The first warning Nathaniel Ashcroft received about Genevieve Carter arrived before he ever set foot on her father's estate. It came wrapped in polished manners and delivered with a laugh.
"You will not enjoy meeting her," Lord Whitmore had remarked over brandy in London. "The woman behaves more like a stable manager than a lady."
Others had eagerly joined the conversation: Genevieve was stubborn. Genevieve was difficult. Genevieve spent more time with horses than people. Genevieve had frightened away several respectable suitors. By the end of the evening, Nathaniel had formed a clear picture of the woman he was supposedly expected to consider as a future duchess.
Then, three days later, he realized every one of them might have been lying.
The carriage rolled through the iron gates of Carter Estate shortly after sunrise on a cool April morning. A thin mist drifted across the fields. Dew sparkled on the grass. The estate stretched across hundreds of acres of rolling countryside beneath a pale blue sky. From a distance, the manor house looked impressive. Closer inspection revealed signs of neglect: several stone walls needed repair; one section of fencing leaned noticeably. Even from the road, Nathaniel could see workers already busy throughout the property.
He sat quietly inside the carriage while his longtime friend, Oliver Pembroke, watched him with obvious amusement.
"You still have time to abandon this ridiculous plan."
Nathaniel adjusted the plain brown coat he had chosen for his disguise. "It is not ridiculous."
Oliver laughed. "You are a duke."
"Correct."
"And you intend to pretend to be a stable hand."
"Temporarily."
"You could simply visit as yourself."
Nathaniel looked out the window. "If I arrive as the Duke of Ashcroft, nobody will show me the truth."
Oliver shook his head. "One day, your curiosity is going to cause trouble."
Nathaniel smiled faintly. "Probably."
The decision had already been made. His late mother had known the Carter family. A possible marriage had been mentioned years ago. After reaching adulthood, Nathaniel found himself repeatedly hearing Genevieve Carter's name. Unfortunately, every account seemed contradictory: some praised her intelligence; others criticized her independence; some described her as hardworking; others called her impossible. Nathaniel preferred facts to rumors.
So, he had created a plan: he would spend several weeks at Carter Estate disguised as a worker. He would observe, learn, decide for himself.
The carriage stopped beside a cluster of service buildings near the rear of the property. Oliver climbed out first. Nathaniel followed. A cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and horses. Nearby, several stable workers were already beginning their morning routines.
"Remember," Oliver said quietly. "You are Alex Reed."
"I know."
"Not 'Your Grace.'"
"Obviously."