A Wife of Her Choosing

Dominic Granville needs a wife—whether he wants one or not! And governess Serena Somerton intends to find one for him. A marriage of convenience would provide the wealthy widower’s five children with a mother’s tender care. And yet none of Dominic’s prospective brides can meet Serena’s increasingly high standards.

Unconventional, certainly. Outspoken, to be sure. Even so, Miss Somerton’s quirks can’t curb Dominic’s growing interest in the spirited young woman. After his wife’s death, Dominic was sure he couldn’t love again. But faced with the prospect of losing Serena to another, one fact becomes clear. His imperfect governess could be his ideal wife.

“I will do my best for my children in this matter of my remarriage, Miss Somerton, you may rely on that. I am more than conscious that they depend on me—indeed, I would give my life for any of them.”

What on earth had possessed him to say something so dramatic? Blame it on the midnight madness. Serena made a little smothered sound. Dominic raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to comment.

She shook her head. “It’s time I returned to my chamber.” She bent over and kissed Louisa’s forehead. The way she smoothed a lock of his daughter’s hair reminded Dominic of Emily. For one moment, he found himself wanting that touch on his own hair, that tenderness directed at him.

No.

Yet instinctively, he drew closer, and as Serena straightened, she bumped into him. Dominic grasped her arms to steady her. Immediately, he released her.

They stood, staring at each other.

“Good night,” she blurted. And almost ran from the room.

ABBY GAINES

wrote her first romance novel as a teenager, only to have it promptly rejected. A flirtation with a science fiction novel never really got off the ground, so Abby put aside her writing ambitions as she went to college, then began her working life at IBM. When she and her husband had their first baby, Abby worked from home as a freelance business journalist…and soon after that the urge to write romance resurfaced. It was another five long years before Abby sold her first novel to Harlequin Superromance in 2006.

Abby lives with her husband and children—and a labradoodle and a cat—in a house with enough stairs to keep her semifit and a sun-filled office with a sea view that provides inspiration for the funny, tender romances she loves to write. Visit her at www.abbygaines.com.

The Governess and Mr. Granville

Abby Gaines

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!

—Isaiah 43:18–19

For Bridget Latham

With love and best wishes for your new life with Darrell

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Excerpt

Chapter One

Woodbridge Hall, Leicestershire, England, 1816

Dominic Granville seldom troubled himself with the running of his household. He had a spinster sister and a host of servants to take care of that. Besides, he had plenty to occupy him, between his land and its tenants.

Oh, yes, and his children.

His assumption that things would continue very much as they had for the past five years had proved correct. Until today.

Until he’d opened the letter newly arrived from London, fixed with a seal of aristocracy that he remembered from his school days at Eton, but hadn’t had much occasion to see since.

Blast.

Dominic reread the letter, penned in a firm, elegant hand. It said exactly what he thought it had on his first reading.

He tugged the bellpull behind his desk. While he waited for his butler, he scrutinized the letter a third time. How inconvenient.

“Sir?” Molson had a habit of materializing silently; somehow he’d opened the library door without Dominic noticing. Over the years, Dominic had mastered the art of hiding his start of surprise, so now he looked up calmly.

“Is Miss Somerton in the schoolroom?” he asked.

“I believe, sir, Miss Somerton and the children are—” Molson hesitated “—in pursuit of lepidoptera.”

“Chasing butterflies?” Dominic said blankly. “Why?”

“Miss Somerton felt it was an occupation Masters Thomas and William should practice, sir. I believe she called it a lesson in nature sciences.”

“What about the girls?” Dominic asked. “Shouldn’t they be stitching something?”

“Misses Hester, Charlotte and Louisa are also pursuing lepidoptera.”

Dominic frowned. In the past three weeks alone, he’d had to send word to the governess that shrieking outside the library window wasn’t acceptable. That allowing the children to drink lemonade in the billiard room—which, technically, was forbidden territory—left a sticky residue everywhere. Both times, instead of contrition, her response had been to invite him to play with the children. Extraordinary.

When he’d found her timing the children as they slid down the banisters, his instinct had been to dismiss her on the spot. For his sister’s sake—Marianne had hired the woman, and would be distressed at having to replace her—he’d constrained his reaction to the delivery of a stern lecture about safe pursuits.

Maybe today’s letter was timely, after all. “Send Miss Somerton to me as soon as they come inside,” he ordered.

“Certainly, sir.” Molson’s confiding tone said he knew just why Dominic needed to see the governess. The butler glided from the room.

Dominic wondered if he was the last to hear the news. He seldom traveled to London these days, and didn’t read the society pages of the newspaper. Unlike his butler, apparently. He presumed Marianne hadn’t—

A scream from outside the library brought him to his feet. He strode to the door and flung it open.

The entrance hall teemed with people—all five of Dominic’s children, Molson and a footman on his hands and knees, grimacing as he groped behind the oak chest that had been in the family since Elizabethan days. A maid stood pressed against the wall, her hand over her mouth: she must be the screamer. The last participant in this pandemonium was the governess, Miss Serena Somerton, who was patting the maid’s shoulder.

“There, there, Alice,” she soothed. “It was only a lizard. It couldn’t possibly harm you.”

Which told Dominic all he needed to know. “Thomas,” he barked.

Silence fell, sudden and absolute.

Eleven-year-old Thomas stepped forward. “Yes, Papa?”

His twin sister, Hester, younger by thirty minutes, slipped her hand into his. Whatever trouble Thomas was in, Hetty would insist on sharing it. Which made it dashed hard for Dominic to discipline his son.

“Did you bring a lizard inside, Thomas?” he asked.

“Yes, Papa, but it was one I’d never seen before, and it was bright green and it looked right at me.”

“It’s very beautiful,” Hetty said loyally.

The younger girls, Charlotte and Louisa, nodded.

“Only, it escaped,” Thomas explained, as if Dominic might not have guessed.

Dominic rolled his eyes. “Did I not expressly forbid the bringing inside of wildlife because of the pain and inconvenience the household suffers when it escapes, as it invariably does? If my dogs can live outside, so can your lizard.”

A flicker of agreement crossed the face of Gregory, the footman, who was straining to reach farther behind the chest. Seven-year-old William sucked in a tiny breath—either in awe at his brother’s daring to disobey, or in fear of the consequences.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “I’m very sorry.”

With a tiny jerk of his head, Dominic indicated the maid, still being thoroughly shoulder-patted by Miss Somerton.

“I’m very sorry, Alice,” Thomas said.

“I didn’t mind at all, Master Thomas,” the maid lied brazenly, eyeing Dominic as if he was about to take a switch to his son’s behind. “Like you said, it was very pretty.”

Thomas flashed her the charming smile that, more often than not, got him off the hook.

What discipline would Miss Serena Somerton employ against this offense? Dominic wondered. He turned his attention to the governess. Goodness, she looked as if she’d been dragged backward through a bush.

An assortment of leaves and twigs clung to the skirt of her pale gray dress. Her bonnet was decidedly askew, and although Dominic was no expert on fashion, he was fairly certain the blond tresses curled on her shoulders were meant to be inside the bonnet.

And she had a smudge on her nose.

The urge to restore order, to reach out with a handkerchief and wipe away that smudge, was almost overwhelming. But of course, he couldn’t do that.

“Children, could you all please go to the schoolroom immediately.” The governess belatedly recalled her duties. “We will sketch some of the butterflies we observed.” She held up a hand to forestall Thomas’s protest. “I’m sure that when Gregory finds Captain Emerald—” Captain Emerald must be the lizard “—he will take him outside.”

“You’ll put him somewhere safe, Gregory, won’t you?” Thomas pleaded.

“Yes, Master Thomas,” the footman said through gritted teeth.

Dominic suspected Gregory considered the safest place for the lizard to be under the heel of his shoe.

“Miss Somerton, may I see you in the library?” Dominic asked, as the children traipsed upstairs in a semiorderly manner.

“Certainly, Mr. Granville.” She took a step toward him as she began untying the strings of her bonnet, the brim of which had an unmistakable dent.

“I suppose you’ll want to tidy yourself first,” Dominic said.

She looked surprised, but said agreeably, “As you wish.” She lifted the bonnet from her head.

Alice shrieked; Molson made an exclamation, quickly muffled.

Miss Somerton turned to stare at them. “What’s wrong?”

“It appears, Miss Somerton, you have a lizard on your head,” Dominic said.

The green creature (emerald was a gross exaggeration) perched motionless, as if moving might reveal its location to people who hadn’t noticed it.

Dominic braced himself for the governess to fall into a faint; he would be obligated to catch her.

Instead, she stilled, not in panic, but in cautious relief. “Isn’t that just like a lizard?” she said. “I didn’t even feel it, the stealthy little creature!” She beamed at the butler. “Rather like you, Mr. Molson.”

So she, too, found the butler’s ability to materialize out of nowhere disconcerting? Molson appeared to take being compared to a lizard as a compliment; his countenance retained its butlerish impassivity, but his eyes twinkled. Had Dominic observed his butler’s eyes twinkling before?

“I don’t suppose you have a jar you could put over Captain Emerald, Mr. Granville?” Miss Somerton asked.

“No, Miss Somerton, I do not carry a jar on my person for the purpose of trapping lizards on young ladies’ heads.” Dominic stepped closer. “But if you remain still, I hope to pluck it from your hair. With your permission.”

It seemed to take her a moment to realize he was asking for that permission.

She smiled suddenly, but carefully, so as not to move her head. “Pluck away, Mr. Granville, please.”

Her blue eyes were alight with humor. Dominic found himself grinning in return; the situation was quite absurd.

Though Miss Somerton was of above average height, he still looked down on her hair, which was, he noted objectively, a color the poets called flaxen. He lowered his fingers in a pincer movement and grabbed the lizard.

“Ha!” he murmured under his breath.

“Am I to assume from your cry of triumph, Mr. Granville, that you have Captain Emerald in your grasp?” Miss Somerton asked. “And that I am therefore free to move?”

“I have the creature, yes, but one of its feet has become tangled in your hair.” Dominic was suddenly aware he was closer than he’d ever been before to his children’s governess—and that he was touching her hair. Chaperoned by a butler, a footman and a housemaid, to be sure, but still... He wasn’t sure if this morning’s letter made the proximity more or less acceptable. “May I, er, attempt to extract it?”

“That would be an excellent idea.” She encouraged him in much the same tone she used with Thomas.

Which had the effect of removing any impropriety—which was good—but at the same time relegated her employer to the status of one of her charges.

Dominic narrowed his eyes and applied himself to his task. “By the way, I wouldn’t describe my earlier reaction as a cry of triumph, Miss Somerton.”

“My mistake,” she said demurely.

“You might hear such a cry from me in, say, the hunting field,” he continued, “but I scarcely think capturing a lizard is worthy of acclaim.”

“Slaughtering a large animal is a far more admirable achievement,” she said.

Dominic paused in his untangling to meet her eyes. They were wide and innocent.

He wasn’t fooled. No wonder his children were running wild! Their governess valued chasing butterflies and lizards above the academic and sporting pursuits essential to the life of an English country gentleman.

Dominic freed the lizard at last and took a relieved step back. “Gregory, could you take this and deal with it as you see fit?”

