“I’m sorry, my lady.” Tiggle sat beside her, the dress still in her arms. “Is that what you want from Mr. Pye? An affair?”

“Yes.” George wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. If I’d met him at a ball, I wouldn’t have asked him for an affair.”

She would’ve danced with him, then flirted and exchanged witty banter. He would’ve sent flowers the next morning and maybe asked her to drive in the park. He would’ve courted her.

“But a land steward wouldn’t be invited to the balls you attend, my lady,” Tiggle said soberly.

“Exactly.” For some reason this simple fact had George blinking back tears.

“Well, then”—Tiggle sighed and rose—“since there isn’t any other choice, maybe you should just tell him what you’ve told me.” She smiled without meeting George’s eyes and left the room.

George flopped back on her bed. I wish . . . She sighed. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

HARRY CLOSED THE DOOR to his cottage and leaned his head against it. He could still hear the rain beating on the wood. The grain was rotting in the fields, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Despite Lady Georgina’s kind offer of loans for the tenants, they would lose a great deal of money, a great deal of food, if the harvest failed. Not only that, but more dead sheep had been found on Granville land today. The poisoner was growing bold. In the last week, he’d struck three times, killing more than a dozen sheep. Even the most loyal of the Woldsly cottagers looked at him with suspicion now. And why not? To many he was a stranger here.

He pushed away from the door and set the lantern on the table beside a letter he’d opened this morning. Mrs. Burns had left his supper, but he didn’t touch it. Instead, he lit the fire and put a kettle of water on to heat.

He’d ridden out before dawn and had worked ever since, inspecting crops. He couldn’t stand the stink of his own body anymore. He swiftly stripped to the waist and poured the heated water into a basin. It was barely tepid, but he used it to wash under his arms, his chest, and his back. Finally, he poured clean water into the basin and dunked his head and face in. The cool water ran down his face, dripping off his chin. It seemed to wash away not only the filth of the day, but all the mental ills as well— the frustration and anger and helplessness. Harry caught up a cloth and toweled his face.

There was a knock at the door.