‘We cannot pretend what happened did not occur.’

‘We cannot change it either,’ Anna countered.

Lord Brentmore released her and stepped away. ‘Perhaps it is best that I return to London.’

‘Leave?’ Her voice rose and her eyes shot daggers at him. ‘Leave your children? Do not use me as an excuse to neglect them. If you have no wish to help them, then, indeed, go back to the pleasures of London. Forget them as you have done before—’

‘Enough!’ He closed the distance between them again. ‘You forget your place, Governess!’

He sounded just like the old Marquess. She did not back down, none the less. Instead she looked directly into his eyes. ‘Last night you lamented the damage done your children by your absence. Now you seize upon the slimmest excuse to leave them again.’

His gaze was entrapped by her blue eyes—so clear, so forthright and brave. Before he realised it his hands had rested on her shoulders, drawing her even closer to him. A memory, foggy and blurred, returned. He remembered kissing her …

He stepped back, jarred at how easily his own behaviour turned scandalous. ‘See, Anna—Miss Hill—how easily I might compromise you again?’

AUTHOR NOTE

BORN TO SCANDAL is my homage to Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre—a story of secrets and betrayals, with a governess at the centre of it. Charlotte Brontë had been a governess in Yorkshire in the late 1830s, and well knew the loneliness of the position, later drawing on her experiences in writing her timeless classic.

A governess in the nineteenth century was often a pitiable creature. Neither servant nor family, she lived a lonely life between the two, working long hours caring for children, receiving little pay and no protection from those who might abuse her. Worst of all, she had little recourse for anything better.

Jane Austen, that astute social observer of her time, certainly shared the perception of the governess as a sad creature. In Emma, Austen even likens the prospect to slavery. Her character Jane Fairfax, who feels fated to become a governess, remarks that the governess trade is ‘… widely different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on; but as to the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies.’

Never was there a Regency character more in need of a happy ending!

I wondered … What if I created a governess with a past even more scandalous than Jane Eyre’s and an aristocratic hero who, like Mr Rochester, is desperate to overcome the scandal in his own life? How could I give these two their happy ending?

BORN TO SCANDAL is the result.

I love to hear from readers. Visit me on Facebook and Twitter, or come to my website at http://dianegaston.com

About the Author

As a psychiatric social worker, DIANE GASTON spent years helping others create real-life happy endings. Now Diane crafts fictional ones, writing the kind of historical romance she’s always loved to read. The youngest of three daughters of a US Army Colonel, Diane moved frequently during her childhood, even living for a year in Japan. It continues to amaze her that her own son and daughter grew up in one house in Northern Virginia. Diane still lives in that house, with her husband and three very ordinary housecats. Visit Diane’s website at http://dianegaston.com

Previous novels by the same author:

THE MYSTERIOUS MISS M

THE WAGERING WIDOW

A REPUTABLE RAKE

INNOCENCE AND IMPROPRIETY

A TWELFTH NIGHT TALE

(in A Regency Christmas anthology)

THE VANISHING VISCOUNTESS

SCANDALISING THE TON

JUSTINE AND THE NOBLE VISCOUNT

(in Regency Summer Scandals)

GALLANT OFFICER, FORBIDDEN LADY*

CHIVALROUS CAPTAIN, REBEL MISTRESS*

VALIANT SOLDIER, BEAUTIFUL ENEMY*

A NOT SO RESPECTABLE GENTLEMAN?†

*Three Soldiers mini-series

†linked by character

And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

THE UNLACING OF MISS LEIGH

THE LIBERATION OF MISS FINCH

Born to Scandal

Diane Gaston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sister Judy, my first and forever friend.

Chapter One

Mayfair—May 1816

The Marquess of Brentmore walked out of the library of his London town house and wandered into the drawing room.

He’d agreed to consider his cousin’s scheme. What the devil had he been thinking?

He strode to the window and gave a fierce tug at the brocade curtains. Why hang heavy curtains when London offered precious little sunlight as it was? One of many English follies. What he would give for one fine Irish day.

At times like this, when restlessness plagued him, his thoughts always turned to Ireland. He could never entirely banish his early years from his mind, no matter how hard his English grandfather, the old marquess, had tried to have it beat out of him.

He stared out the window, forcing his mind back to the weather. The sky looked more grey than usual. More rain coming, no doubt.

A young woman paced in Cavendish Square across the street. Something about her caught his eye and captured his attention.

He could not look away.

She brimmed with emotion and seemed to be struggling to contain it. He felt it as acutely as if those emotions also resonated inside him, as if he again waged a battle with a fiery temperament. The Irish inside him, the old marquess always told him.

Were his thoughts to always travel back to those days?

Better to attend to the pretty miss in the square.

What was she doing there all alone, looking as unsettled as he felt? She stirred him in a way the countless ton’s daughters who attended the Season’s balls and musicales failed to do. Foolish girls, who gazed at him hopefully until their mamas steered them away, whispering about his reputation.

Was it his disastrous first marriage those mothers objected to? he wondered. Or was it the taint of his Irish blood? The title of marquess did not make up for either one.

He did not want any of it. Not the Season. Not the marriage mart, certainly, no matter what his cousin said. He’d done that once and look where it had led him. No, he had no wish to be stirred by any woman, not even a glimpse of one, pacing across the street. He had work to do.

He pushed away from the window, but, at that same moment, she turned and the expression of anxious anticipation on her face cut straight to his heart.

He could see her eyes were large and wide, even from this distance. Her lips looked as if kissed by roses. Dark auburn hair peeked from her trim bonnet and the blue muslin of her skirt fluttered in the rising winds, showing a glimpse of her slim ankles.

He took in a quick breath.

She gleamed with expectation. Passion. Hope. Fear. She roused him straight from his heart to his loins, something not easily done, certainly not since Eunice soured all women for him.

Was she waiting for someone? A man? Was this to be some forbidden tryst?

Brent bit down on a stab of envy. Once he would have yearned to have such a young lady flouting respectability … to meet him.

He spun away from the window, dropping the brocade curtain again to block out the tempting sight of her.

What foolishness. Having endured a marriage from hell, he well knew how easily passion could lead to misery.

Brent marched back to the library and the piles of paper on his desk. He riffled through his correspondence. With one hand he lifted a letter and re-read the news from Brentmore. Parker, his man of business, was there taking matters well in hand.

The children’s elderly governess had died suddenly. Parker had been there and was able to attend to her affairs. He’d seen to her funeral and burial, but, damnation—how much were two young children supposed to endure?

First their mother’s death … now their governess?

Brent rubbed his face.

His children had suffered too much in their young lives. Perhaps his cousin was right. Perhaps it was time for him to consider marrying again. Eunice had been dead a year and the children needed a mother to watch over their care, to handle matters about governesses and such, to make certain their lives were worry-free.

Brent knew nothing of children. Eunice had taken charge of them and resented his interference. He’d been a virtual stranger to them. His brief visits to the children since Eunice’s death had been almost a formality. The governess always assured him she had the children under excellent control. Who was Brent to question her years of experience? When he’d been a boy, the old marquess had left him in the care of rather harsh tutors and then sent him off to school. He hardly saw the man until he’d returned from his Grand Tour. From what he could tell, other peers were similarly uninvolved in the care of their children.

Brent pressed his fingers against the smooth dark wood of his desk. He always felt sick inside when thinking of his children and how they would suffer for the sins of their parents. Better to go back to the drawing-room window and pine over a passionate young woman awaiting her paramour, than agonise over what he could not change.

There was a knock. Davies, his butler, opened the door a crack. ‘Pardon, your lordship. A Miss Hill to see you. Says she has an appointment.’

His mind went blank. An appointment?

Ah, yes. Sometimes luck actually shone on him. At White’s last night, he’d overheard someone saying he had a governess to fob off on someone. No longer needed her and wanted to settle her elsewhere as soon as possible. Brent told the fellow—who had it been?—to send the woman to him today. He wanted this problem of the children quickly solved, even if he had no clue what to look for in a prospective governess.

‘Send her in.’ Brent put down the letter and sat behind his desk.

‘Miss Hill, m’lord,’ Davies announced.

A soft feminine voice murmured, ‘My lord.’

Brent raised his eyes and every sensation in his body flared.

Standing before him was the passionate young lady he’d spied in the square. She took two steps towards him, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of lavender and to see that her large, wide eyes were startlingly blue and even more vibrant than the blue of her most un-governess-like dress. Fringed with long curling dark lashes, those eyes gazed at him with the same hope and fear he’d witnessed from the window.

Up close she did not disappoint. With skin as smooth and flawless as a Canova statue, she bloomed with youth. Her rose-coloured lips were endearingly moist. Worst of all, her obvious nervousness piqued tender feelings inside him, a much greater danger to him than his body’s baser response.

‘Anna Hill, sir.’ She made a small curtsy.

His gaze seemed unable to break away from how gracefully she moved, the expectant brightness in her eyes, the rise and fall of her chest.

She was no governess. That was apparent with a glance. She was quality, some society daughter all dressed up to impress.

She lifted her chin in a show of bravado and he broke his gaze, lowering it to the papers on his desk.

‘This will not do at all, miss.’ Whatever her game—attempting to compromise him into marriage or some other foolish idea—he was not playing. ‘You may leave.’

She did not move.

He glanced at her again and waved her away with his fingers. ‘I said you may leave.’

Two spots of red tinted her cheeks.

Damnation. He did not want to care about upsetting her.

She lifted herself to a dignified height and walked haughtily to the door. Yes, she was definitely quality.

As she turned the latch and opened the door a crack, he spoke again. ‘Let this be a lesson to you, Miss Hill.’

She whirled around, arching one brow. ‘A lesson, sir?’

Brent rose and impulsively walked towards her, closing the distance in a few long strides. She stood her ground, fixing her eyes on his approaching form. He put his hand on the door, whether to close it or force it open, he did not know. It brought him inches from her.

But she suddenly seemed small and vulnerable.

‘You would not have gained entry, but for the fact that I was expecting a woman applying for the position of governess.’ He deliberately flicked his gaze down to her breast, to intimidate her and teach her how dangerous being alone with a man could be. ‘You are no governess.’

She, however, did not flinch. ‘How would you know, sir, when you are not civil enough to hear my qualifications?’

Qualifications? Ha!

He touched her shoulder, rubbing his finger lightly over the cloth of her pelisse. ‘You do not dress like a governess.’

