Once upon a time...

Joanna Radcliff has always dreamed of the day when she’d become a governess and finally be part of a proper family. Except, instead of a warm welcome, she’s given a frosty reception by her employers—and her charges! The only person who pays her any attention is the dashing Major Preston...

Despite their stolen conversations and tantalizing glances in the ballroom, Luke and Joanna know that their stations in life are just too different. But when this Cinderella governess’s life is transformed and their roles are reversed, will they risk everything to be together?

The Governess Tales

Sweeping romances with fairy-tale endings!

Meet Joanna Radcliff, Rachel Talbot, Isabel Morton and Grace Bertram.

These four friends grew up together in Madame Dubois’s school for young ladies, where

they indulged in midnight feasts, broke the rules and shared their innermost secrets!

But now they are thrust into the real world, and each must adapt to her new life as a governess.

One will rise, one will travel, one will run and one will find her real home...

And each will meet her soulmate, who’ll give her the happy-ever-after she’s always dreamed of!

Read Joanna’s story in The Cinderella Governess

Available now

And look for:

Rachel’s story in Governess to the Sheikh

Isabel’s story in The Runaway Governess

And Grace’s story in The Governess’s Secret Baby

Coming soon!

Author Note

The Cinderella Governess was a treat for me to write and a unique experience. It was the first time I’d worked with so many talented people to craft a story and characters. It was a pleasure and an honour to collaborate with the other authors, to learn from them and to exchange ideas on character traits, locations and history. Together we developed the physical world of Madame Dubois’s school, deciding where it would be located and what it would look like. In the end we based it on the Mompesson House in Salisbury. Co-ordinating other locations throughout England between the four stories was also fun, and a good reason to do some interesting research—especially on the little-known beach resort of Sandhills.

In regards to the characters, the creation of Madame Dubois’s backstory was the most surprising part of the process for me. Her story was inspired by a line in the prologue that I’d added for a touch of humour. It caught people’s interest and was developed by the authors into a subplot which weaves its way throughout the four novels. This type of discovery arises from working with such creative authors and editors, and it’s what made writing The Cinderella Governess an exciting process that I will never forget.

The Cinderella Governess

Georgie Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A lifelong history buff, GEORGIE LEE hasn’t given up hope that she will one day inherit a title and a manor house. Until then she fulfils her dreams of lords, ladies and a Season in London through her stories. When not writing, she can be found reading non-fiction history or watching any film with a costume and an accent. Please visit georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.

To the authors of The Governess Tales for all your creativity, collaboration and hard work.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

August 1811

‘Joanna, what are you doing in the library?’ Rachel gasped from the doorway.

‘I’m wondering if Madame Dubois would notice if I took this book with me.’ Joanna Radcliff clutched the thin volume of fairy tales between her hands and threw her friend a mischievous smile. ‘In case I have to thump the son of my soon-to-be employer should he make any untoward advances at me.’

Rachel rolled her brown eyes. ‘Sir Rodger’s sons are still boys and away at school. You won’t even be teaching them.’

‘Then I’ll use it to make his daughters behave.’ She laughed and Rachel joined in.

Joanna’s cheer faded as she slid the book in the gap on the shelf. This had been her favourite one as a child. It was as difficult to leave behind as her friends, but she couldn’t steal it. It would be a poor way to thank Madame Dubois for all her years of kindness.

‘Come on, the carriage will be here soon.’ Rachel took her by the hand and pulled her to the door. ‘We don’t have much time.’

They hurried out of the dark library and into the brightly lit entrance hall. Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies was a stately house on Cathedral Close facing Salisbury Cathedral. At one time it had been the home of a squire. Echoes of its history remained in the classical cornices above the doorways and the endless lengths of chair rails. The furnishings were less regal, but sturdy to accommodate the many young ladies who’d passed through its rooms over the years. The old rumour whispered to the new students stated it was one of Madame Dubois’s lovers who’d deeded her the house. To see the woman in her stern black, her dark hair shot with silver and pulled into a bun as severe as her stance, no one could believe she’d ever been swept away by a passion worthy of property.

At the far end of the entrance hall stood a wide staircase. Rachel pulled Joanna towards it and past a sitting room filled with little girls sitting on benches.

‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table,’ Madame La Roche said, pacing in front of her pupils.

‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table,’ the girls repeated in high voices.

It wasn’t so very long ago when Joanna, Rachel, Isabel and Grace had sat in the same room repeating those phrases. Their time as students was over. They were at last taking up positions as governesses. Today, Joanna would be the first to leave.

‘Hurry.’ Rachel rushed up the stairs.

‘Any faster and I’ll fly.’ It wasn’t possible, not with the many memories weighing Joanna down. Madame Dubois’s school was the only home she’d ever known. She wasn’t ready to leave it, but she must. This was what she’d been trained for by Madame Dubois and the other teachers who’d raised her. It was a parting, but also an opportunity. Perhaps as the governess to the Huntfords, she might finally experience what it was like to be part of a real family.

At the top, Isabel came around the corner, stopping so fast the hem of her skirt fluttered out before falling back over her ankles.

‘What’s taking so long? I’ll die if we can’t give Joanna a proper farewell before we’re all sent into exile.’ Isabel pressed the back of her hand to her head with all the flair of the actress they’d seen performing in the seaside resort of Sandhills last year.

Rachel crossed her arms, not amused. ‘It isn’t so bad.’

‘Says the lady going to the country of Huria and not Hertfordshire.’ She waved one hand at Joanna, then pointed at herself. ‘Or Sussex. Although I don’t intend to stay there for long.’

‘What are you plotting, Isabel?’ Joanna focused suspicious eyes on her friend.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Come along, Grace is waiting.’ Isabel tugged Joanna down the hall and Rachel followed.

‘You’ll be sure to write me when your nothing turns into something,’ Joanna insisted, knowing her friend too well to be put off so fast. ‘I’d hate to find out about it in the papers.’

‘I told you, there’s nothing,’ Isabel insisted, adjusting a pin in her copper-coloured hair.

‘Too bad, I might need some savoury story to enliven my days in the country.’

‘Me, too.’ Isabel nudged Joanna in the ribs and they laughed together before Rachel placed her hands on their shoulders and pushed them forward.

‘Keep going, before we run out of time.’

They hurried to the last room at the end of the hall and stopped at the door to the bedroom they’d shared since they were all nine years old.

‘Close your eyes,’ Rachel insisted.

‘Why?’ Joanna didn’t like surprises.

‘You’ll see. Now do it.’ Isabel raised Joanna’s hands to her eyes.

The two girls giggled as they led Joanna inside. The faint dank of the chilly room warmed by the morning sun combined with the lavender used to freshen the sheets, the sweet smell of Rachel’s favourite biscuits, and Grace’s Lily of the Valley perfume to surround Joanna. It reminded her of the coming winter, their Christmas together last year and how far away from one another they’d be this December. Sadness dulled the thrill of the surprise.

‘All right, open your eyes,’ Isabel instructed.

Joanna lowered her hands. Isabel, Rachel and Grace stood around a little table draped with linen. Rachel had baked Joanna’s favourite lemon cake and it sat on a small stand surrounded by three wrapped presents.

‘Congratulations!’ the girls chorused.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Joanna exclaimed, amazed at what they’d done and their having kept it a secret. There wasn’t much they’d been able to keep from each other over the last nine years.

‘Since you’re the first to take up your new post, we couldn’t let you go with only a goodbye,’ Grace insisted with the seriousness which still haunted her after her unfortunate incident. ‘We don’t know when we’ll see each other again.’

Joanna threw her arms around Grace. ‘Stop, or you’ll make me cry.’

‘Don’t be silly, you never cry.’ Grace hugged her tightly, then released her. ‘Let’s have our cake.’

They ate their treat while Joanna unwrapped the pen from Rachel, the stationery from Isabel and the ink from Grace.

‘It’s so you can write to us,’ Rachel explained through a mouthful of cake.

‘Thank you all, so much.’ She clutched the items to her chest, deeply grateful. These three women had been the closest she’d ever had to sisters. She didn’t want to lose touch with them, or the deep bonds they’d forged.

Their happy celebration was interrupted by a knock.

Everyone froze as Miss Fanworth stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The short, brown-haired teacher with the soft plumpness of a mother hen tapped her foot in admonition. ‘What’s this? Food in your bedroom. Madame will have a fit if she finds out.’

‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ Isabel pleaded with more drama than earnestness.

A smile spread across Miss Fanworth’s full lips. ‘Of course not. Now cut me a slice.’

This wasn’t the only secret their favourite teacher had kept for the girls. The other would see Grace ruined and all Madame Dubois’s faith in her best teacher and her favourite pupils destroyed.

‘I have a present for you, too.’ Miss Fanworth exchanged her gift for the slice of cake Joanna held out to her.

Joanna unwrapped it to reveal a small leather pouch half-full of coins.

‘It’s for the postage, so you can pay for the letters we send you,’ Miss Fanworth explained as she tasted her cake. ‘I expect to receive a few in return.’

‘Of course, how could I not write to everyone?’

Miss Fanworth set aside her plate, then rose. She laid her hands on Joanna’s shoulders. Tears made her round eyes glisten. ‘You were just a little babe when we first found you on the doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a torn slip of paper with your name on it. Now look at you, all grown up and ready to leave us.’

‘I hope I can do you, Madame Dubois and the school proud.’

‘As long as you remember everything we’ve taught you, you will.’ She laid one full arm across Joanna’s shoulders and turned them both to face the others. ‘In fact, you must all remember your lessons, especially those I told you of the gentlemen you might meet. Don’t be taken in by their kind words, it never ends well—why, look at poor Madame.’

She tutted in sympathy as she shook her head, making her brown curls dance at the sides of her face.

‘What do you mean?’ Isabel asked. All of them leaned in, eager for more. This wasn’t the first time Joanna or the other girls had heard Miss Fanworth allude to something in Madame’s past. Perhaps, with them leaving, Miss Fanworth would at last reveal the headmistress’s secret which had teased them since their first day at the school.

Miss Fanworth’s full cheeks turned a strange shade of red. She was as horrified by her slip as their interest. Then the clop of horses and the call of the coachman drifted up to them from the street below. Miss Fanworth blew out a long breath, as relieved by the distraction as she was saddened by what it meant. ‘Joanna, it’s time for you to go. Are you ready?’

