassie’s distressed disbelief gave Martha some pause, but her feet would not listen to reason and kept their pace.

“Evidently,” she grunted. “How far is it?”

“Four miles, at least!”

Martha glanced at Cassie with a raised brow. “That is not so far, is it?”