She pulled her shoulder away. ‘I do not know who you think I am, sir, but I have come to enquire about the position of governess. I concede I do not yet have the wardrobe of a governess.’ Her lovely blue eyes flashed with fleeting pain. ‘My clothes are provided by Lady Charlotte, for whom I act as companion.’

He shook his head in confusion. ‘Lady Charlotte?’

She lowered her gaze. ‘Earl Lawton’s daughter.’

That’s who it was! Brent felt like slapping his forehead. Lord Lawton had set up this interview. Good God. This was the governess.

It was her turn to look confused. ‘Did Lord Lawton not explain my situation?’

Brent had consumed a lot of brandy that night. He did not remember much of what Lawton explained, only that there was a governess when he needed one.

‘You tell me, Miss Hill.’ He pushed the door shut and stepped back a more respectable distance.

She averted her gaze. ‘I have been Lady Charlotte’s companion. Now that she is launched in society, my services are no longer needed.’

He turned sceptical again. ‘Companion, Miss Hill? You look as if you just stepped out of the schoolroom and are in need of a chaperone yourself.’

Her chin rose. ‘I was Lady Charlotte’s companion, not her chaperone. I—I’ve been her companion since we were children. The situation was …’ she paused as if searching for the right words ‘… unusual.’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Explain it to me.’

Her eyes sparked with annoyance, but she also looked on her guard. ‘I was raised with Lady Charlotte. She was an only child and extremely timid. She needed a companion. To take the place of an older sister, so to speak.’ She locked her gaze with his. ‘I also must tell you that I was—am—the daughter of Lord Lawton’s servants. My mother is a laundress and my father a groom.’

Brent shrugged. His lineage was nearly as undesirable. His mother had been as poor as an Irish woman could be. Brent had spent his early years on his Irish grandfather’s tenant farm in Culleen.

Until his English grandfather took him away. An uncle he’d not known existed died and suddenly Brent was heir to a title he’d known nothing of and sent to a land he’d considered the enemy’s.

‘I was raised as a lady,’ Miss Hill went on. ‘I studied the same lessons as Lady Charlotte. Learned everything she learned.’ She reached in the pocket of her pelisse and withdrew a paper. She handed it to him. ‘I have written it out.’

His fingers grazed hers as he took the paper. He noticed that her glove was carefully mended.

He pretended to read, then glanced back at her. His bare fingers still registered the soft texture of her glove. ‘My apologies, Miss Hill.’

She straightened her spine, as imperious as a lady patroness of Almack’s.

Her neck, so erect and slim, begged for his fingers to measure its length. In fact, his fingers wished to continue lower to the swell of her breasts—

‘Why do you regard me so?’ Her voice quivered slightly.

Good God, he’d been contemplating seduction.

Why did this beauty wish to bury herself in the thankless job of governess? Surely she knew the perils that befell a young woman in the employ of the wealthy and privileged. A governess had neither the protection of the other servants, nor that of society. She would be prey for any man who wished to seduce her.

He shut his eyes and turned to the bookshelves, fingering the bindings. ‘My apologies once more, Miss Hill. I fail to understand how a young woman of your—’ he turned back to her, involuntarily flicking another full-length gaze ‘—particular disposition would seek the position of governess.’

Her eyebrows rose in a look of superiority. ‘Do you doubt my ability to perform the task?’

He admired her bravery much more than was prudent. ‘You are very young.’

Seating himself on a chair by the library window, he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle.

Her chin lifted again. ‘My youth is an asset, Lord Brentmore.’

He frowned. ‘Precisely how old are you?’

She pursed her lips. ‘I am twenty.’

‘So old as that.’ He spoke with sarcasm.

She took a step towards him. ‘My youth shall lend energy to the education of my charges.’

He tapped on the arm of the chair. The previous governess had been ancient. Retaining her had been a terrible error. Would hiring one so young also be a mistake?

‘I shall understand the children better,’ she went on. ‘I well recall the mischief of young children.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I do not need a governess who would join them in mischief.’

‘I would not!’ His insinuation obviously irritated her. ‘I am a most sober young lady.’

He stood and moved close to her again, close enough for his skin to warm from the proximity.

‘Tell me more, Miss Hill.’ His voice turned low.

She backed away, her hand fluttering to her hair, trying to brush a tendril off her cheek. ‘I know I am not a lady, precisely, but I was trained in the same way. I received every advantage….’ Her voice trailed off.

Curse him. He needed to keep his distance.

She took another breath. ‘There is another reason to engage me, sir.’

‘Pray tell,’ he said.

She looked him in the eye. ‘I have an acute appreciation of learning, my lord. My unique situation—that of one who would never otherwise be so educated—makes me appreciate the advantage. It has opened the world to me.’ She swept her arm towards the walls covered with leather-bound books. ‘I would show your children the world.’

For the first time, her face filled with sincere pleasure. It touched something deep within him, something he needed to keep buried. ‘You would create a bluestocking.’

‘Indeed not,’ she snapped. ‘I would create a lady.’ She pointed to the paper she’d handed him. ‘I learned all the feminine arts. Stitchery, water-colours, the pianoforte. Manners and comportment and dancing, as well.’ She jabbed her finger at her list. ‘I also have skills in mathematics and Latin, so I am well able to help prepare a boy for Eton …’ Her voice trailed off as if she feared she’d said too much. Her eyes pleaded. ‘I would please you, my lord. I am certain I would.’

He forced his gaze downwards, as hungry as a starving man for some of that youthful passion. Lawd. He was only thirty-three, but, at this moment, he felt like Methuselah.

The children deserved a proper education. A proper upbringing. He tapped a finger against his leg.

More than that, his children deserved some joy. The children were innocents, even if they embodied all his failures and mistakes. Let this governess—this breath of spring air—be a gift to them.

What’s more, she would be in a household where no man would take advantage of her. It was not as if he would be tempted. He hated Brentmore Hall and spent as little time there as possible.

He allowed his gaze to wander along the bookshelves, less dangerous than looking again into those hopeful eyes.

‘You need not attire yourself in drab greys,’ he finally said. It would be a shame to conceal all that loveliness under high necklines and long sleeves. ‘Your present wardrobe should suffice.’

‘I do not understand.’ Her voice turned breathy. ‘Do you mean—I have the position?’

He swallowed. ‘Yes, Miss Hill. You have the position.’

She gasped. ‘My lord! You will not regret this, I assure you.’

Her relief was palpable and the smile that broke out on her face made his insides clench.

He cleared his throat. ‘You will make yourself ready to assume your duties within the week.’

Her eyes glittered with sudden tears, and his arms flinched with an impulse to hold her and reassure her that all would be well, that she had nothing to worry about.

‘I will be ready, sir.’ Even her voice rasped with emotion.

He had to glance away. ‘I will send word to Lord Lawton that I have hired you.’

Anna blinked away relieved tears furious at herself for allowing her emotions to overrun her at this important moment. She wanted—needed—to remain strong or risk the chance that this marquess would again change his mind.

She’d not imagined him to be so formidable, nor so tall. And young. She’d thought he’d be like the gentlemen who called upon Lord and Lady Lawton, shorter than herself, with rounded bellies, and at least ten years older than the marquess. His eyes, as dark as the hair that curled at the nape of his neck and framed his face, unnerved her. Her legs trembled each time he looked at her with those disquieting eyes. Especially when he dismissed her without even allowing her to speak. At that moment she’d been sure all was lost.

What would she have done? Lord Lawton had made it clear there were limits to the assistance he’d render to help her find employment. And there was no one else she could turn to in London. Her parents and all the other people she knew were back at Lawton.

But the marquess had hired her! Even after she’d lost her temper with him. Even after that speech of hers about her esteem of learning.

Hopefully her love of learning would be enough to make her a governess, because she possessed no other qualifications for the job.

‘Well.’ She struggled for what to say next. ‘Excellent.’

His brows lowered again.

Oh, my. What if he changed his mind?

She cleared her throat, groping for an idea of what a governess ought to ask. ‘May I ask about the children? How many will be in my charge and—and to whom do I answer regarding their care?’

That sounded sufficiently like a governess.

He frowned, as if her question vexed him. ‘Two, only.’

She tried a smile. ‘Their ages?’

He averted his gaze. ‘My son is about seven. My … daughter, five.’

‘Lovely ages.’ Two children did not sound terribly daunting, especially two so young. ‘And are they at Brentmore Hall?’

She and Charlotte had looked in the Topography of Great Britain and an old volume of Debrett’s in the Lawtons’ library to learn about this marquess. They knew the marquess’s wife died a little over a year ago, but all else they discovered was that the marquess’s manor house, Brentmore Hall, was in Essex.

‘Of course they are at Brentmore,’ he snapped. ‘Where else would they be?’

Did that question offend him? Conversing with him was like walking on eggs.

He paced like a panther, a huge wild cat she and Charlotte saw once at the Tower of London. That black cat had prowled its cage, back and forth, back and forth, lethally dangerous and yearning to escape.

This marquess’s hair was as dark as a panther’s. As were his eyes. When he moved, it was as if he, too, wished to break free.

In any event, there was no call for him to growl at her.

‘I do not know where the children should be,’ she said in her haughty voice. ‘That was the point of my asking. I also wish to know where I am to live.’

He waved a hand. ‘Forgive me once more, Miss Hill. I am unaccustomed to interviewing governesses.’

She lifted a brow.

He pressed his lips together before speaking. ‘The previous governess passed away suddenly.’

She gasped. ‘Passed away? Your poor children!’ First their mother, then their governess? She felt a wave of tenderness for them. It seemed a lot for two little children to bear.

He stared at her again and some emotion flitted through those black eyes. Precisely what emotion, she could not tell.

‘How are they managing?’ she asked.

‘Managing?’ He seemed surprised at her question. ‘Tolerably well, Parker says.’

‘Parker?’

‘My man of business,’ he explained. ‘Fortunately he happened to be at Brentmore and has taken care of everything.’

‘You have not seen the children?’ How appalling.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Not since this happened. Not for a few months.’

She clamped her mouth shut. It seemed the only way to control it. Charlotte’s governess used to tell Anna to mind her tongue and never forget her station. It had always confused her, because she was also supposed to show Charlotte how to speak up and be bold.

She changed the subject. ‘Will I answer to your man of business, then?’

Oh, dear. Did he hear the disapproval in her tone?

