A Mutual Arrangement

Henrietta Gordon has one dream: to practice medicine alongside the uncle who raised her. But when he insists she stay in London and find a husband, she must figure out a way to earn money toward her goal. Could handsome earl Dominic, Lord St. Raven, be the answer?

Desperate to find a governess for his niece after his brother’s death, Dominic hires Henrietta—and is soon taken by her smarts and determination. But as Henrietta comes to care deeply for Dominic and his charge, the thought of inevitably leaving them feels impossible, forcing her to decide what’s more important—following her dreams or her heart.

JESSICA NELSON believes romance happens every day and thinks the greatest, most intense romance comes from a God who woos people to Himself with passionate tenderness. When Jessica is not chasing her three beautiful, wild little boys around the living room, she can be found staring into space as she plots her next story, daydreams about raspberry mochas or plans chocolate for dinner.

Also By Jessica Nelson

Love on the Range

Family on the Range

The Matchmaker’s Match

A Hasty Betrothal

The Unconventional Governess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Unconventional Governess

Jessica Nelson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08258-7

THE UNCONVENTIONAL GOVERNESS

© 2018 Jessica Nelson

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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He was a specimen of strong heritage.

Henrietta refused to fault herself for noticing the thickness of St. Raven’s hair or the confidence in his stride. His skin shone with good health and his white, cared-for teeth hinted at a fastidious nature.

Yes, even a doctor could note such things. The churning in her stomach was very natural, she assured herself. Simply a physical and chemical reaction.

And then he turned and saw her.

She, quiet and unobtrusive, edged as close to a wall as possible, yet he saw her. Their gazes connected. She looked quickly away, eager to discourage him from approaching her.

The tactic did not work. Trying not to frown, she nodded a greeting as he neared.

“I see you are walking without pain,” she said promptly.

“Is that why you were studying me so closely?”

Dear Reader,

Henrietta, like many of my other characters, showed up fully formed. I knew she was stubborn, tenacious, and about to be confronted with a man who could calm her fears and give her a reason to love. Enter Dominic. *swoon* I really liked him myself, despite his flaws. He wants to be redeemed. He wants to change. And that is such an admirable quality in a human being. I felt he’d be perfect for Henrietta, a lady who has her entire life mapped out and who is resistant to change.

Enter a headstrong charge (Louise), and I knew I had a beautiful story worth telling. What I did not expect, however, was to be unexpectedly sharing the same circumstances as Dominic, caring for precious little family members who have lost both parents.

It makes this story especially poignant for me. I hope you enjoy it and, as always, I adore hearing from readers. Please forgive any mistakes I’ve made in facts and details. My imagination far outweighs my research skills.

You can find me by visiting my website, www.jessicanelson.net.

Happy reading and may God bless you in every way,

Jessica Nelson

And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works.

—Hebrews 10:24

I would like to dedicate this book to Denise Petrovich, my very unconventional mother. Life would be quite boring without you. I love you and thank you for all of the creative ways you support my writing.

Many thanks to all of my fabulous writing friends, including the members of my Sunshine State Romance Authors group (Loretta Rogers, Darlene Corcoran, Barbara Cairns, Michael Ditchfield and many others), who one October Retreat night helped me brainstorm my hero into the unique and fabulous guy that he is.

Thank you to Emily Rodmell, editor extraordinaire, who is both kind and wise with her advice.

Final thanks to Jesus, my main squeeze. He is a God who is constantly teaching me in unconventional ways.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

England

Spring 1814

No conventional daughter of an earl desired to become a physician.

Henrietta Gordon did not fool herself into thinking she was conventional. As a woman of limited funds and genteel birth, there were very few socially acceptable dreams to dream. And while dreams were all well and good, accomplishment came by setting goals and pursuing them.

Which was why, despite the increasing suspicion that in order to avoid matrimony she might have to take on a governess post, she was determined to prepare for the life she wanted, rather than the life being foisted upon her.

If there was one thing she had learned in her twenty-four years that served her well, it was to persist in what she wanted.

On this brooding English afternoon, Henrietta had taken refuge in Lady Brandewyne’s expansive library. To her great delight, she found a copy of A Practical Synopsis of the Materia Alimentaria and Materia Medica. No sooner had she curled up in a plush wingback chair than Lady Brandewyne swept into the room.

The dowager countess, an old friend of Uncle William’s, had kindly allowed Henrietta to stay with her while she recovered from a bout of rheumatic fever. Uncle William had gone to London to teach a medical seminar. He’d promised to return to collect Henrietta, but it had been a month since he left, and she began to doubt his intentions.

Especially with Lady Brandewyne’s daily insinuations.

The fearsome lady now paused when she saw Henrietta reading rather than practicing the pianoforte, or performing some other expected feat of ladyhood. She sniffed, her regal, powdered chin tilted to display her disapproval more effectively.

“I have received a report that a man was found wounded nearby. His servants are bringing him here. Since the apothecary is on another call at the moment, it seems as though I may have need of your expertise.” She delivered the words stiffly, and Henrietta hid a smile behind the professionalism her uncle had taught her to display.

“Do we know the nature of his wounds? Will he require sutures?” She placed the book on a side table and stood.

“No, and I do not want you overly involved with his care. As soon as the apothecary arrives, you will remove yourself.”

Henrietta felt her eyebrows fly upward at Lady Brandewyne’s dogmatic tone. She hadn’t practiced medicine in England thus far. She’d been too focused on recovering from illness and Lady Brandewyne disapproved of her chosen vocation, at any rate. While here, she must observe propriety much more strictly than she had in the Americas.

Not for long, she comforted herself. Soon she’d be assisting Uncle William again, propriety be hanged. There were lives to be saved. Soldiers’ hands to be held while they verbalized their final goodbyes. Mothers to comfort as they birthed their children.

Her throat tightened.

As though noticing her discomfort, Lady Brandewyne drew near. “Calm yourself, my dear. I’m sure the apothecary will care for him completely. Let us speak of a happier subject. I’ve arranged a house party in two weeks’ time to relieve the tedium of your convalescence. You may want to consider encouraging a suitor.”

“A suitor?”

“It is past time for you to marry.”

Before Henrietta could remark on that most outrageous statement, the butler appeared in the doorway. “They have arrived, my lady.”

“Bring them to the front door. The servants’ hall is too narrow.”

Henrietta rose quickly, following Lady Brandewyne out of the room and through a hall lined with antique oil paintings of ancestors, down the ornate, curving stairwell to the entrance of her Elizabethan-shaped home.

As soon as she saw the large man being carried in, mental images assaulted her. The battery was unexpected. She had no time to arm herself against memories of assisting Uncle William during the War of 1812. She willed the pictures of war and death away.

This is not Newark, she assured herself firmly. Memories from that deadly skirmish rushed her. Fire, screams, black smoke blanketing the sky...and then the deaths. So many deaths...

She squared her shoulders. She was a person of great practicality and self-control. Thus equipped with logic, she took a calming breath. Thankfully, no one noticed her angst. Everyone followed the orders Lady Brandewyne snipped out.

Henrietta pressed herself against the wall as the entourage shuffled past.

She noticed a girl in the group, her eyes wide and frightened. She was ushered away by a female servant. Perhaps her nurse?

Henrietta followed everyone up the stairs again, all the way to a room in the east wing facing the gardens. Two footmen laid the prone figure on the bed. Lady Brandewyne glanced over at Henrietta.

“It is Lord St. Raven,” she said quietly. “A neighbor. What do you suggest our first steps to be?”

Henrietta stepped closer. His wavy black hair was in disarray. Twigs and debris were tangled in the strands that curled over what looked like a fashionable collar. In fact, the closer she came, the more she realized this man might qualify as a dandy. Had she ever seen such a perfect knot on a cravat?

Truthfully, she couldn’t claim any knowledge of what was considered fashionable these days. Nor had she ever cared. But his longish hair and tanned skin were at odds with the lifestyle suggested by his clothing.

A lifestyle of vanity, certainly.

His lips, unfortunately, were the color of ash. Blood smeared his jaw. His whole body was so completely still that she felt certain he must have passed on. She touched his neck. His pulse limped quietly beneath his skin.

He lived, but for how long?

“We will need to remove the soiled clothing and clean his wounds. That should allow us more information.”

The dowager sent for hot water while Henrietta continued her cursory examination.

Rumpled clothing. Dark smears that constituted a combination of dirt and blood. She saw no fresh oozing. A blessing. Perhaps the dirt had acted as a bandage, stemming the flow.

His eyes fluttered. A moan crumpled between his lips.

“Shh.” She placed her palm upon his brow. “You are safe now, sir.”

At her touch, his eyes opened, revealing jade irises. She inhaled quickly, struck by the intensity of the coloration.

“Beautiful...” The word came haltingly, his voice unsteady, but the way he looked at her sent her nerves on a tumbling spiral.

She and Lady Brandewyne exchanged a glance.

“Nonsense,” she said briskly. “I’ve been plain since childhood, and plain I shall be long into spinsterhood.” A term she loathed, but nevertheless, she lingered on the cusp of being labeled a spinster by society. “Now save your breath, for you are wounded and I know not the gravity of your injuries.”

“Bandits.”

“They say you led them a merry chase, my lord.” Lady Brandewyne came to his side. Recognition, and perhaps relief, flared in his eyes.

“Is my...attire irreparably beyond repair?”

“If that is your main concern, then your problems are far greater than I feared.” Henrietta pressed her lips together, refusing to let his cavalier comment perturb her. “I shall need to fetch supplies. Perhaps comfrey as an astringent for his wounds.”

“A fresh cravat,” Lord St. Raven groaned, and then the poor man fainted.

* * *

Dominic Stanford, reluctant earl of St. Raven, woke from pleasant dreams to even more pleasant humming. He stretched before a spasm of pain in his ribs reminded him of his unfortunate altercation with a group of vagabonds. He’d almost had them beat, too, he remembered with a half-edged smile.

With that comforting thought in mind, he opened his eyes a crack, just enough to find the source of the humming. The woman’s voice was melodic. Husky and flavored with a depth rarely heard in young ladies. She came into view, her unassuming clothes attesting to her station.

An ordinary housemaid.

A seemingly productive one, though. She wore a serviceable cap in which strands of hair escaped in tendrils about an ordinary face. In fact, there was nothing about her to draw his attention, and yet he could not look away.