“Yes, sir,” the footman said with grim pleasure.

“Oh, Gregory, no,” Miss Somerton protested. “You wouldn’t harm one of God’s creatures, would you?”

Gregory looked uncertain at this invocation of the deity. “It’s a pest, miss. And it frightened Alice,” he added virtuously.

“Only for a moment,” the maid said. A quelling look from Molson sent her hurrying toward the kitchen.

“Gregory...” Miss Somerton clasped her hands in front of her and gave the man a look so beseeching, Dominic was amazed the servant didn’t melt into submission. “I realize you’ve been grossly inconvenienced by Captain—by this lizard. It definitely does not deserve your mercy. But Thomas is anxious to have it as a pet.”

When Gregory scowled at the mention of Thomas, she added quickly, “Hetty is, too. I’m pleading with you, for Hetty’s sake, to leave it in the stables. In a jar. With a few twigs and leaves for comfort. And maybe a fly or two—the common lizard eats invertebrates, so any insect will do. A worm would be wonderful, if you happen to come across one.”

As her list of demands grew more unreasonable, Dominic almost laughed. Clever of her to include the blameless Hetty in her plea for a reprieve for the lizard.

And plea it was, since strictly speaking she couldn’t order Gregory to do anything. It was an awkward situation for Miss Somerton, Dominic knew. Since she was neither a member of the family nor a guest, she had no authority over the servants. But her status was unquestionably above Gregory’s...even more now than it had been.

“Unfortunately, miss, Mr. Molson would need to excuse me from my duties for me to perform such tasks.” Gregory directed a hopeful glance at the butler, clearly wanting permission to be denied.

“You may do as Miss Somerton asks, Gregory,” Molson said, and the footman departed in reluctant possession of one green lizard.

“I shall tell Thomas—and Hetty—the good news,” Miss Somerton declared.

“The library first, if you please,” Dominic said, deliberately forgetting his suggestion that she tidy herself. If he waited for the governess to comport herself in a more orderly fashion, he would be here until midnight.

* * *

After Molson had relieved Serena of her dented bonnet, she preceded Mr. Granville into the library. She was conscious of him behind her, conscious of his innate authority and, also, something she feared was disapproval.

Perhaps he’d learned of one of those incidents that she’d decided wasn’t serious enough to report to him. In her opinion, the children were so courteous and well-behaved, few infractions were that serious.

Dominic Granville waved her to a seat. “Miss Somerton, you probably know why I wish to talk to you—”

“About Thomas going away to school?” she asked hopefully. “As I see it—”

“Not that.” He frowned as he settled into the studded leather chair on the other side of the oak desk. “Obviously, Thomas will start at Eton in September, just as I did, and my father did before me.”

Oh, dear. That frown...she could think of only one incident that might cause such a reaction. “I should have made Charlotte confess to you herself—please don’t blame her for my error. But, Mr. Granville—” she leaned forward in her seat “—if Cook has dared call Charlotte a thief again, when she was acting purely out of Christian compassion, I...I—” She sputtered, outrage on Charlotte’s behalf causing words to fail her...but not for long. “I hope you will tell that evil woman she has overstepped the mark!”

Mr. Granville rubbed his right temple. “It seems to me, Miss Somerton, that calling my cook evil might be ‘overstepping the mark.’”

“I apologize, sir.” She ignored the skeptical rise of one dark eyebrow. “However, Charlotte is the kindest—”

“What did she steal?” he demanded.

“A leg of lamb,” Serena admitted. “Technically, half a leg—we ate at least half of it for dinner on Sunday, you’ll remember.”

Mr. Granville began rubbing his left temple, as well as his right. “If she was hungry, why did she not ask for food?”

“She gave it to a beggar who came to the kitchen door. Mr. Granville, he looked starving!” Just thinking about the poor man brought tears to Serena’s eyes. “Cook turned him away, without so much as a crust.”

“That was wrong of her.” Mr. Granville had a reputation for giving to those in need, which encouraged Serena to hope for mercy.

“Very wrong,” she agreed. “Charlotte was in the kitchen at the time, and she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the meat and ran after the man.”

Mr. Granville winced, doubtless at the thought of his nine-year-old daughter chasing a vagrant across his property.

“I agree, it wasn’t the most ladylike conduct,” Serena reflected. “But her sense of compassion is most commendable.”

“Did you punish Charlotte?” he asked.

“For giving to someone in need?” she said, shocked.

“She took the meat without permission.”

Serena bit down on a heated defense of her charge. “I told her she should have come to me, and I would have negotiated with Cook.”

“That’s not sufficient,” he said.

Serena had had very little conversation with her employer. She took her instructions, such as they were, from his sister, who’d hired her. But she knew he wouldn’t welcome the kind of robust debate that prevailed in the rectory at Piper’s Mead, her parents’ home. A pang of homesickness for her family stabbed her. She managed a stiff, “I apologize, sir.”

“Two apologies in the space of half a minute,” he observed. “It may interest you to know the second was no more convincing than the first.”

Serena tried to look interested. The shaking of Mr. Granville’s head suggested she’d failed.

“Miss Somerton, deplorable though my daughter’s behavior is, that’s not why I summoned you.”

She opened her mouth; he held up a hand. “No, please, I don’t want to hear confessions of any more of my children’s escapades, or your inability to discipline them. I have received a letter from the Earl of Spenford.” He picked up a sheet of paper and waved it at her.

“Oh,” she said, dismayed.

“I wasn’t aware Lord Spenford recently married your sister,” he said. “You didn’t request leave to attend the wedding.”

Serena had rather hoped Mr. Granville wouldn’t discover this development just yet. In theory, the financial repercussions of her sister’s marriage would be to Serena’s advantage—Lord Spenford would feel some obligation to support his wife’s sisters—but she refused to benefit from this until she was convinced Constance was happy. At this point, she was by no means certain.

“The wedding occurred rather suddenly, due to the Dowager Countess of Spenford’s illness,” Serena explained. “There wasn’t time for me to journey home.”

“I see.” Her employer folded the letter and set it on the desk. “I don’t recall my sister mentioning your connection to the Spenfords. Are your families old acquaintances?”

In other words, how did a mere governess end up so well connected?

“My father is the Reverend Adrian Somerton, rector of Piper’s Mead in Hampshire,” she said. “Papa was given his parish living by the Dowager Countess of Spenford, his patroness.” She hoped that would be enough.

“There must be more to it, for Spenford to have married a parson’s daughter. Somerton...” Mr. Granville drummed his fingers on the desk as he contemplated her. “I’m acquainted with Sir Horace Somerton, brother of the Duke of Medway.”

“Sir Horace is my grandfather,” she admitted reluctantly.

Her father disapproved of any boasting of their high connections. “We’re all equal in God’s eyes,” he often said.

Mr. Granville blinked. “So your father is the nephew of the Duke of Medway? Does my sister know? Why on earth are you working as a governess?”

She clasped her hands demurely, in the dwindling hope it might make her look more governess-like. Her prospects here at Woodbridge Hall appeared increasingly dim. “Miss Granville is aware... It came out in conversation one day. But, sir, my father became estranged from most of his family the moment he took his holy calling more seriously than they would have liked. Before I was born, my parents spurned London society in favor of a simpler existence.”

“You will forgive my intrusion into your affairs—” that was an order, not a request, Serena noted “—but even if your father is estranged from the Medways, your family is surely not destitute.”

“Our circumstances are comfortable,” she admitted, embarrassed.

“So why do you need to work? Surely the life of a governess is not comfortable.”

“I love my work,” she said in surprise. “The children are wonderful and Miss Granville is kindness itself.”

At the mention of his sister, he gave her a sharp look. Some people considered Miss Granville a little odd; Serena wasn’t one of them.

She carried on. “But in answer to your question, my father has recently been in disagreement with his bishop. Papa favors preaching the Word to people wherever they may be—in the fields, if necessary. The bishop sees his approach as Methodism, and is afraid Papa will create disunity in the church. Which he never would—” aware of rising indignation in her voice, Serena took a moment to calm herself “—but he worries the bishop might remove him from the parish.”

If that happened, her parents would lose their home and livelihood.

“And that’s why you sought this position?” Mr. Granville asked.

“I don’t want to be a burden on my parents if their circumstances change,” she said, which was true, but not the entire truth. That had been the impetus for applying to be a governess, but not the reason she’d accepted this post over the two others she’d been offered. “I should explain, I’m the oldest of five sisters.”

Many fathers would consider five daughters a burden. Serena’s parents made it clear their girls were their joy. They’d never exhorted them to marry, though as Papa had said when she was home at Christmas, “If God should provide wonderful husbands for any or all of you, my dears, I will not quarrel.” Serena hadn’t been able to discern from her parents’ letters what they thought of Constance’s marriage. Whether Lord Spenford was “wonderful.”

Mr. Granville leaned forward, pressed his fingertips together. “Miss Somerton, you must see it’s impossible for you to remain a governess now that you have an earl as brother by marriage.”

She lowered her eyes. He was right. But this wasn’t just about what society, or even Lord Spenford, considered proper. She grasped the edge of the desk and said, “Mr. Granville, please don’t say I must leave.”

He eyed her encroaching fingers warily. “Of course you must.”

“Sir, the children need me. It’s been such a joy to teach them, to see Thomas develop his interest in nature, and Hetty learn to form her own opinions.”

Mr. Granville appeared doubtful about the joys of both of those. She considered telling him the truth: that when Marianne Granville had explained how the children had lost their mother, and implied that their father had grown distant and cold, Serena had seen the possibility for a second chance for this family. A chance for the widowed Mr. Granville to put behind him the mistakes he’d made out of grief. To start afresh with his children. Serena, who knew about making mistakes, would help him. And just maybe, she would earn her own fresh chance.

But it was difficult to explain all that without causing offense. Better just to talk about the children. “Then there’s Charlotte’s wonderful—”

“Compassion,” he interjected. “Yes, so you said.”

She beamed at him. “And William. He was so shy when I arrived, but just the other day he took the starring role in a drama we created.”

“Really?” Mr. Granville might well be surprised; his second son was notoriously bashful. “That drama lesson wasn’t, by any chance, at the expense of something more useful?” he asked. “Arithmetic, for example?”

“Of course we do arithmetic,” she assured him. “But I’m thrilled to say William positively relished the limelight in our drama.” One only need look at the crippling shyness of Marianne Granville, Mr. Granville’s sister, to see that helping William become more sociable was of far more use than practicing his already excellent arithmetic. “The fact that he got to brandish a carving knife for much of the last scene was a useful incentive,” Serena recalled fondly.

Alarm flashed across her employer’s face, reminding her of that day he’d scolded her for letting the children slide down the banister. What child wouldn’t eventually take advantage of such smooth, tempting wood? Far better they do it under her supervision. She moved swiftly on. “And Louisa.” She felt her face soften at the mention of the youngest Granville. “As long as she has someone to hold on to, she’s the happiest girl in the world.”

“She sounds clinging,” Mr. Granville said.

“She’s five years old,” Serena pointed out. “Sir, it would be a very bad idea for me to leave now.”

“Bad for them or for you?” he asked. “Frankly, Miss Somerton, it sounds as if you’re having the time of your life, while my children’s education could be suffering.”