‘You will answer to me.’ He fixed his panther eyes on her again. ‘In daily matters you will be in total charge of the children. You will decide their needs and their care. The other servants will defer to you in matters regarding them.’

Her eyes widened.

His expression turned stern. ‘If you are not up to the task, tell me now, Miss Hill.’

She could still lose this position.

She took a breath. ‘I am up to the task, my lord. I merely felt it wise to know the extent of my responsibility.’

He held her captive with his eyes, which turned unexpectedly sad. ‘Provide my children what they need. Make them happy.’

For a moment it was as if a mask dropped from his face and she glimpsed a man in agony.

This glimpse shook her more than the pacing panther.

‘I shall try my best,’ she whispered.

‘We are done, Miss Hill. I will send word to you when you are to leave for Brentmore.’ He turned away and prowled to the door.

She remembered to curtsy, but he did not see her. He left the room and a moment later the butler appeared to escort her to the hall. Once in the hall, the butler walked her to the door and opened it.

She was about to step across the threshold when the marquess’s voice stopped her. ‘Do not leave.’ He stood on the marble staircase, looking down on her.

Her anxiety returned. Perhaps he had reconsidered.

‘It is raining,’ he said.

The rain was pouring in sheets outside.

‘I do not mind the rain,’ she assured him.

‘You will be soaked within minutes.’ He descended the stairs and walked directly towards her.

Her fingers fluttered. ‘It is of no consequence.’

‘I will call my carriage for you.’ The marquess gestured towards the open door.

Her hand flew to her throat. ‘That is much too much trouble, sir. If you insist, I will borrow an umbrella—’

He cut her off. ‘An umbrella will be useless.’ Again he stared at her and did not speak right away. ‘I must go out. Very soon.’

The butler made a surprised sound.

The marquess shot him a sharp glance and turned his panther gaze back to Anna. ‘Wait a few moments. I will drop you off on my way.’

Ride with him in the carriage? Enter the panther cage? She could not refuse. He all but demanded it.

She curtsied again. ‘Thank you, sir. It is beyond generous of you.’

‘Shall the young lady wait in the drawing room, my lord?’ the butler asked, closing the door.

‘Yes.’ Lord Brentmore turned back to the stairs.

‘Very good, sir.’ The butler bowed curtly.

He led Anna to a beautifully furnished drawing room on the same level as the hall. Its brocade-upholstered sofas and crystal and porcelain spoke of opulence. One wall held a huge family portrait from a generation ago. A Gainsborough? It certainly appeared to be. She and Charlotte had seen engravings of Gainsborough’s portraits.

There was even a fire lit in the room, taking away the early spring chill.

‘Do sit, Miss Hill,’ the butler intoned.

She lowered herself into a chair by the fire and listened to the ticking of the mantel clock as she waited.

Twenty minutes later Brent was informed that the carriage waited outside. He donned his topcoat and hat, and had Davies collect Miss Hill.

He was putting on his gloves when Davies led Miss Hill back to the hall. Brent nodded to her and Davies escorted her to the door where footmen waited with umbrellas. One walked her to the carriage and helped her inside.

When Brent climbed in, she had taken the backward-facing seat, which meant he could not avoid watching her the whole trip.

She sat with graceful poise, her hands folded in her lap.

The carriage started moving.

He ought to engage her in polite conversation but, in such intimate quarters, he could not trust what might escape his mouth.

Finally it was she who spoke. ‘This is kind of you, sir. I am certain it takes you out of your way.’

He shrugged. ‘Not too far out of the way.’

Lord Lawton’s town house was on Mount Street, not more than a mile from Cavendish Square.

While the carriage crossed the distance, she looked out the window, but glanced his way occasionally. He could not keep his eyes off her, although he tried. When she caught him gazing at her, she smiled politely. He pined to see that genuine smile, the one that burst from her when she realised he had hired her.

The carriage reached Mount Street and stopped at the Lawton town house. One of the marquess’s footmen put the stairs down and opened the door, his umbrella ready to shelter her. The footman assisted her from the carriage.

She turned back to Brent. ‘Thank you again, my lord. I will await word from you when I should leave for Essex.’

He inclined his head. ‘I will see you are informed as soon as possible.’

‘I shall be ready.’ She smiled again, a hint of her sunshine in this one. ‘Good day, sir.’

He watched as the footman escorted Miss Hill to the door of the Lawtons’ town house. Even hurrying through the rain, she made an alluring picture. He watched until she disappeared behind the town house door.

He groaned.

It was a good thing she’d be on her way to Brentmore in a few days.

The coachman knocked at the window. Brent leaned forwards to open it.

‘Where to next, sir?’ the man asked.

‘Home,’ Brent said.

‘Home?’ His coachman probably thought Brent was addled.

And the man would be dead accurate if he did.

Brent had ordered his carriage, his coachman, footmen and horses out in the pouring rain. All to carry a governess one mile.

He was addled all right.

‘Home,’ he repeated and leaned back against the leather seat.

Anna glimpsed Lord Brentmore’s carriage pulling away through the crack of the town house door.

Rogers, the Lawton footman attending the hall, bent forwards to see as well. ‘Fancy carriage.’

‘Indeed.’ Anna’s emotions could not be more in a muddle. ‘Imagine riding in it with a marquess.’

‘So, what happened with your interview?’ Rogers asked.

She tried to smile. ‘He hired me. I am going to be a governess.’

Rogers closed the door. ‘Do I congratulate you?’

The position of governess was not an enviable one. A governess existed somewhere between servant and family, but was a part of neither. It was a rank to which Anna was very accustomed, though. Her unique situation as Charlotte’s companion made her too educated and refined to fit in with the servants, but she never, ever, could be considered family. She belonged … nowhere.

She took a breath. ‘Congratulate me.’

At least she would not wind up alone and penniless on the London streets.

Tears threatened suddenly, so Anna rushed up the stairs to her room, which once had been a maid’s room attached to Charlotte’s bedchamber. Charlotte and her mother would still be out making calls. Anna had time to compose herself.

She removed her gloves, hat and pelisse and tossed them on a chair. She flopped down on the small cot that was her bed and covered her face with her hands.

It had been only two days ago that Lord Lawton informed her it was no longer desirable to have her act as Charlotte’s companion. She was uncertain why. Perhaps it was because she had danced with some young gentlemen at a recent party? She’d thought it would have been rude to refuse. That was, however, the last social engagement she’d attended. Charlotte had henceforth gone on her own with only the company of one or both of her parents.

She’d not frozen or become mute as everyone feared. Charlotte had conquered her timidity, as Anna always knew she could.

Anna’s days as companion had always been numbered. Charlotte was expected to make an excellent match and marry well. When that time came, Anna’s place in Charlotte’s life would have been lost. Anna had always assumed she’d return to Lawton House when Charlotte no longer needed her. She thought some useful role would be found for her. Lord Lawton, however, made it very clear he and Lady Lawton were terminating her services altogether.

What had she done to displease them so?

She’d never expected nor aspired to their affection, but she’d expected to be treated as a loyal servant.

At least Lord Lawton had troubled himself enough to arrange the interview with Lord Brentmore. For that she should be grateful. Instead her emotions were consumed with the idea of losing the only home she’d ever known and being separated from all she knew and cared about. Her mother. Her father.

Charlotte.

Especially Charlotte. She was closer to Charlotte than to anyone else, even her mother.

Her chin trembled.

She put her fist to her mouth and fought for control of her emotions.

This was not a banishment, even though that was precisely how it felt. It was a natural progression of change, nothing more. It had been her folly not to anticipate its possibility. She must remain strong and fearless. Being strong and fearless were precisely the qualities that had led to her becoming Charlotte’s companion in the first place, a circumstance she could never regret.

She’d told Lord Brentmore the truth when she’d said her education opened up the world for her. She could not imagine not knowing about geography, philosophy, mathematics. She’d learned Latin and French. Painting. Dancing. Needlework. There was no end to all the wonderful things she’d learned at Charlotte’s side. No matter what happened to her, no one could ever take away all she’d learned.

She sat up and thrust her unhappiness aside. How bad could it be to become a governess to two small children in a country house that was very likely similar to Lawton House? And as a governess, she would have an excuse to continue to study and read.

The door to Charlotte’s bedchamber opened. ‘Anna?’

Anna rose from her bed and walked to the doorway that separated her little room from Charlotte’s. ‘I am here.’ She smiled at this young woman with whom she felt as close as a sister. ‘How were your calls?’

Charlotte grinned, showing the pretty dimple in her cheek. ‘Very tolerable. I made myself join the conversation and soon I was not even thinking about it.’

Anna crossed the room and gave her a hug. ‘That is marvellous. Did you also enjoy yourself?’

Charlotte nodded, her blonde curls bobbing. ‘I did! Very much.’ She pulled Anna over to the chairs by the window. ‘But you must tell me about your interview!’

Anna sobered. ‘I am hired. I start within a week.’

Charlotte jumped out of her chair, looking stricken. ‘No!’

‘It is true.’ Anna watched Charlotte sit again. ‘But it is a good thing, Charlotte.’

Lines of worry creased Charlotte’s brow. ‘Maybe you should not take the first position offered you. I’ve heard things. People talk as if there is something wrong about Lord Brentmore. Something about his past.’

‘It does not matter.’ Anna took her hands. ‘I cannot afford to refuse. I have nothing to recommend me. I am very fortunate the marquess agreed to hire me.’

‘Why did he hire you, then?’ Her tone turned petulant. ‘If you have nothing to recommend you?’

‘I believe he was in urgent need of a governess.’ She squeezed her friend’s hands.

Charlotte lips pursed. ‘You sound as if you met the man.’

‘It was he who interviewed me.’

Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. ‘What was he like? Was he as grand as a marquess should be?’

The image of the panther, restless and dangerous, returned. ‘He was formidable, but I doubt I shall have to encounter him much. I will be at Brentmore Hall with his children.’

‘So far away?’ Charlotte cried.

Far away from all she knew.

Charlotte’s lip trembled. ‘I am telling Mama I will refuse all invitations. I’m going to spend every second of this week with you. It is all we have left!’

The prospect of being separated from Charlotte tore Anna apart inside. This bond between the two of them, borne of sharing a childhood together, was about to be shattered. They could never again be together like they had been before.

Not even for this last week.

Chapter Two

Only three days later Anna was again riding in Lord Brentmore’s carriage, this time travelling alone to Essex, a long day’s ride from London.

