enry spent the next few days introducing Dunford to Stannage Park. He wanted to learn every last detail about his new property, and she liked nothing better than to expound upon the many excellent qualities of the estate. While they toured the house and surrounding lands, they chatted about this and that, sometimes about nothing in particular, sometimes about the great mysteries of life. For Henry, Dunford was the first person who ever had wanted to spend this kind of time with her. He was interested in what she had to say, not only about estate matters, but also about philosophy, religion, and just plain life in general. Even more flattering was the fact that he seemed to care about her opinion of him. He tried to look offended when she didn’t laugh at his jokes, rolled his eyes when he didn’t laugh at hers, and elbowed her in the ribs when neither of them could summon up the mirth to laugh at someone else’s.

In short, he became her friend. And if her stomach did strange things every time he smiled... Well, she could learn to live with that. She supposed he had that effect on all women.

It didn’t occur to Henry that these were the happiest few days of her life, although if she had taken the time to think about it, she would have realized that was exactly what they were.

Dunford was equally taken with his companion. Henry’s love for Stannage Park was infectious, and he found himself not just interested in but actually caring about the details of the estate and its people. When one of the tenants safely gave birth to her first child, it had been his idea to bring by a basket of food so she wouldn’t have to tax herself with cooking for the next week. And he surprised even himself when he stopped by the newly constructed pigpen to slip a raspberry tart to Porkus. The pig did seem to have a sweet tooth, he rationalized, and for all his size he was actually kind of cute.

But he would have enjoyed himself even if Stannage Park hadn’t been his. Henry was delightful company. She possessed a freshness and an honesty he hadn’t seen in years. Dunford had been blessed with wonderful friends, but after so long in London, he had begun to think that no one’s soul was free of at least a little cynicism. Henry, on the other hand, was marvelously open and direct. Not once had he seen the familiar mask of world-weary boredom cloud her features. Henry seemed to care too much about everything and everyone to allow herself to be bored.

This was not to say she was a wide-eyed innocent willing to believe the best of everyone. She had a wicked wit and was not above employing it from time to time when pointing out a villager she found exceedingly foolish. Dunford was inclined to forgive her this weakness; he usually agreed with her assessment of foolish people.

And if every now and then he found himself looking at her oddly, wondering how her brown hair turned gold in the sun or why she always smelled vaguely of lemons... Well, that was only to be expected. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. His mistress had been in Birmingham for a fortnight, visiting her mother, when he left. And Henry could be rather fetching in her own unconventional way.

Not that what he felt for her was anything remotely resembling desire. But she was a woman, and he was a man, and so naturally he’d be aware of her. And of course he had kissed her once, even if that had been an accident. It was to be expected that he’d remember that kiss every now and then when she was near.

Such thoughts, however, were far from his mind as he poured himself a drink in the drawing room one evening a week after his arrival. It was nearly time for them to partake of the evening meal, and Henry would arrive any minute now.

He winced. It would be a ghastly sight. As unconventional as Henry was, she still dressed for dinner, and that meant putting on one of those hideous garments—he shuddered to call them gowns. To give her credit, she seemed to be aware they were awful. To give her even greater credit, however, she managed to act as if it didn’t matter. If he hadn’t grown to know her so well during the past few days, he never would have dreamed she didn’t think her clothing was, if not the height of fashion, at least passably attractive.

But he had noticed how carefully she avoided looking in the mirrors that adorned the walls of the drawing room where they met before dinner. And when she found herself trapped by her reflection, she couldn’t hide the pained grimace that flickered across her features.

He wanted to help her, he realized. He wanted to buy her gowns and teach her to dance and— It was stunning, this. How much he wanted to help her.

“Stealing the liquor again?” Her teasing voice brought him out of his reverie.

“It’s my liquor if you recall, minx.” He turned his head to look at her. She was wearing that abominable lavender creation again. He couldn’t decide if it was the worst or best of the lot.

“So it is.” She shrugged. “Might I have a little then?”

