.

      It was a long-standing argument. She spent little time or money on her appearance, and most of the clothes she bought were serviceable rather than fashionable. Little Brookings society was provincial at the best of times, and she’d always seen little point in worrying about her looks when there were so few to notice.

      But try and convince someone who’d spent nearly her whole life as a lady’s maid. Mary believed in the importance of keeping up appearances. “Your clothes are fine at home, Miss Kate, but you know as well as I that London requires greater sophistication than, well…” she paused for delicacy, “that thing you’re wearing now, for instance.”

      Kate looked down at her dress and tried to hide her grin. Thing was an accurate description. Thing was actually rather generous. Truth was, she only wore it for Mary’s benefit.

      “What’s wrong, Mary? Do you not care for brown?”

      Mary harrumphed. “What I care for is getting you married, like you ought to be. Brown, if you can even call it that, certainly won’t help—” Her lecture was interrupted by Kate’s powder puff landing squarely in her face.

      “Take that, sweet maid. I hereby declare thee the most beautiful in all the land.” She giggled at the comical mixture of surprise and grudging good humor on her maid’s powder-covered face and gave a mock swoon, falling backward onto her bed. “Oh, Mary, I fear my constitution is too delicate even to consider a husband.”

      “Delicate, my foot,” Mary snorted while Kate blinked her eyes in feigned shock at her maid’s not-so-unusual breach of maid-to-mistress decorum. “I’m just thankful that something will finally motivate you to get out of your rut…and if it takes a kick in the…you know what…to get you to do something about it, well, that’s fine by me.”

      “A kick in the…? Is that what you call it?”

      Mary ignored her question and continued. “I know we’ve had this discussion before, but you should have been married ages ago.”

      “Mary, I know. You know I know. I was planning to go to London even before I heard from Robert.”

      “Yesss…only you have yet to seem happy about it.”

      “Well, I am. Happy. About it.”

      “I see.”

      Mary continued to unpack and fold clothes, and Kate walked over to the window. The morning was gray, and it suitably reflected her mood. People in dark clothes moved their way slowly up the damp street. After a minute she heard Mary leave, closing the door quietly behind her.

      Kate returned to her bed, enjoying for the moment the restored tranquility that always followed in Mary’s wake. They’d had this discussion many times before, and although Kate hated to admit it, Mary was right. As each year passed, it would only become harder for her to wed, and she was fast realizing that a husband was a necessity. Not that she didn’t cherish her independence, for she valued it more than anything. The fact was, however, that marrying was the only way for her to maintain that independence.

      Oh, was she ever in a pickle. Her life would definitely be simpler if she’d been born a man.

      It was all her grandfather’s fault. When, many years ago, he’d turned his gentlemanly interest in boats into a lucrative shipbuilding company, he never could have dreamed of the trouble this decision would cause his then-unborn granddaughter.

      She lay back into the deep cushion of her down quilt and sighed, letting her mind wander back through her family history.

      Her grandfather had called his business Alfred and Sons. He’d always chuckled about this name—there wasn’t a soul in their family named Alfred. He’d actually named the company after his late Pekinese, figuring that although he might have to sully his hands in trade, he didn’t have to sully the family name by advertising that fact.

      Luckily, he proved an able businessman and reinvigorated the Sutcliffs’ old and ill-managed money. He’d even earned the title of first Baron Gordon for supplying the Crown with ships during the Seven Years’ War, thus elevating their family to the peerage for the first time. Indeed, a knack for business seemed to be a family trait, and with her grandfather’s death, Kate’s father not only inherited his title, but the company as well. In turn, he’d shared his knowledge with his two children…or at least, he’d tried. The fact was, though, only one of them really took to it: his skinny, freckled daughter. And that would have been perfectly fine if only she’d been a skinny, freckled son.

      Kate’s father had indulged her anyway. He let her tag along to the boatyard to inspect the account books with him, and she’d paid attention, absorbing everything she could. As she grew older, she’d frequently been her father’s sole companion—by the age of ten, Robert had left for Eton, followed by Oxford. He’d learned Latin and ancient Greek and how to be a member of the ruling class…but never, alas, how to tie a decent knot.

      But Kate was different. From a very young age, hardly a day had passed in which she didn’t visit her father’s boatyard. Over the years, this habit raised quite a few eyebrows around the village, and it was rumored that the new baron was terribly eccentric, if not completely mad, for allowing his daughter such free rein. Eventually, however, her cheerful smile, bony elbows and abundant freckles endeared her to even the oldest of the old salts. Although she had since grown into her elbows and lessened her freckles with Dr. Calloway’s Lemon Complexion Balm, her presence was still grudgingly accepted—and secretly enjoyed.

      Of course, this acceptance hinged on the fact that very few people really knew the true extent of her involvement in the company. Kate’s father sensibly feared that even the most loyal employee would balk at the idea of taking orders from a young, pretty female. But the truth was that once he became too ill to head the company himself, Kate had stepped fully into his shoes. Out of necessity, Alfred and Sons’ longtime clerk, Andrew Hilton, was named the company’s director—after all, what self-respecting businessman would agree to deal with a mere slip of a twenty-odd-year-old girl? But Kate knew every detail of every meeting, and not a single decision was made without her approval.

      She wasn’t quite sure how it had come about, really. Perhaps it was simply because her father knew that there was none other as qualified as she, and Robert had little desire to be called away from London to slave over company ledgers. The reason didn’t really matter. Kate knew she had placed herself into a role that women weren’t allowed to play, and that she would become a social pariah if it were ever discovered.

      This arrangement had worked well enough throughout her father’s illness but became a little tricky after his death. His title and nearly all of the family property—the house in St. James’s, the house in Little Brookings, another in Surrey—had passed on to Robert. Kate was given a dowry of four thousand pounds a year.

      And Alfred and Sons?

      In the strangest turn of events, it passed from father to daughter.

      When her father wrote his will, he intended for his family to carry on as they always had, with none the wiser. He left the company and all its holdings to Kate…with a clause: she would inherit the company fully only after she wed. It was a purely practical consideration—lacking a father, she’d need a husband to ensure her legitimacy. Until she married, Andrew Hilton would continue to serve as nominal director. It should have been very simple.

      But shortly after her father died, Hilton made it clear that he wanted more than nominal control. Although he’d never shown any interest in Kate as anything but the daughter of his employer, he suddenly began waging a serious war for her hand.

      At first, she’d shrugged off his advances as harmless, but lately they’d become impossible to ignore. Most recently, he’d begun resorting to coercion, threatening to expose her role in the company and thus destroy everything her father had worked for.

      Kate couldn’t allow that to happen, but as an unmarried woman she had little legal recourse, nor could she seek protection from the courts—to tell anyone would betray her role in the company. She couldn’t confide in her brother, either.