The countryside and villages passed before her eyes, becoming indistinguishable as the day wore on. From one blink of an eye to the next, her life had changed and each mile brought her closer to something new and unknown. With each bump in the road, she fought a rabble of butterflies in her stomach.

‘This is an adventure,’ she said out loud. ‘An adventure.’

Such an adventure would test her mettle, certainly. She’d often acted braver than she felt, because that was what was expected of her as Charlotte’s companion. She must do so again here. At Charlotte’s side she’d tackled each new lesson, mastered each new skill. This should be no different. Except this time she had no instructor guiding her, no friend looking up to her. This time she was alone.

The sun dipped low in the sky when the carriage approached an arched gate of red brick. Atop the gate was a huge clock upon which were written the words Audaces Fortuna Juvat.

‘Fortune favours the bold,’ she murmured.

She laughed. Fortune certainly put her in a position to be bold.

She girded herself as the carriage passed through the gate and a huge Tudor manor house came into view. Also made of red brick, it rose three storeys and had a multitude of chimneys and windows reflecting the setting sun. Two large wings flanked a centre court with a circular drive that led to a huge wooden door where the carriage stopped.

The coachman opened the window beneath his seat. ‘Brentmore Hall, miss.’

Her nerves fluttered anew. ‘Thank you, sir.’

She gathered up her reticule and the basket she’d carried with her. A footman appeared at the carriage door to help her out. As she stepped on to the gravel, the huge wooden door opened and a man and woman emerged.

The man, dressed as a gentleman and of about forty years of age, strode towards her. ‘Miss Hill?’ He extended his hand. ‘Welcome to Brentmore Hall. I am Mr Parker, Lord Brentmore’s man of business.’

She shook his hand and summoned the training in comportment she’d received at Charlotte’s side. ‘A pleasure to meet you, sir.’

A gust of wind blew her skirts. She held her hat on her head.

Mr Parker turned to the woman, who was more simply dressed. ‘Allow me to present Mrs Tippen, the housekeeper here.’

The woman perfectly looked the part of housekeeper with grey hair peeking out from a pristinely white cap and quick assessing eyes.

Anna extended her hand. ‘A pleasure, Mrs Tippen. How kind of you to greet me.’

The woman’s face was devoid of expression. She hesitated before shaking Anna’s hand. ‘You are young.’

She stiffened at the housekeeper’s clear disapproval, but summoned a smile. ‘I assure you, Mrs Tippen. I am old enough.’

The housekeeper frowned.

Mr Parker stepped forwards. ‘The previous governess was of a more advanced age.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we go inside? The footmen will see to your trunk and boxes.’

The trunk and boxes contained all her worldly belongings, sent from Lawton to London so that she could carry them with her.

Anna entered a large hall with grey marble floors and wainscoted walls. A line of flags hung high above her head. A larger-than-life portrait of a man with long, curly, blond locks, dressed in gold brocade, filled one wall and one of a woman in a voluminous silk dress faced it on the other wall. The hall smelled of beeswax from the burning branches of candles and the polish of the wood.

Intended to be majestic, Anna supposed, the hall seemed oppressive. Too dark. Too ancient.

So unlike Lawton House, full of light and colour.

Another man crossed the floor and Mr Parker spoke. ‘Ah, here is Mr Tippen, Lord Brentmore’s butler.’

This butler was as stern-faced as the housekeeper. His wife?

‘Mr Tippen,’ Mr Parker went on, ‘this is Miss Hill, the new governess.’

The butler nodded. ‘We have been expecting you.’

Mrs Tippen spoke, her face still devoid of expression. ‘You’ll be weary. Come with me to your room and then dinner.’

‘What about meeting the children?’ Her whole reason to be here.

‘Asleep. Or nearly so,’ Mrs Tippen said.

‘Did they not expect to see me?’ She would hate to fail them on her first day.

‘We did not tell them,’ Mr Parker said.

‘You did not tell them I was coming today?’ Should the children not have a warning that their new governess was arriving?

‘We thought it best not to tell them anything at all.’ Mr Parker inclined his head in an ingratiating manner. ‘Go ahead and refresh yourself. I will see you for dinner.’

Anna had no choice but to follow Mrs Tippen up the winding mahogany staircase.

Was she to be another surprise to the children, then? Had they not received too many surprises already, with the death of their mother a year ago and now the death of their governess?

She followed the housekeeper up two flights of stairs. ‘Your room is this way.’ She turned down one of the wings, stopping at a door and stepping aside for Anna to enter.

The room was panelled in the same dark wood as the entrance hall and stairway. It was furnished with a four-poster bed, a chest of drawers, chairs and a small table by the window, and a dressing table. Compared to Charlotte’s bedchamber, it was modest, but would be comfortable if it were not so dark. Even the fire in the fireplace and an oil lamp burning did not banish an aura of gloom.

Had this been the previous governess’s room? Anna wondered. Had the woman died here?

She decided she’d rather not know. ‘This is a nice room.’

Mrs Tippen seemed unmoved by her compliment. ‘There is fresh water in the pitcher and towels for you. Your trunk will be brought up forthwith.’

‘Where are the children’s rooms?’ Anna asked.

‘Down the hallway,’ a young woman answered as she entered the room. ‘This whole wing is the children’s wing.’

The housekeeper walked out without bothering to introduce Anna to this new person. The newcomer was a servant, obviously, from the white apron she wore and the cap covering her red hair. She appeared to be only a few years older than Anna and had the sturdy good looks of so many of the country women of Lawton.

Anna felt a wave of homesickness.

The servant strode towards her with a smile on her face. ‘I’m Eppy, the children’s nurse. Well, I’m really a maid, but since I take care of the children, I call myself a nurse.’

‘I am pleased to meet you.’ Anna extended her hand. ‘I am Anna Hill.’

‘I’m sure I’m more pleased than you are.’ The nurse laughed. ‘I am also to act as your maid, so what can I do to assist you?’ She turned towards a sound in the hallway. ‘Oh, that will be your trunk now. You must be eager to change out of your travel clothes.’

Two footmen carried in her belongings, nodded to her and left.

Anna removed the key of her trunk from her reticule. ‘I must change. I am expected for dinner.’

The maid took the key and unlocked the trunk. While Anna removed her travelling dress and washed the dirt of the road off her skin, the maid chattered on about how lovely the clothing was that she unpacked for Anna, the gowns which once were Charlotte’s. Eventually Eppy found one gown without too many wrinkles that would be suitable for dinner.

Anna always felt a sense of irony about having a servant attend her, the daughter of servants, but she’d been accustomed to the assistance of a Charlotte’s maid. As Charlotte’s companion, she’d received nearly the same services as Charlotte herself, to show the timid girl that there was nothing to fear. That had been her main task—showing Charlotte there was nothing to fear.

Eppy helped Anna into her dress.

‘Are the children really sleeping?’ Anna asked. It was nearing eight in the evening according to the clock in the room.

‘Last I checked,’ Eppy replied good-naturedly. At least the maid was cheerful, unlike Mr and Mrs Tippen.

‘Have the children truly not been told I was coming?’ Anna straightened the front of her dress.

The maid tied her laces. ‘That was Mr Parker’s idea. Goodness knows what he was thinkin’.’

Indeed. The children should have been told. Charlotte always adjusted better when warned of something new.

Anna herself would have preferred to be warned in advance that the future she’d expected for herself would be snatched away from her.

After Charlotte married, she’d thought she’d return to Lawton House and eventually also would encounter someone who wanted to marry her. A scholarly man, perhaps, a man who would value an educated wife. They’d have children, she’d hoped, to whom she could pass on all that she’d learned.

Now she did not dare to look into her future. She did not dare dream. She knew now that nothing could ever be certain.

She sat down at the dressing table and pulled pins from her hair. ‘Can you tell me about the children?’ she asked the maid. ‘I know nothing. Not even their names, actually.’ Lord Brentmore had never mentioned their names.

‘Well—’ Eppy continued to unpack her trunk ‘—the boy is Cal—Earl of Calmount, if you want to get fancy. Given name is John, in case you need it. He is the older at seven years and a quiet little thing. Next is little Dory—Lady Dorothea, that is. Not quiet at all.’

‘And she is five years old?’ Anna remembered.

‘That she is, miss.’ Eppy placed some folded articles of clothing in a bureau drawer.

Anna repinned her hair. ‘It must have been difficult for them to lose their governess.’

The maid shrugged. ‘Mrs Sykes was sickly for a while. You’ll be a nice change for the little ones.’

She hoped so.

She stood and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. ‘I am supposed to dine with Mr Parker. Will there be someone downstairs to show me the way?’

Eppy closed the drawer. ‘One of the footmen will be attending the hall. I expect you’ll eat in the dining room. That is where Mr Parker is served.’

The maid accompanied her out in the hall. She pointed down the long hallway of the wing. ‘I have been sleeping in the room at the very end of the hall. The children are two doors down from you here. Come knock on my door if you need help before you retire.’

Anna walked down the stairs to the entrance hall. As Eppy had said, a footman was there to escort her to the dining room.

Mr Parker stood when she walked in the room. ‘Ah, there you are. I hope everything was to your liking.’

As if she were free to complain. ‘It was.’

Two places were set at the end of a long table, across from each other, leaving the head of the table, with its larger chair, empty. Lord Brentmore’s seat, obviously.

Mr Parker helped her into her seat and signalled to another waiting footman. ‘We shall be served in a moment. May I pour you some wine?’

‘Certainly.’ She glanced about the room, as wainscoted as the rest of the house she’d seen. Were there any rooms with plastered walls and colourful wall coverings? The only attempt at brightness in this room was a huge tapestry that covered the wall behind the table’s head. Its faded colours told the story of a hunt that must have taken place at least two centuries ago. The sideboard held gleaming silver serving dishes, which, she suspected, would not be used to serve a man of business and a governess.

Mr Parker raised his glass. ‘Here is to Brentmore, your new home.’

It was hard to imagine this place, both grand and dismal, ever feeling like home. Home was Lawton House. And the small cottage she sometimes shared with her parents.

‘To Brentmore,’ she murmured.

A footman brought in a tureen of soup and served them.

Mr Parker tasted the soup and nodded his approval. Anna ought to be starving after her day of travel with only quick meals at posting inns, but sipping the soup was more formality than famish.

‘Tomorrow before I leave I will make certain Mrs Tippen knows you need a tour of the house and grounds.’ He took another spoonful.