Perhaps it was the sound of her low humming that welcomed him. Or the purposeful way in which she moved. It was not that she bustled, as he’d often observed the servantry doing, but she glided with a purpose. A singularly minded woman.

“You’re awake,” she said, without even turning to look at him. She stood at a small table at the side of the room, clinking metal against cup, as though mixing something. He could not see what. Her voice was as soothing as her unworded song. “How do you feel?”

A good question. How did he feel? He tested various parts of his body, flexing his fingers, drawing a deep breath that ended shortly with a stab of pain in his side. “I believe I’ve a broken rib or two.”

Full consciousness returned. He jerked upward, then fell back as daggers sliced across his torso. “My niece,” he rasped. Had he protected her? Had he saved her from those men?

“She is fine, my lord. Safely here at Lady Brandewyne’s.”

He struggled to breathe past the pain still lacing his chest. “She is safe. And we are at the dowager countess’s home?”

“Correct.”

“Where is the doctor?”

“The village apothecary is on his way.” If his question surprised her, she showed no sign of it. “I am your nurse, for the present moment. You have been unconscious since yesterday, when you were brought here. You’ve a few contusions and most likely some bruising to your internal organs, though no hemorrhaging that I can tell.”

“So, for now, I shall live,” he said drily, his body relaxing as he was convinced that Louise had not been harmed. He suspected the convulsions that had plagued him these last months would be the death of him, anyhow.

“Indeed, you shall certainly live.” She chuckled, and once again, he was struck by the cadence of her voice. Her pronunciation was rounded with a foreign flare. American? She did not speak like a servant, but neither did she sound wholly English. For the first time in what had been months of a terrible lethargy of the spirits, the tiniest flicker of intrigue stirred within.

Swallowing against a throat that had gone dry, he said, “Fetch me water.”

Her gaze flew up to meet his, her fingers pausing. Such direct eyes, a deep brown at odds with her lighter hair and fair skin. They chastised him. “No manners?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You dare criticize me?”

At that, the corner of what he realized was a very pretty set of lips tilted upward. A housemaid he had not noticed in the room brought her a different glass filled with water. The woman turned to him, a sparkle in her eye. “Your lack of observation is forgiven, as you’re no doubt groggy, but I am not a maidservant. I shall speak to you however I wish.”

“Point taken, madam.”

“As well as it should be.” She reached behind his head, gently lifting him to allow his mouth to connect with the cup. “A gentleman always admits to being wrong.”

He almost choked on his water, but managed to swallow without his laughter killing him. The chuckle that had bubbled up at her words was quickly sobered by reality. In truth, he was no gentleman, but he did not intend to disclose such a thing.

He drank deeply, ignoring the ache in his midsection and concentrating on filling the thirst that beset him. All the while he was aware that she studied him. Not in the way he was used to being studied, though.

He was well aware of how ladies used to ogle him. They wanted his family lineage, his wealth. They liked his darkly handsome features and green eyes, telling him so on numerous occasions in which propriety was lightly skirted. With their fluttering lashes, their colorful fans, their shallow giggles, they admired his elegant cravats, his French tailoring, his expensive rings.

And he had enjoyed it until ten months ago.

They knew nothing of his damage now. And he enlightened no one, for should society know, it was almost certain that he’d be sent to an insane asylum. Or at best, confined to his estate, talked about with condescending pity while someone else enjoyed his title, his lands and his inheritance. Little was known about his disease, but most assumed it stemmed from mental illness.

He knew he wasn’t crazy, but he couldn’t return to his old way of life until he found a cure.

Therefore, due to the uncertain nature of his illness, he had hidden away at a little cottage he owned in northern England for these past few months. He had ignored his duties, both to Louise and to the St. Raven estate where she lived.

Until he’d received the letter from his sister threatening to take Louise from the St. Raven estate and send her to a girls’ school on the Continent. That threat, combined with yet another governess quitting, urged him to leave his self-induced solitude to collect his wayward niece from St. Raven and take her back to his cottage in the north.

Then they’d been attacked by bandits. He’d successfully coerced the criminals to follow him away from his party, but alas, had not been able to keep them from attacking him. Thankfully his party had followed at a distance and found him.

He shuddered to think of what might have become of them all, but this woman insisted Louise was well. She was his main concern.

He grew aware of the woman staring at him. Her gaze was intense. Scientific, even. Completely devoid of personal feeling. As if he was a specimen beneath the light. He shifted, handing the cup back to her.

She took it, a puzzled expression on her face. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but whatever are you doing so far from London in such finery? Especially with the Season in full swing.”

She did not sound contrite over her impertinence. He met her curious look with a crooked smile. “Ah, that is a question I do not care to answer... Mrs.?”

“How is our patient, Miss Gordon?” A man who looked to be the epitome of physicianhood walked into the room. He must be the village apothecary. He came to stand above Dominic. The man rubbed at his finely tuned mustache, studying him with all the objectivity of a cat studying a mouse.

These people were all the same.

“Your patient is fine.” Dominic wrestled himself into an upright position, despite the razor-edged pain beneath his ribs. “I must be on my way to London. Duty calls.” He couldn’t stay here. Should he have an episode, there was no telling how this doctor might respond.

“Hmm.” The apothecary turned to Miss Gordon, who looked a tad perturbed that Dominic had answered for her. Or perhaps he imagined the peevish set to her mouth. The woman amused him for some very odd reason. He had been gone from society too long, he supposed.

Nothing had ever induced him to take residence in the cage of responsibility foisted on his older brother, the earl of St. Raven, until his brother and sister-in-law had died in a tragic carriage accident, leaving him heir to the estate and guardian to one little girl, who refused to do what she was told.

And yet he adored her. His brother had entrusted him to care for Louise, and he was not going to allow anyone to take that responsibility from him. Not even his little sister.

“Duty?” asked Miss Gordon.

“Yes, a twelve-year-old girl in need of a new governess.” He paused, eyeing the woman before him. “You don’t perchance know of someone looking for a position?”

Chapter Two

“I do not.” Henrietta set her jaw, eyeing Lord St. Raven sharply. Did she have a sign on her head proclaiming her situation? Either way, she’d already ascertained that he was not someone she wished to work for. No doubt the girl was as difficult as he was, and she had no experience with children anyway.

What did she know of teaching? Nothing, which was why it was best to find a position with a sweet, biddable child.

“In that case, bring me Jacks and ready my carriage for departure,” he said in a voice that resonated with an irritating earl-like authority. He was a man obviously used to being obeyed.

“You are not going anywhere.” Annoyed by the determination on her patient’s face, she gave him a stern look. “There is no telling what internal damage you may have suffered. To get up, to be active, could worsen your condition.”

The man scowled at her. And it was a dark scowl indeed, on such a handsome face. She crossed her arms and sent the apothecary a pointed look. “Do you not agree?”

“I do agree.” He stroked his chin. “Are you sure we should not bleed him? His humors are visibly imbalanced. His coloring, for example.”

“We will not be using leeches. My uncle, Mr. William Gordon, says they are ineffective, and that conclusion is based on years of observation and experience.”

“A fine physician. I’ve seen his works in various medical journals.” The apothecary dipped his head. “No leeches, then.”

Grunting, their patient pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She examined his physique for any other weaknesses, any inordinarities. Pain whitened his lips, but did not soften the stubborn jut of his well-defined jaw. He was a larger and broader man than Henrietta had realized. When he’d been lying down, it had been easy to forget his size. Her own stature had often been called average, as had most everything about her besides her intelligence.

“I’ve business to attend while you are wasting time discussing bloodsuckers and the humored color of my skin. Send for my valet. Instruct him as to my needs.”

A rustling of skirts and a perfumed puff of scent announced Lady Brandewyne’s arrival. She entered the room, forcing Henrietta to move toward the foot of the bed. Though comfortable, the room was hardly spacious, and with their medical tools set up, the space further shrunk.

“He’s awake! How unfortunate, how terrible that you were attacked by bandits on my property. Those roving groups of perfidious miscreants...but never mind. After all you’ve been through, and now this. We are all deeply sorry about your family’s loss.” She clucked her tongue. “How can I see to your comfort, my lord?”

He lifted a pointed look to Henrietta. “My valet, if you please.”

“But certainly.” The lady called for a servant. “What else?”

“Louise must be ready to go within the hour. It’s paramount I return to my northern estate.”

“Why, yes, yes, of course.” Lady Brandewyne cast a searching look to Henrietta, who felt tempted to shrug her shoulders and leave this beast to his wildness. This might be her last opportunity for nursing, however. If she had to find a post... The depressing thought weighed upon her.

“It is my opinion—” she gave St. Raven a steady look “—that the jostle of a carriage will be quite painful and his wounds might reopen. Keeping them clean will also be problematic. I cannot recommend he be moved.”

He looked about to retort when a commotion outside their room ensued.

“Oh, my.” Lady Brandewyne pressed a hand to her bosom and exited, followed by the doctor. Henrietta remained in the room, along with her lady’s maid—an extravagance she had insisted she did not need, but Lady Brandewyne would not hear otherwise.

St. Raven leaned back upon his pillow, weakness overcoming his pride. Foolish man. Of course a man who asked for a new cravat while half-conscious with pain would refer to going to his estate as paramount.

Henrietta pursed her lips, peering out the doorway. Downstairs a girl with thick raven hair and an obstinate expression wrestled with a servant. Behind them, Lady Brandewyne’s butler, housemaid and three other servants watched the tussle. Henrietta leaned forward, attempting to listen without leaving her patient. For all she knew, he was just waiting for an opportunity to sneak away.

Like Uncle William. How could he have done such a thing to her? All because she contracted rheumatic fever...such nonsense to fear for her life. Risks were always present, no matter where one lived. She’d much rather face death on a field with her uncle than waste away as a companion to a crotchety rich person or, worse, governess to a spoiled child.

“Eavesdropping?”

Henrietta’s attention flickered, but she did not turn toward that voice. And what a voice. Husky and laced with humor. His scowl earlier had seemed out of character. This man acted like a coddled prince, dressed like a dandy and spoke like a...well, she wasn’t sure, but she knew one thing: no patient of hers was going to be harmed due to willful ignorance.

“Yes,” she finally said, keeping her eyes trained on the situation below. “I cannot leave you here alone.”

“You have no regard for my station.”

He obviously wanted to converse. Sighing, she turned. He sat resolutely on the bed, his hands spread upon the mattress for balance. A curious smile played about his lips.

