“I do, madam. We’ve lost a wheel on my coach, and my man tells me the axle is cracked. If you could take me to the dower house, I will ask my mother—”
“Your mother?” the woman interrupted. She’d straightened now and didn’t seem quite so small. “The Duchess of Carlisle is your mother?”
“She is.” Henry told himself it was not strange that this woman who looked like a peasant but sounded like a lady should know of the duchess. His mother was certainly the highest-ranking peer in this part of the country. This woman would know him as well…if he’d ever visited his estate at any time in the last six or seven years.
“Are you Lord Michael?” the woman asked.
Henry thought her rather impertinent, but he held his tongue. Michael was his brother, his junior by eighteen months. “No. I am His Grace, the Duke of Carlisle.” He emphasizedHis Graceso the woman would know she was to refer to him thus going forward.
“Youare the duke?” she said.
Henry did not fail to note she did not preface her words withYour Grace. “I just said as much.”
The cart’s driver removed his cap and squeezed it repeatedly in one of his massive fists, but the woman had risen to her feet and began to climb down from the cart. This action spurred the driver into action. He jumped down, came around, and all but picked her up and set her on the ground as though she weighed no more than a leaf. Henry moved forward, thinking to take her place on the box. He wouldn’t leave her on the road—impudent as she was—but she could ride in the back of the cart with the, er—he glanced into the back—slats of dusty timber.
But instead of moving aside to allow him to pass, the woman stepped directly into Henry’s path. He tried to sidestep her, but she moved into his path again. Henry looked down at her. Not as far down as he would have supposed when she was beside the cart’s driver. She was not that short. She came to his chin, which made her about five and half feet tall. She looked up at him, and he noticed her brown eyes were quite large and more than pretty. They were fringed with thick, dark lashes. They were so thick, in fact, it appeared as though she’d lined her eyeswith kohl, as he’d seen actresses and other performers do. But this woman didn’t need kohl to accentuate her eyes. They were striking with no added cosmetics.
She was saying something, and his gaze dropped to her lips. She had full lips, shaped in a perfect bow. Her mouth was pink except for a section of her lower lip on the left side that intersected with what must be a birthmark. The mark made that section of lip a shade of ruby that made Henry think about kissing it.
“—how dare you show your face here?” the woman demanded.
Henry blinked. It was not like him to be distracted by a pretty woman. “I beg your pardon. What was that?”
She scowled at him. Somehow, the expression of anger made her eyes darker and even more lovely. “I said”—she put her hands on her hips—“after the way you have behaved, how dare you show your face here?”
Henry couldn’t help but notice she still hadn’t addressed him usingYour Grace. He also couldn’t help but notice the way she spoke to him. He was not used to being spoken to in this manner. Well, he’d sat through enough lectures in his life. He could give a few.
“After the wayIhave behaved? You jump down from a cart and accost me in the middle of the lane—mylane, I might add—and think to lecturemeon conduct? We haven’t even been introduced.”
“First of all, this is not your lane. You want an introduction? This ismylane,Your Grace.”
Henry stared at her for a moment, trying to work out what she meant. She claimed his lane was her lane, but that couldn’t be, unless…
He was not usually slow, but it took a moment for everything to click into place. His mouth dropped open. He closed itimmediately, but he saw the smug look that crossed her face. “Lady Katherine,” he said, and bowed belatedly. Shrewsbury had mentioned his daughter was living at Carlisle Hall. Henry supposed in all the frenzy of losing everything he owned, he’d forgotten that piece of information.
Additionally, he had never before spoken to the marquess’s daughter. He’d seen her once or twice, but she was known for always wearing a veil to obscure her features. The betting books at White’s were full of wagers as to why she wore the veil. Some said she was ugly or had an enormous wart or a bushy mustache. Henry didn’t care for those sorts of wagers. He liked his cards and dice. Not that he was too high in the instep for the betting book. His name was there as often as any other man’s. But he had some boundaries—few and far between as they might be—and he didn’t go in for wagers based on gossip or idle speculation, especially if a child or woman was at the center of it.
One thing the gentlemen at White’s had gotten wrong: Lady Katherine was not ugly. He supposed she’d worn the veil to hide the birthmark on her face. But she wore no veil now.
“Now that we know each other’s names,” she was saying, “I want a word with you. More than a few words.” Her hands rested on her hips, and her eyes flashed at him.
“On what topic?” Henry asked, honestly puzzled. What could the daughter of the Marquess of Shrewsbury have to chide him for? He’d done her no wrong. If anything, she should thank him for his poor luck at the tables. After all, her father was now in possession of Henry’s ancestral home and his family’s town house.
“On the topic of your tenants. Excuse me, yourformertenants.”
Henry frowned at her. He glanced at the cart driver to see if the man might have an inkling of what the lady was going onabout, but the man seemed inordinately interested in the bottom of his boot.
Henry was growing impatient now. As much as he liked chatting with a pretty woman, he was hungry and tired and too warm in the greatcoat. “You want to speak to me about the tenant farmers? What of them?”
“What of them?What of them?”
Clearly, that phrase further angered her for some reason. Her right cheek had gone pink, and her brown eyes burned with anger. Henry was rather fascinated. He wasn’t the sort of person to make anyone particularly angry or particularly elated. He was an amiable, genial sort of fellow who generally got along well with everyone.
“Do you even have the smallest inkling how they have suffered? How theyaresuffering?”
“Are we still speaking of the tenants?”
“Yes!”
