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step. Aid with his hellion offspring would be appreciated.
    He hated lying on general principle, and he was supposed to be learning responsibility, but he couldn’t in all good conscience declare his true identity, not with bailiffs on his heels, and not until he’d worked out some financial solution that didn’t involve Newgate.
    “I seem to be in a bit of a pickle here.”
    Miss Merriweather’s cheeks pinkened delightfully as she waited for him to express himself. He was always a sap for a pretty face, and the farmer miss was exceptionally adorable, especially when she tried to force her plump lips into a scowl. But he never preyed on the innocent, so he knew not to look at her as any more than a convenient reprieve from his difficulties.
    “I have no experience in raising a child and wasn’t prepared to take on Penelope just yet. My investments are currently . . . tied up.” Well, he assumed the prize stallion waiting for him in Cheltenham had to be tied to a post occasionally, so that wasn’t too much of a stretch. “I need some time to learn to deal with a child before we continue our journey.”
    And even though he’d only reached Oxfordshire, this remote farm looked like the end of the world to a city man like him, an excellent place to hide from creditors. He had traveled with Penny from Reading, not far from his ancestral ruins in Berkshire, and he’d already realized that even another day in a coach with his daughter would be a hair-raising, death-defying experience. Besides, he couldn’t carry her on the stallion from far western England back to his estate southwest of London, even should he dare set foot there again without pockets full of gold.
    He needed a place to leave Penelope while he retrieved his horse and sold it. He scarcely dared hope that providence had supplied such a miracle. He would study the situation instead of making another impulsive decision.
    Miss Merriweather hesitated, as she had every good reason to do. Fitz wondered if there were any males about that he could speak with man to man, but even as vulnerable as the lady seemed, she didn’t appear to answer to anyone. He was barely aware that such freedom for women existed, but that’s what came of spending his life in the rarefied atmosphere of the city’s upper echelons—the familiar society that he most strenuously wished to return to, if he could figure out how.
    “I don’t suppose you could put us up for a few days until Penelope learns to mind me?” he continued, forcing her decision.
    “It would be very improper for you to stay in the house with me,” she said, indirectly answering his question about men. “Even though we have a nursery that isn’t currently in use.”
    Fitz tried to puzzle out the sadness that caused her pretty lips to droop, but he didn’t want to distract her with too many questions. “Perhaps you have some chores that require a man’s hand?” he asked, even though he knew his hand was skilled only with cards and women. “If Penelope could use the nursery, I could stay in your stable and earn my keep.”
    She looked skeptical. “I can’t ask a gentleman to sleep in a stable. Don’t be absurd. Do you know anything of estate management?”
    How galling of her to nail his most damaging failing in a single stroke. Fitz cleared his throat and, under her impatient gaze, tried to look wise and knowledgeable. “I mostly leave management to others more qualified than I, but I would be happy to be of assistance.”
    “You would take orders from a woman?”
    Fitz tugged at his neckcloth. He took orders from no one. Gritting his teeth, thinking of Penelope and turning new leaves, he did his best to look lofty. “I’m certain you know your grounds better than I do.”
    Had he just heard a feminine snort of disbelief? Quirking an eyebrow, he gazed down on her halo of sunset curls. How did a rural nonentity acquire the latest London hairstyle? At least she had returned to staring at his linen