Uncovering the mystery…

Of the brooding earl…

Arriving at the forbidding mansion on the Yorkshire moors, governess Selina Salinger is alarmed to find her new employer just as forbidding! Looking after his orphaned nieces, Selina gradually warms to Lord Westcroft. Their kisses make her dare to hope the ice around his heart is melting and a proposal could be a possibility. Instead he shocks her with a proposition so scandalous that no lady could ever accept!

LAURA MARTIN writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book, and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.

Also by Laura Martin

Under a Desert Moon

Governess to the Sheikh

A Ring for the Pregnant Debutante

An Unlikely Debutante

An Earl to Save Her Reputation

The Viscount’s Runaway Wife

The Eastway Cousins miniseries

An Earl in Want of a Wife

Heiress on the Run

Scandalous Australian Bachelors miniseries

Courting the Forbidden Debutante

Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Brooding Earl’s Proposition

Laura Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90130-1

THE BROODING EARL’S PROPOSITION

© 2020 Laura Martin

Published in Great Britain 2020

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

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

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

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For everyone who has ever read one of my books.

You are the reason I get to live my dream every single day.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘Five minutes down the drive,’ Selina muttered to herself, grimacing as her boots splashed into another puddle. The coachman had refused to take her any closer, instead throwing the cloth bag that contained all her worldly possessions down from the coach and pointing with a crooked finger through the rusted iron gates.

It had been twenty minutes so far, twenty minutes of battling against the wind that whipped at her skirts, twenty minutes of cool drizzle soaking through her cloak. Twenty minutes to really start to regret the decision to travel so far north, to take up a position where she knew no one and where it seemed the weather was unforgiving and the locals unfriendly and suspicious.

As she rounded another bend the house came into view. It was large, with a central section and two sweeping wings jutting out from either side. The façade was of grey stone, weathered and beaten, and looked as though it was in need of some care and attention. Ivy grew up one side, covering the walls and creeping on to the windows.

‘Home…’ Selina murmured, feeling a sinking dread in her stomach. It didn’t look like a home, not one she wanted to live in.

She paused, knowing she had to go forward, but not able to take another step. Perhaps she could go back to London, go back to the agency and see if there were any other suitable positions. Somewhere a little more inviting, somewhere a little less isolated. Her fingers closed around her small purse of coins. Going back to London wasn’t an option; all the meagre amount she’d managed to save over the past year had been spent on her coach fare up to north Yorkshire and a new dress in the hope of making a good impression on her employer.

Lord Westcroft. A man she hadn’t been able to find much out about no matter how many people she asked.

The rain was getting heavier, the droplets pattering on the hood of her cloak and dripping off the edges. She could delay no longer. It was time to meet the family she would be living with for the next few years.

Selina took a step forward, pulling at her boots that had become a little stuck in the mud where she’d stood still for a few moments. The movement unbalanced her and Selina felt her boots begin to slip. She thrust her arms out, frantically waving them in the hope of regaining her equilibrium, but even before she began to fall she knew it was too late. Her heart lurched in her chest as she felt her feet slip out from underneath her and her body plummeted to the ground.

She landed in the biggest puddle in sight. Bottom first, skirts almost fully submerged. For a second Selina just sat there, unable to believe the coldness of the rainwater that soaked through her skirt. Unable to believe how fast this horrible day had got even worse.

With a shudder she stood, looking down in disbelief at the muddy mess of her clothes. Bedraggled as she was she looked more like a beggar woman than a respectable governess come to take up her position in the house of a peer of the realm.

‘Head high, back straight, shoulders down,’ Selina said to herself. It was how her late mother had always told her to deport herself. How to look people in the eye, even if they insisted on haughtily looking down at you.

With as much confidence as she could summon she stepped towards the front door, the feeling of being watched making her pause as her hand reached for the heavy iron door knocker. She glanced up, just quickly enough to see two sad faces disappearing from an upstairs window. They’d looked pale, almost ghostly, and Selina wondered if the two little girls she had been employed to look after ever saw the sunshine. With a grimace she eyed the thick clouds above her head. Perhaps this far north they didn’t get much sunshine.

Before she could talk herself out of it Selina lifted the heavy iron door knocker and let it fall twice, wincing as the door rattled with the force of the metal. A heavy silence followed, broken only by the splashing of the rain in the puddles behind her.

‘What do you want?’ a surly old woman asked as she opened the door little more than a crack and peered through. She eyed Selina up and down and shook her head. ‘No beggars allowed.’

