dear one, but there is no need to hurry."
"He wants me to - Almack's?" Harry queried blankly.
"No doubt you'll enjoy it when the time comes," she assured him. "After all, a handsome young man, the heir to an old title and a substantial fortune, will suffer few rebuffs. But as I said, there is no need as yet. And you may meet a bride elsewhere." Lady Thoresby looked up from her needlework. "I hope you know, Harry, that your father and I would accept any bride of your choice. There is no need to look for a fortune, or grand connections. Just find a warmhearted girl, dear. One who will make you happy."
Harry allowed his mother's comfortable tone to reassure him. Perhaps it was time for him to start thinking about settling down, but not for a year or two. He was only twenty-four, after all.
But then his father suffered another dizzy spell, almost falling down the stairs. The doctor examined his patient again and shook his head. "No way to say, Mr. Crisp. He must build up his strength and avoid overexertion and excitement. He could be with us for many, many years." Silently he conveyed the grim alternative.
Lord Thoresby would not hear of Harry staying and became agitated on the matter, repeating his opinion that Harry should go to London. Marriage and nurseries were not mentioned but were clearly fretting Lord Thoresby's mind. Harry had returned to Rutland to arrange for the moving of his hunters and tell Chart what was afoot. His friend would doubtless be horrified.
Loosely connected on the family tree, and almost exactly of an age, they'd been inseparable since their first days at Eton. Harry couldn't imagine going bride-hunting without Chart, but it was a devil of a lot to ask of even the closest friend.
And a wife was likely to interfere with his normal masculine pursuits to an inconvenient degree.
As he mulled over these depressing thoughts, he was occupying his hands with his hobby and trying to mend a small automaton. The lady with china head and limbs and a blue silk gown was supposed to dance to the music box inside. She should point a toe, turn, and move her head. All she could manage was a jerky twitch.
He was poking beneath her silk skirts, grinning at the thought that this was rather improper, when he heard a thumping on the door. Who on earth would be out in such weather?
As he opened the door, rain and wind swept in and he was confronted by a mud creature. Sodden sacks for a head. Mud for a gown. The sacks moved and he saw a pale face.
"Good Lord." He opened the door farther and gestured for her to enter.
The woman, or girl - it was hard to say - staggered in, and he could shut out the noise and the cold, wet air. He looked blankly at his visitor and took in the growing pool of mud under her feet. Firkin, Corny's manservant, would have pungent words to say.
Consigning Firkin's future words to the devil, he said, "You must come into the kitchen." He directed the creature along the passage and into the warm room. Her shoes made slurping sounds as she plodded along.
Once in the room he looked at the trail behind her and said, "Er... perhaps you could shed some of your covering here."
Amy was coming back to some kind of sanity. She was still shivering cold and wetter than she'd been since she fell in the horse trough, but there was warmth about, and no wind, and no rain. "Who are you?" she asked the young man. He was clearly no farmer.
He gave her a small, elegant bow. "Harry Crisp, at your service, ma'am. You really should get out of those clothes. I'll find some towels and a blanket."
He turned away, and Amy said quickly, "You can't be alone here!"
"Can't I?" he asked with a raised brow. "Oh dear."
Amy didn't know what to do. "I can't possibly stay here alone with you," she said.
It occurred to Harry for the first time that this soggy mess spoke in the manner of a gentlewoman, and clearly a youngish one. It was a delicate situation. "Awkward, I grant you," he said. "But what else are you going to do?"
"I suppose," said Amy faintly, "I'd better go back to the barn and my horse." Her teeth started to chatter. Her nose was running. She sniffed.
"What good would that do?" he asked. "No one would