Wordlessly, he poured her a glass of sherry.

Henry sipped at it thoughtfully. It had become her habit to have a glass of wine with him before dinner, but no more than that. She had discovered what a lightweight she was the night he arrived. She had a sinking suspicion she would end up making calf eyes at him all through dinner if she allowed herself more than this one small sherry.

“Was your afternoon pleasant?” Dunford asked suddenly. He had spent the previous few hours by himself, poring over estate documents. Henry had gladly left him alone with the musty papers; she’d already examined them, and he certainly didn’t need her to help him read.

“Yes, it was quite. I checked in on some of the tenants. Mrs. Dalrymple asked me to thank you for the food.”

“I’m glad she enjoyed it.”

“Oh, yes. I cannot think why we have not thought to do it before. Of course, we always send a congratulatory gift, but food for a week is much better, I think.”

They sounded like an old married couple, Dunford thought with surprise. How odd.

Henry sat down on an elegant but faded sofa, tugging awkwardly at her dress as she did so. “Did you finish with those papers?”

“Almost,” he said distractedly. “You know, Henry, I’ve been thinking.”

“Have you?” She smiled impishly. “How very taxing.”

“Minx. Be quiet and listen to what I have to say.”

She tilted her head in a movement that seemed to say, “Well?”

“Why don’t the two of us make a sojourn into town?”

She answered him with a puzzled expression. “We went to the village two days ago. Don’t you recall? You wanted to meet the local merchants.”

“Of course I recall. My mind is not given to forgetfulness, Henry. I’m not that old.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her face a perfect deadpan. “You must be at least thirty.”

“Nine-and-twenty,” he bit out before he realized she was teasing.

She smiled. “Sometimes you’re such an easy mark.”

“My gullibility aside, Henry, I’d like to take a trip into town. And I don’t mean the village. I think we should take ourselves to Truro.”

“Truro?” It was one of Cornwall’s larger towns, and Henry avoided it like the plague.

“You sound less than enthusiastic.”

“I, um, I just... Well, to be frank, I just went.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. She’d gone two months ago, but it felt like yesterday. She always felt so awkward among strangers. At least the local people had gotten used to her eccentricities and accepted them. Most even held her in some measure of respect. But strangers were another thing altogether. And Truro was the worst. Although it was not as popular as it had been during the previous century, members of the ton still vacationed there. She could just hear them whispering unkind things about her. Fashionable ladies would laugh at her dress. Men would snicker at her lack of ladylike manners. And then, inevitably, a local would discreetly inform them that she was Miss Henrietta Barrett, but she went by the boy’s name Henry, and don’t you know but she parades around in breeches all the time.

No, she definitely didn’t want to go to Truro.

Dunford, unaware of her distress, said, “But I’ve never been. Be a good sport and show me ’round.”

“I-I’d really rather not, Dunford.”

His eyes narrowed as he finally noticed she looked uncomfortable. To be honest, she always looked uncomfortable in those ridiculous dresses, but she looked particularly so just now. “Really, Henry, it won’t be so bad as that. Will you come along as a favor for me?” He smiled at her.

She was lost. “All right.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Whatever you wish.”

Henry felt her stomach roil as their coach neared Truro the next day. Good God, this was going to be awful. She always hated it when she had to go to town, but this was the first time it actually had made her feel physically ill.

She didn’t even try to delude herself that her dread had nothing to do with the man sitting cheerfully next to her. Dunford had become her friend, damn it, and she didn’t want to lose him. What would he think when he heard people whispering about her? When a lady made a sotto voce comment about her dress that she knew she was intended to hear? Would he be ashamed of her? Would he be humiliated to be with her? Henry didn’t particularly want to find out.

Dunford was aware of Henry’s nervous fidgeting but pretended not to notice. She would be embarrassed if he commented on it, and he had no wish to hurt her. Instead, he kept up a cheerful facade, commenting on the scenery as it rolled by their window and making idle comments about the affairs of Stannage Park.