‘I’m not…’ Selina’s protest was drowned out by the creak of wood as the door was shut firmly in her face. Feeling the first fire of indignation in her stomach, Selina lifted the knocker again, dropping it again and again in quick succession, knowing no servant would ignore such a commotion that could disturb their master.

‘Off with you,’ the old woman demanded as she opened the door again, reaching out a thin hand to push Selina down the steps.

‘What is all this noise?’ The deep voice came from somewhere in the darkness beyond the doorway, irritated and impatient.

‘I’ve told her to be gone,’ the servant said. ‘I’ve told her no beggars are welcome here.’

Selina opened her mouth to protest, to tell them her true identity, but the swift movement in front of her made her pause. Standing on the threshold, his large figure blocking most of the doorway, was a man she assumed must be Lord Westcroft. He was tall, well built with broad, strong shoulders. His expression was a mixture of irritation and shrewd assessment, but it was his eyes that held her attention. They flicked over her, assessing the mud-splattered dress and windswept visage before coming to meet her own eyes, the attention making Selina feel uncomfortable.

‘Give her some food from the kitchen,’ he said, his tone authoritative, before turning away.

He’d nearly disappeared back into the darkness before Selina found her voice. ‘Lord Westcroft,’ she called, her cultured tone causing him to pause where he was.

‘Stop bothering the master,’ the servant said brusquely. ‘Come round to the kitchen door.’

Once again the door started to close in her face, but this time Selina was ready. She stuck her booted foot in the gap just in time, wincing as the heavy oak hit her instep, but determined not to be dismissed again.

‘Lord Westcroft,’ she said more firmly, ‘I’m cold and wet and tired. I understood from the agency that you were desperate for a governess, so if you don’t want me to turn right around and take the next coach back to London I suggest you invite me in. And point me in the direction of the nearest fire.’

Matthew felt fear seize him. The woman in front of him didn’t look like a governess, with her filthy clothes and windswept hair, but she certainly sounded like one. Her tone was the right combination of commanding and disapproving, and he felt himself stand up just a little straighter as he turned back round. His instinct was to rush towards her, to pull her into the house and tell her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going anywhere.

He held himself back. Even only a newly titled man knew not to beg, especially in front of the servants.

‘Miss Salinger?’ he asked, recalling the name in the letter from the agency. A name he’d given heartfelt thanks for after two long months of searching for a governess for the unhappy girls in his care.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Lord Westcroft,’ the petite woman in front of him said, sounding anything but pleased. He looked at her properly, looking past the mud, and realised that underneath the layer of grime she must have picked up on the journey here her clothes were of fine quality and fitted well. Her skin was clear and bright and her hair, where it peeked out from underneath the hood of her cloak, was windswept but shiny and healthy. He wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a beggar woman.

‘Come through to my study,’ he said, motioning down the dingy hallway. ‘The fire is roaring and the room warm.’

‘Thank you.’

She followed him, her movements stiff, her skirts leaving a wet trail on the floor behind her.

‘Governesses looking like beggars, how am I supposed to tell the difference,’ he heard Mrs Fellows, the housekeeper he’d inherited along with everything else in this house, mutter.

‘Come in, get warm,’ Matthew said, watching as Miss Salinger stepped towards the ornate fireplace, seeing the tension begin to seep from her shoulders. For a moment in the hall he’d thought she might carry out her threat, that she might turn around and head straight back to London. He wouldn’t really blame her after the welcome she’d received, or after seeing the imposing façade of Manresa House. It wasn’t the most inviting of houses or locations, isolated as it was on the edge of the moor.

‘I am sorry about my appearance,’ Miss Salinger said eventually. ‘The coachman refused to bring me past the gates and the driveway was treacherous.’ She grimaced as she raised a hand to her head, touching the wispy strands of hair that framed her face. She turned to face him and gave a little half-smile. ‘I fell in a puddle.’

As her eyes came up to meet his he felt a jolt pass through his body, a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. Quickly he suppressed it, suppressed the urge to glance over her pretty features and the soft curves of her body. He wouldn’t even contemplate jeopardising her role here with an inappropriate look.

‘I hope your journey was not too arduous,’ he said, wondering how long he needed to make polite conversation before he could usher the new governess up to the nursery and officially hand over the responsibility of his two nieces. It had been a responsibility that had weighed heavily on him these last two months and he could not wait to return to being accountable for no one but himself.

Miss Salinger looked at him, her dark eyes probing his, a hint of a smile on her lips. It was almost as if she could discern his impatience, carefully hidden though it was.

‘You are a very long way from London,’ she said.

‘It is your first time in north Yorkshire?’

