Ambledown exuded the cozy rural domesticity Ellie had known in early childhood. The dwelling itself was a modest three stories at the end of a circular drive. Woods lined one side of the drive and climbed the hill behind the house, and rolling pastures fell away from the other. The manor was a sparkling white Tudor half-timbered structure, complete with mullioned windows, green shutters, and a bright red front door.

Merry Olde England at its finest. Ellie was glad this place belonged to Elsmore, and pleased for his sake that its books were as spotless as its windows. She had not been pleased to find herself all but cuddled in his lap as the coach had rocked to a halt before the house.

For him, the familiarity had likely been of no moment.

He’d escorted her into the house, directed a smiling footman to convey the ledgers to the estate office, and commended Ellie into the keeping of the housekeeper. That good soul had been stout, friendly, and not quite able to hide her curiosity regarding the duke’s guest as she had provided a tour of the premises.

Ellie had been an object of curiosity at every one of the Walden holdings, and had found that the most effective response to veiled glances and subtle hints was to ignore them. When a footman summoned her away from her ledgers mid-tally, she could not ignore the grumblings of her empty belly.

“You might have told me I’m to take supper with you,” she said, once the footman had quit the dining parlor.

His Grace of Elsmore stood at the head of the table, quietly resplendent in country attire. “Where else would you dine?” he asked.

“At the second table, with the housekeeper, the butler, and the senior staff.” Remonstrating with him for holding her chair would have felt ridiculous.

“You literally fell asleep on me on the drive out here,” he said, “and now you’d leave me to dine by myself. Is my company so objectionable, madam?”

His company was becoming too interesting. At his Hampshire estate, he’d taken on the living for the local vicarage at the same time he’d rented an unused chapel to a Quaker gathering, charging them one shilling a year. What sort of man did that?

“I apologize for my lapse in manners earlier.” Ellie whisked a monogrammed table napkin across her lap. “One moment, I was regaling you with some tale about compound rounding, and the next I was waking up to the sight of this charming estate.”

He gestured with the wine bottle. Ellie nodded, because once the bottle had been opened, the spirits should be consumed.

“And the moment we arrived,” Elsmore said, “you closeted yourself with the blasted ledgers.”

“That was rather the point of the excursion, sir.” Then too, her nap, or perhaps the crisp country air, had left her refreshed and motivated. “Tell me about your extended family.”