Just in time, she refrained from leaping to her feet in self-defense. The kind of reaction Mr. Granville wouldn’t appreciate. Instead, she pressed her slippers firmly into the carpet, anchoring herself. “I report regularly to Miss Granville on my curriculum and the children’s progress. She has always expressed her satisfaction.”

It was both true and, Serena hoped, a tactical masterstroke. Mr. Granville was inclined to let his sister have her way. “But I see my role as more than that of a teacher of reading and arithmetic,” she continued.

“I would hope,” he said, “the curriculum of which you boast also includes French for the older children. And sketching and the like for all of them.”

Maybe she could just hint at her deeper purpose.

“When Miss Granville appointed me,” Serena said, “she told me the children were worried they might forget their mother. Yet they were afraid to talk about her.”

Mr. Granville’s jaw—strong, with a tendency to square when he disapproved—showed definite signs of squaring. “That’s absurd. My sister shouldn’t have said such a thing to you.”

“The reason they were afraid to talk about your late wife was a sense that you discourage such conversations,” Serena persisted. Oh, this confrontation was long overdue! And now, under pressure, she was making a hash of it. She should have asked to see him months ago, and approached him with a carefully reasoned argument as to how he could improve his children’s happiness.

“I see no reason to wallow in things we cannot change,” he said. Both tone and glare were designed to intimidate.

So it was a blessing that she’d been raised to disregard intimidation in the pursuit of right.

“Naturally, Louisa doesn’t remember her mother at all,” she said, “since she was just a babe when... And William also has no recollection. I’ve made a point of asking the older children to share their memories with them.” As a concession, she added, “Without wallowing, of course.”

Mr. Granville opened his mouth, but seemed oddly stunned and didn’t speak.

Serena pressed on. “While the children still miss their mama, they’re happier for being able to talk about her. French and arithmetic are certainly important, and I believe I do an excellent job in academic matters. But I count influencing your children’s happiness as the greatest achievement of my tenure here.” She’d noticed, even in her brief observations of him, that he deflected anything that hinted at emotion. His children deserved better.

“That’s enough,” he growled. “Miss Somerton, I don’t doubt that in your own woolly-headed, parson’s daughter-ish way, your intentions are good....”

She gasped. “Woolly-headed?” She could not, of course, take offense at being called “parson’s daughter-ish.” She was proud to be that.

He ignored her. “But regardless of your calling, you cannot stay on as governess. I will inform Lord Spenford by return mail that your employment has been terminated. You will leave by the end of the week.” He pressed his palms to the desk and stood.

She was forced to look up at him. “Is that your last word on the matter?” To her annoyance, her voice held a tiny quaver.

“It is.”

“Because I should point out—”

“That was my last word,” he reminded her.

She sagged. Twice she opened her mouth to raise a fresh objection, but Mr. Granville kept his gaze on her until, under that dark intensity, she subsided completely.

He observed her capitulation. “That will be all, Miss Somerton,” he said, sounding satisfied for the first time today.

Serena remained in her seat, not moving, considering what to do for the best. Father, guide me, please.

“You may go, Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville reminded her. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your service. I do appreciate your fondness for my children.” He smiled, a little grimly perhaps, but it appeared he intended encouragement.

Inspiration struck, though she suspected it had more to do with her prayer than his smile.

She smiled back as she rose from her chair. His gaze dropped, and it seemed to Serena that he scanned her from top to toe.

“Mr. Granville,” she said. Her voice was clear and composed. Much better.

He brought his gaze back to her face as he moved around the desk. “Yes, Miss Somerton?”

“Would you consider marrying again?”

Chapter Two

Serena watched as her employer—her former employer—turned a remarkable shade of red.

Her question had been unutterably forward. If her father had heard her, even his famed tolerance would be taxed. But she’d spent eight months biting her tongue, save for one or two lapses in diplomacy. Maybe three or four. The point was, her “parson’s daughter-ish” good manners meant she’d failed to make any lasting difference here. Now that she’d been dismissed, she no longer needed to exercise restraint.

“Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville said with rigid control, “while I am very conscious of the honor you accord me, I feel your offer springs from a certain desperation.”

What was he talking about?

He took two steps backward, away from her, as if she were a victim of the Great Plague she’d been teaching the children about in their history lessons. Yes, she did actually teach them history.

“Therefore-I-must-decline-your-proposal,” he said in a rush.

Serena stared...then broke into a peal of laughter. “You think I was proposing marriage!”

He remained red, but was suddenly less rigid. “Er, weren’t you?”

“Certainly not!” Goodness, how embarrassing. She could only hope she could pass the days before she left Woodbridge Hall without encountering him again. “Even if I hoped to marry in the near future—which, believe me, I have no expectation of doing—it would be somewhat presumptuous of a governess to set her sights on the master of the house, would it not?”

A reluctant smile widened his mouth, much more natural than the forced version with which he’d tried to reassure her a moment ago. It made him extremely handsome.

“You are the sister of an earl now,” he pointed out. “And have always been, it seems, the great-niece of a duke. I rather fear, Miss Somerton, you’re my social equal.”

“I’m an estranged great-niece,” she reminded him, suddenly distracted. How peculiar that she should notice how handsome he was twice in half an hour. The first time, he’d been inches away from her, trying to detach that dashed lizard. And this time he’d just accused her of proposing marriage—so no wonder her observations were so inappropriate. This was hardly a regular day at Woodbridge Hall.

In which case, the irregularity might as well continue.

“Perhaps I will presume on the new status, such as it is, that comes courtesy of my sister’s husband,” she said. “Sir, your children need a mother.”

He was squaring his jaw again. Serena chose to ignore it. “Which means you need a wife,” she said. “I’m sorry to bring this up so abruptly—if I’d known I was about to be dismissed, I would have mentioned it sooner—”

“I’m overjoyed that you didn’t know,” he interrupted.

“The children love their aunt, of course, but they need someone whose constant presence they can depend on. If Miss Granville should marry...”

“No one can promise a constant presence,” he said harshly. He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, he spoke with excessive calm. “We both know my sister is unlikely to wed, so you may consider her quite dependable.” Measured strides took him to the library door, which he opened wide in a clear message that Serena should depart.

He was right about no one knowing the future. His wife, Mrs. Emily Granville, had doubtless never expected to be carried away by measles when Louisa was just six months old.

But Serena was right, too. She drew a restoring breath, gripped the back of her chair and carried on. “Sir, Thomas and Hetty are about to enter a critical period in their adolescence. They need the guidance and nurturing of a parent who loves them, not a governess who’s paid to care.” And since Mr. Granville showed no inclination to nurture his children, there should be a new Mrs. Granville.

“Is that why you care?” he asked.

“You dismissed me,” she pointed out. “In that process, you made some slurs about my ability as a governess that I consider—”

She stopped. She was getting distracted. What really mattered here?

The children.

In which case...Serena sat down again.

Mr. Granville glanced from her to the open door. “Miss Somerton, you are dismissed. In every sense of the word.”

“I will leave, but I’d like to say something first.”

He remained by the door, only a slight air of resigned expectancy acknowledging her request.

They could hardly hold a conversation like this.

“Such discourtesy to a sister of the Earl of Spenford,” she said lightly.

Granville’s eyes narrowed. But he returned to his seat behind the desk. Serena sent up a brief prayer that she could articulate her thoughts in a way that would convince him. She’d never thought she would have the chance to speak her mind, but hadn’t he just told her she was now his social equal?

Even better, a social equal who after this week would never see him again.

“Mr. Granville,” she said, “your sister has mentioned your faithfulness to the memory of your late wife, and I strongly admire that. But it may be that God has someone else in mind for you. Remarriage wouldn’t necessarily be disloyal.”

“That’s enough,” he said sharply.

Serena estimated she had maybe half a minute to persuade him, before he picked her up and bodily threw her out, social equality or not. “Even if you’re certain you don’t wish to, er, fall in love with some young lady, we could look at this from a purely practical perspective.”

“By all means, Miss Somerton, why don’t we do that?”

The silky menace in his invitation made her pause.

Best to hurry on, before courage deserted her altogether.

“There are many ladies—I can think of several wellborn spinsters in an instant—who would welcome an alliance with a wealthy, handsome man like yourself, without requiring declarations of love.”

“Hmm.” For a moment, he appeared to be considering her eminently useful suggestion. Then he said, “So, you consider me handsome?”

Heat flooded her face. “I—did I say that?” Yes, I did. “I—I’m sorry, I was merely making a point, I shouldn’t have...”

Satisfaction with her discomfort gleamed in his eyes.

Now that he’d questioned her opinion of his looks, Serena couldn’t help appraising what she could see of him: dark hair, eyes an intriguing hazel, a strong face, a mouth that... She dropped her gaze quickly. Broad shoulders, impeccable dress sense. And he was tall. Any woman would find him handsome, as he was doubtless well aware. And now, confound it, she’d lost her train of thought.

“So,” he said, with an affability that was just as disconcerting as his earlier menace, “your expert opinion is that I should marry a spinster who’s after my fortune?”

As so often happened, a laugh gurgled out of Serena at quite the wrong moment. “Perhaps I didn’t make the prospect sound honorable. Or tempting, for that matter. And I cannot approve such motives for an alliance.” A stance she was being forced to rethink, given that her sister’s marriage was one of convenience.

“Oh, well, if you don’t approve, I’d better not.” He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, emphasizing the breadth of those shoulders.

“But, er...” What had she been saying? Oh, yes. “I believe—” she kept her eyes fixed firmly on his “—such convenient marriages can offer mutual benefits, and there’s every chance that over time, love would blossom.” She hurried on. “Besides, you really shouldn’t make spinsters sound like such a last resort. My aunt, Miss Jane Somerton, is both a spinster and very attractive. In fact, I could introduce you....”

“I’m acquainted with Miss Jane Somerton,” he said. “I have no wish to marry her.”

“Maybe you should stop thinking about what you wish, and think about what your children need,” Serena snapped. Drat. She braced herself for that forcible removal.

“Miss Somerton,” he growled. “If you don’t cease your impertinence this instant...”

“You’ll dismiss me?” she suggested. “Might I remind you, Mr. Granville, my sister’s marriage has put me in the position—rare for a governess—of having nothing to lose. While your children have everything to gain.”

Silence. Should she take that as victory?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Somerton...”

Merely regrouping, then. Serena braced herself.

“I don’t understand why you feel compelled to comment on my domestic arrangements, when you’re no longer employed here,” he said. “Nor why these outrageous views have come upon you so suddenly.”

He sounded so confused, she felt almost sorry for him. “I’ve felt this way since the day I arrived,” she admitted. “But until now, I’ve been more subtle in my approach.”

“You’ve been subtle?” he said incredulously.

“You possibly haven’t noticed that I’ve been extending the time you spend in your daily greetings and good-nights to the children.” She was rather proud of having stretched that stiff, formal five minutes to a whole seven minutes. Still stiff and formal, but one step at a time.

“How Machiavellian of you.” He appeared to be laughing at her.

“There are many fathers who spend a great deal of time with their children and find it very rewarding,” Serena said coolly. Her own papa was a perfect example, but she knew other families of Quality where the father enjoyed the company of his offspring.