‘Yes.’ She shivered, glancing past him and out of the window. ‘I’m woefully poorly travelled.’

‘You hail from London?’

‘Cambridge. Forgive me, Lord Westcroft, it seems as though you have somewhere else you wish to be.’

He frowned, not at the directness of her words, but at how she’d detected his eagerness to usher her upstairs.

‘The children are keen to meet you,’ he lied smoothly.

At the mention of her new charges he saw something soften in her and a spark light in her eyes.

‘Tell me about them,’ she said, shrugging off her cloak and looping it over her arm. Underneath the dripping garment she was dressed in a sober grey dress. Something entirely suitable for a governess. It was practical with its dark material and long sleeves, and designed to be as unattractive as possible, but it couldn’t entirely hide Miss Salinger’s narrow waist or the curve of her hips.

‘Priscilla is nine, a quiet, watchful young girl who enjoys reading and music. Theodosia is seven…’ He paused, wondering how to sum up his younger niece’s character diplomatically. ‘She’s lively and curious about the world and enjoys being outside.’

‘They sound delightful. Have they had much schooling before?’

‘A little.’ In truth he didn’t know. Before his brother’s death almost a year ago now he hadn’t even been aware he had nieces. The rift in the family had meant communication had been limited to only what was absolutely necessary and his brother hadn’t seen the birth of Priscilla and Theodosia as important information. For his part Matthew had enjoyed the freedom, the lack of responsibility.

Not any more, he thought grimly. There was no running away now. He was the Earl, he was guardian to his nieces, he had responsibility for the estate and all the people who lived on it.

‘Let me take you to meet them, then Mrs Fellows will show you your room,’ he said, reaching forward and taking the still-dripping cloak from Miss Salinger’s arms. As he did so his hand brushed against hers, the softness of her skin a contrast to his still-callused hands. She pulled away quickly, her eyes flashing up to meet his, a wariness about her that made him take a step back. ‘This way.’

He deposited the cloak in the hall, leading Miss Salinger up the sweeping staircase to the first floor and then up a smaller, much less grand staircase to the second floor where the nursery was situated. She walked a couple of steps behind him, her hands held demurely together, her eyes moving to take everything in. There was a quiet energy about her, an energy this house sorely needed.

He paused outside the nursery, steeling himself for what scene he might find inside.

‘Go away,’ a flat voice called out as he pushed open the door.

The nursery was tidy, eerily so, and the two girls sitting side by side on the window seat were both looking out the steamy windows at the rain.

‘Girls, this is Miss Salinger, your new governess.’

Theodosia began to turn round, interest on her face, but a quick tug on the arm from her sister stopped the movement. Matthew felt a bubble of irritation welling up. He knew the girls were grieving, knew it would take them a long time to feel anything approaching happiness again, but rudeness was still unacceptable.

‘Girls,’ he chided. ‘Come and greet your new governess.’

Slowly both girls got to their feet, Priscilla flashing him a dark look before tossing her blonde hair back over her shoulders and looking defiantly at the mud-spattered governess.

‘Good afternoon,’ Miss Salinger said. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you both, Lady Priscilla, Lady Theodosia.’

‘Did you walk here?’ Priscilla asked haughtily. ‘In this rain?’

‘Only from the end of the drive,’ Miss Salinger said, her calm demeanour making Matthew want to step back out of the room and hand things over to her immediately.

‘That was foolish.’

‘It was necessary,’ the governess said with a shrug. ‘And a little mud never hurt anyone.’

Priscilla wrinkled up her nose, but Matthew caught her younger sister trying to stifle a smile.

‘I look forward to getting to know you girls,’ Miss Salinger said. ‘Tomorrow we can decide what you would like to learn.’

‘We can choose?’ Theodosia stepped forward with shining eyes. ‘I want to learn archery—all the bravest fighters can shoot a bow.’

‘I’m not sure archery is quite what Miss Salinger meant.’

Theodosia pouted, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the governess wink at the little girl. Matthew felt himself relax. He might not be able to manage his two nieces, but it seemed that Miss Salinger was more than up to the job. It would allow him to recede into the background, to spend the next few weeks sorting out the house and the estate. Then, when the girls had settled with Miss Salinger he would be able to escape back to India, back to the life where he belonged.

Chapter Two

Selina pulled the comb through her hair with a satisfied sigh. Her initial welcome at Manresa House might have left much to be desired, but when she’d been shown to her room the housekeeper had already set the maids to filling up a large bathtub with steaming water ready for Selina to wash the mud from her skin and hair before dinner.