No. Joanna laced her hands in front of her, determined to be brave. She’d stay here as a teacher if they’d let her, but Madame Dubois had insisted she seek a position. She hadn’t argued. She never did, but always went along, no matter what she wanted. ‘I am.’

‘I wish I was going with you.’ Rachel huffed as she took Joanna’s one arm.

Isabel took the other. ‘Me, too.’

‘I wish we could all go together,’ Grace echoed from behind them, at Miss Fanworth’s side as they left the room.

‘We wouldn’t get a stroke of work done if we were in the same house together.’ Joanna laughed through the tightness in her throat.

They walked much slower down the stairs than when they’d ascended, all but Joanna sniffling back tears between jokes and shared memories.

Madame Dubois waited beside the front door, watching the girls reach the bottom. Her black bombazine dress without one wrinkle fell regally from her shoulders. The woman was formidable and more than one small girl had burst into tears at the first sight of her, but they soon learned how deeply she regarded each of her charges. She wouldn’t hug or cry over them like Miss Fanworth, but it didn’t mean she didn’t care.

Though she didn’t care enough to keep me here. Joanna banished the thought as soon as it reared its head. The school was full of little girls who’d been sent away by their families. She shouldn’t expect to be treated any differently by Madame Dubois just because Madame Dubois had helped raise her.

In a flurry of hugs and promises to write, the girls said their goodbyes.

Reluctantly, Joanna left them to approach the headmistress while the others remained with Miss Fanworth. She stood straight and erect before the Frenchwoman. Outside, the coach driver tossed her small trunk containing all she owned up on to the top of the vehicle.

‘This is a proud and exciting day for you, Miss Radcliff. You’re leaving us at last to become a governess.’ Madame Dubois held her arms at angles in front of her, hands crossed, but the softness in her voice and the slight sparkle of moisture at the corners of her grey eyes betrayed her.

She doesn’t want to let me go. Joanna swallowed hard, the request to stay sitting like a marble in her throat. She swallowed it down. There was no point asking for something she wouldn’t receive. Madame wouldn’t give in to her wants any more than she would allow Joanna to give in to hers.

‘Yes, Madame.’ Joanna wished she could wrap her arms around Madame and hug her like the other girls did their mothers when they bid them goodbye on their first day, but she couldn’t. Madame might be as saddened by the parting as Joanna, but there would be no hugging or tears. It wasn’t her way.

‘You’re a bright, intelligent, accomplished young lady who’ll aptly represent the quality of pupils at our school in your first position.’

‘I will, Madame. You’ve prepared me well.’

Chapter One

One month later

Madame Dubois didn’t prepare me for this!

Joanna clutched the book to her chest as she stood in the dark corner of the Huntford Place library. Frances, the eldest Huntford daughter, and Lieutenant Foreman had burst into the room aware of nothing but each other. Lieutenant Foreman pressed Frances up against the wall and pawed at her breasts and hips through her dress. Instead of fighting off his advances, Frances embraced the lanky Lieutenant, raising one slender and stocking-clad leg to rest against his hip.

Joanna glanced at the door. The sighs and moans of the couple filled the room as she debated how best to slip away without being noticed.

No, I can’t. I’m the governess. She couldn’t allow Frances to ruin herself, but she didn’t have the faintest idea how to separate them. Beyond what Grace had told her, lovemaking was outside her range of experience. Despite understanding the more technical aspects of the act, it was the desire part she failed to grasp, the one which had led to Grace’s predicament and was about to ruin Frances, too.

She’d learn more about the physical particulars if she didn’t stop this. Lieutenant Foreman’s hand was already beneath Frances’s dress.

‘Ahem...’ Joanna cleared her throat, her urgency increasing with their passion when it failed to interrupt the amorous pair. ‘Ahem!’

Lieutenant Foreman whirled around to face Joanna while Frances straightened the bodice of her expensive yellow-silk dress behind him. He adjusted his red coat, his sword not the only prominent weapon near his belt. Joanna tried not to notice, but it was difficult for his white breeches obscured very little.

‘Excuse me, Miss Radcliff.’ He bowed to Joanna, then bolted out of the room, leaving Frances to face her fate alone.

Joanna opened and closed her sweaty fingers over the cover of the book. She hoped this taught Frances something about the man and made her realise her mistake. She was about to say so when Frances, cheeks red with anger instead of shame, fixed on Joanna.

‘How dare you barge in on me?’

‘I didn’t barge, I was already in the room when you and Lieutenant Foreman—’

‘Don’t you dare speak of it, not to me or anyone, do you understand?’ She flew upon Joanna and slapped the book out of her hands. It landed with a thud on the floor between them.

‘No, of course not,’ Joanna stammered, startled by the command. She was supposed to be the one in charge. She remained silent, afraid to point out this fact and make things worse.

‘Good, because if you do, I’ll see to it you’re dismissed without a reference.’ Frances threw back her head of light blonde curls and strode from the room as if it was she and not her father, Sir Rodger, who owned the house. Like all four Huntford girls, Frances was spoiled by her parents. All of them had treated Joanna with nothing but contempt since her arrival.

Joanna found the arm of the chair behind her and gripped it tightly as she sank into the dusty cushions. This wasn’t how being a governess was supposed to be. The girls were supposed to look to her for education and guidance, and keeping Frances’s secret should’ve brought her and Frances closer, like it had with her, Rachel, Isabel and Grace. It shouldn’t have garnered spite from a young lady clearly in the wrong. She should tell Sir Rodger and Lady Huntford about their daughter’s compromising behaviour, but if she did, they might blame her.

I wish Rachel were here. She had a gift for dealing with the young children and even some of the older girls at the school. She’d know what to do, but she wasn’t here, none of her friends or Madame Dubois or Miss Fanworth could help her. She was on her own, just as she’d been until she was nine and Grace, Rachel and Isabel had first arrived at the school. She wished she had a copy of the drawing of the four of them Grace had done last Christmas. It would lessen her loneliness to remember how happy they’d been together and make them seem closer instead of hundreds of miles away.

She stood and plucked the book from the floor, refusing to wallow in self-pity. Her friends weren’t here and, despite Frances’s threats, it was Joanna’s duty to guide and chaperon the young lady. She’d have to find a more subtle way to go about it. There was little else she could do.

* * *

Luke strode up the steps of the Mayfair town house. The must and damp of the ship which had brought him back from France permeated the wool of his red coat. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. He should have stopped at the Army Service Club to bathe and shave, but the moment he’d landed in Greenwich, all he’d wanted to do was see Diana Tomalin, his fiancée.

He’d been brought home with instructions to marry and produce an heir for the family. The faster he made things final with Diana, the sooner he might achieve this goal and return to his regiment in Spain. It had hurt like hell to sell his commission four months after he’d risked his life to earn it and he’d be damned if he let it go for good.

Collins, the Tomalin family’s butler, pulled open the front door. His small eyes in his soft face widened at the sight of Luke. ‘Major Preston.’

‘Morning, Collins. Is Miss Tomalin here?’ Luke removed his shako and handed it to the man as he strode into the Tomalin family entrance hall.

‘She is, sir, but—’ He fumbled the army headdress, making the feather in the front waver like his voice.

‘Collins, who is it?’ Diana called from the sitting room.

‘It’s me.’ Luke strode into the sunlit room and jerked to a halt. His excitement drifted out of him like smoke out of a cannon.

Diana stood in the middle of the rug, her eyes not meeting his as she ran her hand over her round belly. The gold band on her ring finger clicked over the small buttons along the front of her voluminous morning dress. ‘Welcome home, Major Preston.’

The pendulum on the clock beside him swung back and forth with an irritatingly precise click.

‘When did you intend to tell me we were no longer engaged?’ Luke demanded. ‘Or were you hoping Napoleon would solve the matter for you?’

She twisted the wedding band, the large stone set in the gold too big for her delicate fingers. ‘Mother said I shouldn’t trouble you, not when you had so many other things to worry about. She also said I shouldn’t wait any longer for you, that five years was enough, and you might die in battle and then my youth and all my chances to marry would be lost.’

‘Yes, your mother was always very practical in the matter of our betrothal.’ It’s why he’d agreed to keep their engagement a secret until he could return from Spain with a fuller purse and a higher rank. Heaven forbid Mrs Tomalin endure the horror of a lowly lieutenant, an earl’s mere second son, for a son-in-law. ‘Who’s the lucky gentleman?’

‘Lord Follett,’ she whispered, more ashamed than enamoured by her choice of mate.

‘I see.’ Like nearly all the women he’d encountered before he’d enlisted, and whenever he’d come home on leave, she’d run after a man with more title and land than him. He watched the pendulum swing back and forth in the clock case, wanting to knock the grand thing over and silence it. ‘So it’s Lady Follett now. Where is your distinguished husband? In Bath, taking the waters for his rheumatism?’

‘With Father’s mounting bills and you possibly never coming back, I didn’t have a choice but to accept him,’ she cried out against his sarcasm. ‘So much has changed in England since you’ve been gone. The cold winters have taken their toll and, with crops failing year after year, Father began to fall into debt like so many others.’

No doubt his gambling habit helped increase it, Luke bit back, holding more sympathy for her than he should have. Her family wasn’t the only one facing ruin and struggling to hide it. His father and grandfather had spent years rebuilding Pensum Manor after his feckless great-grandfather had nearly gambled it away. The continued crop failures were threatening to send it spiralling back into insolvency. Like Diana, Luke needed to marry and well. He hated to be so mercenary in his choice of bride, but it was a reality he couldn’t ignore. However, it didn’t mean he had to wed the first merchant’s daughter with five thousand a year who threw herself at him in an effort to be the mother of the next Earl of Ingham. ‘Surely you could’ve chosen someone better suited to you than that old man.’

‘My first duty is to my father and my family, not to you, not to even myself.’ She settled back into her chair, her brown eyes at last meeting his and filled with a silent plea for understanding. He couldn’t withhold it. He’d abandoned his men and his military career to come home and do his duty for his family. He couldn’t blame her for doing the same.

‘It seems we’re both obliged to make sacrifices. You with Lord Follett, me as the heir.’

‘But your brother and his wife?’

‘After ten years, there’s been no child. If things stay as they are—’

‘You’ll inherit.’ She pressed her palm to her forehead, realising what she’d given up by following her parents’ demands. However, Luke knew the way of the world. A possible title at some future date was not the same as an old, wealthy baron on a woman’s doorstep with a special licence.