“Again,” Granville said, “I wonder why you’ve taken it upon yourself to try to introduce me to their ranks.”

Maybe she should tell him at least part of the truth.

“Do you believe in second chances, Mr. Granville?”

“In theory,” he said guardedly. “Is there something else you need to confess?”

“I’m talking about you,” she said. “Your family has suffered loss, but you have a chance to build a loving home for your children. If only you’ll take it.”

“And you intend to force me to take this chance you’ve conjured up in your imagination?” He scowled. “If you must indulge your penchant for good works, Miss Somerton, I suggest you go home and feed the poor. Surely they’re in greater need of second, third and even fourth chances than I am.”

“The poor are well provided-for in Piper’s Mead,” she said. “My sister Isabel practically runs the orphanage, and Charity, my youngest sister, knits for the babies. Mama grows vegetables for the elderly—”

He held up a hand. “Your family can’t have such a monopoly on good works that there was nothing left for you but to travel all the way to Leicestershire to inflict a second chance on my family.”

“Of course not,” Serena said levelly. “I chose this position—” he blinked, as if he hadn’t realized she’d had a choice “—because I believe this is where I’m meant to be.” She knew in her head that she’d been forgiven the foolish mistake she’d made years ago. A mistake entirely unworthy of her upbringing, which would grieve her parents sorely if they knew of it. But in her heart, she despaired of receiving a second chance. If she could help the Granville family grasp their chance, then maybe God would send one her way.

“Grateful though I am for your efforts,” Dominic Granville said, “your assistance isn’t required. Let me remind you, to put your mind at rest before you depart, my children have an aunt right here in this house, who loves them very much and who, as I’ve said, will likely always be here with us.”

Serena hesitated. To speak bluntly about Marianne Granville seemed harsh, but... “If you’re suggesting Miss Granville will play a more active role in the children’s upbringing than she does now, you’re quite wrong.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m not suggesting anything to you at all. It’s none of your business.”

“Are you saying that when Hetty makes her come-out into society,” Serena persisted, “she will be chaperoned by your sister?”

He eyed her with hearty dislike. “Not necessarily. Hetty’s come-out is six or seven years away.”

“Will your loyalty to your wife vanish in that time?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

“Even if you could force your sister into the role of chaperone, I doubt you’d have the stomach for it,” Serena said. Not that Mr. Granville was in any way soft, but his attitude toward his sister was rightly protective. “I understand you have no other suitable female relatives. It’s possible you have a female friend who might help—” a flicker of doubt crossed his face “—but a girl’s come-out is such a...a complicated time that you’ll want someone very close to your daughters involved.”

Serena drew a breath. “Which means you’ll at some stage need to marry, if only to help your daughters find their place in society. I say, do it now and give them all the benefits of a loving stepmother.” She spread her hands as if nothing could be simpler. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to add two and two, did it?

She could see from his distracted expression that he was performing the calculation himself and coming up with the same, unpalatable answer.

Then he blinked, as if to dismiss his conclusion. When he spoke, the set of his shoulders, the jut of his jaw, told Serena he had no intention of discussing this further. And every intention of ignoring her advice. “Prepare to leave this house on Monday, Miss Somerton. My own carriage will convey you to your parents’ home.” His offer of transportation likely spoke as much of his desire to be sure he was rid of her as it did of his determination to acknowledge her social standing.

Serena bowed her head, defeated.

She had failed.

* * *

Dominic found his sister in the greenhouse. She’d commandeered its southwest corner for her botanical project, a move that Gladding, the head gardener, tolerated with an air of long-suffering. Dominic called a greeting from the doorway, to give Marianne a moment to adjust to his presence. By the time he reached her, her face was rosy. But not bright red, as it would have been if he’d startled her.

“So this is the new arrival.” He scrutinized the gray-green leaves, if one could call the sharp-tipped spikes that, of the plant she was digging in. “It survived the journey, then.” Just as well, since it had cost a small fortune.

“If it survived the trip from India to England, I daresay London to Leicestershire was nothing.” Marianne patted the soil around the base of the plant with her trowel, then stepped back to admire it. “Aloe vera. Pretty, don’t you think? Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll at least look nice.” Her careless tone didn’t fool Dominic.

“Very nice,” he said.

She picked up on his sympathy, and her cheeks turned a deeper pink; she fanned her face. “This place is so warm.”

“We could step outside if you’re finished,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “The others need water. I’ve forbidden Gladding to do it—he tends to drown them.”

The gardener didn’t hold with newfangled tropical plants. Dominic preferred the more restrained beauty of English plants himself, but he wouldn’t deny Marianne her search for a cure for her condition.

She bent to pick up the watering can at her feet; Dominic intervened. “Let me do that. I promise I’ll obey your instructions to the letter.”

She smiled in gratitude as she dabbed at her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. The slightest exertion, even lifting a watering can, would make her face redden further. Even though there was no one but Dominic to see her, she preferred to avoid exacerbating her complaint.

“While you do that, I promised Cook I’d snip some chives for dinner.” She pulled a small pair of scissors from her pocket. “I ordered the honey-glazed duck for tonight.”

Dominic’s stomach growled at the mention of his favorite dish. “Have I told you you’re the best sister in the world?” he teased, as he sprinkled water over the threadlike leaves of the nigella she’d planted last year, having heard the seeds could be ground into a paste for the skin. Like every other remedy, it hadn’t worked.

“You’ve told me many times, but there’s no such thing as too often.” Marianne signaled that he’d dampened the nigella enough. “What brings you here, Dom? Shouldn’t you be out inspecting fences, or the like?”

He moved on to the next plant, a tropical flax whose leaves could reputedly be laid over the skin for a healing effect. “Miss Somerton’s sister has married the Earl of Spenford.”

Surprise flashed across Marianne’s face. “I didn’t know.” Like him, she never read the London society news. He abstained because he was too busy. For Marianne, reading about a world she had every right to be a part of, but never would be, disheartened her. “So Serena will be leaving us. What a pity, for her and for us.”

“I don’t see that it’s a bad thing for her,” Dominic countered. Nor for them, either. The governess had overstepped every conceivable boundary during their conversation; he couldn’t remember feeling so provoked. But at the same time, he’d admired her determination to fight on his children’s behalf. Even if she was quite wrong.

“She can return to her parents in Hampshire, or no doubt the Spenfords would be happy to have her in London,” he said. Serena might be helter-skelter, but she was pretty enough. With some self-discipline and the backing of the Earl and Countess of Spenford, she’d find herself a husband by the time she’d been in town a month. Maybe less than a month. Dominic had noticed she had a fine figure, the kind to attract male attention.

“Well, it’s awful for us,” Marianne insisted.

“Will Miss Somerton be such a sad loss?” Dominic asked lightly. Images of the governess’s blue eyes and graceful neck rose in his mind as he wielded the watering can over a glossy-leafed something-or-other. “I have the impression that under her care, the children are somewhat rambunctious.”

“They adore Serena,” her sister said. “And not only does she love them, she can keep up with them.” Marianne’s excessive, uncontrollable blushing meant she couldn’t exert herself with the children—not unless she wanted to spend the next several hours hot and crimson-faced. “But more importantly, although I love them with all my heart and they love me back, Serena seems to know better what they need.” She peeled off her garden gloves. “That’s enough watering for now. We’ll stop at the herb garden for those chives on our way back to the house.”

What his children needed... The governess had tried to lecture him on that subject.

“I know you found appointing a governess a tedious experience last time,” he said, as he held the greenhouse door open for his sister. An understatement. “But could I trouble you to do it again?” He’d do it himself, but Marianne needed to select someone with whom she’d feel comfortable.

“I can try,” she said gloomily. “But don’t expect it to be a quick process.”

“I offer a generous wage as compensation for looking after five children,” he reminded her.

Marianne held his gaze. “The trouble is, Dominic, you want—and the children deserve—a respectable young lady of good breeding. But ladies of that ilk have their choice of position, and some things cannot be compensated for.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he ordered.

“We both know it’s true. Younger ladies are so embarrassed by my condition, they don’t know where to look. Older ladies are blatant in their pity.” Both reactions only caused her skin to flare up more violently. “It’s hard to say if I or they are the more miserable,” she said.

“It’s been a while since we consulted a physician...” Dominic said.

Marianne grimaced. “You know I would be only too happy to try a new treatment. But I haven’t heard of one, and to subject myself to those same examinations to no purpose...”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But if your condition didn’t deter Miss Somerton, perhaps others won’t be deterred, either.”

“Serena is a parson’s daughter,” Marianne said. “I think she saw this position, this family, as an opportunity to exercise her Christian compassion.”

“Has she condescended to you?” Dominic said sharply. It was all very well Miss Somerton spouting her nonsense to him, but if she’d hurt Marianne’s feelings he would go upstairs right now and throw her out of the nursery on her pretty ear. He’d been close to that ear, thanks to that blasted lizard, and it was indeed attractive.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Marianne said. “She asked me about my condition the first day we met—a directness I appreciated—and accepted it with equanimity. She would never presume to condescend.”

She presumed to tell me I should marry again. Outrageous. And yet, when he remembered his mistake in imagining she was proposing marriage, amusement blended with his outrage.

“Dominic,” his sister said, “we were lucky to have had Miss Potter—” the governess from their own childhood “—for so long, but you must remember the string of substandard governesses we had before Serena. The few who considered your money worth putting up with my oddness. I got so sick of feeling as if I didn’t belong in my own home.”

“You should never have to feel like that,” he said gruffly.

“In a perfect world...” Marianne spread her hands. “But we live in this world, and there’s no point complaining about something neither you nor I can fix. I will advertise for a governess, and we will pray for a smooth path.”

Miss Somerton’s outrageous suggestion floated through Dominic’s mind.

“Would it be easier—” he studied the glossy toe of his right boot as they walked “—if I were married?”

Marianne turned her head to eye him as if he were a simpleton. “Dominic, of course it would! If you were married, your wife would take charge of these things.” She broke away as they reached the herb garden, saying over her shoulder, “My presence would seem a trifling thing to a governess, since I’d no longer be mistress of the house. There’s every chance I could avoid her altogether.” She snipped some chives from a bushy clump. “And, of course, looking ahead to when Hetty and then the other girls must make their debut in the ton.” She blinked rapidly. “Dom, just the thought of having to chaperone them makes me want to die.” Her flush deepened as she spoke.

Again, Serena Somerton came to his mind. She had already considered these issues, ones that ought to have occurred to him.

“You think I should find a wife.” He tugged at his cravat, loosening it.

“Not at all,” Marianne said, as they started back toward the house. “I know Emily was the only woman for you. I would never suggest... It’s just—” she smiled faintly “—if you were the more fickle sort, it might be more convenient for us all.”

Convenient. A convenient marriage.

People do that kind of thing. It’s perfectly acceptable. Perhaps it wasn’t the biblical ideal of marriage...but wasn’t the Bible full of people in arranged marriages that prospered? The instruction for a husband to love his wife didn’t specify a romantic love. Presumably it could as easily refer to more of a responsible kind of love, a sacrificial kind of love. He could do that.

And yet...he had a sudden urge to make a run for the stables, and ride his horse up into the hills for a very long time. Decades.