She looked up at him. ‘Before you leave? You are leaving tomorrow?’

He nodded. ‘Lord Brentmore wishes me to return to town as soon as possible.’

Did Lord Brentmore not feel the children needed some transition? Even if Mr Parker did not involve himself in their care, he must be a familiar figure to them.

She pursed her lips. ‘I suppose the marquess’s needs are greater than the children’s.’

His spoon stopped in mid-air. ‘The children? The children do not need me here. Oh, no, no, no. All I’ve done is see to the former governess’s burial. She had no family to speak of, so it was entirely up to me. The nurse takes care of the children.’ He cocked his head. ‘You met her, I hope. She was to have presented herself to you.’

‘She did.’ She frowned. ‘Have you had nothing to do with the children at all? Did you not speak with them and tell them that you were attending to the burial?’

His brows rose. ‘Their nurse took care of that. I thought it best not to disrupt their routine.’

Disrupt their routine? Their governess died, for goodness’ sake. That was a disruption. She’d better say no more about that, lest she really lose her temper.

The footman brought turbot for the next course.

‘What can you tell me about the children?’ Anna asked.

‘Not a great deal.’ Mr Parker dug his fork into the fish. ‘I understand they are easy to manage.’

She needed to learn something about them. ‘Their mother died, did she not?’

He glanced down at his plate. ‘Yes. A little over a year ago. It happened here. A riding accident.’

‘Here?’ She swallowed. ‘The children must have been very affected.’

He took a bite. ‘I suppose they were.’

Anna expelled an exasperated breath. This man knew nothing of the children. ‘Tell me about their mother. Did you know her?’

He froze, then put down his fork. ‘I cannot say I knew her. She was …’ He paused. ‘Very beautiful.’

That told her nothing.

His voice stiffened. ‘You should ask Lord Brentmore about his wife. It is not my place to discuss such matters.’

She thought she was discussing Lady Brentmore and her children. Not the lady’s husband.

‘Was Lord Brentmore here when his wife died?’ She hoped so for the children’s sake.

‘He was abroad.’ Mr Parker took another bite. ‘Finishing up his diplomatic mission.’ He followed with a sip of wine. ‘He did travel back as soon as he could.’

That was something, at least. ‘I did not realise he was involved in diplomacy.’

‘During the war and Napoleon’s first exile.’ Mr Parker relaxed. ‘Very hush-hush, you know.’

She had a sudden vision of the marquess moving through dark alleys, meeting dangerous men. ‘He was away a great deal?’

‘For very long periods. I managed his affairs for him and the estate business while he was absent.’ He said this with a great deal of pride.

She supposed that the marquess’s absence from his children might be forgiven while he performed the King’s service. Perhaps she could not expect that every father show the same sort of devotion Lord Lawton lavished on Charlotte. Anna’s father certainly never showed her much affection. He’d always resented her living with Charlotte in the House, she’d supposed.

But surely the marquess must see how painful it would be for his children to lose their mother and their governess. Why had the man not come to comfort them? Why had he sent his man of business instead?

She only hoped her woeful lack of experience would not cause the poor little ones more trouble and sadness.

For the rest of the meal, Anna fell back on the conversational skills she and Charlotte had practised to prepare for Charlotte’s come out. Making pleasant conversation when one’s nerves were all in disorder was an achievement, indeed.

By the last course, however, all she desired was solitude. ‘Mr Parker, I wonder if you would excuse me. I am suddenly very fatigued. I believe I shall retire for the night.’

His expression turned solicitous. ‘Of course you are fatigued. A day’s carriage ride is vastly tiring.’

She rose from her chair and he stood, as well.

‘In fact,’ he went on, ‘I will bid farewell to you now. I am leaving as soon as the sun rises.’

She extended her hand to shake his. ‘I wish you a safe trip.’

She returned to her room and readied herself for bed without summoning Eppy to assist her. After washing up and changing into her nightdress, she extinguished the candles and sat for a long time in a chair, staring out the window overlooking extensive gardens, landscaped so naturally she wondered if they had been designed by Inigo Jones.

Beautiful, but unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath and forced her emotions to calm. She must accept what she could not change.

* * *

The next morning Anna woke to the sun shining in her window. She rose, stretched her arms and gazed out her window. The sky was clear blue and cloudless and the country air smelled every bit as wonderful as at home—at Lawton, she meant. This was home now.

When a maid entered to feed the fire in her fireplace, Anna introduced herself and asked the girl to have Eppy attend her when it was convenient.

A quarter-hour later, Eppy knocked on her door. ‘Good morning, miss,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Are you ready for me?’

Anna had already washed and donned a gown. ‘I just need a little assistance with the laces.’

‘Certainly!’ Eppy tightened her laces.

Anna looked over her shoulder. ‘Are the children awake?’

‘They are indeed, miss. Eating their breakfast in the nursery.’ She tied a bow.

‘I am anxious to make their acquaintance.’ Best to jump in right away.

Eppy frowned. ‘You are supposed to tour the house. Mrs Tippen was very clear about that.’

‘Do the children know I am here?’ she asked.

Eppy lowered her head. ‘I told them. I could not keep it secret any more.’

‘You did right, Eppy,’ Anna told her. ‘But I’ll not keep them wondering another minute. The tour of the house can wait.’

She followed Eppy to the nursery.

‘I’ve brought someone to meet you,’ Eppy called out as she entered the room. She turned to the doorway. ‘Your new governess.’

Anna put on a brave smile. ‘Good morning! I am Miss Hill.’

All she saw at first were two small faces with wide eyes. Both sat ramrod straight in their chairs. The little boy was dark like his father; the girl so fair she looked like a pixie.

Anna approached slowly. ‘I’ll wager you did not expect a new governess today.’

The girl relaxed a bit, smiling tentatively.

Anna turned to Eppy. ‘Will you do the introductions, Eppy? I should like to know these children.’

Eppy hurried over.

‘Miss Hill, may I present Lord Calmount.’ She squeezed his shoulder fondly. ‘We call him Cal.’

‘You call him Lord Cal,’ the girl corrected.

Eppy grinned. ‘That I do, because I’m your nurse.’

‘Do you know what you wish me to call you?’ Anna asked the boy.

His eyes remained fixed on her.

His sister answered. ‘He likes Cal or Lord Cal.’

Anna smiled at both of them. ‘Very well.’

Eppy put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and shook her fondly. ‘This little imp is Lady Dorothea—’

‘Dory,’ the little girl piped up.

‘Dory,’ Anna repeated. She looked at each one in turn. ‘And Lord Cal. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.’

Lord Cal remained as stiff as before, but little Dory now squirmed in her chair.

‘What plans did you have today,’ Anna asked, ‘if I had not arrived so suddenly?’

‘Cal said you came last night,’ Dory said. ‘He peeked out the door and he said you were our new governess, but how he knew we were to have a new governess, I cannot say.’ Her expression turned solemn. ‘Our other one died.’

Anna matched her seriousness. ‘I know that. That must have been dreadful for you.’

The girl nodded.

Anna sat in a chair opposite them. ‘Lord Cal was very clever to learn of my arrival and to figure out who I was.’

A look of anxiety flashed through the boy’s eyes.

She faced him directly. ‘I greatly admire cleverness.’

She thought she saw surprise replace the anxiety in his eyes. Eppy had not been exaggerating about him being very quiet. Up close he appeared to be a miniature version of his father. The same eyes that bore into you. The sensitive mouth. The nearly imperceptible cleft in his chin.

The same austere expression.

She smiled at him. ‘Lord Cal. You look a great deal like your father.’

He glanced away.

‘Do you know our father?’ Dory asked, eyes wide again. She acted as if her father was some mysterious legend she’d only heard about.

Anna turned to her. ‘It was your father who decided that I should be your governess.’

The girl’s eyes grew even wider. ‘He did?’

‘He did,’ Anna said firmly. She pointed to their breakfast plates with remnants of bread crusts and jam. ‘I see you are finishing your breakfast. I have not yet eaten my breakfast. I wanted to come meet you right away.’ She also needed a tour of the house and grounds. ‘I will leave you for a little while, but I have an idea, if you both should like it.’

Dory leaned forwards, all curiosity. Cal at least turned his gaze back to her.

‘I must have a tour of the house and grounds and I wondered if you would come with me. I would love to see this lovely place with you.’

Dory popped up. ‘We would!’ She thought to check with her brother. ‘Wouldn’t we, Cal?’

The boy apparently gave his sister his approval, although its communication was imperceptible to Anna.

Proud of herself for thinking of bringing the children on the tour with her, Anna left them to go in search of her breakfast and the waiting Mrs Tippen.

The footman in the hall directed her to a parlour with a sideboard filled with food. Although the parlour had the same wainscoted walls as the rest of the house she had seen, it had a large window facing east. The room was aglow with sunshine. She selected an egg and bread and cheese, and poured herself a cup of tea.

No sooner had she started eating when a scowling Mrs Tippen entered the room. ‘I expected you earlier.’

Mrs Tippen’s disapproval continued, apparently. What could be the source of such antipathy? The woman did not even know her.

Anna understood the servant hierarchy in country houses, having grown up in one. She knew a housekeeper would consider herself second only to the butler in overseeing the servants, but a governess would not be under her control. Was that what Mrs Tippen resented?

Anna lifted her chin. ‘Good morning, Mrs Tippen,’ she said in as mild a tone as she could manage. ‘If there was an urgency about touring the house, I was not informed of it. In any event, my duties are to the children. I needed to meet them right away.’

The woman sniffed. ‘I have many responsibilities. I will not be kept waiting by a governess.’

Anna gave her a steady gaze. ‘I grew up in a house much like this one and I am well aware of the housekeeper’s responsibilities. I did not ask you to wait for me, however. It matters not to me when I see the house and grounds. Name me a time convenient to you—’

‘A half-hour ago was convenient for me,’ Mrs Tippen snapped.

Anna held up a hand. ‘You will address me respectfully, Mrs Tippen. As I will address you.’ Goodness. She sounded exactly like Lady Lawton reprimanding a servant. ‘I will be ready in an hour for the house tour. If that will not do, name a time and I will accommodate you. We are done discussing this, however.’

Mrs Tippen turned on her heel and left the room.

Anna took a sip of tea and fought to dampen her anger. The last thing she desired was to be engaged in a battle. She was no threat to a housekeeper. She was no threat to anyone.