Not wanting to torture her further with his presence or his ire, he took the shako from Collins and tucked it under his arm. ‘I wish you all the best and future happiness. Good day.’

He left the house and climbed into the hack waiting at the kerb. He knocked Captain Reginald Crowther’s feet off the seat where he’d rested them to nap.

His friend jerked upright and tilted his shako off his eyes. He was about to crack a joke when a warning glare from Luke turned him slightly more serious. ‘I take it all didn’t go well with your fair damsel?’

Luke rapped on the roof to set the vehicle in motion. As it lumbered out of Mayfair towards the Bull in Bishops Street, he told him what had happened inside the Tomalins’. ‘This isn’t how I imaged this would go.’

‘And I can see you’re utterly heartbroken over losing her. More like inconvenienced.’ Captain Crowther threw his arms up over the back of the squabs. ‘You thought you’d marry a tidy little sum, produce an heir with the least amount of bother and be back in Spain with the regiment inside of two years.’

Luke fingered the regimental badge of a curved bugle horn hung from a ribbon affixed to the front of his shako, unsettled by Captain Crowther’s frank assessment of his plans and secretly relieved. If he and Diana had entered into marriage negotiations, the Inghams’ debts would have been revealed. Diana’s family would probably have made her cry off and all England might have learned of his family’s financial straits. His rapture for her had faded too much during their time apart for him to go through so much on her behalf. ‘Her refusing to marry me before I left and insisting we keep the engagement a secret always did rankle.’

‘Now you must give up the hell of battle for the hell of the marriage mart.’ His friend chuckled. ‘Wish I could be here to see you dancing like some London dandy.’

‘When I agreed to come home, I didn’t think I’d have to face it.’ Or the ugliness he’d glimpsed in Diana’s situation. He set the shako on the seat beside him. Worse waited for him in the country. With the future of the earldom hovering over him, all the tittering darlings and their mamas who’d ignored him as a youth because he wouldn’t inherit would rush Pensum Manor faster than Napoleon’s troops did a battlefield.

‘You don’t have to do this. Write and tell your brother to pay more attention to his wife and come back to Spain,’ Captain Crowther urged.

‘I’m sure their lack of a child isn’t from a lack of trying and it isn’t only an heir they need, but money.’ Luke stared out the hackney window at the crowd crossing London Bridge in the distance. He couldn’t have refused the request to come home even if he’d wanted to. His father had called on his old friend, Lieutenant Colonel Lord Henry Beckwith, using the connection he’d employed to begin Luke’s Army career to end it. Luke might have ignored one or two orders in battle, achieving both victory and forgiveness for his transgressions, but he couldn’t dismiss a direct command from Lord Beckwith to return home.

The carriage lumbered to a stop in front of the arch of the bustling Bull Inn. Luke tucked the shako under his arm and stepped out, as did his friend. Behind them the driver unloaded Luke’s things while Captain Crowther’s stayed fixed on top. After he visited his sister, Reginald was going back to Spain, his mission of delivering dispatches complete.

Luke flicked the dull edge of the bugle-horn badge with his fingernail. He would catch a coach to Pensum Manor, his family’s estate in Hertfordshire and take up the position of second in line to the earldom and groom-to-be to some willing, and as of yet unnamed, wife. ‘I wish you’d accepted my offer to buy my commission.’

‘You know I don’t want it, or the debt to secure it. Don’t look so glum.’ Reginald cuffed Luke on the arm. ‘We aren’t all meant to be leaders like you. Your intelligence, wit and daring will be missed.’

‘But they’ll have your ability to charm the locals, especially the gambling men.’

Reginald grinned with self-satisfaction. ‘I do have a flair with language.’

Luke snapped off the Forty-Third Regiment of Foot bugle-horn badge affixed to the front of the shako and handed the now-unneeded headpiece to his friend. ‘Stay safe.’

Reginald ran his thumb over the bare felt front, a rare seriousness crossing over his face before it passed. ‘You’re the one who needs to watch yourself. I hear those unmarried ladies can be dangerous.’ He tossed the thing inside the coach then took Luke’s hand. ‘Go on to Hertfordshire, find a wife and give your family their much sought-after heir.’

Reginald climbed back into the carriage and then hung one elbow out the door window.

‘Give Napoleon hell,’ Luke encouraged, the edge of the badge biting into his palm where he clasped it tight.

‘I intend to.’ With a rakish salute, Reginald tucked inside as the hack rolled off down the crowded street.

With each turn of the wheels, the most accomplished and contented ten years of Luke’s life faded into the past. He opened his palm, the tin against his skin tarnished with Spanish mud and rain. What waited for him in Hertfordshire was everything he’d joined the Army to escape: the oppressive weight of previous generations which hung over Pensum Manor, and his own insignificance to the line as magnified by his brother’s importance.

He slipped the badge into his pocket and strode into the inn to arrange for a seat in the next coach to Hertfordshire. He’d do his duty to his family, as fast and efficiently as he could, then he’d return to the Army and a real sense of accomplishment.

Chapter Two

Joanna had never been to a ball before. The Pensum Manor ballroom was decorated with autumn leaves, straw bales, scarecrows and bunches of wheat tied with orange-and-yellow ribbons. The same musicians who played in the church on Sundays now performed on an equally festive stage at the far end. In front of them, young ladies and gentlemen danced in time to the lively music. Everyone in attendance seemed happy and carefree, except Joanna, and, it appeared, Major Preston.

Joanna glanced at the guest of honour again, admiring the dignified arch of his brows, the subtle wave in his dark brown hair where it curled over both ears before touching the smooth skin above his collar. It wasn’t only his commanding stature which drew her to him, but the discontent deepening the rich coffee colour of his eyes. He stood beside his brother, Lord Pensum, near the door, nodding tersely at each passing guest while his brother greeted them with a gracious smile and a few words. More than once Joanna saw Major Preston’s sturdy chest rise and fall with a weary sigh and she sympathised with him. Like her, he was clearly ill at ease in the midst of all this merriment.

‘Watch where you’re going,’ Frances snapped as she stopped to examine the dancers, forcing Joanna to come up short to keep from bumping into her tiring charge. Then Frances set off again on another circle of the room, no doubt searching for Lieutenant Foreman. Thankfully, they hadn’t seen him, but it didn’t stop Frances from looking. The girl was stubborn in her desire to ruin herself.

Joanna followed wearily behind her, tugging at the pale-blue secondhand dress Frances had tossed at her last night after Lady Huntford had announced Joanna would attend as Frances’s chaperon. It spared the mother the bother of hovering around her headstrong daughter. Joanna played with the small bit of lace along the thankfully modest bodice. It fit her in length, since she and Frances were nearly matched in height, but Joanna had been forced to stay up late to take in the chest. The lack of sleep, combined with Lady Huntford having instructed Joanna to try and manoeuvre Frances to Major Preston, added to her disquiet. The young lady was as co-operative as a donkey. With Frances relentlessly circling the room and refusing to dance, Joanna had been denied the company of the other governesses sitting along the wall and chatting together. She needed some hopefully polite conversation with someone, anyone. She rarely received it at Huntford Place.

To Joanna’s luck, Frances’s hurried steps brought them closer to Major Preston and Joanna hazarded another glance at him. This time, his eyes met hers and the entire ballroom faded away until only the two of them and the soft melody of the violin remained. There were no wayward charges, laughing country squires or gallant young men to concern her. His gaze slid along the length of her, pausing at her chest which increased with her drawn-in breath.

Instead of stopping him with a chiding glance, she stood up straighter, offering him a better view of her in the prettiest dress she’d ever worn. His silent appraisal of her continued down to her feet and then up again. It kindled the strange fire burning near her centre which spread out to engulf her skin. She touched the curls at the back of her head, returning his attention to her face. With a slow, refined movement she lowered her hand, linking it with the other in front of her, each fingertip aching to trace the angle of his jaw to where it met his stiff cravat. She envied the linen encasing his throat and whatever woman he chose here tonight for his bride. She would experience the thrill of his body against hers, the heat of his wide hands upon her bare skin, the luxury of his height draping her like a heavy coat on a windy day.

‘Stop gawking at everything,’ Frances hissed, snapping Joanna out of her licentious daydream. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

Considering the lady’s encounter with Lieutenant Foreman, Frances possessed a strange idea of what might embarrass her. Joanna held her tongue, eager to avoid cultivating any more of Frances’s ire.

‘Might we not go speak with Major Preston?’ Joanna slid a sideways glance at Major Preston. He continued to watch her with an allure which almost made her rush to him, but she didn’t move. Instead, she tugged at the back of the dress, wondering what had come over her. She was here to chaperon Frances, not lose her head over a man so far above her the only relationship they could enjoy would risk her livelihood and go against everything Madame Dubois and Miss Fanworth had invested in her. They’d trained her to teach young ladies, not to become a kept tart.

‘Why would I want to talk to him?’ Frances shifted back and forth on her toes to look over the guests’ heads.

‘To save your slippers for the delight of dancing,’ Joanna joked. Her attempt at humour withered as Frances narrowed her eyes at Joanna. ‘And because I’ve noticed him admiring you.’

It was a lie, but an effective one.

‘He has?’ Frances’s attention whipped around to Major Preston so fast, the blonde curls at the back of her head flew out before they settled back against her neck. Frances thrust out her ample chest and cast Major Preston a none-too-subtle smile.

Frances’s interest in him ended his interest in them. He offered Frances a polite nod, then turned to speak to a gentleman Joanna vaguely recognised as someone of local importance. On the dance floor, one dance ended and couples began to form up for the next. Mr Winborn, the son of another local baronet who Catherine, Frances’s younger sister, had teased Frances about during their last visit to the village approached them.

‘Miss Huntford, may I have this dance?’ The lithe gentleman with a head of wild red hair held out his freckled hand to Frances.

‘Yes, I suppose I must be seen dancing with someone or people will talk.’ Frances placed her hand limply in his.

‘We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Mr Winborn concurred, not offended by her blunt acceptance and just as blasé about taking her to the dance floor as his partner.

Joanna sagged a little in relief. Frances couldn’t get into trouble while she danced. Joanna turned, excited to at last be able to join the other chaperons when a mountain of a man stepped between her and them. A badge of a bugle horn hung by a tin ribbon met her before she peered up to the peak to find Major Preston standing over her.

