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“They’ve nose bags to keep them company—they’ll bide a bit. Come, my house is just there.” She waved to the small, thatched cottage he had glimpsed from farther afield.

She led the way, and Rick towed his mount behind him, tying the animal to a handy tree near the cottage’s neat front yard while she went to pump some water into a bucket. She washed her own hands and then tossed the water and refilled it for him. Drying her hands on her apron she disappeared into the house.

She reemerged a moment later with a tankard and a drying cloth, shadowed by two little ones, a boy of six or thereabouts and a toddler of three that he guessed was probably a girl. The boy had hold of his sister’s hand to prevent her wandering off, and he eyed Rick with sullen suspicion.

“Here.” Their mother offered the tankard and cloth. He took the cloth to dry his hands and then the tankard, which he discovered contained good porter.

“Thank you,” he said with a grin, wiping his upper lip. “It’s good.”

She smiled, which lifted her features from weary to attractive. “I make it myself. It’s another way to make a few shillings.”

“Ah.” He reached into his pocket to pay her, and she put out a hand in protest.

“Nay, I did not mean you should pay me for it. You earned it with your removal of that rock. I’d have been all day trying to budge it.”

“It was nothing really,” he said offering the coin, but she refused to take it.

“You’re new to these parts?” she asked. “Or are you just passing through?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have introduced myself. My name is Lord Kenrick Layne. I’m from—”

Her expression of warm interest turned to blank horror, and she dropped immediately into a curtsy, her cheeks flushing. “My lord, I had no idea. Please forgive my forwardness!”

“Nonsense. No need to stand on ceremony with me,” he said, embarrassed and a little annoyed by the effect his name had wrought. “I gather you’re one of my tenants?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said rising slowly and stealing a look up at him. Her grey eyes held a worried expression. “We only heard yesterday that you were coming and that Miss Woodrow was married. We hardly ever saw Mr. Monk. Mr. Falconbridge would visit him in London rather than him come here.”

Rick digested this piece of intelligence and swallowed the rest of his porter. “I’m to meet with him today,” he said slowly.

Her face tightened, and she swallowed visibly. “I’d best be getting back to the field—it won’t plow itself, my lord. Thank you again for your assistance. I’m more grateful than I can say.”

He handed her back the empty tankard and then pressed a guinea into her palm. “For the children,” he said gently. It had not escaped his notice that their clothing was threadbare and much mended, and the boy’s in particular no longer fitted him.

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at him. Flushing, she blinked and said softly, “You’re most kind, my lord.”

He shook his head and turned away to his horse. Back in the saddle, he returned her wave and set off back to the road that wound its way between the tenants’ fields, his mind pondering what he had just witnessed.

***

Cecey was already in the breakfast parlor, which the maids had cleaned, when Rick came in, his boots covered in mud.

“Where have you been?” she said.

“Ah, sorry about my dirt. I’ve been exploring the estate, and one of the tenants had a problem with her plow.”

“Her?” Cecey reached for the butter as Rick piled his plate high with food from the warming trays.

He sat down with the plate and shook out a napkin. “Yes, a widow with two children. I never did learn her name. There was a large stone blocking the progress of the plow. I moved it for her,” he said forking up mushrooms, egg, and ham.

“Coffee?” She offered the pot. Her eyes took in his disheveled appearance. He hadn’t bothered with a neckcloth or waistcoat, and the jacket he wore was not fashionably tight, designed instead to allow him to shrug himself into it without assistance. It was the most casual she had seen him.

“Please,” he nodded. She filled his cup.

“You were up early.”

He grinned. “Yes, I took one of the horses out—it’s a fine morning. I suppose after this, we should get a proper tour of the house. I only found this room because one of the footmen directed me.”

“Mrs. Hendrix has offered.”