As Dunford was quietly inspecting the front of his new home, a movement in an upstairs window caught his eye. The sun was glinting off the glass, but it appeared to be a girl with long, brown hair. Before he could get a better look, however, she'd turned and disappeared into the room. That was odd. No servant would be standing idly by a window at this time of day, especially with her hair unbound. He wondered briefly who she was, then let the thought drift from his mind. He'd have time enough to find out about her; right now he had more important things to attend to.

The entire staff of Stannage Park had assembled in front of the house for his inspection. There were about two dozen altogether—a small number by ton standards, but then Stannage Park was a fairly modest home for a peer of the realm. The butler, a thin man named Yates, was taking great pains to make the process as formal as possible. Dunford tried to humor him by adopting a slightly austere manner; it seemed to be what the servants expected of the new lord of the manor. It was hard to suppress a smile, however, as maid after maid bobbed a curtsy in his honor. He had never expected a title, never expected lands of his own or a household to go with them. His father had been a younger son of a younger son; God only knew how many Dunfords had had to die to put him in line for this inheritance.

After the last maid had bobbed down and up, Dunford returned his attention to the butler. "You run an excellent house, Yates, if this introduction is any indication."

Yates, who had never acquired the stone-faced facade that was a prerequisite among London butlers, flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, my lord. We do try as hard as we can, but it's Henry we have to thank."

Dunford raised a brow. "Henry?"

Yates gulped. He should have called her Miss Barrett. That's what the new Lord Stannage would expect, him being from London and all that. And he was Henry's new guardian, wasn't he? Mrs. Simpson had pulled him aside and whispered that particulartidbit in his ear not ten minutes before. "Umm, Henry is..." His voice trailed off. It was so hard to think of her as anything but Henry. "That is to say..."

But Dunford's attention had already been captured by Mrs. Simpson, who was assuring him that she had been at Stannage Park for over twenty years and knew everything about the estate—well, at least about the house—and if he needed anything...

Dunford blinked as he tried to focus on the housekeeper's words. Dimly, he sensed she was nervous. That was probably why she was rattling on like a... like a something. What, exactly, he didn't know, and what was she saying? A flash of movement in the stables caught his eye, and he allowed his gaze to wander in that direction. He waited a moment. Oh, well, he must have imagined it. He turned back to the housekeeper. She was saying something about Henry. Who was Henry? The question formed on his tongue and would have rolled off his lips if a giant pig hadn't suddenly exploded out through the partially open door of the stables.

"Holy, bloody..." Dunford breathed, unable to complete his curse. He was mesmerized by the sheer ludicrousness of the situation. The creature was hurtling across the lawn moving faster than any pig had a right to. It was an enormous porcine beast—surely that was all one could call it—this was no ordinary swine. Dunford had no doubt it would feed half the ton if taken to a proper butcher.

The pig reached the assembly of servants, and the maids shrieked, running in every possible direction. Stunned by the sudden movement, the pig stopped, raised its snout; and let out a hellish squeal—and then another, and another, and...

"Will you shut up!" Dunford commanded.

The pig, sensing authority, didn't just shut up—it actually laid down.

Henry did a double take, impressed in spite of herself. She had dashed downstairs the minute she saw the pig emerge from the stables, and had arrived in the front drive just as the new Lord Stannage was trying out his new lordly imperiousness on barnyard animals.

She ran forward, forgetting she hadn't managed to take that bath she knew she needed, forgetting she was still garbed in boys' clothes. Dirty boys' clothes.

"So sorry, my lord," she muttered, offering him a tight smile before leaning down and grabbing the pig's collar. She probably shouldn't have interfered, should have let the pig get bored of sitting on the ground, should have laughed when it came forward and did unspeakable things to the new Lord Stannage's boots. But she took far too much pride in Stannage Park not to try to salvage the disaster in some way. There was nothing in the world that meant as much to her as this smooth-running estate, and she couldn't bear that someone might think that free-roaming pigs were a common occurrence, even if that someone were a London lord of whom she heartily wanted to be rid.

A farmhand ran up, took the pig from her, and led it back to the stables. Henry straightened, suddenly aware of the way every last servant was gaping at her, and wiped her hands on her breeches. She glanced over at the darkly handsome man standing across from her. "How do you do, Lord Stannage?" she said, curving her lips into a welcoming smile. After all, there was no need for him to realize she was trying to scare him away.

"How do you do, Miss, er..."

Henry's eyes narrowed. He didn't realize who she was? No doubt he'd been expecting his ward to be a trifle younger, a pampered and spoiled young miss who never ventured out of doors, much less ran an entire estate. "Miss Henrietta Barrett," she said in a tone that said she expected him to recognize the name. "But you can just call me Henry. Everybody does."

Chapter 2

Dunford raised a brow. This was Henry? "You're a girl," he said, realizing how stupid he sounded even as the words left his mouth.