“Dom, I didn’t mean it.” Marianne shook his arm, jerking him back to the present. “We’ll find a solution. Perhaps by the time Hetty comes out there’ll be a new treatment. Maybe my aloe vera will do the trick.”

He would love to believe that. But the doctors said her condition was incurable. Indeed, it seemed to have worsened in the past couple of years.

If he married again, his new wife would need to understand that Marianne would likely always live with them. As he’d told Serena, his sister was unlikely to marry.

He shuddered. He wouldn’t think about the possibility of remarriage now. Besides, he had another unpleasant revelation for Marianne, one that the day’s events had driven temporarily from his mind.

“I have more bad news, my dear,” he said.

“More?” Marianne said, aghast. “Beyond Serena’s departure?”

“My groom met the groom from Farley Hall when he was out exercising the bay mare this morning.”

“It’s been far too long since I called on Sir Charles.” Their neighbor at Farley Hall, Sir Charles Ramsay, had lost his son in a carriage accident nearly a year ago. Marianne’s brow wrinkled. “Is he unwell?”

“Not at all. In fact, it’s good news for Ramsay, though not so pleasant for you,” Dominic said. “His new heir, a Mr. Geoffrey Beaumont, has arrived to stay for a month or two, to acquaint himself with the property. I’ll have to call on him next week.”

Marianne groaned. “If he has any manners at all, he’ll return the call.” Meeting strangers was torment for her.

Dominic nodded.

“And we, as owners of the largest home in the district—”

“Farley Hall is as large.” But she was right, the Granvilles were the incumbent gentry.

“—we’ll have to host a dinner to welcome him to the area,” she said miserably.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And I, as always, will be your hostess.” She swallowed. “It won’t be so bad. If we invite enough of our friends from around here, Mr. Beaumont will barely notice me, let alone feel compelled to stare at me as if I’m a freak.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s our duty,” Dominic said. “It may be scant comfort, but I always think you look lovely, Marianne, you know that.”

“I know, and I thank God daily for your delusion.” She squeezed his arm, then walked ahead of him through a side door into the house. “I wish I had a friend nearby, someone my own age, that I could invite to dinner. Someone I could laugh with, in whose company I wouldn’t care about others’ opinions. Or at least, would care less.”

Marianne’s secluded life meant she corresponded energetically by letter with a few girls from the seminary for female education she’d attended. But she didn’t like to travel, or to invite guests to stay. Her local friends were older women. Not close confidantes. Dominic could understand her need for a friend nearer her own age.

If he remarried, his children would gain a stepmother. Might his sister gain a friend?

Even if that were so, he could hardly marry in time for dinner with Mr. Beaumont.

* * *

Serena had asked a footman to set up quoits on the lawn for the children. Although it was only late April, the sun shone warm and the fresh air would do them good.

Thomas had brought Captain Emerald out from the stable, still in his jar, and had replenished the lizard’s stock of leaves, grasses and a few unfortunate insects. He and Hetty had given the younger children a fighting chance at quoits by setting the juniors’ throwing mark some ten paces in front of theirs. Dominic’s two dogs were wreaking havoc by chasing the rings as they sailed through the air.

Louisa wasn’t playing; she was content to cling to Serena’s skirts. Serena was referee...and though the children were good sports, there were sufficient squabbles to require regular intervention.

She was mediating a dispute between William and Charlotte when a shadow fell across her. She turned to see Dominic Granville.

He smiled.

How unexpected.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Granville,” Serena said. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left the library two days ago, but she imagined he was still railing against her impertinent interference—yes, she could acknowledge she’d taken unfair advantage of her change in status, had breached courtesy even among equals.

And yet he was smiling. Though, on closer inspection, his smile was not one of unadulterated joy. It was, in fact, rather tense.

Charlotte and William ceased their dispute immediately and straightened up in front of their father. “Hello, Papa,” they chorused. Louisa echoed them. The two older children were picking up the quoits at the other end of their pitch. They waved to their father, but knew to finish the job before they stopped to talk.

“Have you come to play quoits?” Serena asked. He’d never yet accepted one of her invitations to play with the children, but she lived in hope.

“No, thank you.” Today was obviously not to be the exception. “Miss Somerton, I wish to talk. Would you care to walk around the lawn with me?”

William and Charlotte had taken a few stealthy steps backward; as soon as they were out of their father’s line of sight, they trotted toward the twins.

“If this is about William tearing a page of Robinson Crusoe—” Serena decided to anticipate the problem rather than appear to be concealing it “—you can be sure I was very cross, and William has undertaken to repair it. On the bright side, his reading improved enormously....” She trailed off; Mr. Granville had closed his eyes in a pained sort of way.

“That’s not what I want to talk about,” he said. “Shall we walk?”

She inclined her head toward Louisa, who was unfortunately sucking her thumb through the muslin of Serena’s dress. He shook his head.

“Stay here, dearest, and watch the big children play,” Serena told the little girl. “Your papa and I must talk privately.”

As she brushed grass off her skirt—once again he’d found her covered in undergrowth—and made an attempt to rub dry the damp patch where Louisa had been sucking, she wondered what he wanted to discuss. Since he’d already dismissed her from her position, whatever he had to say now couldn’t be that bad. She realized he was watching her cleanup with disapproval.

“All done,” she said brightly, if not entirely truthfully. “Let us go.”

His arm moved involuntarily, as if he might offer it for her to take. But that would suggest a level of acquaintance they didn’t have. Instead, they walked side by side, a respectable two or three feet of lawn between them. Mr. Granville’s hands were clasped behind his back; he appeared lost in thought.

He didn’t speak for some time. But as they neared the sundial at the far end of the lawn, he said, “I’ve been considering our conversation from Thursday.”

“The one in which you dismissed me from my post,” Serena said.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, that one.” He paused, squinting up at the sun, then down at the shadow on the sundial. “It pains me to say, I believe you’re right. It’s time I married again.”

Serena halted, forcing him to do the same. “Really?”

“Why the surprise? You seemed convinced of the excellence of your idea.”

“I was— I am. But, Mr. Granville, if I may be frank—”

“Are you ever anything else?” he asked. “If so, I suspect I might prefer it.”

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “My father always encouraged me and my sisters to speak boldly and to speak the truth, as the Bible advises.”

“That must have made for some rather alarming conversations around the dinner table.”

She snickered. “I should remind you, the complete biblical instruction is to speak the truth with love.”

“That’s even worse. There’s nothing more irritating than people who tell one things for one’s own good.”

Serena laughed out loud. “So true!” At his sidelong look, she said, “Don’t think I don’t know I’m guilty of it myself. As temptations go, it’s one of the most insidious.”

“Hmm.” He pushed aside the branch of a shrub that threatened to dislodge her bonnet. “Is your sister, the one married to Lord Spenford, as bold as you?”

Serena considered. “Not on first acquaintance, but Constance has hidden depths. I’m the oldest daughter, so perhaps I’m more...”

“Impertinent?” he suggested.

“Forthright,” she corrected.

“And what is your advanced age, Miss Somerton?”

“I’m twenty-one. Constance—Lady Spenford—is twenty.” She followed him through the arbor into the rose garden. The roses, the pride and joy of Gladding the gardener, were in varying stages of bloom, from tight buds to full blossoms on some of the China varieties. None were yet overblown. Serena sniffed the air appreciatively. “Mmm, you can just catch the scent, if you try.”

“Very nice,” he said, making no attempt to sniff. “I assume your younger sisters are not yet married?”

“No,” she agreed.

He shook his head. “Your poor father.”

“Mr. Granville!” she exclaimed, outraged. Then she caught a gleam of humor in his eyes. “You’ll be relieved to know Papa doesn’t consider himself poor. He’s been known to say he’d love all five of us to live with him and Mama forever.”

“Diplomacy is an important skill for a parson,” Mr. Granville said.

Serena found herself laughing again.

His gaze drifted down to her mouth, then jerked back up. “I daresay your sisters will be easy enough for your father to marry off,” he said abruptly. “Assuming they don’t make a habit of wearing lizards in their hair.”

“That habit is uniquely mine,” she assured him. “Though I’m devastated to learn it might cost me a husband.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s a matter of decorum, Miss Somerton.”

“A man who loves me will not care about decorum.”

“Is that so?” he said dryly. “Will he also appreciate your excessively free speech?”

“Might I remind you, Mr. Granville, you started this unusual conversation, for reasons you have yet to reveal. The only reason I’m participating so freely is because I’m about to leave.”

He rubbed his chin. “Ah.”

He looked...awkward.

“If you’re feeling guilty about dismissing me, you needn’t,” she said. “I was aware that once you learned of Constance’s marriage my position would be untenable.”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” he said, as if he’d never heard anything so absurd.

She almost managed not to roll her eyes. “So what is the reason for this conversation?”

“Ah, that,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Given that I’ve now decided you were right about a convenient marriage being a good idea...”

“I said I couldn’t wholeheartedly approve of such pragmatic motives,” she corrected. “But that I understand the necessity.”

He ignored her. “I personally have no faith in this second chance of yours, nor do I desire to marry again, but I see no option. The kind of alliance you mentioned will do nicely.” His frown deepened. “It will do,” he amended, dispensing with any niceness attached to the concept of marriage.

“Oh,” Serena said.

“Have I shocked you, Miss Somerton? I expected a more vocal response.”

“I...” She stopped. Thought. “I can’t deny it’ll be wonderful for the children, but it does seem a shame you won’t even consider finding a real wife.”

“My wife will be as real as you are,” he said. “Miss Somerton, in the light of my new intention, there’s something I must ask you.”

Realization burst over Serena like a lightning flash.

Mr. Granville’s unexpected friendliness. His questions about her family. My wife will be as real as you are....

He was going to ask her to marry him!

“No!” Serena squawked.

“No?” He plucked a leaf from a rosebush and rolled it between his fingers as he looked down at her, more confused than distressed.

But then, why would a man be distressed if a convenient bride turned down his proposal? The thought made it easier to say what she had to. “Mr. Granville, you are a most estimable gentleman, and I can’t deny I love your children, but to marry for convenience would be truly repugnant to me, and therefore...”

She stopped.

He was laughing.

“You...weren’t asking me to marry you?” she guessed. Suddenly, she was perspiring all over. How hideous!

“I’m afraid not,” he apologized. “It seems you and I share an unusual conviction of our own desirability as spouses.”

Relief at his acknowledgment that she wasn’t the only one who’d made an idiot of herself recently made her chuckle rather more loudly than was ladylike. Which wouldn’t surprise him.

“Shall we agree we’re equally deluded when it comes to nonexistent marriage proposals,” he said, “and move on?”

“Yes, please.”

“So...I gather from your refusal of my, er, proposal, that you cherish notions of a romantic love?”

Is this what he considers moving on? “Yes,” she said. Though she doubted such a love would come her way.

His dark brows drew together. “I suppose that’s not unusual in a young lady of your age.”

Serena merely nodded.

“My sister speaks highly of you,” he said.

The change in topic disconcerted her. “Thank you—I mean, Miss Granville is one of the nicest people I’ve met.”

“For some people, character is not the only consideration,” he said. “As I’m sure you know. You must also know that Marianne is uncomfortable meeting new people.”

