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face need be secured.
    Damn, but he hated dealing with the sycophants he knew would be there, and house parties were the worst venue with so few opportunities to escape all the groveling. He knew he would do what he must, though, and on that thought, he grabbed his walking stick and hat as he prepared to exit the carriage, for it had just stopped on the cobbles in front of the house proper.
    A footman jumped from his perch and opened the door for him to disembark. Stonebridge could clearly make out the earl and countess on the front steps, lying in wait to greet him. As he made his way to the door, he started at the image that flashed across his mind: that of a lion and lioness on the plains of Africa, lying in wait for some unknowing prey to pass within reach. And he felt like prey, despite his self-confidence. He tamped down the stray thought, surprised it so easily interrupted his focus.
    “Swindon, it is an honor to see you again.”
    He nodded his head as he approached and shook the earl’s hand, who responded, “Your Grace, welcome to our home.”
    The duke turned to the countess. “Lady Swindon, you are as beautiful as ever. Thank you for graciously opening your home for my pleasure.” He bowed and kissed the air above her hand.
    “Your Grace, may I join my husband in offering you our most gracious welcome? Thank you for gifting us with your presence. We are honored and humbled by Your Grace. I do hope your stay is most comfortable and memorable, and if there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to inform us at once.
    “Your Grace,” she continued without taking a breath, “our butler is on hand to show you directly to your room so you can refresh. I do hope you find your accommodations satisfactory.”
    “Lady Swindon, thank you. I am sure the rooms will be agreeable. My valet, Bryans, is here to direct the unpacking of my carriage; however, before retiring, I should like to take a walk about your gardens to stretch my legs. If your butler would direct me there first, I would be grateful.”
    He desperately needed to stretch his legs after sitting for too long in the confined carriage. Even though the travelling coach was larger than his town conveyance, he felt cramped after so many hours inside, and with it still being before noon of the day, he thought the best time to take a turn about the garden would be now, when there was little chance of him encountering another guest.

Chapter 3
    An Unfortunately Placed Mud Puddle in the rear gardens of Beckett House…
    A knowledgeable lady understands that, typically, the best way to make a good first impression is not to fall bottom first into a puddle of mud. Alas, Grace Radclyffe, with her inclination towards unfortunate mishaps, found this knowledge to be generally useless in the reality of her everyday life.
    Therefore, despite the uncomfortable feeling of wetness seeping through her gown and the faint-though-nearby sound of dripping mud, she did what any sensible lady of good upbringing would do in less than ideal circumstances. She cursed. With conviction.
    “Bloody hell. Not again.”
    So maybe she didn’t say that . But it was something she occasionally thought in her mind, though only in her mind.
    In actuality, she chuckled lightheartedly (because it’s always best to set yourself and any potential rescuers at ease in awkward situations) and graciously procured the proffered handkerchief dangling over her left shoulder. Then, after clearing the mud from her face so she could actually see and with cheeks tinged only slightly from embarrassment (because, really, that kerchief hadn’t been dangling over her shoulder on its own), she peered up to thank her would-be rescuer and…
    Gasped. Out loud.
    For staring down at her with one eyebrow lifted in question, were a pair of eyes—emerald green eyes, to be more precise. The most deeply penetrating emerald green eyes she had ever seen in all of her near twenty-one years.
    No longer did she feel