The scent of cedar surrounding him enveloped her and she pressed her heels into the floor to keep from wavering under the pressure of it. His dark coat ran tight along the horizontal plane of his shoulders. Brass buttons with crossed sabres held the wool closed at his navel and emphasised his narrow waist. The dark material stood in stark contrast to the white breeches covering his legs. She didn’t dare check to see what kind of buttons held those closed.

‘May I have this dance?’ He held out his hand to her. His palm was wide, with a faint scar starting at the first finger and crossing down to his wrist. Light red circles of old blisters further marred the plane of it. Here was no soft London gentleman, but one who knew something of hard work and danger. His nearness didn’t overwhelm her like the ones of the other titled men and women filling the room. Instead, she admired his confidence and wanted to emulate it.

She raised her hand to accept his, then jerked it back to her side, remembering herself. ‘When it comes to reels, I appear more like a horse trotting around a millstone than a lady of poise. It’s best for me to avoid them.’

He grinned at her, amused instead of insulted by her refusal. ‘Dancing doesn’t bring out my natural agility either. Despite lessons, I never developed the talent for it. I mastered riding instead.’

‘If only you could do both the way they do with the horses from Vienna I once read about.’ She froze, waiting for him to chastise her as Frances had for speaking out of turn. Instead, he rewarded her with a smile as captivating as his height. He was a good head taller than her.

‘Not my horse. He’s more mule than Lipizzaner and would throw me if I tried to make a dancer out of him.’

‘But you’d both be majestic for the moment you stayed in the saddle.’

‘It would be a very brief moment.’ He smothered a laugh behind his hand, the delight it brought to his eyes as captivating as the pensiveness which had called to her from across the room. ‘Do you ride?’

‘As poorly as I dance.’ Horsemanship was wasted on a governess.

‘I imagine you’d be quite elegant in the saddle if you tried.’

‘I’m sure I would be, for the brief moment before I was tossed out of it.’

He leaned in, the intensity of his woodsy scent strengthening with his closeness. She noticed a slight scar running along the hairline of his temple, the skin a touch whiter than that of his face. ‘I would catch you.’

Joanna stiffened, panic as much as excitement making her heart race. As a governess, she shouldn’t be speaking with him. She should draw this conversation to a close, remember his place and hers, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t been this at ease since the last time she’d been with her friends. She offered him an impish look from beneath her dark lashes, emboldened by his relaxed manner. ‘I’d do the same for you.’

He straightened, his laugh uncontained this time. Thankfully, the music reached a high crescendo, keeping all but those closest to them from hearing him.

‘Your catching me would make me a spectacle, more so than I already am.’ His laughter died away and his shoulders rose and fell with another weary sigh. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be riding instead of here.’

‘What I wouldn’t give to be in a quiet corner reading instead of here.’

‘Yet here we are.’ He opened his hands to the room as Frances whirled by with her red-headed partner. Mr Winborn said something to her and she rewarded him with a rare and genuine laugh. ‘It must be difficult being in Miss Huntford’s shadow. You’re by far the prettier of the two.’

Joanna studied the square head of a nail in the floor beneath her feet, as stunned as she was flattered by his compliment. Miss Fanworth’s warning about young gentlemen came to her and she pinned him with her best disciplining governess look. It worked about as well with him as it did with Frances, which was to say it didn’t. ‘Thank you, but you really shouldn’t.’

‘I can’t help it. I’ve been among plain-speaking men for so long it’s difficult to not be open and honest with everyone. Imagine if we were all like this with one another.’

‘Society would crumble once everyone realised what people really thought of them.’

‘They already know but pretend they don’t.’

‘What about you? Do you pretend?’ It was none of her business, but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Every day.’ Sorrow darkened his eyes like clouds over water on a stormy day. ‘I pretend to be happy I came home, I pretend to be glad I gave up my Army career for this.’

* * *

Luke pressed back his shoulders and clasped his hands behind him, waiting for her to brush away his complaints as his brother Edward, his father and every other young lady he’d spoken with tonight had done. They all expected him to forget his time in the Army, to dismiss it as one might a past Season in London. He couldn’t any more than he could forget the faces of all the men he’d lost or the intuition for danger which still kept his senses sharp whenever he rode alone in the woods. All the instincts which had kept him alive in Spain refused to be dulled, but they were useless to him here.

‘It can be difficult after so long in one situation to leave it, especially when it means saying goodbye to friends.’ She studied him with eyes blue enough to make the Mediterranean jealous, their colour as stunning as her response. They captivated him as much now as when he’d followed her progress around the room as she’d trailed after Miss Huntford. Seeing the sisters together had reminded him of following Edward at school until he’d railed at him for embarrassing him. Luke had caught similar exchanges between the two sisters tonight. The last time he’d seen the Huntford girls had been at a picnic nearly fifteen years ago and they’d proved as vapid as their mother. Whichever Huntford sister this was, and he could only assume she was the second eldest, she’d matured into a beautiful, wise and witty young lady.

‘Eventually, you’ll settle in again,’ she assured him, the light auburn hair framing her round face emphasising her subtle beauty.

‘Settling is exactly what I’m worried about. As the second son, there isn’t much else for me to do. The estate isn’t mine and it may never be.’ From an early age, the house, their legacy and their duty to it had been drilled into Luke and his older brother. It had meant something to Edward, the heir. To Luke, it had been nothing but a heavy reminder of his lesser status, the one his family hadn’t failed to reinforce. After reluctantly paying to educate Luke alongside Edward, Luke’s father had spent as few pounds as possible to purchase Luke’s paltry lieutenant’s commission. It had been left to Luke to claw his way up the ranks, borrowing from friends to purchase every next higher rank until the day he’d won for himself, through his own daring, the rank of major. Only now, when Luke had become useful to the line, had his father decided to waste an unnecessary fortune to trot Luke out to look over the local eligible ladies. It irritated him as much as having left so much hard work behind in the dirt of Spain. ‘I have no desire to inherit, or become lord of the manor.’

Her shock at his honest declaration was obvious in the horrified surprise which widened her stunning eyes as she stared out across the ballroom. The dance had ended and the couples were bowing to one another and making their way back to their chaperons. She seemed to watch them closely, shifting on her feet as if she couldn’t wait to flee from him and the heresy of not coveting an earldom. ‘It can’t be.’

‘I assure you, it is.’

‘Please excuse me, Major Preston, but I must, uh, see to something, uh, Miss Hartford, very important, at once.’ She bolted from him like a horse whose rider had been shot off its back.

His spirits, buoyed by their conversation, sank like a rock. He’d thought her different from the many other ladies he’d met tonight, deeper and more understanding. He was wrong. She was as shallow and covetous as the rest of her family.

‘You look as though you need this more than Edward.’ Alma, his sister-in-law, offered him one of the two glasses of champagne she carried. She was tall for a woman but willowy with dark hair, light brown eyes and a playful smile Luke hadn’t seen much of since coming home.

Luke took the drink and downed a sobering gulp. ‘It seems my worth is once again based on the luck of birth and death.’

‘I sympathise with you. Providing an heir is the one thing expected of a woman of my rank and I’ve failed at it.’ She focused on the bubbles rising in a steady stream off the bottom of her champagne flute.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to add to your distress. I’m being as thoughtless as Edward.’

‘Don’t be so hard on him. He’s struggling to accept our failure and, like you, the changes it means to the family and the line.’

All of their roles and places in life which had once been so secure were being thrown off kilter like a wagon caught in a rut.

‘I’ve seen miracles on the field of battle, men narrowly missed by cannonballs, or those who walked away from explosions with only minor scratches. It isn’t too much to hope for another. Don’t despair, Alma. I haven’t.’ He tapped his glass against hers, making the crystal ring. ‘You may become a mother yet.’

‘We’ll see.’ Disbelief hung heavy in her response.

He raised his glass to finish it, then paused. Across the room, a man who shouldn’t be here slipped out of the opposite door and into the adjoining hallway. ‘What the devil is he doing here?’

‘Who?’ Alma asked, following the line of his look.

‘Lieutenant Foreman.’ He’d last seen the scoundrel eight years ago riding north from their training grounds in Monmouthshire with his tail between his legs, transferred to another unit at Luke’s insistence for compromising a local vicar’s daughter.

‘There weren’t any officers on the guest list.’ Alma tipped her flute at the blue-eyed beauty weaving through the guests. ‘I believe your conversation partner is following him.’

The young lady paused at the door, taking advantage of Lady Huntford’s lack of interest in her to slip into the hallway where Lieutenant Foreman had just disappeared. Apparently, she favoured lower-ranking men more than Luke had realised.

Luke handed his glass to Alma. ‘I won’t have a misguided woman ruining herself under our roof, especially not with a man like him. Tell no one about this.’

‘I won’t say a word.’ Thankfully, she understood the need for discretion in this matter.

Luke followed them out of the ballroom, as curious as he was determined to protect his wayward guest.

She travelled the length of the ever-darkening hallway with the agitation of a spy down an alley. Whatever she was doing was wrong and she knew it. Still, she continued on in search of Lieutenant Foreman. Luke was careful not to follow too close. He wanted to make sure he caught them together, but not too much together. Then he’d see to it Lieutenant Foreman never set foot in this part of Hertfordshire again. He detested the man and his lack of honour. He should have done right by the vicar’s daughter. At least he hadn’t got the young lady with child. Luke would’ve marched him up the church aisle at bayonet point if he had. He hoped he didn’t have to perform the same service for Miss Huntford.

The young lady slipped down another hall, this one poorly lit to disguise the threadbare rug and tired furnishings. The best of the furniture had been moved to the front of the house and the ballroom to keep up the appearance of wealth. No guests were supposed to be in this far-flung and cold wing of the classical-style house.

He stopped at the turn to the hallway and peered around the corner, doing his best to remain undetected. The young lady paused at the door near the far end and took hold of the knob. She turned to survey the emptiness around her. Luke jerked back out of sight and prayed he hadn’t been seen. The squeak of the brass and the protest of the old hinges as the door opened told him she hadn’t noticed him.

He marched down the hall after her, determined to make his interruption as stunning as possible in order to teach the lady a lesson. He grabbed the knob and threw open the door. ‘What are you doing in here?’

He jerked to a halt to keep from colliding with the young lady. She scooted aside as, across the room, Lieutenant Foreman let go of the elder Miss Huntford so fast, she almost fell to the floor.

‘Enjoying the pleasures of the country, as you can see,’ Lieutenant Foreman sneered, his pointed chin framed by the red coat of his uniform ‘And there’s nothing you can do about it, Mr Preston.’

