Page 111 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“I have!” she replied. “Which is more than your useless agent ever managed. There is a group of Travelers camping on the land near there.”

“Travelers, like the lost earl’s mother?” asked Cecelia.

The old lady scowled at the mention of this supposed disgrace. “Yes,” she replied curtly.

“Thatissuggestive,” said James.

“Very,” answered his entrancing wife.

“Perhaps we should pay them a visit.”

“I think we must.”

“Well, someone must,” said Lady Wilton. “And it seems that all I have are two mooncalves with no more sense that a booby. Nevertheless, you will depart immediately!”

“Yes, Grandmamma,” said James.

“You know, I still mean to read these letters,” said Cecelia, gesturing at the flood of paper.

“Yes, my darling duchess, I do,” said James.

Keep reading for a sneak peek ofEarl on the Run, the next book in The Duke's Estates, coming soon!

Jonathan Frederick Merrill, apparently the thrice-damned ninth Earl of Ferrington, known to himself and his old life as Jack, encountered the Travelers on the third day after he left London. They were ambling along the road he was walking, and he caught up with their straggle of horse-drawn caravans and swarm of children when the sun was halfway down the western sky. The sight of them was the first thing to lift the black mood that had afflicted him since he’d fled the city. “Grãlt’a,” he said to the man apparently serving as the rear guard.

This produced a ferocious scowl and a spate of words he didn’t understand. “I only know a few words of the Shelta,” he replied, naming the language these traveling people spoke among themselves. The adult men had begun to gather round him, looking menacing. “My mother was born to thean lucht siúil, the walking people, over the sea in America,” Jack added. “She left them to marry my father, but many a tale she told me of life on the road.”

The first man surveyed the landscape around them, an empty stretch of forest. “You have no horse?” he asked contemptuously.

Jack had thought of buying a horse. He had a sizable sum in a money belt, his passage home and more. But he’d put it off, thinking he would soon be leaving England. “Only my own feet and a bit of coin in my pocket. I’m happy to work for my keep, however.” Nobody needed to know the extent of his funds.

The group scowled at him. Jack had already noticed that his accent puzzled the English. They were accustomed to judging people by the way they spoke, but his mixture of North American with the intonations of his parents didn’t fit their preconceived notions.

“Perhaps we just beat you and take your coins,” the man said.

Jack closed his fists. “You could try, I suppose.”

A wizened old woman pushed through the circle of men. Leaning on a tall staff, she examined Jack from head to toe.

Jack stiffened. He wouldn’t be enduring abuse from another crone. He’d had his fill of that and more from his newfound great grandmother. She’d discovered nothing to like about him. His brown hair, dark eyes, and “undistinguished” face were nothing like her noble English get, apparently. A poor excuse for an earl with the manners of a barbarian, she’d said. Though how she could tell about the manners when she’d hardly let him speak a word, he did not know.

“We are not brigands,” said the old Traveler woman to her fellows. “No matter what they may say of us.”

“Nay, fine metalworkers and horse breeders, or so my mother told me,” Jack replied.

“Did she now?” Jack caught a twinkle of good humor in the old woman’s pale eyes. Perhaps she wasn’t like the ill-tempered Lady Wilton after all.

“She did,” he replied. “And inspired me to be footloose. I’ve been a frontier explorer, a bodyguard, and a sailor.” He’d been told he had charm. He reached for it as he smiled at the small woman before him.

“And now you are here.”

Jack nodded. He wasn’t going to mention inherited earldoms. That would be stupid. “Seeing the world,” he answered. “I don’t care for sitting still.”

This yielded nods of understanding among his audience.

“Might I walk along with you?” Jack dared. “I’m headed north, as you seem to be.” The truth was, Jack was lonely. He was a sociable man. He’d had many friends back home. Why had he left all that at the behest of a stuffy Englishman? He should have known that any legacy from his feckless father would be tainted.

“North to what?” the old Traveler woman asked.

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