Finally they arrived in Truro. Henry thought she could not feel any sicker than she did, but she soon found she was wrong.

“Come along, Henry,” Dunford said briskly. “It isn’t like you to dally.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she allowed him to help her down. There was a chance, she supposed, he wouldn’t realize what other people thought of her. Perhaps all the ladies would have sheathed their claws for the day, and he wouldn’t hear any vicious whispers. Henry lifted her chin a notch. On the off chance that none of her nightmares came true, she might as well act as if she hadn’t a worry in the world.

“I’m sorry, Dunford.” She shot him a cheeky grin. Her cheeky grin. He had often commented he’d never seen another like it. She hoped it would assure him she was no longer distraught. “My mind has been wandering, I’m afraid.”

“And where has it up and wandered to?” His eyes flashed devilishly.

Dear God, why was he always so nice? It would make it that much more painful when he dropped her. Don’t think about that, she yelled at herself. It might not happen. She willed the pain out of her eyes and shrugged carelessly. “Stannage Park, where else?”

“And what has you so worried, minx? Afraid Porkus isn’t going to deliver her piglets safely?”

“Porkus is a male, silly.”

He clutched his heart in mock terror. “Then there is all the more reason to worry. This could be a most difficult birth.”

Despite herself, Henry smiled. “You are incorrigible.”

“Being incorrigible yourself, you must have intended that as a compliment.”

“I suspect you will take it as a compliment no matter what I say.” She tried to make her tone a grumble, but her lips twitched.

He took her arm and began to walk. “You do know how to slay a man, Henry.”

She looked over at him dubiously. Never had she counted among her achievements the ability to skillfully manipulate the opposite sex. Until Dunford, she had never been able to get one of them to think of her as a normal woman.

If he noticed her expression, he did not comment on it. They walked on, Dunford asking questions about every storefront they passed. He paused in front of a small eatery. “Are you hungry, Henry? Is this a good tea shop?”

“I’ve never been.”

“No?” He looked surprised. In the twelve years she’d lived in Cornwall, she’d never stopped for tea and cakes? “What about when Viola was alive?”

“Viola didn’t like Truro. She always said there was too much of the ton here.”

“There is some truth in that,” he agreed, suddenly turning to face a shop window to avoid being recognized by an acquaintance across the street. Nothing was less appealing at the moment than having to make polite conversation. He had no wish to get sidetracked from his goal. After all, he had dragged Henry out here for a reason.

Henry looked at the window display in surprise. “I had no idea you were interested in lace.”

He focused his eyes and realized that he appeared to be avidly examining the wares of a shop that seemed to deal in nothing but lace. “Yes, well, there are a number of things you don’t know about me,” he murmured, hoping that would be the end of that.

Henry wasn’t terribly encouraged by the fact that he was a connoisseur of lace. He probably draped it on all his mistresses. And she had no doubt that he’d had a few. Who was “sweetie,” after all? She could understand it, she supposed. The man was twenty-nine years old. One couldn’t expect he’d lived the life of a monk. And he was mind-numbingly handsome. He would certainly have had his pick of women.

She sighed dejectedly, suddenly eager to be away from the lace shop.

They passed by a milliner, a bookshop, and a greengrocer, then Dunford suddenly exclaimed, “Ah, look, Henry. A dress shop. Just what I need.”

She crinkled her brow in confusion. “I think they make only ladies’ clothing here, Dunford.”

“Excellent.” He yanked on her arm and dragged her to the doorway. “I need to buy a gift for my sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

He shrugged. “I believe I said there were a great many things you do not know about me?”

She shot him a waspish look. “I’ll wait outside, then. I detest dress shops.”

He had no doubt about that. “But I’ll need your help, Henry. You’re just about her size.”

“If I’m not exactly her size, nothing will fit properly.” She took a step backward.

He took her arm, opened the door, and propelled her through it. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said cheerily. “Ah, hello,” he said, calling out to the modiste across the room. “We need to buy a dress or two for my sister here.” He motioned to Henry.