Luke rushed up on him so fast, he shuffled back into the bookcase behind him. ‘I may not have my commission, but I still have my connections, especially with Lieutenant Colonel Lord Beckwith. I won’t hesitate to appeal to him to have you drummed out of the ranks for this.’

‘No, you can’t,’ Miss Huntford protested.

He fixed her with a hard look. ‘You’d do well to remember your reputation is in grave danger of being compromised.’

Miss Huntford shrunk back, biting her lip like a reprimanded child.

Luke turned to his former comrade, wanting to thrash him for being a scoundrel, but he kept control. His family couldn’t afford any broken furniture. ‘As for you, Lieutenant Foreman, you’d better think long and hard on your future in the Army because if I ever see you two together again, unmarried, or hear one whiff of scandal regarding you and Miss Huntford, I’ll see to it you’re shipped to a remote and disease-ridden post. Do I make myself clear?’

Lieutenant Foreman’s beady eyes widened. ‘Yes.’

‘Sir.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He raised a shaking hand to his forehead in salute.

‘Now, get out.’

Lieutenant Foreman slid out from between Luke and the wall, offering not one word of goodbye to his lover as he rushed from the room.

Miss Huntford’s embarrassment didn’t last long past the exit of her paramour. She fixed hard eyes on her sister, reprimanding her as if Luke wasn’t there.

‘You brought Major Preston here,’ she screeched. ‘You’re trying to ruin me on purpose. How dare you. I’ll see you pay for this.’

She advanced on the poor young lady, who shrank into the corner as if doing her best to become one with the panelling. Luke stepped between the sisters, shielding the lady from Miss Huntford’s wrath.

‘Your sister didn’t bring me here. I followed her. Unlike you, I’m concerned about her reputation and yours.’

‘Sister,’ Miss Huntford snorted, ‘she isn’t my sister. She’s the governess.’

Luke stepped out from between the ladies and glanced back and forth at them. So much about their previous conversation suddenly became clear, especially her refusal to dance, her insight and her desire to get away. The governess lowered her stunning blue eyes to the carpet, her head bowed like an inferior. It made his blood boil to see her humbled by Miss Huntford, as it did when he used to see unqualified commanders berate junior officers for daring to display initiative.

Luke turned back to Miss Huntford. With her deep-red dress pressing her generous breasts up against the top of the bodice, she was as well done up as a courtesan searching for a client at the theatre. Her mother shouldn’t have allowed her daughter to wear so questionable a dress. Then again, if her mother had shown much interest in her, she might not have been here with Lieutenant Foreman. ‘Your governess has more sense than you do.’

Miss Huntford let out a startled squeak at being disciplined for what Luke imagined might be the first time in her life.

‘If I hear any word of Miss—what’s your name?’ he asked the governess.

‘Radcliff.’ She twisted her hands together in front of her. The vibrant, humorous woman he’d enjoyed in the ballroom was gone, driven away by her spoiled hoyden of a charge.

‘If I learn Miss Radcliff has been reprimanded or dismissed for her attempt to aid you, Miss Huntford, I’ll ask for an interview with your father and tell him not only what I witnessed, but something of Lieutenant Foreman’s background. He won’t like it and neither will you. Do I have your word you won’t seek revenge against Miss Radcliff?’

Miss Huntford screwed up her full lips in a pout to make a two-year-old proud. He recognised the delay. It was the same reaction he used to receive from soldiers not wanting to answer a direct question. They would hem and shuffle, working to come up with some false reason to justify their poor behaviour. Like his soldiers, Miss Huntford could think of nothing. Her pout eased into a frown and the red drained out of her face. She was beaten and she knew it. ‘Yes, you have my word.’

‘Good. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom and we’ll say nothing of this to anyone.’ He offered her his elbow.

She wrinkled her nose at it, stubborn as before, but, seeing no choice except to comply, she slapped her hand down over his coat. She flicked Miss Radcliff a fierce look as they all walked into the hallway.

Miss Radcliff followed a few steps behind them as they made for the ballroom. It was she he was worried about, not the lady on his arm. He might have threatened Miss Huntford, but he doubted her ability to honour her word. If she struck at Miss Radcliff, there was nothing he could do to help or protect the poor governess. He couldn’t correspond with Miss Radcliff, or visit her at Huntford Place. Despite the pleasure of her presence and conversation, she was one of the few ladies in attendance not available as a potential bride.

The realisation ground on him like a pebble stuck in a boot. The woman behind him possessed more dignity, poise and sense of duty than the daughter of a baronet marching beside him, yet he was forced to overlook her because she wasn’t of his class. The indignity of it distracted him so much, he failed to stop on the threshold to the ballroom and allow the ladies to continue in without him. The moment he and Miss Huntford entered the ballroom, all eyes fell upon them and then on her hand on his arm. A few people noted Miss Radcliff behind them, her presence as a chaperon restraining the whispers, but it was clear the pretty baronet’s daughter and the potential earl had been outside the room together.

The attention didn’t escape Miss Huntford, who snatched her hand off his arm and made for her mother. Miss Radcliff stepped out from behind him to follow her charge.

‘Miss Radcliff,’ he called to her, not sure why. There was nothing more for them to say. He hoped she’d be all right and wished there was some way he could ensure it, but there wasn’t. Meeting his hesitation, she spoke first, aware of those around them watching this strange conversation.

‘Thank you for your assistance, Major Preston.’ She dipped a proper curtsy, then set off after Miss Huntford, proving she was level-headed in a difficult situation.

It was another reason to admire her and he regretted letting her go, unable to stop watching her until she passed by Alma. His sister-in-law cocked her head in curiosity at Luke, having guessed which lady truly interested him.

He jerked his attention away from them both and strode to a nearby circle of gentlemen discussing pheasant hunting. The topic failed to take his mind off Miss Radcliff’s enchanting eyes, or the peace and delight he’d experienced in her presence. She, more than anyone, had understood his frustration at being here and she was the one young lady he was unable to court.

‘I bet you’re glad to be away from all the nasty business in Spain?’ Lord Chilton joked in an attempt to engage Luke. He was one of the many men here with an eligible daughter and money.

‘Not when my men are still there dying so we can enjoy balls without Napoleon’s boot on our throats.’ Luke didn’t feel like being pleasant. He hated being forced to parade before all the tittering country women while his men suffered in Spain.

‘Yes, bad business, most grateful for their service,’ Lord Chilton muttered.

The other gentlemen added a few agreeing harrumphs.

‘What will you do with yourself now you’re home?’ Lord Selton asked. ‘I can’t imagine country life can hold much charm for a man of your experience.’

No, it didn’t. He’d found meaning for his life in the Army, a sense of accomplishment and merit which he’d never had before and now it was gone. ‘It does lack excitement, but at least no one is shooting at me.’

It was almost the only benefit to being here.

‘I suppose there is that,’ Lord Selton agreed before Sir Peter Bell turned their attention back to hunting.

Luke slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and traced the curving line of the bugle-horn badge. He glanced to where Lady Huntford stood beneath the chandelier with her daughter. Miss Radcliff stood behind them, as forgotten as the numerous other chaperons scattered around the edges of the room. Feeling him watching her, she offered him a small, encouraging smile. Then, some sharp remark from Lady Huntford pulled her attention away.

He let go of the badge. There had to be something of merit for him to achieve here besides growing fat while he waited for some inheritance which might never come. He must find it and soon. He wouldn’t allow himself to be made to feel as useless as he had as a child. He would find purpose, new things to achieve and accomplish, a reason beyond his ability to sire a child to make himself and his family proud.

Chapter Three

‘Luke and Frances Huntford. I wouldn’t have guessed it considering the way you used to talk about her when you were young.’ Charles Preston, Earl of Ingham laughed across the breakfast table at his younger son before rising to help himself to more eggs from the sideboard. ‘Can’t say I fancy being related to that brood, but if one of them gives me a grandson, I guess I won’t mind. The mother is quite capable of producing children. It bodes well for the daughters.’

Alma paled at the mention of Lady Huntford’s fecundity.

‘Charles, watch what you say,’ Lady Elizabeth Ingham chided as she motioned for the footman to pour her more coffee. ‘Especially since we might end up related to them.’

She winked at Luke, then lifted her coffee to her lips, hiding her teasing smile behind the steam.

‘I’m not interested in Miss Huntford.’ Luke sliced his ham into pieces.

‘You’d do well to have an interest in her. Her dowry could offset our losses from last year’s weak crop,’ Edward added from across the table.

‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ Luke countered. ‘Sir Rodger won’t spend so much as a farthing to repair the roof over his head. I doubt he’ll give it away with his daughters. But since I’m not interested in her, it is a moot point.’

After the ball, Luke had done everything he could to forget his brief time with Miss Radcliff, but it hadn’t worked. Despite a vigorous ride this morning and a round of sparring with the groom, neither her vivid blue eyes, nor her kindness, had faded from his memory. To her, he hadn’t been the catch of the year, but simply Major Preston. He wanted to be Major Preston with her again, but he couldn’t. Courting a governess was as fanciful as hoping Napoleon would walk away from war.

‘If you weren’t interested in Miss Huntford, you should’ve let her return by herself instead of allowing the whole countryside to speculate about the two of you.’ His mother sipped her coffee with a sigh of relief, the late night telling in the dark circles beneath her eyes. ‘It could prove troublesome, especially while we’re guests for their house party.’

Luke and Edward groaned in unison.

‘Sir Rodger has the worst staff, especially the butler,’ Edward complained. ‘He has no grasp of how things are done. He’s surly, too.’

‘It’s because Sir Rodger doesn’t pay him enough.’ Luke imaged the pittance Miss Radcliff must be earning.

‘If the old miser is spending the money on a party, he must be desperate to get rid of Miss Huntford,’ Edward addressed Luke in a rare moment of fraternal solidarity.

After what Luke had witnessed last night, it wouldn’t surprise him.

‘The only reason we’re going is so Luke can look over the other young ladies. Otherwise, we wouldn’t bother,’ their father offered with uninspiring assurance.

‘I haven’t said I’ll go, but speaking of bother...’ Luke sat back from the table and pushed his plate away, determined to discuss the other subject which had kept him up most of the night ‘...I intend to call on Lord Helmsworth while I’m home. I’d like to arrange for another survey of the disputed boundary land, and, if it’s determined to be his, then to arrange a lease of it or the rights to the river. I think it’s time we end our feud with him.’