“Should I? You are an injured man. Your title and your wealth have little importance in a sick room.”

“Come now, Miss Gordon, do not be serious with me. Your brows are knit so tightly that I fear they shall remain forever stuck that way.”

“You are impudent.”

“I am bored and, most unfortunately, beset upon by many responsibilities not of my own making. It appears your word is more revered than the town doctor’s.” His eyes, that striking rich green, regarded her laughingly. “Release me. Give permission.”

The town apothecary was a nice man, but he had not updated his medical knowledge in years. It had not escaped her notice that he had seen rather than read her uncle’s articles. He was slightly better than a self-taught surgeon. Heat flushed through her, turning her palms sweaty. Lord St. Raven befuddled her.

Had she ever met such a charming personality? She could not recall, though, when one was dying on a battlefield, she doubted charm was of any importance.

But how very annoying to be almost swayed by this man’s smile, by his persistent eyes.

“No.” A high-pitched girl’s voice came from below stairs. “I insist on seeing him at once.” The shrill proclamation was followed by the patter of footsteps on the long, winding staircase that served as the centerpiece to Lady Brandewyne’s home.

Determined footsteps, Henrietta concluded. She put her back to the wall, bracing herself for the child about to burst into the room. Lord St. Raven regarded the entrance with interest, his arms propped on his knees.

The girl flew into the room. She was a wisp of a child and shot directly to the earl’s sickbed.

“Oh, Dom, how could you?” She threw herself against him, eliciting a pained grunt from the subject of her emotions. “First you leave me for months on end, and then you act the hero, taunting criminals until they chase you and leave you practically dead on the roadside, beaten to a bloody pulp by pernicious ruffians.”

Henrietta felt her eyebrows raising at this exclamation.

“I’d hardly call myself close to dead. Roughed up a bit, that’s all.”

“That is not what Jacks said.”

“Dear one, you’ve been listening in on adult conversations,” Lord St. Raven murmured, his hand patting the girl’s back, belying the censure in his tone.

“And I’ve had to deal with insipid servants all week. I declare, Dom, you are perfectly horrid to have left me by myself at St. Raven in the first place. You shall never leave me again.”

After that impassioned declaration, the child swiveled around and leveled a sharp look at Henrietta. She quickly smothered any existence of laughter.

“Who are you?” Eyes the same shade of emerald as the earl’s regarded her with distrust, but where his twinkled in immature mischief, hers were intensely serious.

A grudging admiration for her pluck rose within Henrietta. She inclined her head ever so slightly. “I am Miss Gordon.”

“You don’t look like a lady.”

“And you do not speak like one.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you to answer thus?” The imperious quality to her tone suggested an unfamiliarity with conflict from those she deemed less than her equals.

Henrietta squared her shoulders. This little girl did not bother her. After all, how many people had doubted her abilities as an adequate nurse? Men considered her silly and women accused her of misplaced priorities, going so far as to suggest she lacked femininity.

“My lord.” Lady Brandewyne came into the room, nursing a frown. “The girl refused to stay in the nurseries.”

“The girl has a name.” The child’s eyes blazed green fire.

Oh, the impertinence! These two were most certainly related.

For Lady Brandewyne’s part, she puffed up her chest, cheeks billowing with suppressed irritation. “What manner of child is this to speak so? Someone must take her in hand, at once.”

“Louise.” The earl placed his hand upon the bristling girl’s shoulder in a reproachful manner, but Henrietta did not miss the betraying quiver of his chin. She pressed her lips together to keep from uttering an ill-timed criticism. Or chuckle. “Go with Lady Brandewyne to the nursery, please.”

“The nursery? Why, I am practically upon my thirteenth year. The time for this nonsense has passed. You almost died. I cannot be apart from you any longer.”

At that, Louise’s eyes moistened and Henrietta felt a deep compassion overwhelm her. “Your father is quite healthy and should recover nicely as long as he rests these few days.”

She gave him another hug and then sailed past Henrietta with a toss of her head, in which the hair looked almost as unmanageable as the personality.

“Dom is not my father.”

* * *

Dominic sat back against the pillows, palming the sore place in his ribs and containing a wince. No need to let the dragon nurse in the man’s profession see his discomfort. How he loved Louise, but she’d exacerbated his pain in more than one way.

He could not let Barbara have her, but somehow he must find a way to be well again. To be a fit guardian.

“Are you in pain, my lord?” Miss Gordon edged near his bed while the doctor did something at the makeshift table they’d set up at the side of the room. “Can I offer you relief?”

“Now you’re solicitous,” he muttered. What an inconvenience this entire fiasco was. He’d been invited to several parties this week, but had sent his regrets. His past friends would never understand his illness. “When my valet has freshened up, send him to me.”

“I shall do so.” Her brisk tone left no doubt she would. That serious look on her face...did she ever laugh or make merry? He squinted up at her, scrunching his nose in such a way as to draw the lightest bit of humor to her dark eyes.

She did not smile, but an attractive blush stained her delicate skin. Almost too delicate, as though she’d been ill. He studied her more thoroughly as she turned to the doctor, murmuring in a low tone. Yes, her clothes hung a tad too loosely about her frame. They were not of the best quality, though certainly better than what a maid would wear.

He would know, as in the past he had made it his business to ensure his household was dressed to represent him. An illusion of perfection that, until the accident, he’d taken great joy in creating.

A groan caught up to him, gurgling inside. Louise. Whatever was he going to do with her? She absolutely hated his sister, Barbara. But could he really raise her when he had no idea of his future? If Barbara discovered his epilepsy, then he’d have a battle on his hands.

As though hearing the subject of his thoughts, Miss Gordon came back carrying a drink. “Who is the child?”

“What is this?” He took the cup, peering at the foul-smelling brew.

“Tea with a tincture of herbs to soothe the pain you’re in. The girl?”

The reiterated question was rude, yet Dominic found himself amused by her plain speaking. He sipped the tea, ignoring the wretched taste for the sake of his aching muscles.

“She is my niece,” he finally said, meeting Miss Gordon’s frank gaze. “Bequeathed to me last year when her parents died.”

“Bequeathed? What a terrible thing to say.”

“One more mark against me shall not make a difference. It is all adding up, is it not?”

“What is?”

“Your blatant disapproval. You do not know me, and yet you find fault.”

“Nonsense. I simply asked about the girl.” She had the grace to look away from him, as though acknowledging a slight deviance from the truth. “Your niece is—”

“A terror, I know.”

“Not at all.” She looked up then, a warmth to her eyes. “Her manners are lacking, but her absence of guile is appealing and she obviously holds a deep love for you. I can commiserate with her, as my own parents died when I was about her age.”

Dominic did not know what to say. Perhaps this explained the odd accent, the plainness of her clothes despite her regal bearing. “What happened?”

Her eyes flickered. “A fire. My father pulled me from the house. He went in for my mother. Uncle William took me in afterward. I assisted him in the medical field. I have traveled around the world with him and intend to continue to do so.” There was a shadow to her features, and her gaze lowered.

Neither of her parents had come out of that house.

The implication soured the air between them. A clench of empathy stirred within, and Dominic then experienced the most curious urge to know what she was thinking. He could not recall ever wondering such a thing about a woman. What made her different? Perhaps her obvious lack of artifice. The simplicity of her presentation combined with the gentility of her manners? Or perhaps it was such a simple thing as her refusal to fawn over him.

His ego could not recall such a neglect.

She cleared her throat. “Where is your niece’s governess?”

“She unexpectedly quit.”

“The governess gave you no warning? No time to hire someone new?”

“It all became too much for her, I suppose. I myself would never wish to teach children.”

“You never know what you must resort to in difficult situations, my lord.” Henrietta’s smile looked suddenly sad.

“That reminds me... I shall need to write her a letter of recommendation. Could you have writing utensils sent up to me?”

“You would reward a governess who has quite effectively left you in the lurch?”

“Why, no, dear Miss Gordon, but neither will I punish her. No doubt she is already fretting over her future. She will perhaps wonder what is to become of herself? A genteel woman of good family and no money, fallen on hard times. Who will take her on now that she has left her current situation? Without a letter of recommendation...suffice it to say, England is a harsh place for those caught between the servant class and the peerage.”

“You are very astute for one who wears such expensive clothing.”

“Another jab.” His lips quirked. “Miss Gordon, I think you should count yourself very fortunate that you are not in need of employment, for that sharp-edged tongue of yours could very well be your downfall.”

“Fiddle faddle,” she rejoined, but an odd expression had crossed her face.

“And what is the meaning of your distaste of the finer things?” he continued, enjoying her discomfiture. He thought she might deserve a bit of perturbation. “I enjoy silk cravats and well-made clothing, and there is nothing wrong with such enjoyment. You would begrudge me my clothes, but have me refuse to recommend my governess? Even knowing that Louise can be trying? You’re a hard woman, Miss Gordon.”

She searched his face, and so he kept his features blasé. Her inability to correctly discern his intentions showed upon her features. “Perhaps one must be strong to survive in this world.”

“Hardness will certainly deflect any arrows to that armor you’re wearing,” he said easily.

Behind them, the apothecary coughed. Or perhaps it was an ill-disguised laugh. Scowling, Henrietta set her shoulders. “I shall return this evening to check your dressings.”

“Please do,” he called out, chuckling at the stiff way she left the room.

At the very least, she would amuse him while he contemplated how to find Louise a governess while searching for a cure for his illness.

Chapter Three

What a positively bothersome man.

His outlandish comments followed Henrietta the rest of the day.

Tea with Lady Brandewyne that afternoon furthered her agitation. Only moments into the expected social tradition, and Lady Brandewyne reached into the pocket of her dress.

“A letter came for you today. From your uncle.” She held out a thick square, her eyes keen despite her advanced age. “I have news.”

“News,” Henrietta repeated, sounding just like her uncle’s pet parrot. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, rather like the jostling of organs when a ship took a sudden dip into boisterous waves.

“Would you prefer to read your letter first?” The lady sipped her tea, eyeing Henrietta expectantly over the rim of the cup.

Swallowing a smart retort, Henrietta opened the paper. Her shock increased with every line. Her fingers trembled as she read. Her heartbeat strummed to a near stop. Feeling very grim indeed, she set the letter to the side. “I suppose you know all about this?”

“It had been discussed.”