Quickly she pinned back the still-damp locks and checked her appearance in the small mirror. She looked pale, tired from the travelling, and the face that stared back at her was thinner than the one she imagined, the one she remembered.

Pulling herself from the melancholic thoughts of how her life used to be, she stood, smoothed down her dress and headed downstairs for dinner. Tonight she would be dining with Lord Westcroft, a chance to discuss the girls’ education and find out a little more about them. Every other night no doubt she would take her meals in the nursery with the children.

Selina had learned to walk quietly this past year, always conscious that she was in someone else’s house, never wanting to draw attention to herself. As she made her way to the drawing room she paused just outside the door. Lord Westcroft was already there, standing at one of the large mahogany tables, bent over something that was laid out on it. She watched him for a moment, taking in his absolute concentration, the small frown between his eyebrows as he traced a finger over the paper.

Suddenly he looked up, his eyes coming to meet hers immediately. Selina felt the heat begin to rise in her cheeks at having been caught staring, but forced a smile on to her face. She saw his eyes flicker over her and brought a hand up instinctively to her throat, a gesture of protection she’d become used to needing this past year. Not all her employers had kept the distance they should have.

‘Miss Salinger,’ he said, his expression unreadable.

‘Good evening,’ Selina said, dipping into a low curtsy. She walked into the room, catching sight of the document he’d been so engrossed in. It was a large and well-drawn map, with different colours denoting different continents and looped, ornate writing depicting the oceans. Open next to it on the table was a smaller, tattered book of maps and he seemed to be comparing the two. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

‘I have time for dinner,’ he said, his tone brisk. It was clear that he saw the next hour as a duty, a time to hand over responsibility for his wards, but then he would be keen to return to whatever work he saw as more important.

Selina adjusted her stance. Direct and to the point she could do. They both obviously wanted the same thing: to ensure the welfare of the two grieving little girls upstairs. If Lord Westcroft did not have time for small talk, then she would use the time over dinner to find out as much about her charges as possible and perhaps a little about the man responsible for them.

‘Shall we?’ He offered her his arm.

Selina hesitated, unused to being shown such respect. In her last position as governess to the son of Lord and Lady Gilchrist she had been treated as a servant, always pushed into the shadows, never spoken to directly.

Carefully she placed her hand on his forearm and let him lead her into the dining room. It was grand, but decaying like the rest of the house, a gloomy room barely lit by the candles dotted around the edges. Selina felt herself stiffen as Lord Westcroft’s arm brushed against her as he drew out her chair, but a quick glance at his face showed her the action wasn’t deliberate.

As soon as they’d sat down a footman appeared carrying two plates, setting them down carefully so as not to spill the thin soup that lay inside.

‘I should tell you a little about Priscilla and Theodosia’s background,’ Lord Westcroft said as he lifted his spoon. It was straight to the point and Selina felt a little ripple of irritation. The man could not be more eager to be rid of her. Quickly she suppressed it, reminding herself this was what she wanted, a courteous but formal relationship with her employer.

‘Please.’

‘I do not profess to know the girls well,’ he said stiffly. ‘Their mother died two years ago. Their father, my late brother, died nine months ago. I was in India at the time and the journey back to England took several months, so I have only been in residence with the children for just shy of nine weeks.’

Long enough to get to know two children if he had wanted to.

‘They have been through a lot,’ Selina said, thinking of the defiant little girls, one in particular, sharp and suspicious. It was only to be expected after losing both parents in such a short time.

‘Indeed. They are grieving, but they need boundaries. I’m afraid before I arrived back in England they were looked after by an elderly female relative who let them run wild. They have not coped well now that they are expected to behave like young ladies rather than animals.’

‘Children,’ Selina corrected quietly.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, they’re children, not young ladies. They will become young ladies all too soon, but at the moment they are children.’

Lord Westcroft looked at her long and hard for half a minute before giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

‘Even children have to have certain levels of expected behaviour.’

Selina inclined her head. It was true, children thrived when there were boundaries, routines. As long as those boundaries and routines were accompanied by love and praise and positivity.

‘How would you like me to address them? Should I use their title all the time, or just their names?’

‘They’re children. I think their names will suffice,’ he said with a little nod of his head. ‘You will instruct the children in mathematics, history and music.’

She waited, but no more was forthcoming.

‘How about art? And literature? The natural world?’

Lord Westcroft looked at her with a steely expression on his face. ‘I do not care how you occupy the girls for the entire day, as long as they come out of it with a decent basic education.’

