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stroke.
    “Well, yes.” She flashed him a smile and pushed one truant dark blond curl behind her ear—she would be better occupied tucking her bosom more firmly back inside her dress, he thought. “But he did seem a very kind gentleman, you know, and we were to make the journey all in one day. It was just unfortunate that there was trouble with his carriage.”
    “It is fortunate that the trouble has now been put suddenly right,” the duke said dryly, rocking back on his heels. “That is doubtless it leaving the innyard now.”
    “Oh,” she said, “yes. I suppose it was not broken after all, was it? I did not think of that. But you will take me to my aunt’s, sir? How kind of you.”
    Mitford fixed her with a severe eye. “You had better hope that I do not prove to be quite as kind as Mr. Porterhouse,” he said.
    “Oh,” she said, and laughed. “I can tell that you are not like him. He is so tall and handsome that I daresay he has learned to be selfish and to think a lot of himself. You are not at all like him, sir.”
    The duke rocked back on his heels again. “I think on the whole it would be as well to return you to your father’s house,” he said.
    “Oh, no.” She finally looked down at herself, flushed, and tucked herself back inside her tom garment as best she could. “I won’t go back home, sir. Not by any persuasion. Even if it means running away to London and becoming a scullery maid. If I go back home, Papa and Grandpapa will make me marry the Duke of Mitford.”
    The Duke of Mitford rocked once more. “Ah,” he said.
    “Any fate would be better than that,” she said.

Chapter 3
    “Sometimes,” the Viscount Cheamley said to his father, looking up from the note in his hand, “I think perhaps I should have used my hand on that girl when she was growing up. What do you think?”
    “I can’t see it would have done any good,” Lord Rutland said. “Jo is just a high-spirited young girl. She means no harm, and no harm ever comes of her mischief. What does it say?” He nodded toward the note.
    The viscount looked down and read it again, as if he could not believe the evidence of his own eyes the first time. “The dratted girl has ridden over to Winnie’s,” he said. “Just took it into her head that it was time for a visit, and went.”
    “I told you she was not at the Winthrops’, Papa,” Penelope said. “When Sukey and I went to call on Anna, both she and Henrietta were in the mopes because Mr. Porterhouse took his leave this morning. But Jo was not there.”
    “Winnie’s is twenty-five miles away,” the viscount said with a frown. “What can have possessed the girl? It is a hard day’s ride. She will be fortunate to get there before nightfall.”
    The earl shook his head. “Jo, Jo,” he said. “Will she never realize that she is full grown now and must not go jauntering about on her own? Especially not a young lady in her position. I will have to explain to her when she comes home again. The little puss! She took a groom with her, I hope?”
    His son was still frowning. “I’ll lay a wager she did not,” he said. “The last time she rode to Winnie’s was four years ago, and that time I told her I would lay my hand to her if she ever did it again. Do you think she remembers? That time, of course, she had us all frantic because she did not think to leave a note or a message of any sort. I don’t like to remember that night.”
    “Papa!” Susanna’s worried voice broke in on his thoughts. “The Duke of Mitford is arriving tomorrow.”
    The viscount’s jaw dropped while the earl passed a hand over his bald head.
    “Heaven help us,” Lord Cheamley said slapping his forehead with Josephine’s note. “And so he is, child. Whatever could Jo have been thinking of? Is she planning to ride back here tomorrow and arrive dusty and panting to meet her bridegroom? Jo, Jo.”
    Bartholomew, who was lolling in a chair, his leg thrown over one arm as usual, appeared to be