According to the letter, Uncle had left England without her. He had gone to Wales in order to instruct more students, but felt that Henrietta was in no shape to be traveling. He asked Lady Brandewyne to watch over Henrietta until he returned. He worried for her safety. He no longer believed a woman’s place should be assisting him at wartime, serving the poor souls of wounded soldiers. Henrietta’s battle with rheumatic fever had shown him that he wanted her safe in England, away from illness and the ravages of war. He did not believe her heart could sustain the exhaustion of working in the field again.

“Well?”

“He wants me to stay in England,” she said flatly. As she had expected, but to have it confirmed was more of a shock than she realized it would be.

“A wise decision. You are of marriageable age. The orphan daughter of an earl. Your plainness is not detracting, and your form is comely. We shall get you to London, spiff you up and find you a baron in no time. Perhaps even a viscount?”

“I have no dowry, nothing to bring to marriage but my bloodline. An engagement is out of the question.”

“A baronet, then.”

Henrietta squared her shoulders. Her life was with Uncle William, practicing medicine. He might not want her there, out of misplaced fear, but she would prove those fears to be unfounded. Time for her alternate plan.

“I shall search for a post until I have the money to join my uncle. Will you write a letter of recommendation?”

“Certainly, but I cannot approve such nonsense. This makes me quite unhappy, Henrietta.”

“Happiness is ephemeral. I have no doubt it shall return to you shortly. In the meantime, I will begin searching for a position somewhere.” She paused. “I would ask discretion from you on this matter. Please do not say anything to my uncle at this time.”

Lady Brandewyne’s hand went to her mouth. “You are not telling him?”

“I think it’s best to find the position first, and I do not wish to worry him.”

She nodded, but there was a worried glint in her eyes. “Secrets are unwise.”

“It is not a secret,” Henrietta assured her. “I would like to tell him myself, though.”

“Very well.”

Satisfied, Henrietta nodded. After tea, she immediately wrote two letters of inquiry to nearby neighbors whom Lady Brandewyne intimated were looking for governesses. She left them with the butler to be delivered later.

Knowing that Lord St. Raven was now without a governess offered a slight temptation. She disliked his effect on her nerves, yet she found herself reflecting on his unexpected kindness toward the governess who had left.

No doubt Louise would prove an apt pupil. Very bright and most likely challenging. And then they were both orphans. Oh, how she sympathized with the child. She did not want to teach her, though. It would require a great deal of stamina, patience and forethought. And time.

Then there was St. Raven... She did not want to be a governess in his household. Only the most severe of circumstances would change her mind. She prayed he healed quickly so that he could leave.

An uncharacteristic restlessness plagued her. Dinner was not to be ready for several hours, so she wandered into the gardens. Lady Brandewyne kept a well-stocked pond at the edge of the path. Succulent flowers hugged the stone walkway, growing in wild, colorful profusion. The path itself was neatly groomed, creating a relaxing walk for Henrietta. She had not been outdoors yet today, and the gentle breeze riding on muted sunlight that filtered through the leaves of ancient oaks soothed her thoughts.

They had been hard to ignore.

She supposed she could be a companion of sorts to Lady Brandewyne, but their dispositions were so very different that no doubt it would not be long before they came to a disagreement. Henrietta felt no inclination to hold her tongue, and though she’d had lessons in deportment and the requirements of polite society, when her parents died, everything changed.

She no longer had the patience required to be an English lady.

She had discovered that good manners were unnecessary when struggling to save a soldier from death’s embrace. One did not need to wear the proper style to nurse back to health a child ravaged by fever. While helping Uncle William in the Americas, she had grown used to making her own decisions and speaking her mind without the petty rules of etiquette she’d been raised to hold dear.

And now he’d left her to the clutches of a traditional Englishwoman bent on finding her a husband. How could he?

She sank down onto a pretty stone bench nestled beneath a poplar some distance from the pond. Butterflies danced in fluttering abandonment around her, blissfully unaware of the bitter disappointment that tainted their visitor’s respite. She sighed deeply, closing her eyes to pray in the personal way she’d discovered overseas.

Treating God as a kind and heavenly Father was not something she’d learned from her family. Rather, a soldier recovering from an amputated leg had introduced her to a new perspective of God. She’d found the discovered relationship with her creator healed a void even Uncle William could not fill.

There was still pain, though. The loss of her parents remained a bruise within, sometimes unnoticed, but always tender to the touch.

She prayed now for wisdom, for forgiveness, because she resented that Uncle William had left her. She prayed that God would open a way for her to join him. Provide the funding.

The earl had called her a hard woman. The comment resonated uncomfortably, and she pushed thoughts of him from her mind.

When she finished praying, she simply sat and breathed. It was a lovely day, to be sure. Too lovely to squander. Nearby, a twig cracked. Then another. Louise emerged on the far side of the path, from a small copse of flowering bushes. Leaves stuck out from her hair and dirt stains smeared the front of her dress.

“Good afternoon,” Henrietta said.

“What were you doing with your eyes closed?”

“I was praying.”

“I don’t pray anymore.” Louise plopped beside Henrietta without any consideration of space. Her dress brushed against Henrietta’s hand. “Did you know that when my parents’ carriage crashed, Father was decapitated?” She paused for dramatic effect. “I plan to visit the place where they died. I overheard the servants saying it was a gruesome sight.” The girl stared wide-eyed at Henrietta, perhaps waiting for her to faint from a fit of the oh-so-feminine vapors.

Henrietta had never been afflicted by such a malady.

She felt a deep empathy for the child, who was obviously struggling with coming to terms with her parents’ death. Instead of allowing herself to heal, she tried to remove herself from the pain by speaking about the situation in an objective way, by covering the terrible tragedy with a blanket of detachment and, to some, shocking commentary.

She thought it best to match the child’s coping with equally objective answers.

“Death is never pretty.” She met Louise’s aggressive expression with a sober look. “Charlotte Corday is rumored to have looked at her executioner after her beheading at the guillotine.”

Louise gaped.

“However,” Henrietta continued calmly, “you are quite right in your comment that a beheading is a messy affair. Unless you’re a chicken. Then perhaps it would be less untidy.”

“A chicken?”

“Due to their anatomy, it has been rumored that chickens can live for some time after the severing of their heads. It has to do with the spinal column, you see, and the location of the brain stem.”

Louise’s nose squished and her eyes narrowed. “You are not like other ladies.”

“I am not a lady. I am a doctor.” Or as close to one as society would allow.

“You are very blunt.”

“‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’” At the girl’s befuddled look, Henrietta sighed. “Are you not acquainted with Shakespeare?”

“That boring old dead man?”

“I can see your education is greatly lacking. Perhaps because you are running around the gardens rather than working on your lessons?”

“My governess quit.” Louise jumped up from the bench, making a scoffing sound in her throat. “Deportment and manners, bah. They are for stuffy old ladies.”

Henrietta worked very hard to keep her eyebrows from raising. How closely the child echoed her own sentiments. To hear them so unabashedly touted was startling. Louise was looking to shock the adults around her, to horrify them and alienate them, because of her own sorrows. Henrietta would not succumb to the child’s manipulations. The girl was hurt and grieving, and such behavior might be expected.

When Henrietta did not respond to that outburst, as Louise so clearly expected her to, the girl sent her one last brooding look before she ran off to chase butterflies.

She would need more than what Henrietta could offer. Although they had shared a connection...

Henrietta walked back to the house, deep in thought. A servant informed her the dowager countess was waiting for her in the parlor. She found the lady of the house at her desk, penning a letter.

“Ah, Miss Gordon, I have just heard of a perfect opportunity.” Lady Brandewyne looked over the rim of her spectacles.

Sweet liver ague, she was surely referring to the earl’s need for a governess. “Indeed?”

“Lord St. Raven has no governess.”

Henrietta fought the grimace that tempted her lips.

“As I thought.” Lady Brandewyne sniffed. “Your uncle is a very dear friend, and your parents were pillars of society. They would be horrified to see what’s become of you. A governess is not the best position, but in time, perhaps, you will meet a kindly vicar or man of business. You are not completely plain.”

“Thank you,” she said drily.

“No decision must be made now. It is not impractical to believe you could garner an offer from a baronet, perhaps at the house party in two weeks’ time.”

“I have not the slightest interest in rejoining society,” she said in a firm voice, the one she used as often as needed. It was quite effective, even on Lady Brandewyne, whose posture stiffened. “A companion or governess position will suit me.”

“Why not the governess position with Lord St. Raven? He is a good man. A fair man. He would compensate you adequately. He’s not a stickler for propriety, which would allow you more of the freedoms you’re used to. Before the accident, he spent most of his time in London, at any rate.”

Shopping, no doubt, but Henrietta kept the uncharitable thought to herself. “He does seem as though he has a kind heart, but we would not be a good fit. Louise is in need of more than what I can offer. I am not good with children”

“My dear, I hardly think that. Your education is extensive and while your manners may have rusted, you were raised in a genteel fashion. Had your parents lived, you would have had your come-out and the pick of the Season.”

“Even though I am not completely plain?”

Lady Brandewyne looked positively affronted. Her intelligence was such that she understood the sarcasm, but her ego was such that she could not believe it had been directed at her. Unable to decide how to answer, she settled for a nose-in-the-air glare.

Henrietta sought to relieve the tension with softer words. “It is very kind of you to have taken me in, but as you know, I have written several letters to nearby landowners and will no doubt find employment in record time.”

“As you wish, my dear. I recommend that you do not make any decisions until after the house party, though.” Lady Brandewyne’s lips pursed and for a moment, Henrietta had the strangest feeling that the lady was laughing at her, and that she’d been duped somehow.

* * *

Blackmail.

Dominic stared at the apothecary, who stood in the dark corner of the cottage, where he’d requested they meet.

The return to the St. Raven estate had been painful, just as Miss Gordon had said it would be, but after three days he’d decided to leave. At the mention of going to his estate in the north, Louise had begun weeping. She claimed to miss her home, and so, despite his reluctance to live at his dead brother’s estate, he’d taken her back to St. Raven.

It was now her home, after all.

Old John, who’d been in the village near St. Raven since Dominic was a young boy, smirked a yellowed, rotting smile.

Dominic crossed his arms. “Let me understand this correctly—you are wanting a monthly stipend from me, and in exchange, you will not tell anyone of my condition. You realize the penalty for blackmail?”

The apothecary shrugged. “As I see it, if word gets out that you’re afflicted, you’ll lose the estate and the niece.”

