Dear Reader,
The most fascinating on dits has reached our ears regarding the youngest sister of the Duchess of N. Lady L-A. is reportedly in London, having returned from her visit with the duke and duchess in Virginia. I have it on good authority she will be announcing an engagement with a certain constable who rescued her sister, Lady P. last year.
But wait! Reader, I’m shocked to inform you she is not anticipating a proposal after all! The stories I’ve heard regarding a certain Mr. P. of Virginia are most intriguing where they mention Lady L-A. I do believe the on dits have been far from accurate and I will tell you more as soon as I’m certain.
Falling for the American (The Bridgethorpe Brides Book 11)
The best thing about Lady Lucy-Anne Lumley’s visit to her sister’s American farm is the next-door neighbor, Kit Pennington. Too bad he’s as stubborn as her brothers when it comes to believing women can train good racehorses. How can she convince him he’s not complete without the love of the woman he thinks is the bane of his existence?
Thanks to the mother who abandoned him and his siblings, Kit knows enough about the gently bred women of English aristocracy, and he’s sworn to steer clear of them. Besides, he’s too busy for love, with the management of the family farm, establishing himself as a successful racehorse owner, and caring for his younger siblings. Yet everywhere he turns, Lady Lucy-Anne is underfoot, determined to tell him how to properly train his racehorses. And she appears to be weakening the defenses around his heart.
Can Kit remain strong enough against Lucy-Anne’s wiles until she tires of the rough farm life and returns to her life of ballrooms and titled bachelors in England, or will he suffer the same fate as his father and have to choose between his lifestyle and hers?
The final book in the popular Bridgethorpe Brides Series is now available!
Excerpt
Falling for the American
Copyright 2026 Aileen Fish
Chapter One
August 1819
Williamsburg, Virginia
Drawing in a deep breath of the brisk morning air, Lucy-Anne leaned her chin on her hands where they rested on the paddock fence rail on her brother-in-law’s farm near Williamsburg, Virginia. Perry, the Duke of Noblegreen, affectionately known as Nobby by his wife and duchess Madeleine, who was Lucy-Anne’s older sister, had inherited the property and its racing horses. He imported racing stock from his English stables and exported colonial stock back to England. Noblegreen Farm was already well-known locally for its quality runners, much as the Lumley name was lauded in England for their winning horses.
Inside the paddock was the colt that had traveled with Lucy-Anne on the ship from England. Watching him dart about stirred a longing that awoke from time to time. As the youngest of eight children of the late Earl of Bridgethorpe, Lucy-Anne felt she’d learned everything one could possibly know about the proper training of racehorses—how to inspect a potential broodmare before purchasing, the three most important traits to look for in a colt as it grew, and to watch for traces of their father’s foundation stud, Zephyr. Her brothers, Adam, the current earl, and David, were most guilty for spouting sermons on these matters as she grew up. Nobby had only recently married Madeleine, thus hadn’t had the time to send Lucy-Anne skulking into another room when his own opinions on horseflesh came up for discussion. Or perhaps he didn’t feel the need to ensure Lucy-Anne could spot a winning stud as easily as she could recognize the most desirable unmarried nobleman on the dance floor at Almack’s Assembly Rooms on any given springtime evening.
Her sisters and sisters-in-law had seen to that area of her education. By the time Lucy-Anne was sixteen years old, Mama had preferred to remain on their country estate, Bridgethorpe Manor, to nurse Lucy-Anne’s father, who eventually died last year when Lucy-Anne was eighteen. Hannah, the eldest of the Lumley girls and eight years Lucy-Anne’s senior, happily took Lucy-Anne under her wing when she’d made her curtsy to the Queen two years ago. Now married to Viscount Oakhurst, Hannah had introduced her to nearly every eligible gentleman in London that Season, avoiding only those rakehell friends of Oakhurst’s, plus those frowned on by their brothers. Surprisingly enough, there had been enough handsome men remaining after the fraternal culling that Lucy-Anne’s dance card had always been full.
Her dance cards were full, her days filled with activities, and the silver salver in the entry hall had overflowed with invitations to balls and musicales, but at the end of her first Season, and the next, Lucy-Anne’s heart was as safe as it had been before her first visit to a London modiste. But then she’d met Mr. Harrison.
The horrible manner in which their meeting came about had somehow not diminished her attraction, and he returned her feelings, she was certain of it. Just before she boarded the ship to sail with her maid, Tilly, the still-unnamed colt of Nobby’s, and the horse’s groom, Tim, Mr. Harrison had promised to call on her when she returned. She’d dreamed of him every night as she sailed west. When she’d seen the buildings on the coast of Norfolk, and a horizon of trees further up and down the coast, her thoughts of Mr. Harrison faded, and her excitement to see Madeleine overflowed.
