Alone in the back of the car sat a solitary woman, her face hidden by a newspaper.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Brad said when he reached her seat. “I trust you’re enjoying the ride.”

She lowered the paper, and as she did, Brad’s eyes widened. This was the strawberry blond who had provided such a welcome distraction in the waiting room. He had failed at his game of guessing destinations, although—in his defense—she had been sitting so far from the Hidden Falls gate that he hadn’t realized she would be one of the passengers on his train.

“It’s quite pleasant,” the woman said. Her voice was more cultured than he would have expected, its tone melodious. Though she kept her expression impassive other than that first startled look, which made him think she’d recognized him, something about her words told him she was lying, and for the first time Brad studied the seats where the majority of Harrod Railroad’s passengers rode. Little more than wooden benches, they clearly lacked the padding the first-class passengers enjoyed. He doubted anyone would describe the ride as pleasant, but perhaps she somehow knew that he was a Harrod and didn’t want to antagonize him.

Brad stood for a moment, looking down at her. This woman bore no resemblance to Jane. Her eyes were green, like his, not blue like Jane’s. Her features were a bit more delicate than Jane’s, her hair brighter than Jane’s golden blond, and she appeared to be an inch or two shorter than the woman he had once courted. Other than the fact that they were both young women, there were no similarities. But still, something reminded him of Jane. Perhaps it was the innate dignity he’d observed in the waiting room. And so, though he had no reason to tarry, Brad found himself loath to return to his well-padded seat in the other car.

“Are you going to Hidden Falls?” he asked, wanting to prolong the conversation. Though that was the terminus of the rail, there were several stops between New York and Brad’s hometown.

“Yes, I am.” Her voice, while still polite, bore a hint of dismissal, and that intrigued Brad as much as her regal air. Women never dismissed Brad Harrod, not if they knew who he was. His father’s fortune guaranteed that.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you there.” The truth was, Brad knew he’d never seen her. This was not a woman whose face he would have forgotten.

She raised one eyebrow in a gesture Brad had seen his mother use on numerous occasions when she wanted to put a gentleman in his place. “This will be my first visit,” the woman said, inclining her head ever so slightly. “And now if you’ll excuse me, sir...” Without waiting for his reaction, she picked up the newspaper. There was no doubt about it. He had been dismissed.

“Sorry to have bothered you, ma’am.” A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips as he left the car. Once again he’d proven his father correct. Not only had he been unable to convince Jane Moreland to marry him, but he couldn’t even get this woman to carry on a brief conversation with him. Brad Harrod was less interesting than a day-old newspaper. How humiliating!