Dominic laughed coldly. “What makes you think I care?”

“Seems to me that niece of yours is going to get shipped off if you don’t keep her here. I’ve heard talk. She can’t keep a governess and her aunt wants to send her away.” Old John sidled closer, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the morning light that streamed through the windows of his ramshackle cottage. Apparently being in the medical field didn’t pay enough.

“I don’t deal with blackmailers.”

“Ah, but for the sake of the child? Will you let her be sent off, her spirit crushed by well-meaning adults? She will be, you realize. On both counts.” Old John cocked a brow. “And you will be ostracized. Epileptics scare society.”

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked slowly.

The apothecary cackled. “You’ve been moping in northern England. I happen to know someone who witnessed one of your fits and he promptly wrote to me. I can see you’re thinking about what I’ve said. My partner will give you three days to decide what means more—the girl’s happiness or a bit of coin each month.”

Dominic’s jaw was stiff. His first instinct was to tell Old John to rot. He didn’t care what society thought of him and he didn’t care about the estate. He just wanted to find a cure.

But he loved Louise. He just hadn’t realized what taking care of a child entailed. He’d always been the fun one, who brought her trinkets and cakes, who whisked into her life and whisked out with nary a cross word from her.

He glared at Old John and stalked out of the cottage. The ride back to the estate gave him time to realize that some of what the man had said was true. If word got out about his illness, Barbara would swoop in and take Louise. She might even have legal grounds, especially if he was taken against his will to an asylum. And then what?

He knew already, because Barbara had been sending him weekly letters urging him to send Louise out of the country to a finishing school for “difficult” girls. When this last governess quit, he had finally realized that if he didn’t go and get Louise, his sister would. The situation could turn ugly, indeed.

He dropped off his horse at the livery, but there was no one in the stables to greet him. Frowning, he surveyed his surroundings, noting the disarray and general filth. Edmund’s stables had never looked this way before his death.

He stabled the horse himself, pondering. Could he care for Louise, even with his illness? Could he oversee the estate while searching for a cure?

And the biggest question of all: Could he keep his illness a secret from the ton?

For some reason, Miss Gordon entered his thoughts. Strong and plucky, making her way in a man’s world. If anyone knew how to accomplish something, she would. Perhaps he ought to meet with her.

When he returned to the main house, Jacks greeted him with a letter and a squirming Louise.

“I simply wanted to have tea with you,” she said crossly, speaking before the valet. “I’ve missed you. Are you home for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Yes.” He eyed her.

She twisted away from Jacks. “I shall meet you in the solarium, Dom, and we can discuss our new life together over tea.” Flashing a smile that looked just like her father’s, which stabbed pain through Dom, she pivoted and ran down the hall.

He opened the letter, which was an invitation to a ball hosted by Lady Brandewyne. Miss Gordon would be there, he realized. And suddenly, it felt imperative that he speak to her, face-to-face.

He handed the invitation back to Jacks. “Send an acceptance.”

Chapter Four

Henrietta had definitely been duped. As the time for the house party drew closer, Lady Brandewyne’s intentions became completely clear.

She was trying to marry off Henrietta, no doubt with Uncle William’s blessing. His reasons for leaving were obviously a strategic tactic to aid Lady Brandwyne in her matchmaking.

Had he stayed, Henrietta would have been able to talk him out of this madness. But he had left to avoid the conversation, a realization that put her in a decidedly black mood.

To make things worse, Lady Brandewyne seemed to think Henrietta had forgotten the most basic tenets of How to Behave Like a Lady. When Henrietta emerged from the library or returned from a walk, invariably the woman gave her not-so-subtle etiquette lessons. Henrietta gritted her teeth and bore the verbal onslaught. After all, she was a guest in the dowager’s home.

It was not as though she had not considered leaving for London. Uncle William let a house in Mayfair, but the Season was in full swing and Henrietta had no desire to stay in an area where carriages would be bumping across the roads into all hours of the morning. If not for that, she’d leave at once for a more peaceful setting with less marital hints.

“The house party shall be a small affair, really.” Lady Brandewyne had called Henrietta in for tea in the parlor. She eyed Henrietta as though examining an infectious wound.

“I am expected to attend?” She knew she was, but she asked anyway, some puckish urge overtaking her mouth.

“But of course! It is, in a way, in your honor.” She ignored the horrified expression Henrietta could not stop from displaying. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring gowns based on the measurement of your other dresses.” She gestured to the maid, Sally, who came over. “Bring me those boxes that were delivered earlier today.”

Sally left while Henrietta struggled to control her temper. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the ferocious pounding. “You have bought gowns?”

“Only a few. I wanted to surprise you.”

Henrietta barely swallowed her snort. Surprise, indeed. More like browbeating. She feared this house party would best her social skills in unanticipated ways. She drew a deep breath, willing herself to smile, though her cheeks bunched unnaturally and her lips felt tight.

She foresaw nothing good about the coming event.

And she was right. After over a week of thinly disguised lessons in deportment and conversation suitable to ladies, the house party began. Guests arrived in various types of carriages, some more fancy than others. Lord St. Raven was among them, to Henrietta’s shock. Louise was nowhere in sight, as expected. No other guests had brought children, either.

A rich evening meal started off the party. The countess placed Henrietta next to a baronet. “My neighbor to the south,” Lady Brandewyne explained with an encouraging smile.

Henrietta did not don a return smile. She had no need to pretend to be anything other than herself. The man looked her over as though sizing up a horse at market. After the necessary introductions, he asked, “What part of England are you from?”

“North. My father was Lord Iversley but after he and my mother died, the second brother inherited the title and estate. My uncle, the youngest brother, took guardianship of me. He’s a physician and we spent most of our time in the Americas. On the battlefield,” she added, noting the crease between the baronet’s eyebrows. “Tending soldiers, keeping my uncle’s records. That sort of work.”

The man blanched and, satisfied she’d made her point, she turned back to her food. No member of the peerage, even a baronet who technically was not considered a peer, wanted a wife who had worked. Henrietta set about eating her meal, a delicious concoction of boiled fowl with oyster sauce. She ignored the pinched disapproval on Lady Brandewyne’s face and savored her food.

It was possibly the only good thing about returning to England.

After dinner, music had been arranged in the drawing room. Somehow Henrietta made it through the rest of the night without displaying a bad case of manners. She did not speak to Lord St. Raven, though she felt his eyes on her several times throughout the evening. When it seemed he might walk over and start a conversation, she avoided him. She couldn’t say what drove her to do so, only a curious sense of self-preservation. On Friday and Saturday, she escaped some of the more strenuous activities planned by citing physical weakness.

But Saturday night arrived, despite Henrietta’s prayers otherwise. She entered the ballroom with trepidation. It was not grandiose compared to London ballrooms, but for a country estate, it was fashionably large and comfortable. Sparkling chandeliers cleaned to luminescent perfection hung from the ceiling. A quartet played quietly in a corner, warming up their instruments.

The butler announced guests as they arrived. Off to the side, Henrietta sipped her punch and listened as each entrant’s name was called out. “Lord Dominic St. Raven.”

Her head snapped up. The earl strode into the ballroom, tall and confident. A grin filled with charisma and mystery shaped his lips. A smile carved a dimple into his cheek. His clothes emphasized the broad swath of his shoulders and the strong length of his legs. His hair gleamed. A strange sensation curled in Henrietta’s stomach as she stared at him from her safe little spot, where, thus far, no one had spotted her.

He was as cavalier as she’d expected, she thought as she watched him bowing over the pale, uncallused hands of the ladies present. He was laughing yet searched the room, as though his attention could not possibly be wasted on one person.

She sipped again, the punch doing little to calm her sudden case of nerves. Would he talk to her? Why was he attending Lady Brandewyne’s house party anyhow? Henrietta had assumed he’d leave the country as soon as he was well enough.

Unbidden, a memory of Louise chasing butterflies flashed through her mind. Perhaps she should ask after Louise. Their shared grief created an invisible thread and it had been difficult for Henrietta to forget the girl. Or the uncle.

She studied him as he wound his way through the room. It was a scientific improbability that she would not notice him. All of the other ladies fawned over him, and men regarded him with a certain mix of respect and envy. He was a specimen of strong heritage.

She refused to fault herself for noticing the thickness of his hair and the confidence in his stride. His skin shone with improved health and his white, cared-for teeth hinted at a fastidious nature.

Yes, even a doctor could note such things. The churning in her stomach was very natural, she assured herself. Simply a physical and chemical reaction.

And then he turned and saw her.

Quiet and unobtrusive, she edged as close to a wall as possible, yet he saw her. Their gazes connected. She looked quickly away, eager to discourage him from approaching her.

The tactic did not work. Trying not to frown, she nodded a greeting as he neared.

“I see you are walking without pain,” she said promptly.

“Is that why you were studying me so closely?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. Oh, where was that infernal fan Lady Brandewyne had shoved into her hands earlier? “You are a former patient,” she said, hearing a primness in her voice that quite pleased her. Let him do with that what he will.

“Which is why I’ve meandered over. To allow you all the inspection you may need.” His eyes crinkled, laughing at her.

It was probably better she didn’t have a fan or else she’d be tempted to swat him with it, and then Lady Brandewyne might need use of her smelling salts.

His proximity was sending her pulse speeding along her veins. He wore a light cologne that teased her senses, and his fashionable attire did not scream dandy as loudly as she thought it might. He looked rather dashing, and that was enough reason for her to lift her chin and straighten her backbone.

“I am quite finished. You are in the pink of health. You may go now and continue your flirtations about the room.”

Those dratted crinkles deepened. “A good doctor would take more time with her patient.”

“Former patient, and I am not a doctor,” she huffed.

He inclined his head, accepting the response. Then he gestured about the room, his long, tanned fingers contrasting with the white crispness of his cuff. “So which man is to be the winner tonight?”

She followed the direction of his hand sweep, her gaze narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Your conquest...your intended. Who is it to be?”

Henrietta tilted her head, trying to figure out how he’d discovered Lady Brandewyne’s shenanigans.

His expression changed. “Don’t tell me you are not aware?”

“Aware of what?”

“Ah, that cross, suspicious tone. It tells me all I need to know.”

“You’re beastly, Lord St. Raven. Quit speaking in riddles and be out with it.”

“The guests here are a curious mingle of friends and men looking for a wife.”