“But I’m not—”

“Hush, minx. It will be easier all around this way.”

Henry had to agree he was probably correct. “Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “I suppose this is what one does for a friend.”

“Yes,” Dunford agreed, looking down at her with an odd expression. “I suppose this is.”

The dressmaker, quickly assessing the obvious quality and expert tailoring of Dunford’s clothing, hurried to their sides. “How may I help you?” she inquired.

“I would like to purchase a few dresses for my sister.”

“Of course.” She looked over at Henry, who had never in her life been more ashamed of her appearance. The mauve day dress she was wearing was truly appalling, and she didn’t know why she even owned it. Carlyle had picked it up for her, she recalled. She remembered the occasion. He was going to Truro on a bit of business, and Henry, realizing she was outgrowing her clothing, had asked him to purchase a dress for her. Carlyle had probably just grabbed the first thing he saw.

But it looked wretched on her, and from the modiste’s expression, Henry could see the woman agreed. She had known the dress wasn’t right the minute she’d seen it, but returning it would have necessitated her coming to town. She so hated traveling to Truro—especially for this sort of embarrassing thing—that she had forced herself to believe a dress was a dress and all it really needed to do was cover a body up.

“Why don’t you go over there and look at some bolts of fabric?” Dunford said, giving her arm a little squeeze.

“But—”

“Shush.” He could see in her eyes that she’d been about to point out that she didn’t know what his sister would like. “Just humor me and take a look.”

“As you wish.” She ambled over and inspected the silks and muslins. Oh, how soft they were. Hastily she put them down. It was silly to moon over pretty fabrics when all she needed were shirts and breeches.

Dunford watched her lovingly finger the bolts of cloth and knew he had done the right thing. Taking the dressmaker aside, he whispered, “I fear my sister’s wardrobe has been sadly neglected. She has been staying with my aunt who, it is apparent, possesses little fashion sense.”

The dressmaker nodded.

“Have you anything that is ready to wear today? I’d like nothing better than to be rid of that thing she has on now. You can use her measurements to fashion a few more.”

“I have one or two I could quickly alter to her size. In fact there is one right there.” She pointed to a pale yellow day dress draped over a dressmaker’s model. Dunford was just about to say that it would do when he saw Henry’s face.

She was staring at the dress like a starving woman.

“That dress will be perfect,” he whispered emphatically. Then, in a louder voice: “Henrietta, my dear, why don’t you try on the yellow dress? We’ll have Mrs....” He paused, waiting for the dressmaker to fill in the gap.

“Trimble,” she supplied.

“... Mrs. Trimble make the necessary alterations.”

“Are you certain?” Henry asked.

“Very.”

She needed no further urging. Mrs. Trimble quickly took the dress off the model and motioned for Henry to follow her into a back room. While they were gone, Dunford idly examined the fabrics on display. The pale yellow might look good on Henry, he decided. He picked up a bolt of sapphire-blue lawn. That might be nice, too. He wasn’t certain. He’d never done this sort of thing before and had no idea how to go about it. He’d always assumed women somehow knew what to wear. Lord knew his good friends Belle and Emma were always perfectly turned out.

But now he realized they always looked so fashionable because they had been taught how by Belle’s mother, who had always been the epitome of elegance. Poor Henry had had no one to guide her in such matters. No one to teach her simply how to be a girl. And certainly no one to teach her what to do as a woman.

He sat down as he waited for her to return. It seemed to be taking an interminably long time. Finally, giving in to impatience, he called out, “Henry?”

“Just one moment!” Mrs. Trimble replied. “I just need to take in the waist a bit more. Your sister is very slender.”

Dunford shrugged. He wouldn’t know. Most of the time she wore baggy men’s clothing, and her dresses were so ill-fitting it was hard to tell what was under them. He frowned, vaguely remembering the feel of her that time he’d kissed her. He couldn’t remember much—he’d been half asleep at the time—but he did recall she’d seemed quite well-formed, rather fresh and feminine.