“I’m aware,” Serena admitted. “And I can’t blame her.”

“I would go so far—” he seemed bemused “—as to say Marianne likes you a lot.”

“How odd,” she replied.

He smiled.

“I’d say I return the sentiment toward your sister,” she said, “but you’d probably consider me impertinent.”

“Miss Somerton,” he said calmly, “may we call a truce?”

Serena realized she was enjoying the cut and thrust of their conversational duel. It made her feel at home. “The Bible does say we should live peaceably with one another,” she admitted.

He chuckled at her marked lack of enthusiasm. “A truce, then. Good. For I would like to offer you a new position, Miss Somerton. That of companion to Marianne.”

“You want me to stay?” This was the last thing she’d expected.

“Let’s not get into personal preferences. I’m asking you to stay.”

She choked on a mix of shock and laughter. “Completely different,” she agreed.

He folded his arms across his chest and stood, watching her, a gleam in his eye. “Well, what do you say?”

“Mr. Granville, I— How can you even ask such a thing!”

Flustered at her own outburst, Serena turned away. She leaned over to smell the bouquet of a Maiden’s Blush bud. She could just see the furled petals, white barely tinged with pink, vivid against the dark green foliage. It was known to be one of the most fragrant rose varieties, so she drew in several breaths deep enough to dizzy herself, in the hope he would have the tact to walk away.

When she straightened, he was still there.

“You gave the impression on Thursday that you were reluctant to leave,” he said coolly. “Are you now reluctant to stay?”

“No, I— Yes!” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Mr. Granville, in the last few minutes—and let us not forget Thursday!—I have spoken to you far more boldly than a governess should, on the understanding that I was no longer employed.”

“Far more boldly,” he agreed.

Infuriating man! If she’d hoped for courteous reassurance, she was looking in the wrong place. But her father preached the need to “confess your faults to one another.” Not that she’d done that with her parents, as far as her past indiscretion was concerned. Still, she persevered now. “And now, having stated views that, to be quite honest, are none of my business—”

“At last,” he murmured.

“—and speaking in such plain terms about matters of the heart—”

“My heart in particular,” he reminded her. Unnecessarily.

“—you’re asking me to stay. If I’d had any idea this would happen, I would never have presumed...”

“I suspect you would have,” he assured her. “Though perhaps with more subtlety.”

She made a sound of exasperation. “Mr. Granville, this is most embarrassing.” She paced, agitated, to a bush heavy with pink roses, and began fidgeting with a just-opened bloom.

“That variety is a China rose called Parson’s Pink,” he told her. She released it quickly. “If I promise to expunge this entire conversation from my memory, and Thursday’s, too,” he said, “will you stay?”

She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “I doubt your ability to expunge so much. Tell me, why does Miss Granville need a companion now, when apparently she didn’t before?”

“I intend to begin my search for a wife immediately,” he said.

If that was meant to answer her question, she’d missed it. “Are you saying you’ll be traveling to London? And that your sister will need company in your absence?”

He strolled over to join her by the Parson’s Pink roses. “We spoke a moment ago about Marianne’s dislike of meeting new people,” he said. “Woodbridge Hall has a new neighbor whom I’ll be required to entertain in the near future. If I’m inviting guests, I might as well commence my hunt for a bride at the same time. With so much going on, Marianne will need support. For you to assist her as a companion, paid an allowance—which I assure you will be generous—is very different from a governess paid a wage. It’s entirely acceptable in the eyes of society.”

“True,” she murmured.

“There’s another benefit,” he said. “The more people in the house, the less ‘on display’ my prospective bride will feel when she visits.”

“Hmm.” Serena was unsure of his logic. Wouldn’t a lady feel more on display, the more people there were to inspect her? Then she registered his use of the singular noun. “Just one prospective bride, Mr. Granville?”

“I only need one wife.”

Which was quite the silliest thing she’d heard. “What if the first lady you invite here proves unsuitable?”

“There will not be a parade of single ladies,” he said ominously.

Oh, dear. Serena changed the subject. “So you will invite them—her—here for the children to meet her. An excellent idea.” Perhaps if she praised the concept first, she could then suggest improvements.

“It’s for my prospective bride to meet my children, not the other way around,” he said. “The children will have no say in my decision.”

Serena tried not to look alarmed. After all, few men would ask their children’s opinions. But Dominic Granville didn’t know much about his children’s needs....

“If I left it to Thomas, he would choose the lady most courageous in the handling of lizards.” His annoyance suggested she hadn’t succeeded in disguising her concern. “You may rest assured of my good judgment, Miss Somerton. Now, will you stay? As well as pleasing my sister, the continuity of your presence would benefit the children.”

“And I’d be delighted not to leave them just yet,” she admitted. “I assume I could still spend time with them, though I’d be Marianne’s companion?”

“Certainly, though you wouldn’t be teaching them,” he said. “It’s only just over a month until summer—the children can take an early break from their studies.” His tone was ironic, as if he didn’t believe they studied too seriously under Serena’s supervision.

Well, they didn’t. Not too seriously. She believed in a balance of work and play. If she stayed, she could continue to encourage Mr. Granville to get closer to his children. With a great deal of tact, of course.

“Nurse is quite capable of managing their daily activities,” he stated, then paused. “So, you will stay?”

A chill gust of wind blew a sprinkling of rose petals off the bush, to land at Serena’s feet. Poor petals, so easily parted from the security of the plant, then left to wither and die.

“Miss Somerton, everything is proceeding according to your wishes,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “You’ll have longer with the children, and I’ve undertaken to provide the stepmother you insist upon. Yet—”

He put a finger to her chin, lifting it.

Serena gasped and took a step back.

“I—I apologize.” His face had reddened, whether from the wind or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. “I was merely observing you appear to be sunk in gloom.”

She laced her fingers tightly, so she wouldn’t be tempted to explore the place where the memory of his touch lingered. She struggled to marshal her thoughts. “I’m not gloomy,” she said. That was the wrong word for her doubts about his approach to remarriage. And certainly the wrong word for her reaction to his touch. Don’t think about that.

“You will stay,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, but Serena answered it, anyway.

“I will stay.”

Chapter Three

“You must call me Marianne.” Marianne Granville served herself some stuffed lettuce from the platter in front of her. “I call you Serena in my head, anyway, so your name comes naturally to me.”

“Certainly, if you wish.” Serena smiled at Marianne, then listened with half an ear as brother and sister chatted about some matter related to the estate’s tenants. Her elevation to the role of companion required her to dine with Miss Granville—Marianne—and her brother. Prompted by her embarrassment at her free speech with Dominic Granville, Serena had given excuses for why she should eat at the table in her own little sitting room the past two evenings, but today Marianne had insisted. The other woman had embraced the idea of having her as a companion with such alacrity, Serena felt Mr. Granville was right that she was needed by more than just the children. Not that he’d admitted the children needed her.

“You’re very quiet tonight, Miss Somerton.” Dominic’s comment jerked her out of her reverie.

“Not at all, Mr. Granville,” she murmured. She’d decided life would be simpler if she didn’t engage in conversation with him, beyond grasping opportunities to subtly encourage him to spend more time with his children.

“Maybe you should call Dominic by his Christian name, too,” Marianne said.

A frown from her brother. Serena was relieved, and unsurprised. Though she had thought of him as Dominic several times over the past few days—it was hard not to, with Marianne saying his name all the time—they weren’t related, and were certainly not friends.

He made no response to her sister’s suggestion, nor did Serena.

“Dom, I’ve made a list of whom I think we should invite to dinner next week,” Marianne said. “As soon as you approve it, I’ll send the invitations.”

No one listening to her would know how much she dreaded the occasion. Looking at her was another matter; her face was crimson at just the thought of entertaining so many people, even though most of them were familiar.

If Marianne hadn’t been afflicted with this excessive, uncontrollable blushing, she would have been one of the most beautiful women Serena had met. Not surprising, given how handsome her brother was. Her blue eyes were large and well spaced, her cheekbones beautifully defined, her mouth a perfect bow. Her dark hair was lustrous and thick; Serena had seen it down and admired its natural, loose curls.

But then...there was her Condition. Serena had never seen Marianne in an unblushing state. Even in the company of family, her cheeks were lightly flushed. And it took no more than a question from one of Woodbridge Hall’s longtime servants to make her color flare. In wider society, her skin ranged from rose-pink with friends to a vivid puce with strangers. Serena wasn’t sure what had come first, Marianne’s blushing or her shyness. Whatever the answer, the two were now inextricably linked, feeding each other.

“Excellent,” Dominic said of the plan for dinner invitations. He started on one of the second course dishes, poached turbot with lobster sauce. “When I called on Mr. Beaumont, he said he’d be pleased to attend.”

“What kind of man is he?” Marianne asked. She’d told Serena yesterday that she liked to know as much as possible about people before she met them, in the hope that minimizing the surprise would also minimize blushing.

Dominic poured more sauce over his fish. “Very friendly.”

He spoke as if that was a bad thing. Serena could imagine him pulling back from an excess of neighborly warmth.

“He sounds the type to want to converse a lot,” Marianne said dubiously. She set down her knife and fork. “Serena, we might go into Melton Mowbray on Thursday to see what Mrs. Fletcher has on offer.”

Mrs. Fletcher was a dressmaker, the best in the village.

“Thank you, I’d love to,” Serena said. Her wardrobe wasn’t sufficient for her elevated status of companion, and certainly not for a dinner party. With her new allowance, she could easily afford a new dress. Perhaps even two. And if she took her gray silk with her, Mrs. Fletcher might suggest alterations that would bring it into the current fashion.

Despite her concern for Marianne, Serena found herself looking forward to the upcoming dinner. As rector of Piper’s Mead, her father was invited, along with his family, to all the social events of the local gentry. Serena had always enjoyed the occasions.

“Shall I tell you who else is on the guest list, Dom?” Marianne said, with a smile that was painfully forced. “One name will be of particular interest to you, I think.”

Her arch tone suggested she was referring to a lady.

Dominic’s glance flickered in Serena’s direction; she sensed his reluctance to open the subject in her presence.

“Mrs. Gordon,” Marianne announced, before he could refuse. To Serena, she said, “Colonel Gordon was killed in the Peninsula three years ago. She’s a very capable lady, and her children have excellent manners.”

“She has children of her own?” Serena asked, dismayed. It had never occurred to her that the new Mrs. Granville might bring her own offspring to the marriage. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Your opinion is not required, Miss Somerton,” Dominic said. “Indeed, it is unwelcome.”

Belatedly, Serena recalled her intention not to engage in discussion with him. But she could hardly ignore such thoughtlessness! Besides, as Marianne’s companion, she was no longer a servant to be instructed as to what she could and couldn’t talk about. She wouldn’t force her views on him as bluntly as she had when she’d thought she was leaving. But a less personal, more reasoned discussion should be perfectly acceptable.

“It’s natural for a mother to favor her own children over someone else’s,” she observed. She addressed the remark to Marianne.

“Serena may have a point, Dominic,” Marianne said. “I don’t think Mrs. Gordon would willfully do such a thing, but perhaps unintentionally... Maybe I shouldn’t invite her.”

“Invite her,” he ordered. “She’s a very pleasant woman, and she already calls this district home. She will do very well.”