“There are plenty of unattached females.” But her stomach was sinking. “Are you saying you know that this affair was created solely to marry me off?”

“There were several tells.” He tipped his cup toward her. “Your clothes, for instance. You are very pretty in that frothy confection of blues and satins. And slightly overdressed.”

“Says the man whose boots are reflecting faces.”

“They are Hessians, Miss Gordon. Do not fret, they can’t compare to your pearl-encrusted slippers that positively scream ‘marry me.’”

“I did not pick out the shoes, and the ruffles are a bit overdone.”

“Men like ruffles.”

She glowered at him, but then cast a surreptitious peek about the room, and realized he was correct. Several gentleman were staring at her. Waiting, perhaps? For her to finish her conversation with an earl who, by everything she’d overheard this weekend, had no intention of ever settling down.

To make matters worse, she had not heard from her governess-post inquiries. That left her at the mercy of Lady Brandewyne. Refusing to attend the dowager’s events would be the height of rudeness, in light of all that her ladyship had done for her.

“You’re looking very fierce, Miss Gordon,” St. Raven said lightly. “Is marriage such a loathsome prospect?”

“I have other goals.”

“When do you rejoin your uncle?”

Henrietta slid him a look. He had the appearance of sincerity, the clear green of his eyes inquisitive. “Why are you spending your time talking to me? Lady Anne is near the orchestra. She’s a beauty. Go cast your charm about her.”

St. Raven’s hand flew up, as though warding off attack. “Sharp words, and they would deeply wound me if there had not been the admittance of charm to soften the blow.”

Henrietta rolled her eyes, but a laugh escaped. “Of course, that is all you heard.”

“I retain important statements,” he said solemnly.

“Obviously not—” Her laugh cut off as she spied the baronet heading toward her. “This is a disaster.”

“Future husband?” St. Raven puckered his lips in a way that was both funny and attractive. “A bit mule-faced if you ask me.”

“One cannot help the bone structure one is born with.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “We cannot all have symmetrical features, my lord, nor look as though we have been made to model for a Richard Crosse portrait.”

“You know your painters. I’m impressed. And I believe you’ve given me another compliment. Two in one evening are noteworthy.”

“Facts are not compliments.”

“Miss Gordon.” The baronet had reached them, a hopeful look upon his face. “Would you care to waltz with me?”

Henrietta felt the worst sort of panic at that point. Not only because she had not expected to waltz, considering it a fanciful and slightly inappropriate dance, but also because she hardly knew how. Before she could formulate a response, St. Raven moved forward.

“I’m afraid Miss Gordon has already promised this dance to me.”

* * *

Dominic slid his arm around Henrietta, guiding her to the floor as the musicians began the first strains of the waltz. They had hardly started when she stepped on his toe.

“You see,” he said, leaning close so that his lips were near her ear. She smelled of roses, of something soft and tender and sweet. “It is a good thing I wore sturdy boots to protect my delicate toes from your adventurous feet.”

“You are ridiculous, my lord.” A dusky hue invaded her cheeks.

Satisfied for some absurd reason, Dominic shrugged. “Better to be ridiculous than a snooze.”

“You should not have claimed a dance with me.”

“I was bored and you were near, and the waltz happens to be my favorite dance.”

They swept across the room, Henrietta doing her best to follow his lead. He slowed somewhat for her halting steps, intrigued. “It’s not often I meet a woman who cannot dance.”

“I have had no cause to practice,” she said in a small, stiff voice.

A hard part of him, one he did not realize existed, softened like butter on a warm day. He had no desire to cause her to feel badly about herself. “You have been saving lives, not spending your time learning silly dances.”

“Sometimes lives were saved.” A sad look overtook her face, and Dominic felt instant regret. His fingers tightened around hers and he was acutely aware of the slenderness of her body beneath his palm. “You never answered about when you plan to join your uncle?”

He swirled her past the bandstand, containing his wince when her knee knocked into his shin.

“I’m looking for a position somewhere. My uncle has decided to leave me in England, and I fear he hopes I’ll marry.”

“But you won’t.”

“No.” Her gaze flashed up to his for the first time since they began dancing. There were bits of gold hidden in the darkness of her eyes. They were forthright, honest eyes. As though no one had taught her the art of guile or flirtation.

“Whatever will you do?” The music was slowing, the song almost finished. He guided them to an alcove, fully visible to retain her impeccable reputation, but private enough to enable conversation.

“Governess, or a paid companion, I suppose. Just long enough to garner fare to join Uncle William.”

“He will not pay for your travel?”

She looked away, and Dominic realized that perhaps this lady was not without guile after all. For some reason, the notion amused him. “Does he know you’re coming?”

“To be frank, no, he has told me to stay here.” Those lovely eyes, earnest now, and somehow compelling, grabbed him. “But I cannot. I absolutely cannot stay. The only way for me to explain to him what I want is to speak to him face-to-face. Then he will see logic. I am quite sure of it.”

“So you will defy the will of your guardian?”

“Bah.” She waved her hand. “You speak of defiance as though he is the master of me.”

“Is he not?”

“No,” she said firmly. “And he knows that, which makes this situation altogether perplexing.”

The music had changed, and other guests crowded the floor, but Dominic found himself captivated by the determined purpose in Miss Gordon’s words. For many, many years his life had lacked direction. He had feared pursuing anything because of his affliction. Knowing he might die or be transported to an asylum at any time had put a damper on long-term goals.

“Why are you here?” he asked abruptly.

Startled, her lips pursed. “What do you mean?”

“Staying with Lady Brandewyne?”

“I suffered a bout with rheumatic fever.”

“Your uncle feared for your life and brought you home to England.”

“It was a small matter. He overreacted.”

But Dominic heard the doubt in her voice, and he had noticed the clothing that didn’t quite fit. Was it fair that she must surrender her freedom due to an illness? Or to the fears of an uncle? A plan was forming in his mind. He had simply wanted to get around to asking her what she knew about epilepsy, to get her opinion, but now he saw another, better option.

He flashed a grin. “You are looking lovely tonight. One would never guess you’d suffered from anything but an abundance of beauty and grace.”

She gave him a look, one that said clearly she saw past his flirtations and perhaps even found them tedious. The thought made him laugh.

“I presume you are cackling at your paltry attempt to charm me.” She crossed her arms, skewering him with an expression he might start calling her doctor look.

“Never. You are familiar with Louise and all her various quirks?”

“I would not call them quirks, but yes, I am aware that she is a strong-willed child.”

“Perhaps then, we can help each other?”

Chapter Five

Dominic paused, debating his next words. Most governesses were ladies of quality who had fallen on hard times. With no immediate family to take them in and no marital prospects, they were often forced to find employment.

He knew little of Miss Gordon’s family history, but he could not imagine the woman, with her quick tongue and keen eyes, succeeding in subservient positions. Though certainly she was intelligent enough to teach. It would be a matter of her nature conflicting with the expectations of her employer.

She had a genteel upbringing and extensive educational experiences. She had kept that doctor from sticking leeches all over him...but could she keep Louise in line? Could she make it so that Barbara did not take Louise?

If Miss Gordon discovered his epilepsy, would she be the type to send him to Bedlam? There were many who would agree with the decision.

He frowned. Louise had been nothing but trouble in the few weeks they’d been home. She needed more than what he could give, but if he let Barbara send her away, she’d never forgive him. Did Henrietta have the education necessary to teach Louise the attributes of a lady?

If only his niece had not been expelled. A school in England was better than one across the ocean.

After her parents’ funeral, Dominic had sent her back to the highly esteemed boarding school she’d been attending since she was ten. That had been his first in a long series of mistakes.

For whatever reasons—he could not pretend to understand the workings of a twelve-year-old female’s mind—Louise had decided to cease all good behavior. Within three months, she’d been expelled. Any misguided notion of an easy guardianship disappeared.

Then Barbara began nagging him and threatening his newfound hermit existence.

Even though he had retreated to the country, he did love Louise. He’d been selfish, holing away by himself. He had heartily enjoyed the conversations, music and dance in the past. Epilepsy had taken that from him.

Tonight, he’d been overly conscious of himself, worried that he might have an attack until he’d been diverted by Miss Gordon’s quiet figure lurking against walls. Avoiding dances. She piqued his interest. Why would a woman given the chance to partake in the upper echelons of English society shun it?

Now he had his answer.

And he might be able to offer a reciprocal type of help.

Which brought him back to this very moment, where Miss Gordon stood waiting patiently for his next words. He noticed a few inquisitive sets of eyes upon them. He’d have to leave her soon or run the risk of gossip.

“Louise has spoken highly of you. She is at a determining point in life, and is in need of a firm hand. Someone who understands her pain.”

They began waltzing on the outer sides of the ballroom. “She is in need of guidance. She respects you and perhaps what she needs is a more unconventional governess. One who does not bow to a child’s whims nor fears losing her position by speaking her mind. One with a breadth of knowledge that will intrigue a girl with Louise’s curiosity.”

“Optimistic words.”

He gave her a small bow. “Consider my offer. I will pay you a wage that will allow you to join your uncle.”

“Why are you offering this? I—”

“I admire your vision,” he interrupted. “It is a rare and precious thing in life to know what you want. Even more, to pursue it. Perhaps I have not lived my own life as fully as I ought to, and in a way I can’t explain, I want to help you.”

She nodded, accepting his words even as he struggled to understand them himself. “I will consider it, my lord, and send you word.”

* * *

Henrietta awoke in a foul mood.

She did not know how to answer Lord St. Raven. His offer last night had taken her by surprise, though perhaps it should not have. He had been needing a governess for some time. She supposed it made a modicum of sense that he’d asked her. She had been tempted to give him a resounding no, but a few reasons stopped her.

One, the house party ended today, but Lady Brandewyne had informed her that she planned for them to take a trip to London soon. Shopping and whatnot, but then she’d added that several gentleman had asked to call on them when they were in town.

Henrietta wasn’t sure why they would. She was no great beauty and had no money, but her lineage was quite good, she supposed. Stomach twisting, she rolled onto her back and looked at the vaulted ceiling.

She had not lived anywhere so grand since childhood. Those memories remained locked away, and she never visited them. It would be easy to accept a lower position, and sleep in a tiny room, if she could hold onto her dream of studying medicine. She’d even considered going to Italy, where they were much more accepting of female students.

A tiny worry crept in. What if she found her uncle, and he sent her away?

