He swung down from the mare and led her to the tiny lean-to against the back of the cottage. Harry lit the lantern hanging inside the door and took off the horse’s saddle and bridle. Weariness of body and spirit dragged at his limbs. But he carefully rubbed down the mare, watered her, and gave her an extra scoop of oats. His father had drummed into him at an early age the importance of taking care of one’s animals.

With a final pat for the already dozing mare, he picked up the lantern and left the stable. He walked around the cottage on the well-worn path toward the door. As he neared the front door, his step faltered. A light flickered through his cottage window.

Harry put out his lantern. He backed into the underbrush beside the path and hunkered down to think. From the size of the light, it looked to be a single candle. It didn’t move, so it probably stood on a table inside. Maybe Mrs. Burns had left the candle burning for him. The gatekeeper’s wife sometimes came to clean and leave him a meal. But Mrs. Burns was a thrifty woman, and Harry doubted she would waste a candle—even a tallow candle like the ones he used—on an empty cottage.

Someone waited for him inside.

And wouldn’t that be a surprise after arguing with Granville this morning? If they meant to jump him, surely they would’ve taken care to wait in darkness? After all, he hadn’t suspected anything until he’d seen the light. Had his cottage been dark, he’d have gamboled up, as trusting as a newborn lamb. Harry gave a soft snort. So. They— whoever they were—were very assured, waiting for him in his own home. They figured that even with the light showing so plainly from his windows, he’d be stupid or brash enough to walk right in.

And maybe they were right.

Harry set the lantern down, took the knife from his boot, and rose silently from his crouch. He stole to the cottage wall. His left hand held the knife by his thigh. Quietly he skimmed along the stone wall until he was at the door. He grasped the door handle and pressed the latch slowly. He took a breath and flung open the door.

“Mr. Pye, I had begun to think you would never come home.” Lady Georgina knelt by his fireplace, looking quite unperturbed by his sudden entrance. “I’m afraid I’m hopeless at lighting fires, otherwise I would’ve made some tea.” She rose and dusted off her knees.