Just like that, he’d decided this Mrs. Gordon was The One? Serena bristled. Convenience was one thing, expediency to the point of carelessness quite another. His eyes met hers, daring her to challenge him. She held his gaze for several long seconds. Then his focus shifted infinitesimally, lowered, and she was reminded of his touch on her chin. A quiver ran through her.

Serena picked up her cutlery and turned her attention to her fish. For the next few minutes, the only sound was the clink of silver on china. Judging by her high color, Marianne was lost in fretful contemplation of the upcoming dinner party. Dominic doubtless thought he’d solved his marriage dilemma in one easy step; the measured pace of his eating radiated smugness.

Serena reined in her impulse to argue further. She was the one who’d suggested Dominic should marry. To object to how he went about it was unreasonable...at this stage.

* * *

Dominic couldn’t sleep. A few days ago he’d thought he would never remarry. Now he’d not only decided to walk down the aisle again, but Marianne had identified a candidate who seemed exactly what he needed.

Everything in him rebelled.

He stared at the elaborate ceiling cornice above his bed, only just able to discern the acorn-and-leaf pattern in the light of the half-moon. Lord, there must be another way.

He’d loved Emily from childhood, and at their wedding he’d promised to love her until death parted them. A promise all too easily kept. The truth was, he would love her forever. Was it fair to propose marriage to another woman, even one who accepted—perhaps welcomed—the convenient nature of the alliance?

The alternative was worse. Even if it were possible to feel again the way he’d felt about Emily, why would he want to? The agony of losing his wife was no longer rapier-sharp, but he remembered it well. When Serena had talked of a second chance, all he’d been able to imagine was a second chance to suffer. A man would be insane to expose himself to that again.

Which brought him back to a convenient marriage. Deep down, despite his prayer, Dominic knew there was no other way. Not if his daughters were to be successfully presented to society, if his sister was to be spared the agony of a chaperone role.

He thumped his pillow into a more amenable shape and turned over.

From a distance—upstairs?—he heard a cry. Then another. In the next moment, it became full-on wailing.

One of the children. Likely a bad dream; Nurse would attend to it. Dominic pulled his pillow over his head.

A minute later, the noise hadn’t abated.

Dominic lay there another minute. Was it possible Nurse had gone suddenly deaf? Maybe Marianne would... No, she was a famously sound sleeper. Suppressing a curse, he pushed the covers aside and got out of bed, pulled on his breeches and shirt. And since he could hardly go wandering around the house in his shirtsleeves, a dressing gown on top.

The noise was louder outside his room, deafening by the time he reached the nursery. He pushed open the door.

“Nurse, what is this infernal—”

He stopped. The woman standing at Louisa’s bed wasn’t the comforting figure of his sixty-year-old nurse. It was Serena—Miss Somerton.

She scooped Louisa up into her arms, staggering a little as she straightened.

His daughter’s cheeks were brilliant red, her eyes glassy.

Dominic charged forward. “What’s wrong with her? Where’s Nurse?”

“Her granddaughter was due to be delivered of a baby tonight.” Miss Somerton blushed at the intimate topic. “Marianne gave Nurse permission to attend her.”

He touched the back of his hand to Louisa’s forehead. “She has a fever. Have you summoned a doctor?” He made for the bellpull.

“The doctor can’t do anything.” Serena raised her voice so he could hear over his daughter’s cries. “It’s an ear infection.”

“How do you know?” Even as he asked, Dominic noticed that Louisa’s left earlobe was red. “It might look like an ear infection, but what if it’s something more serious?”

Like measles.

“Louisa suffers these infections quite frequently, though more often in winter.” Serena’s tone said he should know that. “Experience suggests there’s nothing much to do beyond comforting her.” Rocking his daughter in her arms, she murmured, “Hush, dearest, I’m here now.”

Louisa continued to scream.

“There must be something we can do,” Dominic said, aghast. “She’s obviously in pain.”

“I’ve sent the nursery maid for some laudanum. A few drops won’t harm her, and it’ll help her sleep.”

“What about Nurse’s special tonic?” he said desperately. “That seems to fix anything.”

Serena smiled, and her face took on that impish look he was beginning to associate with her. Highly inappropriate in a governess.

She’s not a governess anymore.

Still, to be smiling like that, she couldn’t be too worried about Louisa; Dominic felt his own panic ease.

“Nurse’s special tonic is just lemon barley, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’ve discovered that unless Nurse herself administers it, it doesn’t work.”

“Lemon barley?” He struck a hand to his chest. “That tonic has cured me miraculously numerous times.”

Serena’s smiled widened as she stroked Louisa’s hair. “I apologize for disillusioning you.”

“Let me take her,” Dominic said. “She’s heavy.”

He half expected her to protest, convinced as she was that she knew better what his children needed, but she willingly offered Louisa over.

The transfer proved awkward, as Louisa burrowed into Serena’s neck. Dominic’s suddenly clumsy fingers brushed Serena’s shoulders and upper arms through her clothing. She stiffened.

By the time he held his daughter, he felt as if he’d been wrestling quicksand. Serena’s cheeks were pink, her gaze downcast.

It occurred to him that the high-necked garment she wore might be a dressing gown. It certainly wasn’t the dress she’d worn to dinner, which had been white, with a pink ribbon and a ruffled hem. Simple, but pretty. Whatever this peach-colored garment was, it boasted the shabbiness of long wear.

To allow them both time to collect themselves, Dominic paced the room, trying to keep his steps rhythmic. With no better plan of his own—indeed, he didn’t have a clue—he followed Serena’s example, stroking Louisa’s hair, hushing her. Inept though he felt—should he be stroking or patting?—it seemed to soothe the child.

Serena yawned and sank down onto the edge of Louisa’s bed. Dominic walked past the chest filled with toys, many from his own youth, and over to a table where pencils and paper and paints were laid out. One of the chairs had a cushion tied to it, presumably for Louisa. On the table was a painting—if you could call the mess of colors that—anchored with two stones from the garden. Dominic eyed the “masterpiece” with misgiving. Was Serena a poor tutor, or was his daughter entirely lacking artistic talent?

“Louisa uses color to great effect.” Serena had followed the direction of his gaze.

“It’s a mess,” he said.

“It’s the work of a five-year-old, Mr. Granville.”

The sudden frost in her voice was a defense of his daughter, he realized. About which he could hardly complain.

“Actually,” she continued, “it’s a portrait of you.”

Dominic leaned over to get a better look at the painting. Louisa’s head flopped forward; quickly, he cupped it, hugging her securely. “I appear to have three eyes.”

“It’s perhaps not a good likeness,” Serena admitted. “Maybe,” she continued, still frosty, “that’s because the children don’t see enough of you to remember what you look like.”

Dominic had heard the phrase midnight madness... This must be it, the casting aside of daytime’s social inhibitions. Mind you, Serena seemed to indulge the urge to speak her mind at any time, thanks to her father’s unusual liberality.

Dominic would not be indulging in madness. No matter what the provocation.

“I see my children morning and evening,” he reminded her calmly.

“For all of seven minutes each time.”

“I have an estate to run, Miss Somerton. It ensures my family’s daily provision and future security, and it occupies a great deal of my time.”

“You have five children. You’re their only parent.”

“A situation I intend to rectify.”

“Your sons in particular need more of your time,” she said.

It was growing more difficult to maintain his polite demeanor. “I know you mean well, Miss Somerton, so even though I have explained to you that well-meaning people are among my least favorite, I will overlook your interference.”

“William’s fear of the dark—”

“He’ll outgrow that.” Actually, Dominic had assumed his son had long ago outgrown the fear that beset him after his mother died.

“—is getting worse,” she said. “Perhaps if you talked to him...”

Before she could give him the benefit of any more of her advice, the maid appeared, carrying the laudanum. She gave a little gasp of surprise to see Dominic.

“Mr. Granville, could you set Louisa on the bed?” Serena asked.

Laying Louisa down wasn’t easy. Her little fingers clutched at his lapel. Detaching them seemed to hurt her, and she squalled.

Dominic took a hasty step away from the bed, the back of his neck hot, as if he were the one with the fever.

“Hold her hand, please,” Serena said crisply.

Out of his depths, unsure if there was some medical reason to obey, he reluctantly approached the bed again and took his daughter’s hand. Serena administered the laudanum. Louisa settled almost instantly, whether from the effects of the medicine or from a belief that it would do her good. Dominic let go of her hand, feeling as if he’d just run a mile.

Serena dismissed the maid. “You may go, too, Mr. Granville,” she said.

Eager though he was to get back to bed, he didn’t like being dismissed in his own house by an uppity governess. Companion, he corrected mentally.

“What about you, Miss Somerton? You need your sleep.”

“I’ll wait a few minutes, to be sure she’s asleep.”

As if to prove the wisdom of her strategy, Louisa writhed suddenly. “Mama,” she moaned.

Dominic drew in a sharp breath. Louisa didn’t remember Emily; she’d been only six months old when her mother died. Of course, she’d heard the other children talking of their mother over the years. More so recently, going by what Serena had told him the other day.

Could another woman possibly fill the gap in his children’s lives, if she couldn’t fill the gap in his?

Serena’s gaze met Dominic’s. “If you’re questioning the wisdom of your plan to marry, believe me, the children will appreciate it.”

Had she read his mind? Discerned his doubts? “Stepmothers are often vilified in literature,” he said lightly.

Her lips curved. “Naturally, you should avoid those who plan to feed the children poisoned apples, who possess magic mirrors or who will force the girls to live among the cinders.”

“Useful advice,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

He noticed again the graceful length of Serena’s neck—she was so well covered that was all there was to notice. Other than her eyes, the blue of cornflowers. And her lips, rather full and rosy for a governess. From his own childhood, he recalled governesses with pursed lips and tight mouths.

“It seems strange you’re such a firm proponent of my remarrying,” he said, his eyes still on her lips, “yet you’re in no hurry to enter the matrimonial state yourself.” That’s what she’d said, when he’d accused her of proposing to him. He grimaced at his own conceit, and dragged his gaze back up. “Most women of your age and connections would be eager to launch themselves into London’s marriage mart, rather than rusticate with my children and my sister.”

Serena shrugged, a delicate lift of her shoulders. “I can’t speak for most women, only for myself. And your situation and mine are not at all alike—I don’t have children who need a father. I shall marry when I find a man who loves me with all his heart.”

A silence fell, during which they both stared at Louisa, now sleeping, her breathing loud.

“You don’t have a suitor back home?” he asked.

She looked away. “No.”

Another silence.

“About Mrs. Gordon...” she began.

“Serena, could you set aside your objections to Mrs. Gordon for now?” he asked. He realized he’d used her Christian name. She blinked, whether at his familiarity or his plea, he wasn’t sure. “After all, we have no reason to believe the lady will have the slightest interest in marrying me.”

Serena looked him over, so quickly he could have missed it.

“If you say so,” she said.

Something hung in the air between them. Something that to Dominic felt like She thinks I’m handsome.

“I mean, how does one even introduce the thought of marriage?” he asked quickly, distracting her from any possibility of reading his mind, which had taken a turn for the absurd. His conceit was still alive and well, it seemed! “I’ve spent years making it clear to the world that I don’t intend to marry.”