An hour later Anna and the children waited in the entrance hall. Anna half-hoped Mrs Tippen would not show. In that event, Anna had already decided she’d ask the children to show her the house. She wished she’d thought of that earlier. It would certainly be more enjoyable than enduring Mrs Tippen’s company.

It was Mr Tippen, the butler, who presented himself, which was hardly better than his wife. Mr Tippen reminded Anna of an engraving she had once seen of Matthew Hopkins, the witch-hunter. Mr Tippen resembled him, with his long, narrow face and pointed chin. Put him in a capotain hat, cover his chin with a beard and the picture would be complete.

He frowned down on the children.

Anna spoke up in their defence. ‘The children will accompany me on the tour, Mr Tippen.’

His nose rose higher. ‘The marchioness preferred the children to stay in their wing.’

‘The marchioness?’ Anna was confused.

‘Lady Brentmore.’

But Lady Brentmore was dead. How insensitive of him to mention her in front of the children.

Anna straightened. ‘I am in complete charge of the children now, am I not?’

One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘So Mr Parker informed us.’

‘Well, then.’ She smiled. ‘Shall we get started?’

Lord Cal stared at the floor, looking as if he wished it would open up and swallow him.

Dory took Anna’s hand and pulled her down to whisper in her ear. ‘You were insolent to Mr Tippen!’

She whispered back, ‘Not insolent.’ What a big word for a five-year-old. ‘I am in charge of you. Your father said so.’

Cal’s head snapped up.

The little girl’s eyes grew wide. ‘He did?’

‘He did,’ Anna repeated.

Mr Tippen began the tour in the formal parlour where hung a portrait of the late marchioness, fair like her daughter, and beautiful, as Mr Parker had said. She looked regal and aloof, and also as if she could step out of the canvas and give them all a noble dressing down.

The children, poor dears, barely looked at the portrait.

Anna directed their attention to a portrait of their father on the opposite wall.

‘This looks very like your father!’ she exclaimed, mostly because their late mother’s image obviously upset them. Lord Brentmore’s portrait, though of him younger and leaner, perfectly conveyed his sternness, but there was also a sad yearning in his eyes that tugged at her heart. His son’s eyes carried that same sadness, she realised, but the boy looked as if he’d given up yearning for anything. Anna’s heart bled for the child. How could she help him? she wondered.

Lord Brentmore’s voice came back to her. Provide my children what they need. Make them happy.

How could she make them happy?

As the tour continued Mr Tippen turned out to be a competent guide, able to explain the family connections in the myriad of portraits and other paintings all through the house. He proved knowledgeable about the furnishings and about the house’s history, when parts of it were built and by which Lord Brentmore.

The children remained extraordinarily quiet, gaping at everything as if seeing it for the first time. How often had the children seen these rooms? Surely they had not been always confined to the nursery.

Mr Tippen, opening a door that led to the garden, seemed to read her mind. ‘As you have seen, these rooms are filled with priceless family treasures, Miss Hill. They are not play areas. The children are not allowed in them—’

Anna stood her ground. ‘If you are attempting to tell me how to manage the children, Mr Tippen, you would do better to be silent.’

Dory was holding Anna’s hand. The little girl squeezed it and grinned up at her.

Anna grinned back. She was being insolent again.

She only hoped it did not make matters worse for all of them.

Chapter Three

Brent walked with his cousin up Bond Street, heading towards Somerset Street, where Baron Rolfe had taken rooms for the Season.

‘I do not know why I let you talk me into this, Peter.’

Peter’s grandfather had been the old marquess’s younger brother, making Peter and Brent second cousins. The two of them were all that was left of the Caine family.

Besides Brent’s children, that was.

‘All I am asking of you is to meet her,’ Peter responded.

They were to dine with Lord and Lady Rolfe, and, more importantly, Miss Susan Rolfe, their daughter.

Almost a month had gone by before Peter again broached the topic of Brent marrying again. Peter considered Miss Rolfe the perfect match for Brent.

The Rolfe estate bordered Peter’s property and Peter had known this family his whole life, had practically lived in their pockets since his own parents passed away. Brent was slightly acquainted with Baron Rolfe, but he could not recall if he had ever met the man’s wife or the daughter.

‘You could not find a finer woman,’ Peter insisted.

Yes. Yes. So Peter had said. Many times.

His cousin went on. ‘You need marriage to a respectable woman. It will counteract the unfortunate scandal that surrounds you.’

Brent averted his gaze. This was exactly what Brent had told himself before his first marriage. Eunice, he’d thought, had been the epitome of a good match.

In the end she’d only compounded the scandal.

Peter glanced around, as if a passer-by might overhear him. ‘There are those who still believe your blood is tainted because of your poor Irish mother. Some claim that is why Eunice was unfaithful.’

Brent’s gaze snapped back.

His grandfather had hammered it into him that his blood was tainted by his mother, the daughter of a poor Irish tenant farmer. Brent could still hear Eunice’s diatribe on the subject, which had indeed been her justification for blatant infidelity.

Brent remembered only a smiling face, warm arms encircling him and a sweet voice singing a lullaby. He felt the ache of a loss that was over a quarter-century old.

‘Take care, Peter,’ he shot back, his voice turning dark and dangerous.

His cousin merely returned a sympathetic look. ‘You know I do not credit such things, but your children are bound to hear this same gossip some day, as well as stories of their mother. These will be heavy burdens for them to bear. You need to do something to counter them or they will grow up suffering the same taunts and cuts that you have suffered.’

Peter rarely talked so plainly.

Brent held his cousin’s gaze. ‘My one marriage certainly did nothing to increase my respectability.’

He’d stayed away from Eunice as much as possible for the children’s sake. There was no reason the poor babes should hear them constantly shouting at each other.

He’d been completely besotted by Eunice from their first meeting. She’d been the Diamond of the Season, the daughter of a peer, the perfect match for a new marquess, and she’d accepted his suit.

After marriage, however, Brent learned it was his title and wealth that had value to her. The day he’d held their newborn son in his arms, thinking himself the most fortunate man in the world, Eunice had told him how happy she was that her duty was done. Now they were free to pursue other interests. After that her interests—her infidelities, that is—kept tongues wagging.

At least the war offered him ample opportunity to stay away from her.

Unfortunately, it had also kept him away from his son.

Brent consoled himself that most aristocrats had little to do with their children, instead hiring nurses, governesses and tutors, sending them away to schools and seeing them only at brief intervals until the children were old enough to be civilised, the way the old marquess had reared him. How he had spent his early years was considered strange—suckled by his own mother, cared for by his Irish grandfather in a one-room, windowless mud cabin.

Brent and Peter reached Oxford Street, a lifetime away from the land of Brent’s birth.

He turned his attention back to the present. ‘Peter, what makes you think another marriage would not make matters worse?’

In no way would Brent allow his heart to again become engaged as it had done with Eunice. It had cut to the core that she’d married the title and scorned the man.

Peter responded once they were on the other side of Oxford Street. ‘Marry a woman of high moral character this time. A woman whose own reputation is unblemished and who can be trusted to be a faithful wife and attentive mother.’ He glanced away and back. ‘Miss Rolfe is all these things.’

Brent kept his eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. ‘What makes you think Miss Rolfe will accept me?’

‘Because you are a good man,’ Peter said simply.

Brent rolled his eyes. ‘You may be alone in believing that.’

‘And because you could be such a help to her family.’ The young man’s tone was earnest.

At least it was out in the open this time. Miss Rolfe needed to marry into wealth. Her father was only a hair’s breadth away from the River Tick, and the man had a huge family to support—two sons and two more daughters, all younger than Miss Rolfe. Brent’s money was needed to save Rolfe from complete ruin.

‘Ah, yes.’ Brent nodded. ‘My wealth is greatly desired.’

‘By a worthy man,’ Peter emphasised. ‘The most important thing is Miss Rolfe will make a good mother to your children.’

His children. The only reason he’d consider this idea of marriage. Brent might not see his children frequently. He might not keep them at his side like his Irish grandfather kept him, but he wanted the best for them.

‘Speaking of your children, how is the new governess working out?’ Peter asked.

Brent welcomed the change in subject, although it pricked at his guilt even more. She’d sent him one letter shortly after her arrival at Brentmore, but he’d not written back to enquire further.

‘Fairly well, last I heard.’ Was the passionate Miss Hill making the children happy? He certainly hoped so.

Perhaps he would write to her tomorrow to ask if the children needed anything that he could provide. He had no clue as to what his children might need or desire. He’d tried to keep their lives as quiet and comfortable and unchanged as he could, knowing firsthand how jarring too much change could be. That was why he’d left them at Brentmore Hall, to disrupt their peace as little as possible with his presence.

Who could have guessed their old governess would die? He’d not protected them at all from that trauma. How difficult for them that the woman’s death to come so soon after their mother’s accident.

If a second marriage could accomplish all Peter said, how could Brent refuse? If Miss Rolfe was indeed the paragon Peter vowed she was, perhaps she could give the children a better life.

He and Peter turned on to Somerset Street and knocked upon Lord Rolfe’s door. A footman opened the door and a few minutes later led them to the drawing room and announced them to the Rolfes.

Baron Rolfe immediately crossed the room to greet them. ‘Lord Brentmore, it is a delight to have your company.’ He shook Brent’s hand. ‘Peter, it is always good to see you.’ He turned to two ladies who stood behind him. ‘Allow me to present you to my wife and daughter.’

The wife was a pleasant-looking woman, the sort whose face just naturally smiled. She was soft spoken and gracious.

The daughter had a quiet sort of beauty. Her hair was a nondescript brown, her eyes a pale blue, her features even. There was nothing to object to in her. Brent gave her credit for being remarkably composed in the face of being looked over by a marquess as if she were a bauble in some shop.

‘I am pleased to meet you, my lord.’ She had a pleasant voice, not musical, perhaps, but not grating. ‘Peter has told me so much about you.’

He hoped Peter had told her everything. He’d learned the hard way it did not pay to assume she already knew. He’d assumed Eunice had known of his early life. After their marriage when she’d learned of it, she’d been shocked and appalled.

‘I am pleased to meet you as well, Miss Rolfe.’ He bowed.

He ought to say something witty or charming, but he was not trying to impress. If this idea of Peter’s was to work, Miss Rolfe must know him as he was. There should be no illusions.

