“I owe you my life,” Francesca said.
“Anyone would have done the same, miss.”
“No they wouldn’t, Alfred. Don’t try to be modest. You’re a hero, and I would see my father reward you as you deserve.”
“No, miss. I don’t want anything, except to see that you’re well. Oh, and to catch the bastard—pardon my language, miss—who hurt you.”
The man met Ethan’s eyes. Francesca followed his gaze, and said, “Lord Winterbourne, this is Mr. Shepherd.”
“We met last night.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Then you must already know Alfred is our head coachman.”
Ethan nodded.
She smiled at the old man again. “He’s also the best animal caretaker in all of Hampshire.” As if offering proof, she gestured to a nearby paddock where a groom exercised two gleaming geldings in their prime.
“Miss Dashing has a tendency to exaggerate, your lordship.”
To Ethan’s amazement, the coachman blushed—again. Ethan propped a shoulder against the stable wall. “I doubt it, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“From what I understand, we owe you our gratitude for rescuing Miss Dashing last night.”
“I happened to be in the right place, my lord, and I did what I could. Wasn’t able to catch the bastard, unfortunately—pardon my language again, miss. Miss Dashing made sure he didn’t escape without something to remember her by, though.”
Francesca’s cheeks colored to strawberry. “I think I’ll go in and check on Thunder,” she murmured. Putting a hand to her cheeks, she scooted past the man and disappeared into the stable. Ethan watched her go, tempted to follow.
“Kneed him in the balls, she did,” Shepherd said. “He all but crawled away, tail between his legs.”
“Good.”
Shepherd nodded to the stable. “She’ll be all right inside, your lordship. Peter and Joe are there and won’t allow any harm to come to her.”
“Can you trust them?”
“They’ve been here for the last couple of years. I assure you neither of them attacked her. They’d protect her with their lives.”
From what Ethan had seen thus far of the staff’s loyalty to their young mistress, he didn’t doubt that statement. “You were there, Mr. Shepherd. Do you know who attacked her?”
“No, my lord. The coward wore a hood, and I couldn’t see his face. But he also wore a greatcoat, and even in the dark, it looked far finer than most in these parts can afford.”
Ethan nodded. “Is that the only reason you don’t believe it was anyone at Tanglewilde?”
The coachman stiffened. “No one here would harm a hair on Miss Dashing’s head.”
Ethan nodded again. He would examine every possibility. His gut told him the murder of Skerrit and the attack on Francesca were related, but he wasn’t ready to rule out other suspects yet. “What about someone from the village?” He glanced at the surrounding estate, his mind turning. “Does Miss Dashing have any enemies?”
“Hardly, my lord.” Shepherd huffed. “His Lordship and the family are well liked in these parts, especially the Miss Dashings.”
Ethan caught himself before he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Shepherd had just ruled out the staff at Tanglewilde, vagrants, and the whole of Selborne village.
Again, all signs pointed to the smugglers, but he could hardly mention those men to Shepherd.
“You intend to find the man, my lord?” He stuck a piece of hay between his teeth and clamped shut on it.
“Iwillfind him, Mr. Shepherd.” Ethan straightened away from the stable wall. “And when I do, you can be sure he’ll suffer.”