She pushed the unruly thought to the back of her mind.

Her second reason for not outright denying Lord St. Raven is that he had made a good point. Louise needed someone who cared. And for some reason, perhaps because of their shared orphan state, she did.

Groaning, she rolled out of the bed to face the day.

And the handsome earl for whom she was going to accept a governess position.

The guests dispersed after an involved luncheon. Henrietta hardly noticed. Her mind was preoccupied. She saw Lord St. Raven at one point, and offered him a nod, but he looked peaked and wan. Perhaps he’d woken with a stomachache as well, she thought ruefully.

Her mind conjured multiple scenarios. She paced her room. She ate four scones and drank three cups of hot chocolate.

Finally, around the three-o’clock hour, she sent Lord St. Raven a note via a housemaid that she would accept his offer and be ready to leave whenever he required.

Then she found Lady Brandewyne resting in the solarium. The bright room captured sunlight with oversized windows and then painted glowing swaths of yellow across the terra-cotta floors. Fauna of varying colors lined the walls and a cheery bench sat in the middle of the room for those wishing to admire the views.

“What did you think of the house party?” The dowager countess looked up from her sewing.

“The guests appeared to enjoy themselves greatly.”

“And did you?”

“That is what I’ve come to speak to you about.” Henrietta slid onto the bench across from Lady Brandewyne. “I have decided to accept a governess position for Lord St. Raven.”

If Henrietta had been watching the countess more closely, she might not have missed the strange little quirk at the corner of her lips. As it was, she was staring at her hands in silence and so did not realize that Lady Brandewyne was not altogether unhappy.

“My dear, I shall miss you, but this is for the best. He shall treat you well.”

“Is there anything I must do before leaving?”

“Do? Of course not.” Lady Brandewyne waved her diamond-encircled fingers. “The servants shall see to your trunks. Are you leaving today?”

“Whenever Lord St. Raven is ready. I shall leave a letter for my uncle for you to post, if that will do? And we will keep this between us?”

Lady Brandewyne nodded, and the matter was settled. The rest of the day passed with a flurry of activity. She had been staying there for several months and had much to pack. Her lady’s maid would not be going with her. Governesses did not get such a luxury.

A note arrived from the earl stating that they’d leave at first light in the morning, as it was half a day’s travel to reach the St. Raven estate from Lady Brandewyne’s. For the first time, Henrietta felt a flurry of nerves. She’d been traveling for half her life, from one place to another, but always with her uncle.

When morning came, and she found herself safely ensconced in the earl’s unsurprisingly plush carriage, the feeling still had not abated. She waved to Lady Brandewyne out of the gold-rimmed windows before closing the curtain and settling back against the squabs. She’d brought a book to read, but the passing countryside, with its verdant slopes and kaleidoscope of flowers, snared her attention.

Perhaps an hour or so had passed when the carriage slowed, then pulled to the edge of the road. Henrietta opened the door before the footman did, peering out. The earl’s valet walked toward her, a grim expression on his face.

“Miss Gordon, his lordship has requested we stop for a moment. He is in need of rest. Might you like a small repast by the creek?” He pointed to a sparkling creek in the distance. A few trees stood sentry on its banks.

Henrietta blinked and then reached for her book. He had looked tired last night, she recalled.

“I hope he is well?” she murmured.

With the valet’s assistance, she climbed out of the carriage. The balmy summer day stood in stark contrast to the concern on the valet’s face. The sound of hooves grew louder as St. Raven pulled his horse up and dismounted. The sunlight drew attention to the pallid taint of his skin, the grooves at the corners of his eyes. The whites of his eyes were not yellow, though, and his pupils appeared normal.

“What are your symptoms, my lord?”

His lips pressed together. He shook his head. “Jacks, make sure Miss Gordon has all she needs.”

“Are you sweating?” She reached to touch his skin, but he jerked back. There was a strange sheen to his coloring. “Let me check your heart and lungs. Jacks, if you would be so good as to retrieve my leather satchel. Be gentle, for I’ve valuable items inside.”

“Go with him, now.” St. Raven’s words came out funny. Slightly garbled.

The carriage door remained open and Lord St. Raven stumbled toward it, in a lurching stagger that caught Henrietta by surprise. She slid to the side, allowing him room, but already she could see his eyes rolling back in his head. He fell into the carriage, drawing his knees up and lying on the floor.

His left arm jerked, the hand curled into clawlike rigidity.

Henrietta glanced down the road, noting the valet still digging in the other carriage for her medical supplies. The footman helped, and the coachman was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed the carriage door and half closed it, blocking the opening with her body. Lord St. Raven convulsed on the floor, his head knocking against the seat in a macabre, uneven rhythm.

Henrietta forced herself to keep looking, to watch even though her palms dripped and her heart wrenched in her chest. She had seen this before. The strange contortions, the stretched grimacing of the face.

In an asylum in France. When she was sixteen.

Epilepsy.

Finally the fit ended. St. Raven’s body relaxed, though guttural noises were coming from him. She wanted to go in and check to make sure his head had not been injured, but the valet was bringing her medical bag. She closed the door more, shoving the earl’s boots inside the carriage to do so.

“Your supplies, miss.”

“Thank you. The earl does not feel well and is lying on the floor. I shall need something soft, a blanket perhaps. Fetch Alice, please, as I will need to go in and examine his lordship.” It seemed forever, but finally the female servant Lady Brandewyne had sent to protect Henrietta’s reputation arrived. She’d ridden with the trunks in the other carriage. She wore a put-out expression that Henrietta ignored.

“If you will just stand right there.” She pointed to the side of the carriage, where it could be reasonably said that Henrietta had been chaperoned, and yet Alice would not be able to see the earl. She opened the door and climbed in, shoving her skirts to the side and hefting her bag onto the seats.

A bluish cast to his face told her he’d stopped breathing at some point, though now the forceful exhalations of sound indicated steady respiration. She put her ear to his chest. No distress. Perspiration stained his underarms.

Henrietta examined him quickly, gently putting the blanket the valet brought beneath his head. She kept the door slightly closed, leaving a mere crack, and waved away the worried eyes of his staff. When she emerged, she shut the door firmly behind her.

They stood at the side of the road, the bright sunlight drawing attention to their somber faces. After all, it had only been a few weeks ago that he’d been attacked. Their worry attested to their regard for their employer.

“Does he have these episodes often?” She set her bag on the ground and studied them, particularly the valet.

“Episodes? What do you mean, ma’am?”

Every face reflected confusion. Sighing, Henrietta tapped her hips as she thought of what to say. She didn’t care for the ratlike curiosity in Alice’s beady eyes. A gossiper, no doubt. She suspected his lordship’s condition was a secret that even his valet was not privy to.

Or else he was doing a splendid job of acting ignorant.

Either way, Henrietta had no desire to reveal St. Raven’s infirmity to this group. She cleared her throat. “Tiredness and fatigue. Perhaps it is a side effect of his cracked ribs. Let us take a short break and then be on our way. I shall ride with Alice and we will leave the earl to rest.”

“Will he be all right?” That from Jacks.

Henrietta nodded with force. Yes, he would be fine as long as no one in English society ever found out about his epilepsy.

She did not know much of the condition, but one thing she did know: those with it were often ostracized from polite society and confined to an asylum for the remainder of their lives.

How he had managed to escape detection, she could not fathom, but she would not be the one to expose his secret.

Chapter Six

An epileptic.

Henrietta could hardly believe the truth. A rare condition that she longed to research, but instead she sat quietly in the carriage with Alice. The loaner from Lady Brandewyne, while nicely made, could not compare to the comfort of St. Raven’s carriage. Alice’s company was not particularly enjoyable, either. She spent the rest of the ride clicking her knitting needles while Henrietta churned the facts over and over in her mind.

She knew very little about epilepsy. Only enough to recognize the symptoms. Surely St. Raven was resting now. He hadn’t emerged. The carriages had kept up a steady clop and now it had grown dusky and cool, a hint of rain in the air. They turned into a long drive lined by trees and statues. Henrietta’s window encompassed a view of the St. Raven estate. It was a smaller version of Lady Brandewyne’s. They rounded up the drive and then slowed to a stop.

Perhaps she’d be brought around back to the servant’s entrance? She gathered her bags, prepared to get out when told. Alice watched, her mouth a crimped line, reminding Henrietta that she was no more a servant than she was a peer.

In the middle. That was her new position. Neither privy to the confidences of the servantry, nor entitled to the privileges of the ton.

The carriage door opened and St. Raven peered inside. “We’re here,” he said, his grin lopsided. He looked no worse for wear. His cravat had been straightened and his skin had regained its color, as far as she could tell in the twilight.

With his help, she exited the carriage. Alice was behind her and then St. Raven guided her to the front door. “This is it. My humble abode.”

“Humble, indeed.” Square-shaped beds of grass decorated the front yard, carefully trimmed and verdant. The house itself was composed of rectangles and squares that sharply jutted into pointed roofs. The typical country home, resplendent and tight-angled.

A butler came out to greet St. Raven. She observed the earl, hanging back to watch his loose-limbed gait. He did move slowly, as though tired. There was no other evidence that only a few hours ago his body had contorted outside of his control.

Yes, she’d have to research more.

Behind her, the carriages rolled away and she realized that she was to follow St. Raven into the house. She joined him at the doorway, looking past him to the gilded entryway lit by several lamps along the walls.

He ushered her in, his eyes shadowed, belying the curved dimple in his cheek. “My childhood home.”

“It is lovely,” she said. “If you’ll show me my rooms, I’ll get situated.”

“Would you care for tea first?” His question was not a question. He guided her to a small parlor before she could say no.

St. Raven’s eyes were tenebrous in here, without the sun to make them sparkle. One could almost mistake them for a dark green.

He did not shut the door. He meandered to a corner of the room, next to a lit golden girandole whose worth appeared to be more than the annual earnings of a governess. The furniture was ornate, heavy. Strange lionlike creatures rose from the edges of the couch. All in all, an uncomfortable, auspicious room.

She faced St. Raven, and was reminded of his overall largeness in comparison to her size. She’d been called slight. Never had she felt so, until she stood next to St. Raven. A shiver crept through her at the intensity on his face. She rubbed her arms, conscious that her medical bag remained with her belongings.

“About earlier...” He trailed off, stroking his chin with long, well-manicured fingers.

Henrietta pulled herself taller. “Yes, your epileptic attack.”

