"Try not to sound educated."
Nathaniel frowned. "I do not sound educated."
Oliver stared at him. "You absolutely do."
Before Nathaniel could respond, a broad-shouldered older man approached. Gray hair framed a weathered face. His expression suggested he had little patience for nonsense.
"You must be the new hand."
Nathaniel extended a hand. "Alex Reed."
The man shook it firmly. "Samuel Brooks. I run the stables." His gaze swept over Nathaniel's posture, boots, and hands. "You worked around horses before?"
"Yes."
"Good." Samuel pointed toward the stable yard. "We are short-handed."
Nathaniel nodded. "I can start immediately."
Samuel grunted approvingly. "I like that answer."
The morning passed quickly. Nathaniel mucked stalls, carried feed, brushed horses, and repaired tack. Physical labor never bothered him; his father had insisted he learn practical skills despite his title. Several workers spoke freely around him. That was precisely what he wanted: information flowed more easily when people believed you were unimportant.
By mid-morning, he had already heard Genevieve Carter mentioned six times. None of the conversations matched.
"Miss Carter is the only reason this place still functions," one stable boy said while filling water buckets.
Ten minutes later, another worker snorted: "She meddles in everything."
Near noon, an older groundskeeper shook his head: "Best not get on Victoria Sinclair's bad side."
Nathaniel glanced up. "Who is Victoria Sinclair?"
"Miss Carter's cousin." The man lowered his voice. "Pretty smile, sharp teeth."
The warning lingered in Nathaniel's thoughts.
Shortly after noon, the stable yard erupted into sudden activity. A groom hurried from the manor. Two maids crossed the courtyard carrying riding equipment. Workers straightened instinctively. Samuel muttered something under his breath.
Nathaniel looked up from a saddle he had been cleaning. "What is happening?"
"Miss Carter," Samuel sounded almost resigned. "Inspecting the horses."
Nathaniel expected an aristocratic lady accompanied by servants. Instead, a woman strode directly into the stable, wearing practical riding clothes and carrying a notebook. She moved quickly, purposefully, confidently. Sunlight caught strands of golden-brown hair escaping from beneath her hat. Her posture was straight, her expression focused.