The first few years after Emily died, women had made their interest plain, some of them while he was still in mourning.

“There’s a simple way to convey your change of heart to everyone who needs to know,” she said. “Tell your valet your intentions.”

“Trimble would never—” Dominic broke off, seeing her readiness to disagree. No point encouraging her to argue. Even if those arguments were as exhilarating as they were irritating. “I’m prepared to try your suggestion,” he said generously. “But I have more faith in my valet’s discretion than you do.” In a way, he hoped Trimble would say nothing. Though the world needed to know, Dominic quailed at the thought of reversing the impression of confirmed bachelorhood he’d worked so hard to create.

Of course, if he wanted a wife of good birth, conveniently located and who liked his children, Miss Somerton herself was eminently qualified.

“I commend your reluctance to wed,” she said surprisingly. Surprising given that the whole thing had been her idea. “Your loyalty to your late wife is admirable.”

It struck him that her admiration was a thing some men might covet. Before they realized how argumentative she was. No one would want a wife so provoking.

“Emily and I loved each other from childhood,” he said. What an odd conversation to be having with a near stranger. Something about the lateness of the hour, the flickering shadow of the candle on the wall, invited confidence. It seemed he wasn’t immune to midnight madness, after all.

Madness or no, she needed to understand this one thing about him. He fixed his gaze on the wavering shadow. “When I was thirteen, and Emily was twelve, I told her we would marry one day. Neither of us faltered in our determination. We were married a week after she turned eighteen, and the twins were born a year later. We were happy every day we were together.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck, suddenly tired. “I don’t believe a person finds a love like that more than once in their life.”

“I hope and pray you’re wrong,” Serena said.

Something in her tone put him on the alert. It sounded personal. As if she, too, had loved and lost. He would have said twenty-one was too young to be seriously brokenhearted, but of course, he and Emily had been married three years by the time Emily was of age. He wondered who Serena...

He dismissed the thought. Likely she was moved by his own tale, not referring to a doomed romance of her own.

The silence grew awkward. Serena broke it.

“How will you determine if Mrs. Gordon is fit to be your children’s stepmother?” she asked.

“She’s a woman of good sense and few expectations,” he said. “I consider that an excellent start.”

Those cornflower eyes widened. “Oh, dear, she sounds rather uninspiring.”

He couldn’t help it; he groaned. “If by uninspiring you mean calm and reasonable...”

“That must be what I mean,” she said with that now-familiar mischievous twinkle.

“Her lineage is impeccable,” he said. “If not as elevated as your own.”

“I can’t help feeling Mrs. Gordon has attained the position of front-runner merely by coming from a good family and living close by,” Serena said. “Is your aim to make the nearest choice or the best choice?”

He refused to rise to that bait. “Since this will be a marriage of convenience, proximity seems a logical criterion.”

“What about whether she adores your children?”

Adores. What a word to use.

He straightened the storybook sitting on the chest of drawers next to the bed. “She will need to care about the children, of course. And to know how to nurse them and employ a governess and, when they’re older, introduce them to the world. She’s a mother already, so I’m sure she knows these things.”

“Hmm,” Serena said. It wasn’t a sound that expressed confidence in Dominic’s judgment. “What other qualities should the future Mrs. Granville possess?”

Like most of her questions, this one fell into the none-of-her-business category. But it was, he supposed, something he should be considering.

“Intelligence,” he said, “of course.”

“There’s no of course about that,” she said. “I hear many men don’t want an intelligent wife.”

“I’m not afraid of a woman with a brain, Miss Somerton.”

“Excellent,” she said warmly.

He shook off the pleasant feeling her approval induced. “For my wife to be attractive would be nice, but not essential.”

“A Christian woman,” Serena suggested.

“Naturally,” he said. “I believe most ladies of my acquaintance are Christians.”

“Someone...playful?” she proposed.

He frowned.

“You don’t object to play, do you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “It’s good for children to play. When it’s appropriate.”

Her quick grin said she considered him stuffy. To a twenty-one-year-old girl, he probably was. “I expect my wife to be mature,” he said. “Close to my own age.”

She nodded as if that made complete sense, which, perversely, left him feeling insulted. Who was to say he couldn’t find himself a younger wife if he wished?

Though a more mature woman was less likely to have romantic notions.

“The main thing is,” he said, putting an abrupt end to a conversation that had already become too personal, “the children should have someone to take the maternal role in their lives.”

“You mean, to love them.” Why did she have to twist everything, yet at the same time make it sound so uncomplicated?

“You really are very young, Serena.” Blast, he’d used her Christian name again.

“I suspect you mean I’m naive,” she said. “If believing in the power of love to transform lives is naive, then, yes, I am.”

“No doubt you’re right.” But Dominic would settle for a successful come-out for his daughters, and for a more comfortable existence for his sister.

Serena’s tsk suggested she knew he was fobbing her off. But she didn’t argue. “I think Louisa will sleep through now,” she said.

“Excellent.” He looked down at his sleeping daughter. Louisa had always been a small child, but huddled as she was, she seemed tiny. He had the urge to caress her in some way...but he didn’t know how. Awkward, he rubbed the bump in the blanket made by her foot. “I will do my best for my children in this matter of my remarriage, Miss Somerton, you may rely on that. I am more than conscious that they depend on me. Indeed, I would give my life for any of them.”

What on earth had possessed him to say something so dramatic? Blame it on the midnight madness.

Serena made a smothered sound. Dominic raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to comment.

She shook her head. “It’s time I returned to my chamber.” She bent over and kissed Louisa’s forehead. That was what he should have done, he realized, castigating himself. It seemed obvious now. The way Serena smoothed a lock of his daughter’s hair reminded him of Emily. For one moment, he found himself wanting that touch on his own hair, that tenderness directed at him. No.

Yet instinctively, he drew closer, and as Serena straightened, she bumped into him. Dominic grasped her arms to steady her. Immediately, he released her.

They stood staring at each other.

“Good night,” she blurted. And almost ran from the room.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Marianne’s complexion was redder than usual—one of those inexplicable days when her face started off the color of the crimson walls in the breakfast room and stayed that way. Small wonder that, having swallowed the last of her baked egg, she took to her room to lie down with damp cloths on her cheeks, with a plan to play some solitary chess later. A devotee of the game, she had a board set up in her private sitting room.

Outside, a spring storm had blown up, lashing the windows and bending trees at dangerous angles.

Serena visited the nursery and found the children fidgety, snapping at each other. Louisa was feeling much better, but her mood was subdued.

“What we need is a nice game,” Serena announced.

“Can we slide down the banister again?” William begged.

“No, dearest.” Even though it was exactly that kind of day, and Serena felt so peculiarly unsettled that she’d have relished the chance to climb onto the banister herself. Not that she ever would, of course. “We’ll play dominoes.”

The children pounced on the suggestion, and the twins soon had the game set up. Luckily, it didn’t require much concentration, because Serena’s mind was busy elsewhere. Wondering at Dominic’s unguarded, late-night declaration of love for his children.

Not that he’d said anything as simple as “I love them.” Instead, he’d said, “I would give my life for any of them.”

She doubted he’d been thinking of the verse from John’s gospel: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” But she had thought of it, and had recognized a declaration of ardent love.

He would probably be horrified by her interpretation. What a pity that he should feel so much for his children, yet not show it in his words or deeds! During her eight months at Woodbridge Hall Serena had observed him as a cool, distant father. A provider and protector, but not a loving papa. When he embraced his children, she saw only duty on both sides.

Until last night, she’d assumed his behavior was a reflection of his thoughts.

She’d been wrong.

Yet she doubted even Dominic knew how much he loved his children. Given his attitude to love in a new marriage, he might not even want to know.

For his own sake, and that of his children, he needed to admit to his deeper feelings. And if this was another example of Serena deciding what was best for others...she didn’t care.

The game of dominoes came to an end, with William the winner.

“What shall we play now?” Charlotte asked, as the older children packed away the dominoes.

“Time for spillikins, I think,” Serena said. “Louisa, perhaps you could ask your father to join us?”

Louisa was hard to resist on any day. Today, when she was still pale from her sleepless night, even the hardest-hearted brute would succumb. Dominic was certainly not that.

“Ask Papa to play a game?” Thomas said, astounded. “In the middle of the day?” It wasn’t clear which idea he found more outrageous: that Dominic might play or that they might see their father outside the prescribed times.

“Why not?” Serena said. “He’s probably as bored as we are.”

Thomas’s expression said she had lost her mind, but of course, he didn’t contradict her. The Granville children were all, with the occasional exception of Charlotte, well-behaved, as they should be.

Serena escorted Louisa downstairs to the library, where Dominic usually spent the morning on his correspondence and accounts. She knocked on the paneled oak door.

“Come in,” said a mildly irritated voice.

He’d been deprived of sleep, Serena reminded herself. She opened the door and gave Louisa a little push.

“Hello there.” Dominic’s voice softened immediately. Serena could hear him smiling. “How are your ears this morning?”

Still holding the door handle, Serena pressed her own ear to the opening in an attempt to hear the conversation—only to stumble a moment later when the door was wrenched open.

She gave a little squawk of dismay, and straightened up.

“Eavesdropping, Miss Somerton?” Dominic asked.

So, in the cold light of day they were back to “Miss Somerton.” If not for the flicker in his hazel eyes of a recognition that went more than skin-deep, she’d have said their midnight conversation had never happened. And perhaps his eyes were just a little too fixed on her own, as if he wouldn’t allow them to stray. Last night, she was almost certain he’d been looking at her mouth.

“I apologize,” she said, slightly breathless. “I wanted to hear how well Louisa framed her request.”

“You could have come in with her.”

“True,” she agreed. “But then I couldn’t have observed you without your knowing.”

He gave a startled laugh. “That honesty of yours.”

“There’s no point pretending otherwise, when you caught me red-handed,” Serena said.

“A fair point,” he conceded. “And at least this time your ruthless honesty isn’t directed at my private life.” He propped one shoulder against the doorjamb. The casual power of the pose suggested he had the world at his feet, his to command or ignore. When he looked like this, the task of reforming a man so distant into a loving, playful father seemed an impossible fantasy. Then he surprised her by saying in a tone that wasn’t distant, “So...spillikins, hmm?”

Serena nodded. She tried not to sound too eager. “Marianne is resting in her room, so I thought I’d spend some time with the children. With such beastly weather outdoors, we’re looking for entertainments.”

“Please play with us, Papa,” Louisa asked, with plaintive sweetness.

Dominic swung her into his arms, a tenderness in his eyes that made Serena’s heart jump. This was more like it.

“If you insist.” His agreement told Serena just how worried he’d been last night. “But I warn you—” he set Louisa back on the floor and ruffled her hair “—I shall win.”

“Not with those big hands you won’t,” Serena said. Gracious! What was she thinking of, commenting on his hands? Besides, strong though they looked, the tapering of his fingers suggested he might not be entirely graceless.

Not at all.

“Miss Somerton, are you too warm?” he quizzed her.

Serena pressed her palms to her cheeks. Heat. Pull yourself together, my girl. “I’m quite comfortable,” she said.

The children were surprised but delighted when their father entered the nursery.

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