The silence which answered his announcement echoed through the room. Everyone stared down the table at him as if he’d suggested they catch the plague.

Edward’s glare was especially sharp. ‘You think you’ll stroll into Helmsworth Manor and after twenty years he’ll deed us the land with the river simply because you asked him to?’

‘It’s worth a try.’ Luke trilled his fingers on the table, struggling to remain calm. He needed more to do in the country than search for a wife. Settling the old land dispute was it. He hadn’t thought the idea would receive such a hostile response. ‘We need the water to irrigate the west field. Without it, we can’t expect to have a profitable enough harvest next year to cover our losses from this one.’

‘I’m well aware of what we need, more so than you.’ Edward pointed his knife at him. The conflict between them had returned with Luke from Spain with a vengeance. Except this time it was different. He and his brother were more equal now than in the past and Edward didn’t like it any more than Luke did. ‘This isn’t school. You needn’t try and outdo everyone.’

‘You were the only one I ever outdid and only because it was so easy.’ Luke speared a piece of ham and stuck it in his mouth with a smugness he didn’t feel. In the heat of more than one battle, when he thought he wouldn’t come home again, he’d longed to end the old rivalry between him and Edward. Now he was here and all he could do was argue with him. It wasn’t right, but he seemed powerless to put an end to it.

Alma exchanged a troubled glance with their mother, who flapped a silencing hand at her sons. ‘Boys, it’s too early for this. If Luke wishes to try to settle the dispute, then he may. After all, it’s cheaper to pay a surveyor than a solicitor and if it benefits us, then good. In the meantime, we must make a decision about the Huntford house party. Edward, will you and Alma attend?’

‘We will if you want us to.’ Alma set her fork aside, her food hardly touched. The circles under her eyes were far darker than they should have been, even after a late night. She rose and made for the door. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

‘I’d better see to her.’ Edward stood, his square chin stiff in the air as he marched to the door. He matched Luke in height, but had their mother’s hazel eyes and their father’s black hair. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone accusing me of failing as both a husband and an heir.’

Once he was gone, Luke’s mother shook her head. ‘Alma tries so hard to be brave and I tell her not to worry. Since we have you, there’s no reason to despair.’

Luke resisted groaning at having his value to the line stated so plainly. He rose, the tiff with Edward, as well as the memory of Miss Radcliff and the sleep it had stolen from him, crawling under his skin as much as his change of situation. Luke wasn’t likely to ever be the earl, and he didn’t want to inherit if it meant his father and Edward’s deaths, but he wasn’t sure he wished to foist the responsibility for Pensum Manor’s future on some unsuspecting son either. He’d seen the demands it had made on his family and the way it had treated him. It wasn’t something to envy. ‘I’m riding over to visit Lord Helmsworth.’

‘Luke, say you’ll come to the house party.’ His mother reached up and laid a hand on his arm. ‘You don’t know how much I want to be a grandmother, to have Pensum Manor filled with the giggles of small children as when you and your brother were small.’

He was amazed she could remember the laughter and forget the awful rows he and his brother used to have. Time hadn’t made them less intense, only more chilling.

‘All right, I’ll go.’ He’d rather spend time in a French prison than with the Huntford girls, but visiting them would allow him to make sure Miss Radcliff was well and Miss Huntford was upholding her end of the agreement.

He left the dining room and made for the stables. He shouldn’t concern himself with the welfare of a governess, but he hadn’t allowed any of the weaker men in his regiment to be bullied by fellow soldiers or even officers. He wouldn’t leave a poor governess to suffer under an indifferent, if not hostile employer. Nor would he allow anyone’s prejudices to stop him from coming to know her better. He couldn’t pursue her, but there was no reason why they couldn’t be friends.

* * *

‘Major Preston is coming here?’ Frances wailed from across the breakfast table after her mother made the announcement.

He’ll be here. Joanna stared down at the scuff mark on the toe of her half-boot to hide the flush creeping over her cheeks. She unclasped her hands from in front of her and allowed them to dangle by her sides. It shouldn’t matter to her if Major Preston was coming or not. His doings were not her concern, but the news made standing still difficult.

She waited behind her three other charges for them to finish their food so their lessons could begin. Since the family ignored her at breakfast, and most of the day, her worry quickly passed. She could drop dead of the pox behind them and they weren’t likely to notice.

‘All of the Inghams are coming.’ Lady Huntford didn’t look up from her morning correspondence, taking little note of Frances’s distress. Her blonde curls, like her daughter’s, were tight beside her full cheeks and small eyes. Bearing six children had made her stout, but not fat, and her lack of interest in anything besides gossip and dresses gave her wide face a perpetually bored appearance. ‘I thought you’d be pleased—after all, you were with him for some time last night.’

‘I wasn’t with him.’ Frances all but pounded her thighs in frustration.

This was enough to make Lady Huntford finally put down her letter and look at her daughter. ‘Then what were you two doing in the hallway?’

Frances looked to Joanna, who dropped her gaze to the back of the chair in front of her, noticing a chip in the finish. The chit didn’t deserve her help. Her silence meant Frances was forced to invent her own excuses for her mother.

‘We were talking. Miss Radcliff and I had stepped out for some air and he happened upon us. We discussed, uh, well, it was—what were we discussing, Miss Radcliff?’ Frances appealed to the woman she’d declared her enemy for her salvation.

You acting like a harlot with Lieutenant Foreman.

‘His return from Spain.’ It galled Joanna to use her private conversation with him to defend Frances instead of telling Lady Huntford the truth. She doubted how much good speaking up would do anyway. Lady Huntford would probably blame her favourite daughter’s misguided attempt at romance on Joanna.

‘Of course, I forgot he was telling us about Spain,’ Frances rushed. ‘An awful topic.’

‘I don’t imagine you’ll be forced to discuss it much with him since he’s resigned his commission.’ Lady Huntford sniffed before turning in her seat to face Joanna. ‘I noticed you were speaking a great deal with him. What were you thinking dominating so much of his time?’

‘He approached me, Lady Huntford, and asked about Frances.’ Joanna hoped she wasn’t struck down for lying. ‘I answered his many questions about her.’

Lady Huntford’s eyes widened. ‘What an unexpected surprise. You should have told me about it at once and not kept it a secret. You’ll do no such thing in the future, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Lady Huntford.’ It seemed Frances wasn’t the only one to be nearly caught out this morning. Joanna glanced at the young lady who frowned into her plate. The two of them hadn’t been alone together since they’d left the ball last night. In fact, Frances had all but avoided Joanna, upholding her end of the bargain with Major Preston. His threat would be more potent while he was here, sleeping in a room below Joanna’s, eating at this very table, walking the halls where she might glimpse his confident stance and dominating eyes.

Stop thinking about him!

Lady Huntford fixed on her eldest daughter, her voice snapping Joanna out of her daydream. ‘It appears we have even more reason for you to try and impress him.’

‘I don’t see why. He’s only the second son and it could be years before he inherits, if he does at all. A woman might waste her life waiting for nothing.’ Frances crossed her arms over her chest in a huff.

Joanna balled her hands into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. After last night, and the quick way Major Preston had defended her, Frances should be grateful. Joanna would give her eye teeth to be able to speak freely with him. All Frances could do was cast him aside and pout over her rake of a lieutenant. Her behaviour disgusted Joanna, but she buried it deep down, afraid it would show in what she did or said. Her one consolation was Major Preston having seen Frances’s true personality. She doubted a man as honourable as he would take a genuine interest in a woman like Frances. Though if he didn’t, why had he accepted the invitation? Lady Huntford had lamented the lack of a response from the Inghams for days. Joanna wondered what had changed his mind and if it had something to do with her.

Of course not. She was nothing to no one. Not even her mother or father, who’d cast her on the charity of Madame Dubois instead of raising her themselves, had wanted her. It was foolish to think the second son of an earl would defy his parents’ and society’s expectations to woo her. His concern for her well-being last night had been a fluke, like Catherine completing her French lessons without an argument yesterday. While Major Preston was staying at Huntford Place, he wasn’t likely to be kind or attentive to Joanna, but to ignore her like everyone else did. There was no reason for him to behave differently when there’d be so many other eligible ladies here to hold his attention.

Lady Huntford gathered up her correspondence and beckoned her eldest daughter to follow her. ‘Come along, we must choose the gowns you’ll wear. We can’t waste this opportunity.’

‘What about me? Can I attend the house party?’ Catherine sat up straighter in her chair in eager anticipation.

‘Of course not. You’re not out yet.’

‘Even if you were, he isn’t likely to favour you,’ Frances sneered at her sister as she trudged after their mother.

Catherine slumped over her breakfast, struggling to hold back tears. Unlike her sister, Catherine had her father’s dark hair and long face with thin lips which seemed perpetually fixed in a downtrodden frown. Her one blessing was lacking the petty streak which permanently marred her older sister’s personality and beauty. At eighteen, Frances was only two years older than Catherine. Given their closeness in age they should have been friends, but Frances’s churlish nature, and Catherine’s more retiring one, discouraged it.

The grand clock in the entrance hall began to chime nine times.

‘Come, girls, it’s time for your French lesson,’ Joanna urged, feeling sorry for Catherine and wanting to distract her from her sister’s insults with activity.

‘I’m too old to be hustled into the schoolroom by a governess.’ Catherine’s defiance weakened Joanna’s pity.

Anne, the blonde seven-year-old, turned around and stuck her tongue out at Joanna. ‘We’ll tell you when it’s time for our lessons.’

Ava, her twin sister, ignored Joanna and continued to eat her half-burned toast.

Joanna stared at the back of their three heads and the bows wound through their curls. The twins were no better behaved or obedient than their eldest sister. She wondered how she would get them to the schoolroom when, to her surprise, it was their father who interceded.

‘Girls, get up at once and stop being contrary,’ he commanded as he strolled into the room, his large, black hunting dog muddying the carpet as it trotted beside him.

With deep pouts the girls shoved away from the table and stood up to form something of a straight line in front of Joanna.

‘That’s how you command charges, Miss Radcliff,’ Sir Rodger tossed at Joanna as he took his place at the head of the now-empty table. ‘One would think you’d have learned such things at that school of yours.’

Joanna’s cheeks burned at the insulting rebuke and the sniggering it elicited from the girls. After their father’s public reprimand, they’d be even more difficult to deal with once they got back to the schoolroom.