“You saw.” His eyebrows narrowed, ebony lines against tan skin.

“It was a shock, to be sure. You have lived with this condition unbeknownst to your staff?”

He shrugged, a curiously unaffected movement. “To most, yes. It is not something I want bandied about.” He paused. “Are you familiar with epileptic disorders?”

“The only fits I have seen were in an asylum.” An honest answer, though it emerged slowly.

“And is that where you think I belong?”

A strong, undeniable current pulsed between them. A moment of energized tension that illuminated the cost of this secret and the fortitude it took to maintain a cover of health and normality. She swallowed, her heart drumming, her fingers picking at her skirt.

He had given no indications of madness. His staff cared for him, as evidenced by their worry. She wet her lips, meeting his eyes, which bored into her, questioning, seeking. She drew from the wells of her authoritarianism on all things medical. Perhaps she had no experience with society, but she knew patients.

And despite the rocky planes of his face, the stiff cut of his shoulders, fear hid beneath it all.

“You are not a madman, my lord, and I do not believe you should be institutionalized.”

His gaze flickered. The jaw that had been granite-hewn relaxed ever so slightly. “I quite agree, Miss Gordon. You will keep this information between us?”

Another question that was not a question.

“I shall do my best.” After all, he was her employer now. And quite possibly, her patient.

He locked his arms behind his back, regarding her so seriously as to make her wonder how she’d ever thought him careless and lacking in soberness. “That will be all, Miss Gordon. I will ring for Mrs. Braxton, the head maid. She will show you to your room, the schoolroom and the general layout of the servants’ quarters. I trust you will tell me should you feel unwelcome in any way.”

“How I feel is of no consequence. My job is to teach Louise, and that is what I shall focus on.” Speaking of the girl, she hadn’t seen or heard her. Which struck her as immensely odd. “Where is she?”

St. Raven paused. “It is odd that she has not come to greet me.”

He called for the head housekeeper. She appeared promptly.

“Where is Louise?” asked the earl.

Her fingers fluffed the folds of her dress. “She heard she was to have another governess, and to prove her lack of need for one, she ran off again.”

“How often does this occur?”

“As often as she wishes.”

“And you allow it?”

His housekeeper looked surprised. “She did it with her parents and they were not alarmed.”

“Well, they should have been,” he snapped. “Assemble the servants in the hall at once.”

Henrietta nodded with approval. Until she could do more research, there was nothing more to be said about his epilepsy. Standing there looking into his handsome face accomplished nothing. He wasn’t even trying to be charming, and yet she found herself studying the lines and curves of his features, storing the scent of his cologne in the back of her mind.

It was positively the most disturbing response she’d ever had to a man, and becoming a governess was probably the worst idea she’d ever had, but Lady Brandewyne had backed her into a tight and inescapable corner.

Besides, she now felt a deep concern for Louise’s whereabouts. “What do you mean to do?” she asked St. Raven.

“I mean to find the girl.” He pivoted, leading Henrietta into the hall. Mrs. Braxton stood as stiff as a marble statue, her features settled into a frown. “Don’t you ever look for her? Doesn’t anyone chase her down and tell her to stop running away?”

“My apologies, my lord,” she replied. “But why on earth would we do such a thing when her parents allowed it? Where can she go?”

“Those questions are irrelevant. She should not have left at all. When she returns, she shall have warm tea and biscuits waiting for her. Mrs. Braxton shall put hot irons at the foot of her bed to heat her toes, and it will not be allowed again.”

“Hot irons? Tea and biscuits?” Henrietta crossed her arms. “You are rewarding negative behavior. This simply will not do.”

His head tilted, then his gaze shifted past her. “Mrs. Braxton, call the servants. We must find Louise.”

At that moment, a crack of thunder shook the house. Rain tapped the roof, picking up speed and then turning into wild dance of sound.

“This weather is not good for her lungs.”

“We will find her,” he said, his features strained.

Servants filed into the hallway, lining up by rank.

St. Raven crossed his arms behind his back, posture ramrod-straight and mouth firm. “Please welcome Miss Gordon. She is Louise’s new governess.”

She did not miss the exhalations of relief many of the servants tried to hide. Was Louise so terrible? Perhaps these people just did not know how to contain an excitable child. Not that Henrietta had much experience with child-rearing, but common sense told her that consistency and a gentle attitude went far toward taming mischief and being spoiled.

“We will be looking for my niece, and she is not to run off like this anymore. Does anyone have an idea of where she might’ve gone?”

“She likes the horses,” a young footman volunteered.

“Or the pond,” said Mrs. Braxton. A portly woman with a severe set to her chin, she nevertheless carried a twinkle in her eye. “Always catching the minnows, though I tell the young miss it isn’t sightly.”

“Excuse me?” A maid at the back stepped forward. “I’ve seen her at the folly...a few times, my lord.” She bowed, looking apprehensive as she did so.

“The folly?” St. Raven stroked his chin. “That does sound like a good place to hide and it would appeal to a twelve-year-old’s imagination. Very good, thank you. Stay here and set out tea and sandwiches for when the others return. Check the stables and the pond. Look through the house. I will search the folly.”

“I will ready the horses.” A whiskered man bowed and left quickly.

Henrietta lifted her skirts, prepared to follow the man.

St. Raven put out a hand to stop her. “Not so fast, Miss Gordon. You’ve just overcome a lung disease. You’ll stay here.”

“It was an infection.” She narrowed her eyes, dodging out of reach of his imperious touch. “I certainly will not stay. I am going with you. I’ll wear an extra layer. You might need me. Louise could be hurt.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” His voice was harsh, his eyes glints of green. Another shock of thunder resonated.

She took the thick shawl a footman handed her. The butler opened the door and rain sluiced into the house, pelting the floor in huge, splattering drops.

St. Raven gestured her out and, summoning fortitude, and aware of a simmering panic for Louise’s safety gaining ground within, she stepped into the storm.

* * *

Dominic didn’t think he’d ever felt such intense fear in his life. His jaw ached from clenching, and his neck kinked. The ride to the folly had been arduous and bumpy, the carriage traversing the rain-slicked path and mud holes with ferocious dexterity.

The folly loomed behind the flickering lightning and sheets of rain. It was as though someone had shattered the sky. And Louise was out in this.

The carriage came to a stop and he exited, then turned to help Henrietta out. Her bones were as light as a bird’s, and he felt her shiver when he put his arm around her waist. Mouth tight, he set her gently on the ground. A maid stayed in the carriage with warm blankets and hot tea, for when they returned.

He turned, trying to see past the torrential waterfall drenching the landscape. The folly’s artfully constructed columns rose like pale sentries against the smeared horizon. His brother had constructed the thing at his wife’s request. Many in the ton created ornamental buildings in their gardens. This was located a bit farther from the main house and had been designed to look like a Greek pavilion. With this wind-driven rain, however, the odds of the pavilion’s interior remaining dry were low.

He swiped his hand across his face, seeking relief from the stinging nettles of precipitation. “We shall look within,” he shouted.

Henrietta replied, her words lost in the noise. The downpour slammed against the ground, making hearing anything impossible. They trudged toward the folly, picking through debris strewn across the path.

Jacks held a lamp, but the flickering light did little to ease the way. Henrietta moved ahead of him, her steps nimble and quick. She dodged up the steps of the folly, disappearing into the cavernous blackness that was its entrance.

Dominic muttered under his breath and picked up his pace. Infuriating woman. He’d have two to worry about if she wasn’t careful. He eased into the darkness, taking the lamp from Jacks and holding it up to see inside the oval-shaped orifice. Henrietta stood in the middle, eyes wide. She shook her head when the light fell upon her face. She was speaking but the words were silently whipped away into the night.

Leaning close, he put his ear to her mouth to hear her better.

“She’s not here.” Worry crowded her syllables, and his chest tightened.

“We’ll find her.”

He straightened, pushing back the urge to hug Henrietta and tell her everything would be fine.

Before he knew what she was doing, she grabbed his hand and Jacks’s. He glanced down, and realized she was praying. Holding up the lamp, he saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were moving softly and though he could not hear her words, he felt them.

The pattering of rain and the growling of thunder all coalesced into one strange moment of peace in which he wondered if God would hear this unconventional woman. Would He answer in the way they wanted him to? He closed his eyes, her small hand enfolded in his, her fingers tiny yet strong.

And then she let go.

Jacks met his eyes, shrugging as though the foibles of woman fazed him not. For his part, Dominic just wanted to find Louise. The more time that passed, the more likely she’d caught sick.

She could be at home, of course. Just because she was missing didn’t mean she’d been outside. But the twisting pain in his gut told him otherwise. She was out here, somewhere, alone.

Henrietta had left the center circle. She explored the circumference of the folly, going from pillar to pillar, her skirts wet and dragging.

Dominic gave the lamp to Jacks. “Stay here in the middle. If Louise is out there, she’ll see your light.” He strode to the stairs and, shielding his eyes, looked out over the landscape for anything that could be construed as human. Nothing but rocks and trees and sloping land in the grayish dirge.

A shout filtered through the noise of the storm. Pivoting, Dominic saw the light swinging crazily back and forth.

He strode back into the folly and there was Louise, lying in Henrietta’s lap. They were shivering and when Henrietta looked up, he couldn’t tell whether her eyes were wet with rain or tears. Louise’s hair was plastered to her head, and violent spasms wracked her body.

He kneeled, taking her from Henrietta. His niece snuggled into him, not talking, which was worrisome in and of itself.

“Her ankle is twisted.”

Dominic followed Henrietta’s pointing finger to Louise’s right foot, which was without a shoe and garish in the flickering, black-blue light. As round as an orange, and puffy. He pulled Louise closer to his chest, beckoning with his chin for the others to follow.

Henrietta took the lamp to lead the way, and Jacks attempted to hold his coat over Louise as they stumbled back to the carriage. Jacks went in first, then Dominic handed Louise up to him. In the carriage light, her lips were tinged blue and her eyes closed. He had never seen such pale eyelids, devoid of coloration.

He helped Henrietta in, then followed. Jacks laid Louise on his lap, and every so often, her body shook with tremors. Tension rode back to the house with them, and Louise said nothing. Dominic could not recall ever feeling so helpless in his life, except in the aftermath of his own seizures. The full scope of humanity’s fragile hold on life glared at him accusingly.

Louise might have died. Could still die.

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