Here on Noblegreen Farm, with the exception of all the live oak and filbert trees, she could feel like she was at home in Bridgethorpe Manor. And without Mr. Harrison in front of her to remind her of the life she’d likely live as a constable’s wife in London, she could pretend she had a horse of her own to raise, to train, and to race, as she’d wanted to do for most of her nineteen years.
Nobby walked out of the stables and stood beside her, also watching the colt. He was a tall man, not towering, but even with his arms braced on the fence he had the air of a duke about him. “What’s your opinion of Cain?”
She snorted. “That’s what you’re calling him? That’s a horrid name for such a sweet young horse.”
He chuckled. “Madeleine said you didn’t inherit the family passion for horses.”
“I’ve tried to keep my passion to myself. I have never understood the need for evil names like Agitator or Outlaw. I prefer kinder names like Zephyr and Pride.”
He eyed her askance, obviously biting back a grin. “If you start calling my horse by some silly name, I’ll have your bags packed and put you on a ship back to England.”
Now she grinned wickedly. “Fluffy? No, he’s not fluffy. Beau? Swain? Truelove?”
“Methinks you require a husband, not a horse, Lucy-Anne.” His brown eyes twinkled.
“Between all my brothers and you, I have perhaps a hundred horses at my service, so I always have one available. And husbands, well, my sisters all have very good ones. When I find one as excellent as you lot, I might consider marrying. But I’m not pining.” She’d mentioned Mr. Harrison to Mad but wasn’t going to discuss him with Nobby.
“I wasn’t ‘pining’ either when Madeleine captured my heart. You take care. Some man will become necessary to you when you least expect it.”
Lucy-Anne couldn’t imagine any man being necessary to her happiness, but she had to admit her sisters all spoke as if it were so for them. Did she feel that strongly about Mr. Harrison? Maybe she was too logical for such extreme emotions. She’d be perfectly happy to become Mrs. Harrison, but her happiness was of her own making, not dependent on his love. “We shall see, but don’t bother making a wager on it. Put your money to better use.”
***
That afternoon while Mad napped, Lucy-Anne decided to take a walk. She stayed on the road, knowing better than to wander when she didn’t know the area. The ruts were well-defined, telling her there must be a few farms in the area, but she hadn’t seen any houses from the carriage when she first arrived the day before. Mad had said the neighbors were all pleasant, and that one young lady of similar age lived on the farm next door. Lucy-Anne would wait to meet anyone until Mad was up to making calls, which could be several weeks, from what she’d seen with their sisters’ pregnancies.
Such exciting news, the prospect of another niece or nephew. Could it be twins, since Madeleine was one? Lucy-Anne had planned to return to England before winter, but that would leave Mad to have her baby with no one from the family there. Mama would have received the letter bearing the announcement by now, and perhaps she would come. All their sisters were married, and all but Patience had young children, so it wasn’t likely any of them would want to make the trip. There was plenty of time to worry about that later, though.
Lucy-Anne had been walking about fifteen minutes when she heard the bawling of a calf. Following the sound of the cries, she forged a path through the brush and trees until she saw a very young calf standing alone. “Well, hello. Where’s your mama?”
Lucy-Anne approached cautiously, not wanting to frighten the animal. When she was a few steps away, she held out her hand and continued closer. “Hello, sweet thing. I wish I were strong and could carry you home. Or had a rope to lead you.”
Having no idea where “home” was didn’t help the matter. Nobby’s cows were kept on the other side of his property, and it wasn’t likely this little one had wandered that far. He probably belonged to the neighbors.
The calf shied away at first but then sniffed her hand as if looking for milk. “Sorry, I come empty-handed. Can we still be friends?” Now she was able to scratch the top of its head.
She turned a half-step toward the road. “Will you come with me? Come on.” She rubbed her fingers together in front of its face as if that would encourage it. She hadn’t played with calves since she was six, that she could recall, so she hadn’t a clue how to do so.
Surprisingly, the calf came closer. Lucy-Anne took another half-step to the side. “I have no idea who you belong to, but we can’t leave you here alone. Come on.”
When she reached the road with the calf at her side, she had to make a decision. Clearly, the calf hadn’t walked a mile or more from its mama, but it wasn’t wise to try to retrace its steps through the woods. The best option seemed to be to take it to Noblegreen and ask one of the farmhands to find its home in a wagon.