Gruger, the withered old butler, shuffled in and tossed the London newspaper down beside his employer’s plate with no attempt at ceremony. Sir Rodger didn’t correct the surly man with the pocked and wrinkled face, but picked up the paper and snapped it open in front of his face. Gruger shuffled out, mumbling insults about the cook under his breath.

‘Come along.’ Joanna led the girls upstairs to another day of fighting to get them to obey her and to do their work. With each step up the curving staircase in need of a polish, past the maids gossiping while the ashes remained in the fireplaces, she wished she could slip off to her room and pour out her heart to Rachel, or Grace or Isabel like she used to do at the school. It wasn’t likely anyone would notice her not working since half the staff hid in corners and shirked their duties, but what they did or didn’t do wasn’t her concern. Her pride in her work and her responsibility for the girls was what mattered and she would see to them, even if it proved as difficult as shooing Farmer Wilson’s cow out of Madame Dubois’s garden.

The single comfort she found in the long trudge down the halls kept dark to save on candles was the knowledge Major Preston would soon be here. While they crossed the second floor and made for the steep and unadorned third-floor stairs, her excitement faded. He wasn’t coming to visit her, and even if he was she had no interest in a dalliance which might result in a child as Grace’s had done. After the way he’d assisted her last night, she doubted he’d be anything but well behaved around her. Still, the strange feeling in her chest at the memory of him beside her at the ball made her wary. It wasn’t so much his weakness she worried about, but her own. She’d already made one mistake in talking to him at Pensum Manor and allowing his kindness and humour to make her forget herself in a room full of people. She feared what might happen between the two of them during some chance meeting in a darkened hallway.

Nothing will happen. She was too sensible of her place and all Miss Fanworth’s old warnings about gentlemen to be corrupted by a man’s fine words. She would do her duty and if she found herself alone with him, she’d smile, nod and continue on her way, no matter how much she wanted him to flatter and protect her as he had at the ball.

Chapter Four

‘Miss Radcliff.’ Sir Rodger waved her over to him with a book as she came downstairs from the schoolroom. Frances and Catherine were upstairs with their mother discussing the house party while Ava and Anne were with their nurse, giving Joanna a brief rest from her duties.

‘Yes, Sir Rodger?’ She’d hope to take a walk in the garden. It appeared her plans were about to be waylaid by her employer. She wondered what he wanted of her. He’d barely said two words to her during her time here except to scold her in front of others or question the quality of her education.

‘Since it appears you have nothing to occupy you at present, I’d like you to return this book to Vicar Carlson.’ He handed her the tome, the blue cuff of his favourite coat sprinkled with food stains. With his wild grey hair frizzed out on either side of his head, he appeared more like some forgotten grandfather than a wealthy baronet. His dog sat beside him, its drool dripping on the stone floor. ‘While you walk, think about how you can better manage the girls. I won’t pay for a governess who has no control over my daughters. Do I make myself clear?’

Joanna’s fingers dug into the leather binding. She wanted to tell him the girls’ obstinacy wasn’t her fault but his since he rarely reprimanded them. Instead, she summoned up her best prim-and-proper governess stance to answer with all the deference required of her position. ‘Yes, Sir Rodger. I’ll deliver the book at once and consider what you’ve said.’

She dipped a curtsy and walked away, indignity making her insides burn as she left the house and headed down the drive. Sir Rodger employed slothful maids, a crotchety butler and a cook who couldn’t warm bread, yet he threatened to fire her? She snapped a thin branch off a poorly pruned topiary and swiped it at the air in front of her. It would take nothing short of an exorcism to drive out the wilful streak in the Huntford girls. She’d already employed every trick Madame Dubois and the other teachers had taught her, but nothing had worked. Without the support of their parents, there was little Joanna could do to make them mind. Her failure was almost assured.

She made the sharp turn on to the small path which led into the woods and to the narrow road traversing it. The woods covered the corner of land marking the boundaries between Huntford Place, Pensum Manor and Helmsworth Manor. She and the girls often walked here during their daily outings to study botany and geology. They were no more obedient outside than inside and it was always a chore to bring them home in time for supper, or with the twins not covered in mud.

Why didn’t Madame Dubois better vet the Huntfords before she sent me here? Or perhaps she’d been so eager to relinquish responsibility for Joanna after nineteen years, she hadn’t cared. Her parents hadn’t cared when they’d left her on the school’s doorstep as an infant without a clue as to who they were, so why should anyone else?

Joanna stumbled over a rock, the old rejection burning in her chest. It was an uncharitable thing to think of Madame Dubois who’d taken her in and been so kind to her, but she couldn’t help it. The loneliness which used to fill her every Christmas when the other girls would go home for the holidays while she remained at the school came over her again. The teachers had done their best to raise and guide her, but with so many students, Joanna had received no special attention, nor had she sought it. The teachers had always praised her for her independence, not realising it wasn’t independence at all, but resignation. There hadn’t been any point asking for something she wouldn’t receive.

The teachers might not have cooed over her, but they’d imparted their knowledge to her, preparing her for her present position. Sadly, it was nothing like what she’d been led to believe it would be, or what she’d hoped. When she’d viewed the house from the mail coach on her first day here, she’d been so excited, expecting to at last experience what it was like to be a member of a true family. It had all been a silly dream, like the one she used to have about her mother returning to claim her.

Joanna flung the branch away. It would be a blow to her and the school if she was dismissed and forced to return to Salisbury without a reference. All the many years of effort, time and work Madame Dubois, Miss Fanworth and the other teachers had put into her would be ruined because of her inability to maintain her first position. In the end she might not have a choice but to leave. Sir Rodger had made his unrealistic expectation of her clear and she didn’t see how she might meet it.

She reached the small brook cutting across a dip in the road and paused on the sloping and muddy bank. Further away, outside the woods, she could hear the river it came from rushing along its banks. A line of flat stones split the small current which ran clear, showing the smooth pebbles and mud at the bottom of the bed. She wanted to sit down on the bank, drop her head in her hands and watch the water flowing past until nothing else mattered.

No, I can’t give up. There had to be a way to succeed, she only needed to find it and soon. She stepped on to the first rock and then the next one. She almost slipped off the third when it tilted beneath her weight. She threw out her arms to regain her balance, then hurried to the far bank. She didn’t need wet boots on top of her present troubles.

Reaching the other side, her resolve began to fade. She didn’t want to continue with this errand, or her time at Huntford Place. Finding a way to make the girls behave seemed as impossible as finding her mother, but she couldn’t give up. She’d write to Miss Fanworth about what to do and ask her not to tell Madame. Perhaps she’d have some suggestions for Joanna.

In a clearing up ahead, the grey-stone vicarage with a tilted chimney releasing a tendril of pine-scented smoke came into view. Over the low roof rose the square spire of the church behind it, squat against the scattered clouds filling the September sky. This wasn’t the church she and the family attended on Sunday in town, but a living on Helmsworth Manor which served the Marquis of Helmsworth, his staff and the tenants in the small village a mile off.

She heaved a large sigh as she entered the front garden, too upset to summon her usual steadfast cheerfulness. Let Vicar Carlson see her surly and ill-tempered, she didn’t care. A tangle of chrysanthemums, mallow and weeds choked both sides of the slate walk leading to the sturdy door. She knocked lightly on the wood and listened for the answering footsteps of the vicar or a housekeeper from inside. The rustle of the wind through the surrounding trees were the only noises which greeted her.

She leaned off the steps to peer in the front window. Inside was as untidy as the garden with stacks of books piled on every surface. It appeared more like the messy studio of their old art master, Signor Bertolli, than the neat and orderly abode of a vicar. Leaning away from the window, she caught her pinched expression reflected in the glass.

Taking another deep breath, she forced the crease between her eyes to soften and the impassive look she’d perfected during the last four weeks at Huntford Place to return. No one needed to know anything was wrong with her, especially not a stranger. Even if they did, they wouldn’t care. Few people gave a second thought to a lowly governess.

A few more minutes passed while she waited for someone to return. She tapped the book against her hand. It was clear there was no one here. She could leave the book on the step and be on her way, but she couldn’t risk it being damaged. Sir Rodger had given her an errand and she must do it well. She didn’t want to fail at every task she’d been set to here in Hertfordshire.

She tucked her skirt under her legs, about to sit down and wait, when the whinny of a horse from behind the house caught her notice. She followed the vicarage around to the back. A horse was tied to a tree in the small graveyard between the house and the church. An older man stood before one of the headstones, staring down at the brown grass surrounding it. He was heavyset but tall, with grey hair slicked back above a proud forehead. Sadness left deep creases in the smooth skin and drew down the lines around his mouth, adding years to his face. He held his hat in one hand as he reached out to trace the etched and weathered headstone in front of him. It was pitched to one side from age, but the small bunch of violets laid on its curving top set it apart from the others.

He hadn’t seen her and she didn’t want to interrupt his contemplation. She was about to go, but he clenched his fist in his mouth in a stifled sob. She was afraid to approach him, to interrupt his grief, but she couldn’t leave him alone any more than she could have the new girls who used to cry during their first night at the school.

She approached him, the dry grass crunching beneath her boots and announcing her presence. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Yes, just an old man weeping over the past.’ He rubbed the moisture from his eyes with his fingers then dropped his arm and at last looked at her.

Joanna gasped. His eyes were the same colour as hers and just as vivid.

‘Jane?’ he whispered, dropping his hat. His face went white beneath his grey hair with the same shock Isabel had worn the time she’d come down from the attic claiming to have spied a ghost. In the end it had been nothing more than an old dress dummy covered in dust.

‘No, I’m Miss Radcliff, the new governess at Huntford Place.’ Joanna was eager to ease his alarm the way she’d eased Isabel’s.

He continued to stare at her and she studied his round face and the slender nose set over full lips. Something about him seemed familiar but she’d never seen the gentleman before.

‘Of course you are, how silly of me.’ The slight ruddiness along his cheeks returned as he plucked his hat off the ground and settled it over his hair. ‘You must forgive an old man his foolishness. You reminded me of someone I loved very much.’

Joanna took a cautious step back.

‘My daughter,’ he clarified. ‘You look very much like she did at your age, with the same hair and eyes. The resemblance is remarkable.’

