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“So, he’ll not trouble your lad?”

“Oh, Hugh will turn up again when he runs out of money. When he does, I’m thinking to send Ned with Dick on his rounds, to be safe. Ye’d best have a sit down.”

Crockett led the way to the table and chairs under the chestnut tree. When they’d settled, Mrs. Crockett came and placed a plate of hard eggs, pickles, and cheese on the table.

Crockett built himself a stack of the edibles. “You asked the size of the place. Verwood is quite grand. Some are like to say it’s too grand for three women.” George Crockett shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “There are twelve stalls, three foaling boxes, eight loose boxes for riding horses, and six for the farm’s workhorses. There’s a four-bay coach house, though the dowager uses but the one coach, and that not often. As to the managing of Verwood, her grace is quite particular and takes it all on herself.”

Raven did some quick mental calculations. The cost of such an operation hardly made sense for a household of three women with little acreage to supply rents. “But it’s not a working stud?”

Crockett took another pull of his drink. “Was once, but the duchess doesn’t keep trainers. She hires ’em, but they never stay. The last one left three years ago when there was a promising young stallion. In those days there was a steady queue for services. Then it all stopped.”

“Do you know why?”

A guarded look came into Crockett’s face. “It’s not my place to say. Toffs, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, are a different sort from us plain folk.”

“Well, I can say,” said his wife appearing again and setting a fragrant slice of bread on her husband’s plate.

“Now, Mary,” Crockett began.

“Don’t now Mary me, husband. If Sir Adrian here is going to have aught to do with Verwood, he should know what’s what. There’s been no trainer there, since Lady Cassandra had her accident.”

Raven was sure that his face betrayed surprise. He had an instant recollection of Lady Cassandra’s muddied boots under a worn gown, and her slumping shoulders.

“Now Mary,” said her husband again. “Ye don’t know for a fact that Lady Cassandra’s accident made her grace close the stud.”

Mary Crockett, hands on hips, met her husband’s frown without blinking. “What I do know is that Lady Cassandra went to London and came back changed. She rode that horse of Her Grace’s that people say is unmanageable. Now Lady Cassandra doesn’t ride, doesn’t go about to assemblies and balls and the like. You’ve seen the poor girl’s limp. And Her Grace doesn’t race her horses or do foaling or training. Mind you, Her Grace will have to sell a horse or two if things don’t change.”

Raven watched the frown deepen on Crockett’s brow. “Her Grace is good to us, woman. It’s not our place to judge how she runs Verwood. Nor to be speculating on what happened to a young lady of quality in London.”

Raven rose. He had no desire to start a quarrel between husband and wife. “I beg your pardon, Crockett, Mrs. Crockett.” He had learned a good bit more than he’d expected, but the mystery of the lease opportunity had deepened. Apparently, there was more to the leasing plan than mere economy. “I didn’t mean to pry, only to understand the business end of things.”

“Well,” said the unrepentant Mrs. Crockett. “You’ll be doing Lady Cassandra a favor if you lease that house, take the burden of paying the bills right off those shoulders of hers.”

“Ma’am, I hope I may, and you may trust me not to spread idle talk about the ladies of Verwood.”

“Are you going out there today?” Mrs. Crockett asked.

Raven smiled to himself. It appeared that whatever he did in the neighborhood would soon be known to everyone in the village. “Directly,” he said.

“May I trouble you to take some honey to Lady Cassandra?”

“Now Mary,” began her frowning husband.

“I’m happy to take honey to her ladyship.” At least the honey would give him an opening for a conversation.

*

On the road to Verwood, Raven thought about the practical woman he meant to win over as an ally. Everything he’d heard from the Crocketts confirmed his plan of appeasing the duchess through her horses, but now there was this mystery about Lady Cassandra Lavenham. The footman who answered the door claimed to have no knowledge of her whereabouts.

“She walks a great deal, sir,” he told Raven with a shrug. “Shall I see to your horse, sir?”

“Her Grace won’t object?”

“Not to Apollo, sir, he’s a favorite, born and bred here.”

Raven smiled and handed the reins and a coin to the youth. His luck was holding. He stood on the steps and surveyed the long drive as he had done the day before, trying to imagine where Lady Cassandra might have gone. He had not passed her on his way from the village. Then he spotted her at an opening in the chestnut trees lining the drive. She emerged from a faint track that led into the woods, dressed plainly again, in a hooded cloak, and those boots. Since being knighted, he had become accustomed to females in glittering finery, floating or gliding effortlessly around the ballrooms and parks of London. It seemed improbable that Lady Cassandra, with her feet firmly on the ground, had ever been one of them as Mrs. Crockett had suggested.

Lady Cassandra saw him and halted, frozen for a moment, frowning. He came down the steps and strode her way. When she moved to meet him, he kept his gaze on her face. If she limped, he would see the limp soon enough. They met at the edge of the carriage drive.