That plan seemed excellent until five minutes later when a horse approached from around the bend behind her. A deep voice called out, “Where are you going with my calf?” He sounded accusatory as if she was calf-napping.
She turned to face the rider. “Is it yours? I’m glad you found us, then. I wasn’t certain where he’d come from.”
He dismounted his horse, a giant of a man, and loomed over her. Her brother-in-law, Lord Oakhurst, was also quite tall and muscular, and he was such a sweetheart, so she didn’t shy away from this man.
“You must be Her Grace’s sister. From England.” He nearly spat out England. How charming he was, she thought sarcastically. His accent was odd to her ears.
“I am Lady Lucy-Anne Lumley, yes.”
“Well, you knew it wasn’t their calf, so why were you taking it to Noblegreen?” His manner hadn’t grown any kinder upon learning her identity. His features were somewhat fierce, narrowed eyes, a long nose, and down-turned lips with deep furrows beside them. His hat threw shadows across his face.
“I don’t know where any other farm is,” she answered, stretching up to her tallest self, which brought her eyes roughly to the top button of his waistcoat. “I thought it ill-advised to wander through the woods and have both of us become lost.”
He said nothing to that. Instead, he marched over to the calf, lifted it with ease, slung it across the horse’s back, and mounted again.
She was in awe of his strength and grace. And perturbed that he hadn’t thanked her for not leaving his calf to the wolves. “Well then, I shall be on my way,” she said, and continued to walk toward her sister’s home.
Lucy-Anne fully expected him to turn and ride off in the other direction, but he rode his horse beside her. She felt like a thief being marched to Newgate prison. Why couldn’t this man leave her alone? It dawned on her he hadn’t introduced himself, which wasn’t surprising given his obvious desire not to be polite or conversational in any way. “Is your farm beyond Noblegreen?”
“If it was, why would I accuse you of stealing my calf? You could have been bringing it to me.”
“Stealing?” Her voice almost squeaked in outrage. “Do many ladies in Williamsburg steal cattle?”
The corners of his lips twitched. “You’d have to ask my sister. I don’t read the gossip rags.”
She gave up trying to make conversation, although the choice of silence was just as awkward to her. She couldn’t recall being in someone’s company and not talking—if not speaking herself, she was listening to the others.
Eventually, he said, “I can’t let you walk home alone. Noblegreen would never forgive me if something happened to you.” His tone was softer, deep, rich, and pleasant.
She threw a glance up at him to attempt to read his expression. Oh, she shouldn’t have done so. When he wasn’t scowling, he was possibly the most handsome man she’d met. His coloring was the complete opposite of Mr. Harrison’s. His straight black hair was cut a bit longer than was the fashion in London, the ends flaring out a bit under the brim of his hat. His eyes were dark, cheekbones high, and his jaw had strong lines. Yes, the most handsome man she could recall. If only he weren’t so surly, he might be nice to know better. “My brothers would either thank you or laugh at you for assuming I’m fragile. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“Perhaps, but your sister would never forgive me. Where’s your maid? Or a groom? You shouldn’t walk alone on the road.”
She turned her head away so she could roll her eyes unnoticed. If all the local men were like this, Mr. Harrison’s worries of her losing her heart to one were safe. Lucy-Anne could never fall in love with such a man.
Buy the book https://aileenfish.com/books/falling-for-the-american/
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren’t enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her “to-do” list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment, she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families.
She also writes steamy romance under the pen name Ari Thatcher.
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Dear Readers! 
I’m writing to tell you our papa has overcome the Fever he suffered. You don’t need to travel home, the roads being unpleasant this time of year, and you so far up north. My Edward continues to managing the drapery with the old man ill. While I shudder to be blunt, the business prospers under his care, no matter what you might have heard from Papa who, as I’ve written is becoming queer in his old age.
Recently, one Seth Caulfield, boldly bearing the earl’s surname, appeared in London wearing the uniform of a naval officer of sorts. One gathered he bore the rank of surgeon, a warranted rank, not one of a gentleman to be sure. He had the look of a Caulfield about him, however, and no sooner than he had appeared than he was welcomed to the earl’s table and given full support. It appeared that another one of the, if you’ll pardon our language, Clarion Bastards has appeared on the scene. (I apologize if ladies take offense but we do like to speak the truth, and the man is well, not legitimate at all.)
About the Story
Lady P, reporting in with startling news! If you recall, the last time I shared the latest on dits with you, I promised to impart further information regarding a certain viscount and those handsome-as-sin Irishmen who guard the Duke of Wyndmere and his family.
The Duke’s Sharpshooter (The Duke’s Guard, Book 14)