They sipped sherry as they waited for dinner to be served. Conversation was pleasant and amiable. Brent liked that these people were very fond of his cousin and were as comfortable as they were in his presence. He was supposed to be the family’s salvation, after all, but they refrained from fawning over him and labouring to earn his regard.

The dinner proceeded in like manner. He was seated next to Miss Rolfe, which gave him an opportunity to share conversation with her alone. She, too, retained her poise, although she did shoot occasional glances to Peter, for his encouragement or approval, Brent supposed.

When dinner was done, Brent broke with the convention of the gentlemen remaining at the table for brandy and the ladies retiring to the drawing room.

‘May I speak with Miss Rolfe alone?’ he asked instead.

‘Of course,’ Lord Rolfe said.

Miss Rolfe glanced at Peter before saying, ‘I would be delighted.’

Brent and Miss Rolfe returned to the drawing room.

She went to a cabinet and took out a decanter. ‘My lord, would you like a glass of brandy as we speak?’

He was grateful. ‘I would indeed.’

She poured his glass and settled herself on the sofa.

He chose a chair facing her. ‘It is clear that Peter discussed this matter with you and your parents, as he did with me.’

She lowered her eyes. ‘He did.’

‘I need to know your thoughts on this.’ She had to be fully on board with the scheme or he would not proceed.

She raised her head and gave him a direct look. ‘It is a reality that I must marry well …’ She paused. ‘It is also a reality that my prospects to marry well are very slim. My dowry is very modest—’

He put up a hand. ‘Money means nothing to me.’

She smiled. ‘Actually, money means nothing to me, either. It is far more important to me to marry a good man.’ Her gaze faltered. ‘Peter—Peter assures me you are such a man.’

He glanced away. ‘It is important to me that you realise precisely what you are agreeing to.’

‘Peter was quite forthright.’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I know about your Irish parentage and your wife’s infidelities. I also know that you keep your word and pay your creditors and fulfil your responsibilities to your tenants, your servants, and your country.’

He felt his cheeks warming. ‘That is high praise.’

She lowered her lashes. ‘It is what Peter told me.’

All Brent truly did was what any decent man should do. It seemed no great thing to him.

He changed the subject. ‘What of children?’

Her cheeks turned pink. ‘Our children?’

Lawd. He had not thought that far.

‘You shall, of course, have children, if you wish it.’ He could not contemplate bedding her, not at the moment. There was nothing about her to repulse, however. He could imagine becoming fond of her in time. ‘What I meant was your feelings about my children. Are you willing to take charge of them and rear them as your own?’

Her hands fidgeted, twisting the fabric of her skirts. ‘If you think they would accept me in that role.’

He had no idea. Sadly, his children were strangers to him.

She spoke more confidently. ‘I am the eldest of five. I am certainly well used to the company of children. I would try my best for yours.’

The words of his new governess came back to him—I would please you, my lord. I am certain I would—spoken with a passion Miss Rolfe lacked.

Perhaps that was fortunate. Passion must not be a part of this decision.

‘Do you have any questions for me?’ he asked her.

She tilted her head in thought. ‘I need your assurance that you will help my family, that you will help launch my brothers and sisters if my father is unable to do so. My father will repay you if he can—’

He waved a hand. ‘I do not require repayment.’

‘He will desire to, none the less.’

Brent had made enquiries about Lord Rolfe. His debts appeared to be honest ones—crop failures and such. His needs were a far cry from Eunice’s father’s incessant demands that Brent pay his gambling debts.

Brent shrugged. ‘I am well able to assist your family in whatever way they require.’

‘That is all I need,’ she said, her voice low.

He stood. ‘What I suggest, then, is that we see more of each other. To be certain this will suit us both. If you are free tomorrow, I will take you for a turn in Hyde Park.’

She rose as well. ‘That would give me pleasure.’

Brent ignored the sick feeling inside him and tried to sound cheerful. ‘Shall we seek out your parents? And let Peter know his scheme might very well bear fruit?’

She blinked rapidly and he wondered if she was as comfortable with this idea as she let on.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Let us tell my parents … and Peter.’

‘We do not need a physician!’ Anna was beyond furious.

Three weeks in her new position had also meant three weeks of battling Mrs Tippen, who seemed intent on keeping things exactly as her late marchioness had wanted them.

‘I have sent for him and that is that.’ Mrs Tippen gave her a triumphant glare. ‘We cannot have you endangering the children like this.’

‘Endangering!’ Anna glared back. ‘The boy was running. He fell and cut his chin on a rock. He has a cut, that is all!’

‘That is all you think,’ the housekeeper retorted. ‘You are not a physician.’

‘And you are not in charge of the children!’ Anna retorted.

From all she’d heard this woman had never expressed concern when the children were kept virtual prisoners in the nursery, rarely going out of doors.

Anna glared at her. ‘If you have something to say about them, you will say it to me. Is that clear?’

Mrs Tippen remained unrepentant. ‘You may bet Lord Brentmore will hear about this.’

Anna leaned into the woman’s face. ‘You may be assured Lord Brentmore will hear about this! He gave me the charge of the children, not you.’

Mrs Tippen smirked and made a mocking curtsy before striding away.

Anna bit her lip as she watched the woman. Would Lord Brentmore believe the housekeeper over her? What would he think if Mrs Tippen reported that the new governess behaved in a careless fashion and allowed his son to fall and injure himself?

She and the children had been playing a game of tag on the lawn when Lord Cal tripped and fell. It had frightened him more than anything. A small cut right on his chin produced enough blood to thoroughly alarm his sister. Dory wailed loudly enough to be heard in the next county.

Anna had to admit she’d been alarmed herself. She’d scooped him up and carried him back to the house, but a closer examination showed the injury to be quite minor. She wrapped him in bandages and told the children about men in India who wore turbans for hats. Soon he and Dory were looking in a book with engravings of India and calm had been restored.

Until two hours later when Mrs Tippen informed her that the physician had arrived.

Trying to damp down her anger, Anna strode to the drawing room where the doctor waited.

She entered the room. ‘Doctor Stoke, I am Miss Hill. The children’s new governess.’

He stood and nodded curtly. ‘Miss Hill.’ The man was shorter than Anna, stick-thin, with pinched features and a haughty air. ‘Inform me of the injury, please.’

‘I fear you’ve made an unnecessary trip.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Lord Calmount fell outside and suffered a tiny cut to his chin.’

‘A head injury?’ The doctor’s brows rose. ‘Did the boy become insensible?’

‘No, not at all,’ she assured him. ‘It was not a head injury. Just a minor mishap, needing no more than a bandage—’

He broke in. ‘Are you certain he did not pass out? Were you watching? A blow to the head can have dire consequences. Dire consequences.’

What had Tippen told him?

She gave the doctor a direct look. ‘He did not pass out and he did not suffer a blow to his head. I was right there beside him. He fell and cut his chin on a rock.’

He responded with a sceptical expression. ‘I must examine the boy immediately.’

‘Certainly.’

She led Dr. Stoke up the stairs to the nursery wing.

‘How old is the boy?’ he asked as they walked.

He’d not asked the child’s name, she noticed. ‘Lord Calmount is seven years old.’

She led him to the schoolroom where she’d left the children with Eppy to draw pictures of Indian men in turbans in their sketch books.

Anna made certain she entered the room first. She approached Cal and spoke in a soft, calm voice. ‘Lord Cal, here is Doctor Stoke. Mrs Tippen sent for him to examine your head so we may be certain it is only a very little cut.’

Cal gripped his pencil and glanced warily at the doctor.

‘Hello, young man!’ Doctor Stoke spoke with false cheer. ‘Let me see that head of yours.’

The doctor reached for his head and Cal shrank back.

‘None of that now,’ the doctor said sharply, pulling off the bandages.

Cal panicked and pushed the man and soon was flailing with both fists and feet.

‘No!’ Dory caught her brother’s fear and pulled on the doctor’s coat to get him off. ‘Don’t take his turban! He wants to keep it!’

‘Lord Cal! Dory! Stop it this instant!’ She’d never seen them this way. She turned to Eppy. ‘Take Dory out of here!’

Eppy carried a screaming Dory from the room.

Anna pulled the physician away and placed herself between him and Lord Cal. ‘Cal, it is all right. The doctor will not hurt you. He wants to look at your cut and then we will make a new turban.’

Cal shook his head.

‘Are you in pain?’ Doctor Stoke demanded of the boy.

Cal, of course, did not answer. He pressed his hands against his chin.

It took a great deal of coaxing on Anna’s part, but finally Cal allowed her to coax his fingers away and show the physician the cut. It had stopped bleeding and looked all right to Anna. She doubted it would even leave a scar.

The doctor then tried other examinations, like having the boy follow his finger as it moved side to side and up and down. Lord Cal refused. Cal also refused to answer any questions put to him, even those that could be answered with a nod of his head.

Doctor Stoke made no secret of his impatience with the boy. He finally gestured for Anna to leave the room with him.

‘Come to the drawing room,’ Anna said. ‘We can speak more comfortably there.’

He was grim-faced as they walked to the drawing room, a room nearly as gloomy as the man himself.

Doctor Stoke stood stiffly as he faced Anna. ‘How long has the boy been this way?’

‘I think he was frightened,’ she explained. ‘It was a surprise to him that you came and he is not used to strangers.’

The physician pursed his lips disapprovingly. ‘It was a mania.’

‘A mania?’ How ridiculous. ‘It was a temper tantrum.’

He held up a halting hand. ‘No. No. Definitely a disorder of the mind.’

‘Nonsense!’

He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his mouth. ‘I feel it my obligation to inform Lord Brentmore that his son is lapsing into lunacy. I’ve seen this happen before—’

‘Lord Cal is not a lunatic!’ she cried.

He tilted his head condescendingly. ‘Ah, but you cannot deny the boy is prone to fits and is mute—’

‘He is not mute!’ she responded. ‘He merely doesn’t talk.’

The doctor smirked again. ‘The very definition of mutism. I will write to the marquess this very day and inform him of this unfortunate circumstance. I will, of course, recommend the very best asylums. I know just the place. The child needs expert care.’

Anna’s anxiety shot up. ‘You will not write to Lord Brentmore!’

The doctor’s mouth twisted in defiance.

She had to stop this! Who knew what Lord Brentmore would think if such a letter came his way?

She changed tactics. ‘I mean, this is not something for a father to read in a letter. Lord Brentmore … Lord Brentmore is … is due to arrive here very soon. You should speak to him in person. Surely there is no harm for the boy to remain a few more days at home. We … we will watch him carefully.’