He rubbed his round chin, his previous melancholy threatening to overcome him again.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, but Sir Rodger asked me to return this book to Vicar Carlson. Do you know when he’ll return?’ Despite the stranger’s kindly manner, she wanted to be done with this errand, to enjoy the solitude of the long walk back to Huntford Place. She needed the quiet to gather herself before she was thrust back into the pit of she-vipers and their indifferent parents.

‘Vicar Carlson? Why, that’s me.’ He didn’t seem too sure but it wasn’t her place to question a clergyman.

She handed him the book. ‘I won’t disturb you any longer. I’ll be on my way.’

‘No, please stay. You seem troubled.’

She ran her foot over the patch of tall grass in front of her, trying to bite back the worries which had followed her through the forest. At school there’d always been Grace, Rachel or Isabel to commiserate with. She’d written to them, but with each of the girls facing their own trials in their new positions, she’d understated hers. She didn’t want to burden them with her problems. She needed to speak to someone, anyone or she’d run mad.

‘I’m having difficulty in my new position.’ It was all she was willing to hazard with this stranger. ‘The girls won’t listen and Sir Rodger is threatening to dismiss me if I don’t control them, but I can’t.’

He winked at her. ‘Dealing with the Huntford girls, I’m not surprised. They could use a firm hand and much better parenting. I had the entire brood at a Christmas party once, a long time ago when they were very young. They nearly tore up the music room with their wild behaviour.’

‘The twins almost set the curtain in the sitting room on fire yesterday. They’re unwieldy heathens.’

Vicar Carlson tossed back his head and let out a laugh as rich as a church bell.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified by what she’d just said. He might tell Sir Rodger and she’d find herself on the next mail coach to Salisbury. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about them so, but be grateful to have a position.’

She didn’t feel grateful, but exhausted.

‘Don’t be sorry for speaking the truth. I promise I won’t say a thing to Sir Rodger about his precious offspring,’ he reassured her with all the authority of a man used to speaking from the pulpit. ‘It’s the duty of a vicar to help those who are burdened.’

‘Burdened doesn’t begin to describe it.’ She paced back and forth, hands flapping at her sides with her agitation as she explained to him everything about her conversation with Sir Rodger. His willingness to listen unleashed the torrent of words she’d kept inside her for the past month. She even told him of Frances’s two instances with Lieutenant Foreman and the impossible position she now found herself in. ‘If I’m sent home, the people who cared about me the most will be disappointed.’

‘You mean your family?’ he prodded.

‘I don’t have a family, not a real one. My parents, whoever they were, left me for the school to raise when I was a baby,’ she nearly whispered the words as she stopped to face him. It was the first time she’d admitted her illegitimacy to a stranger. It wasn’t something Madame Dubois or any of the teachers had ever mentioned. A few days before leaving the school, Madame Dubois had cautioned her about revealing it in her new position, though the warning hadn’t been necessary. Joanna knew how the world viewed illegitimate children. ‘The teachers at the school raised me.’

‘And you must be about nineteen?’ He scrutinised her with the same curiosity as when they’d first met.

Joanna nodded, wondering what her age had to do with anything, but she didn’t care. For the first time since her arrival in Hertfordshire, here was someone besides Major Preston who sympathised with her plight. Unlike the major, who was all but forbidden to speak to her, Vicar Carlson could listen and perhaps help. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘As someone who’s supposed to guide his flock...’ he flapped his hand at the church as though he wasn’t certain this was his duty ‘...I’ll tell you what you can do. Headstrong girls like to be in charge. Of course they can’t be with the governess, but they’ll try. The trick is to give them choices, but make sure they’re deciding between two things you want.’

‘Like studying French or Geography?’

‘Exactly. Make them think they’re in charge, even when they aren’t.’

‘I’ve never heard anything like this.’ And if it helped, it might be her last hope of staying on and making Madame Dubois proud.

‘I used to do it with my daughter, though it didn’t always work.’ He looked to the headstone with the violets. Sadness crossed over his expression like a cloud in front of the moon. ‘After my wife died, I spoiled Jane. It made her headstrong. The older she grew, the more obstinate she became, like me.’

‘I’m very sorry.’

He smiled at her, tender like the fathers used to be with their daughters before they left them at the school. ‘Don’t be. Her troubles are passed now, but yours aren’t and we must focus on those.’

He offered her a few more suggestions on how to deal with the girls.

Then, in the distance, the bells from the village church began to ring. She didn’t want to leave the vicar or the tranquillity of this corner of the world, but she must. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. Thank you so much for your help.’

‘It was my pleasure. Please, feel free to return whenever you want. I’m often here reading during the day. I like the quiet. And good luck with your students.’

‘Thank you and goodbye.’

Joanna hurried down the path towards Huntford Place. The shadows of the trees didn’t consume her as they had on the walk here. It was the light coming through the branches she noticed instead. She didn’t dread facing the girls, but looked forward to it with a new resolve, eager to try Vicar Carlson’s suggestions, confident for the first time in days she might at last settle into her position.

She was well along the path when male voices from somewhere up around the bend caught her notice.

‘Why are you trying to stop me from visiting him?’

‘Because you don’t understand the situation.’

Joanna crept cautiously forward and peeked around a thick oak tree in the bend of the road. Up ahead, two men had dismounted and now stood arguing while their horses grazed nearby. Joanna’s fingers tightened on the smooth bark. It was Major Preston and his brother, Lord Pensum.

‘If you expect me to linger in your shadow, doing nothing except waiting for providence to make me an earl, you’re mistaken,’ Major Preston countered.

‘Now you know what it’s like to be me.’ His brother grabbed the reins of his horse from where they dangled below the animal’s nose. Lord Pensum stepped into the stirrup and threw one leg over the top of his horse. ‘You think I have all the advantage, but I don’t. Then again you’ve never been able to look beyond yourself and all your need for aggrandisement to realise it.’

I shouldn’t eavesdrop. Trying not to be seen, Joanna crept through the thick underbrush filling the U-shaped bend, determined to slip past the feuding brothers. She winced with each snapping twig and rustle of leaves, trying not to draw attention to herself, but it was almost impossible. She was just on the other side of the large oak tree, about to step onto the path, when someone grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back. Lord Pensum galloped by on his grey horse, narrowly missing her as she hit the solid chest of the man behind her.

‘Are you all right?’ Major Preston’s chin brushed her temples as he spoke, his voice as tight as her insides.

His firm arm against Joanna’s stomach made her heart beat faster than the near collision with the horse. She leaned deeper into him and his fingers twitched against her hip. She reached behind her, ready to grasp his thighs and steady herself like she would against a wall after a shock. Before her fingertips could touch the buckskin of his breeches, she clutched the side of her dress, her breath catching as he shifted against her. She peered up into his dark eyes made more severe by the alternating shadows and sunlight piercing the branches overhead. If she tilted her head, closed her eyes, she might experience his firm lips against hers.

‘Miss Radcliff?’ Major Preston nudged, easing his hold on her.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She stumbled out of his grasp, mortified at almost losing her head over him. ‘Much better, in fact, for not being ground into the forest floor.’

‘I’m glad I could keep you from becoming one with the fallen leaves.’ He smiled as he bent over to pluck his hat off a bush. His breeches pulled tight over his buttocks when he dipped down then rose, towering over her like the oak above them. ‘May I escort you back to Huntford Place?’

Joanna jerked her attention from his thighs to his face. To walk with him would mean the opportunity to listen to his commanding voice and enjoy more of the conversation they’d indulged in last night. It also risked them being seen together. It might be innocent, but people wouldn’t regard it as such and her position with the Huntfords was already at risk.

‘I can’t.’ She slipped through the last few brambles to return to the path. ‘I must be getting back.’

‘I promise to only go as far as the edge of the woods, and then I’ll leave you to continue on. I wouldn’t want to place your reputation or employment in jeopardy.’

She hesitated. Being alone with him was dangerous, but she wanted companionship and something pleasant before she returned to the annoyance of her work. ‘Yes, company would be lovely, especially if any more galloping horses should happen by.’

‘Then allow me to fetch mine so we’ll be equally matched should we encounter any.’ He laughed as he pushed through the brush. The stiff branches raked his long legs before he slipped behind the tree. He soon rounded the turn, leading a large white horse with a patch of brown above his nose.

‘A magnificent animal,’ she remarked. ‘Not at all the mill-horse you painted him to be at the ball.’

‘Careful what you say around Duke, I don’t want it going to his head. He’s already difficult enough to control.’ He patted the animal’s side and it gave an indignant snort.

‘I don’t believe a word he says about you.’ She reached up to stroke Duke’s long nose, making the skin beneath his hair twitch.

‘Now you’ve done it, he won’t listen to me for the rest of the day.’ He clicked the horse into a walk and the three of them set off towards Huntford Place.

They walked side by side in silence, the twittering birds and the rustle of leaves settling in between them. It wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable quiet, but familiar, as though this wasn’t the first time they’d enjoyed the forest alone together. With each of his sure steps, Joanna was keenly aware of the shift of his muscles, the crinkle of his leather gloves as he tightened or loosened his grip on the reins. It wasn’t the easy movements of a man at peace, but the constant fidgeting of one with something on his mind. Whatever troubled him, it was none of her business. However, she hadn’t been this conscious of another person since the nights at school when she could tell which one of her friends was upset by their constant turning beneath the coverlet, or a sob stifled by a pillow. She couldn’t pretend to ignore his difficulties any more than she could have her friends’.

‘I didn’t mean to intrude on you and your brother,’ she offered. ‘Is everything well?’

‘It is.’ Major Preston banged his hat against his thigh to free it of dust and leaves. ‘Except we differ on how to resolve a long-standing conflict with Lord Helmsworth.’

‘Is it massive enough to divide brothers?’

‘It is when it threatens the income of Pensum Manor.’ He turned his hat over in his hands, pausing before he settled it down on his hair. ‘Miss Radcliff, what I’m about to tell you isn’t commonly known and would, like the revealing of Miss Huntford’s secret, do a great deal of damage to my family.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’ She wouldn’t do anything to harm him. He’d been too kind to her, and the thrill of being taken into his confidence was as powerful at the grip of his hand on the reins.

He explained to her the dispute about the land as his feet covered the imprints of his brother’s horse’s hooves in the packed dirt. ‘My family isn’t as wealthy as we’ve allowed society to believe. My brother is worried that if we reveal our desperate need for access to the river on the disputed land, Lord Helmsworth might use the information to place pressure on our creditors to strangle us.’

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