Just then Mrs. Trimble stepped back into the room. “Here she is, sir.”

“Dunford?” Henry poked her head around the corner.

“Don’t be shy, minx.”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Why on earth would I laugh? Now get out here.”

Henry stepped forward, her eyes hopeful, fearful, and quizzical, all at the same time.

Dunford caught his breath. She was transformed. The yellow color of the dress suited her perfectly, bringing out the gold highlights in her hair. And the cut of the dress, while certainly not revealing in any way, somehow managed to hint at the promise of innocent womanhood. Mrs. Trimble had even changed her hairstyle, taking it out of its braid and pinning some locks atop her head. Henry was nibbling nervously on her lower lip as he examined her, and she exuded a shy loveliness that was as enticing as it was puzzling, considering he’d never dreamed she had a shy bone in her body.

“Henry,” he said softly, “you look... you look...” He searched for the right word but couldn’t find it. Finally he burst out with, “You look so nice!”

It was the most perfect thing anyone had ever said to her.

“Do you think so?” she breathed, reverently touching the dress. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” he said firmly. He looked up at Mrs. Trimble. “We’ll take it.”

“Excellent. I can bring you some fashion plates to look at, if you’d like.”

“Please.”

“But Dunford,” Henry whispered urgently, “this is for your sister.”

“How could I give that dress to my sister when it looks so utterly charming on you?” he asked in what he hoped was a practical tone. “Besides, now that I think of it, you probably could use a new dress or two.”

“I have outgrown the ones I have,” she said, sounding a bit wistful.

“Then you shall have it.”

“But I haven’t any money.”

“It’s my present.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t let you do that,” she said quickly.

“Why ever not? It’s my money.”

She looked torn. “I don’t think it’s proper.”

He knew it wasn’t proper but wasn’t about to tell her so. “Look at it this way, Henry. If I didn’t have you, I’d have to hire someone to manage Stannage Park.”

“You could probably do it on your own now,” she said brightly, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.

He almost groaned. Trust Henry to disarm him with kindness. “I probably wouldn’t have the time to do it. I have obligations in London, you know. So the way I see it, you save me a man’s wages. Probably three men’s wages. A dress or two is the least I can do, considering.”

Put that way, it didn’t sound quite so improper, Henry decided. And she did love the dress. She’d never felt so womanly before. In this dress she might even learn to glide when she walked, like those fashionable women-on-rollers she had always envied. “All right,” she said slowly. “If you think it’s the right thing.”

“I know it’s the right thing. Oh, and Henry?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t mind if we let Mrs. Trimble dispose of the frock you wore here, do you?”

She shook her head gratefully.

“Good. Now come over here, if you please, and look at some of these fashion plates. A woman needs more than one dress, don’t you think?”

“Probably—but probably not more than three,” she said haltingly.

He understood. Three was all her pride would allow. “You’re probably right.”

They spent the next hour choosing two more dresses for Henry, one in the deep sapphire lawn Dunford had picked out earlier, and one in a seafoam green Mrs. Trimble insisted made Henry’s gray eyes glow. They would be delivered to Stannage Park in a week’s time. Henry almost blurted out that she would be happy to return herself if necessary. She’d never dreamed she’d hear herself think it, but she didn’t mind the thought of having to make another trip into Truro. She didn’t like to think she was so shallow that a mere dress could make her happy, but she had to concede that it gave her a new sense of self-confidence.

As for Dunford, he now realized one thing: whoever had picked out her hideous dresses, it hadn’t been Henry. He knew a thing or two about women’s fashion, and he could tell from her selections that her taste ran to a quiet elegance with which no one could find fault.

And he realized one other thing: it made him unbelievably happy to see Henry this happy. It was an amazing thing, really.

When they reached the carriage, she didn’t say anything until they were well on their way home. Finally she looked over at him with knowing eyes and said, “You don’t have a sister, do you?”

“No,” he said quietly, quite unable to lie to her.

She was silent for a moment. Then she placed her hand shyly on top of his. “Thank you.”