Doctor Stoke averted his gaze as if thinking.

‘I—I am certain it would be a good thing to meet the marquess in person. He is bound to have questions only you can answer.’

The doctor turned back to her. ‘Very well. I will wait. Two weeks, no more. After two weeks I will summon the marquess myself.’

No sooner had the doctor left than Anna hurried to the library for pen and paper. She must write to Lord Brentmore immediately and convince him to come to Brentmore Hall.

Lord Cal was no lunatic! He was merely a frightened and timid boy who needed time to emerge from his shell. He was like Charlotte had been, although Lord Cal had no doting parents to support him. Lord Cal’s parents had been anything but doting.

This time Lord Brentmore must not neglect his parental duty. He must come! Anna would show him his son was a normal little boy, albeit an unhappy one. He would see for himself his son was no lunatic.

She laboured to word her letter carefully.

After three tries, she composed the letter as well as she could. She ended it with: You must come, Lord Brentmore. You must. Your son needs you.

Four days passed, too soon to hear back from Lord Brentmore. If he answered her right away, his letter could arrive tomorrow. Meanwhile she would do what she’d been doing since the doctor’s ridiculous call. Keep the children busy.

Today they were outside again, taking advantage of glorious blue skies and bright sunshine. The weather had been cool for early June, but today the sun felt deliciously warm.

Anna dressed the children in old clothes, old gloves and perched wide-brimmed straw hats on them. She marched them outside to a small square near the kitchen garden that the gardener had prepared for planting at her request.

She and Charlotte had loved planting seeds and watching them grow into beautiful flowers, so why would Lord Cal and Dory not like such an activity as well? Besides, they had been so confined, it would be lovely for them to get a little dirty.

She made the whole enterprise a school lesson. In the school room they had read books about how plants grew from seeds. She’d discussed with the gardener what they might plant. He had suggested vegetables instead of flowers. Boys, he said, would value vegetables over flowers.

An excellent idea! Much more appealing to the practical Lord Cal, she was sure. Plus, eventually they could eat what they planted.

‘We’re going to plant peas and radishes and we are going to care for the plants until they are ready for eating,’ Anna told the children as they walked towards the small plot of tilled earth.

As they reached the garden plot, a man stepped forwards. ‘Good morning, miss.’

Anna smiled at him. ‘This is your gardener, Mr Willis.’ Mr Willis, a kindly man with children of his own, had proved a willing participant. ‘Mr Willis, Lord Calmount and Lady Dory.’

Mr Willis had told her that he’d rarely even glimpsed the children up to now, even though he’d worked on the estate their whole lives.

Anna’s anger burned at the thought of these children living as recluses. They’d been sheltered, clothed and fed, but not much more from what she could tell.

She had a theory about why Lord Cal had ceased speaking. It was not out of lunacy—he’d stopped speaking because no one but his sister had been there to listen to him.

‘Are you ready for planting, then?’ Mr Willis said.

‘We are, sir,’ Dory replied.

The gardener handed each of the children a small shovel. He showed them two wooden bowls.

Pointing to one, he said, ‘These are the radish seeds.’ He put one seed in each of their hands. ‘See? It is brown and it looks a little like a pebble, does it not?’

‘It does look like a tiny pebble!’ Dory cried.

Cal placed his seed between his fingers and examined it up close.

Mr Willis put his hand out to collect the seeds, replacing them with two other ones. ‘Now these seeds look a little different. Can you tell what they are?’

Cal looked at his seed and quickly put a smug expression on his face.

‘They look like old peas!’ Dory said.

The gardener stooped down to her level. ‘That is because that is what they are. The peas you eat are really seeds.’

Soon Mr Willis had them digging troughs in the dirt with their shovels. Next he showed them how to plant the seeds, starting with one row of peas, alternating with one row of radishes.

Soon they were happily placing the seeds in the trough and carefully covering them with soil. Anna was pleased that Cal participated in the activity with enthusiasm. She gazed at him, so absorbed in his planting and looking for all the world like a normal boy.

He needed time, she was convinced. Would his father give him time or would he lock him away in an asylum? Who was she to know better what a boy needed than a trained physician?

But she did know.

Would Lord Brentmore see his son as she did? Would he trust her to bring the boy out of his bashfulness? She could do it, she knew. She’d done it for Charlotte.

Charlotte.

Sometimes she missed Charlotte so much it hurt. She missed talking to her, confiding in her, laughing with her. There was no one here at Brentmore to talk to. Sometimes at night she wanted to weep out of loneliness.

And yet worse than the loneliness was the worry that Lord Brentmore would discharge her for being so brazen as to tell him and a physician what they should do. What would she do if she lost this lonely job?

Suddenly a shadow fell over her and a man’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Why are my children digging in the dirt?’

Mr Willis snapped to attention and the children froze.

Anna turned and faced an enraged Lord Brentmore.

‘My lord.’ She made her voice calm, though her legs trembled. ‘We are engaged in a botany lesson. We are planting peas and radishes.’

The children dropped their seeds and scampered behind her skirts.

‘My children will not dig in dirt.’ His voice shook with an anger that mystified her. What was wrong with planting a garden?

‘Let me explain,’ she began in a mollifying tone. ‘We would not wish to frighten the children, would we?’

His eyes flashed.

She must take care. ‘This is a botany lesson. Your children are learning how plants grow. We’ve read about it in books and now we are going to see how seeds grow into food we can eat.’

He looked no less displeased.

Her own temper rose. ‘Your children are engaged in a useful occupation out of doors, in the fresh air, and are wearing old clothes which can be laundered. How is it you object to this, my lord?’

From behind her she heard Dory gasp. She felt Cal’s grip on her skirt.

Lord Brentmore’s eyes held hers for a long moment and she half-feared he was going to strike her.

Still, she refused to look away. It was imperative that the children not feel that enjoying themselves in useful activity was wrong.

His eyes still glittered, but he took a step back. ‘Carry on your lesson, then.’ He continued to hold her gaze. ‘Attend me when you are done, Miss Hill.’

Before she could reply, he turned on his heel and strode back into the house.

None of them moved until he was out of sight.

‘Why is Papa angry?’ Dory cried.

Anna crouched down and gave the little girl a hug. ‘Oh, I think we surprised him, didn’t we? He probably thought Mr Willis and I were making you and Cal work like field labourers!’ She said this as if it were the funniest joke in the world. ‘Come on, let us finish. Mr Willis has the rest of the gardens to tend to.’

Luckily they had almost completed the task. Only two lines required seeding. The joy that had been palpable a few minutes ago had fled, however. Their father had made it vanish.

Anna put her hand to her stomach, trying to calm herself. Here she wanted Lord Brentmore to be her ally in helping Cal, and now she had offended him for planting a garden.

Would she lose her position over a botany lesson, over finding an excuse to take the poor reclusive children out in the fine June air?

Chapter Four

As soon as Brent entered the house, Mrs Tippen was waiting for him. He’d already had an earful from her when he arrived just a few minutes before.

‘Do you see what I mean, sir?’ the housekeeper said. ‘She gives the children free rein over the house, the garden, everywhere! Allows them to get dirty—’

This he did not need. Tippen and her husband had come from Eunice’s father’s estate and had been Eunice’s abettors. He’d never liked either of them.

He leaned down, bringing them face to face. ‘Tend to the house, woman, and keep your nose out of what does not concern you!’

She gasped and backed away.

He pushed past her and made his way to the hall where her husband was in attendance. ‘Bring me some brandy!’ he ordered. ‘In the library.’

The library was about the only room in this house he could stomach. Eunice had possessed little desire to inhabit it, so the only ghost that lingered there was his grandfather’s.

A footman soon appeared at the door with a bottle of brandy and a glass. Brent did not recognise him, but then he’d come to the house so rarely, he did not know half the servants. Eunice had replaced all his grandfather’s old retainers.

Brent grabbed the bottle and glass from the man. ‘Bring me another,’ he ordered. ‘Make that two. While I am here I want a bottle of brandy in the cabinet at all times.’

‘Yes, m’lord,’ the man said.

Brent poured himself a glassful and downed it in one gulp. He poured another.

An hour passed and still Miss Hill had not shown herself. Was the chit defying him? She would regret it if she were.

Brent paced the room, still attempting to calm himself. The sight of his son crouched down on the tilled soil had set him off.

He closed his eyes as memories washed over him. Digging hole after hole after hole, his stomach rumbling with hunger, his bare feet cold from the damp earth. He could still smell the soil, potatoes and manure. He rubbed his arms, his muscles again aching from the work.

By God, his son had looked exactly like him.

He poured another glass of brandy.

Where the devil was Miss Hill? He needed to have this out with her.

One more hour and two more glasses of brandy later, Miss Hill knocked at the door. ‘My lord?’

He’d achieved a semblance of calm, but now his head swam from the drink.

She’d changed from the plain frock she’d worn in the garden to something soft and pink. Wisps of her auburn hair escaped from under a lace cap that framed her face and only made it appear more lovely.

By God, he did not want to be aroused by her! He was angry at her. What had he been thinking to come to this hated place?

He shook himself. His son. He’d come for his son.

‘Come in, Miss Hill.’ He straightened and hoped he would not sway.

She approached him, a wary smile on her face. ‘Forgive my delay, sir. We finished the planting and a great deal of cleaning up was required.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Because you allowed the children to wallow in dirt.’

Her chin rose. ‘Getting dirty is all a part of planting, my lord.’

He closed the distance between them, coming so close the scent of her soap filled his nostrils. ‘I know all about planting, Miss Hill.’

His first ten years of life had taught him.

She stepped back. ‘Yes, well, perhaps then you can explain to me why planting peas and radishes in the kitchen garden made you so angry.’

She was questioning him? She needed to answer to him. ‘Heed me, Miss Hill.’ He glared at her. ‘My son, my—children, are to be reared as a gentleman and lady, not as common serfs.’

She did not back down. ‘It was a botany lesson.’

He held her gaze. ‘It was demeaning.’

She looked incredulous. ‘I do not think planting a garden and watching the plants grow could even remotely be demeaning.’

He slashed his hand through the air. ‘My son does not need to know how to dig holes in order to become a gentleman.’

She countered, ‘But as marquess some day, does he not need to know what effort goes into the crops his lands produce? What labour? What science? That was the intent of the lesson, my lord.’

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