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Cassie did not adjust her expression. “Pontcaster is in the hills north of Chippenham, three miles outside of it. And it is difficult walking, despite the distance. I was born and raised here, Martha, I know of what I speak.”

This made Martha’s feet come to their senses, and they slowed, then came to a stop as her mind spun on the idea of walking so far, followed by walking back. She would admit to being a better walker now than she was when she had arrived in Wiltshire, but she would not go nearly so far as to claim a hardy stamina.

It would be mortifying to present herself at Pontcaster to question its master and then be forced to ask if he might drive her to Lanfare to save her aching feet.

“Perhaps I was overhasty,” Martha allowed slowly, the image of rattling along beside Lord Hillier in a cart while they sat in stony silence a harrowing one she would not soon forget. She turned to stare at her friend in consternation. “What other options have we?”

Less than half an hour later, the pair of them were driving away from Allington in the Holmes family’s wagon, Cassie expertly managing the horse, who was well used to the terrain over which they would travel.

It was undoubtedly the wiser course, under the circumstances. And they were a rather lively pair on the drive, regaling each other with stories from their youth. Cassie’s usually involved her several siblings or locals in the village, while Martha’s were almost always about someone or something she witnessed in Society. The subject matter could not have been more different, but the humor and entertainment to be found in each was the same.

“Have you ever been in love before, Martha?” Cassie suddenly asked when their laughter over the last story had faded.

Martha stared at her, almost startled by the question. “No. Not even remotely.”

Cassie shrugged a shoulder. “You have had one London Season, have you not?”

“I did not interact with a single gentleman whom I wished to see a second time,” Martha assured her firmly. “Never mind finding one I wished to give my heart to. My mother was very selective in her choices of whose company I should keep, and while I heard of agreeable men, I certainly never met one.”

“If she did not allow you your choice in company, why did she allow you your own decision on any proposals?” Cassie gave her an almost bewildered look. “Surely, she knew you would not give her the satisfaction once you had a say.”

Martha shuddered at the thought. “Pray, do not speak to my mother on that score. She will see your point and have me arranged off to the next portly viscount in need of a second wife.”

Cassie laughed at that and sighed almost whimsically. “I always envied girls who would go to London and dress in finery. Who could meet such dashing gentlemen and find themselves vied for. I never thought it would be so restricting and callous.”

“You have a beautiful freedom here, Cassie,” Martha said, patting her arm gently. “I would not wish that away for the world.”

The two shared a smile, and Cassie’s eyes drifted just ahead of them. “I believe we are here, Martha. And I think that is Lord Hillier tilling the ground.”

“What?” Martha whirled on the wagon bench, turning to look at the land where Cassie indicated.

There, in a very similar linen shirt of uncommon plainness and trousers any farmhand might don, was the man she had spent such an enjoyable time with only a few days before. Benjamin Steele, who was apparently Lord Hillier.

Working his own land.

“Why is he tilling his own field?” Martha whispered. “And what in the world is tilling?”

“He’s preparing the field for planting,” Cassie explained, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Turning the soil over so that he … Never mind, I very much doubt it matters. Would you like me to stop here, or … ?”

Martha nodded and adjusted the shawl about her shoulders, swallowing with some difficulty as the wagon pulled to a stop and she prepared to climb down.

Lord Hillier saw them now and raised up slowly. He laid his farming implement down, whatever it was, and started in their direction, hands going into his trouser pockets.

He might have been any farmer in the world. Yet she was quite certain no farmer in the world would look half so attractive or make her heart skip the occasional beat in a pattern she hadn’t a hope of recollecting.

“Martha?”

She barely heard Cassie’s voice as she climbed down from the wagon, praying she could do so without embarrassing herself in any way. Thankfully, she managed the thing without any injury, and could walk towards him while appearing remotely sedate, though she was anything but.

“Miss Smith,” Lord Hillier greeted, bowing just enough to betray his rank, though his expression was as open as it had been before.

And he was confused.

Not displeased, thank heavens, but certainly confused.

That would make two of them.

Martha managed a curtsey, and took care that it should suit. “My lord.”