‘An education for what?’ Selina asked mildly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, what I teach them depends on what you hope their futures will look like. If you merely wish the girls to catch the eye of the most eligible gentlemen in the district, then they will need to focus on music, dancing and managing household accounts. If you wish them to have a different future, then the other subjects will become more important.’

Silence stretched out between them and Selina knew she had gone too far. It was only her first day and she risked being thrown out, sent back to London in disgrace. She’d just wanted to provoke the steely Lord Westcroft, to probe into the hard façade. To get him to see that the little girls upstairs weren’t the inconvenience he so obviously thought they were, that they were living, breathing humans with dreams and ambitions of their own.

‘Let’s start with mathematics, history and music,’ he said eventually. ‘Once they have mastered those subjects they can be free to pursue other areas of interest.’ It was a measured reply, calm and diplomatic, and Selina felt a flicker of respect for the man in front of her. He’d risen to her challenge and deflected it.

The next course was brought in by the footman, succulent slices of chicken with an assortment of vegetables.

‘I shall see the girls every Sunday afternoon in my study for a report on their progress.’

‘Once a week?’

‘Yes. On a Sunday.’

‘Surely you will want to see them more than that? To interact with them, to get to know them.’

‘They are children, Miss Salinger. And they have you.’

‘But I’m just a governess, someone paid to look after them. You’re family.’

Lord Westcroft put down his fork, letting the silence stretch out between them.

‘Before the letter arrived notifying me of my brother’s death I had no idea Priscilla and Theodosia existed,’ he said quietly. ‘They do not know me. We might be relatives by blood, but we have no shared experiences, nothing to bond us.’

‘But—’ Selina started, but Lord Westcroft held up an authoritative hand to stop her.

‘I will see them once a week on a Sunday, to ensure they are learning what they should and their welfare is being taken care of. The rest of the time they are in your hands, Miss Salinger.’

His tone was so stony, his words so final that Selina didn’t try to object again. She wondered at the rift that must have torn this family apart to have resulted in Lord Westcroft not even being told of his nieces’ existence.

‘I shall do as you wish, Lord Westcroft,’ Selina said quietly. That and so much more.

Silently Matthew padded across the hallway. On his feet he was wearing only his socks, having long ago divested himself of his shoes in a bid to get more comfortable. The house was quiet, eerily so, with just the occasional creaking of the wooden windows to add to the effect. Outside somewhere an owl hooted, a dark shadow streaming past the window as it flew through the night.

Matthew felt unsettled. He’d felt unsettled for the past nine weeks. It was being back here, at Manresa House, the one place he’d vowed never to return to. Every room had a memory he would rather forget, every nook and cranny threatened to transport him back to a time when he was a vulnerable young lad. If he had his wish, he would have the building knocked to the ground, destroying the stone it was made from and the memories it held inside.

‘It’s only a building,’ he reminded himself, muttering under his breath. He couldn’t destroy the house, no matter how much he wanted to. It was a place of familiarity for Priscilla and Theodosia, a place filled with memories for his two nieces. Hopefully happier memories than his own. He wouldn’t take their home from them as well as everything else.

Silently he opened the door to the library, feeling the tension seep out of him as he always did when he entered this vault of a room. It had been his own special place as a child, with neither his parents nor his older brother caring to peruse the thousands of books housed on the shelves, his sanctuary. He stepped inside, feeling the smile form on his lips as his eyes danced across the familiar titles on the heavy leather spines. Sleep might be difficult to come by, but at least he would not grow bored.

Matthew reached out and slipped a book from the shelves, gripping it tightly just as he heard a quiet cough from directly behind him. For a second his heart squeezed in his chest, every muscle in his body clenched and primed for action. It took another second for the rational part of his brain to calm his instincts and stop him from spinning round and lashing out. Here he was safe. It was highly unlikely he was about to be pounced upon by a man-eating tiger or attacked by a deadly snake.

Slowly he turned, fixing his expression into a mild frown.

‘Please forgive me, Lord Westcroft,’ Miss Salinger said, her cheeks flushing. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought everyone else in the house asleep and hoped you wouldn’t mind me borrowing a book to read.’

Of course it was the governess. She’d been in residence for a grand total of seven hours and already she was becoming a thorn in his side.

Unfair, he silently chastised himself.

‘Do you often walk around strange houses in the dead of night without a candle?’ he asked, his voice low.

‘N-no,’ she stuttered.

He felt a perverse pleasure at her discomfort and allowed himself to watch as her lips searched for her next words. They were full lips, rosy even in the darkness, lips no doubt many men had fantasised about over the years.

‘I was taught never to bring a lit flame into a library,’ she said.

‘Who taught you that, Miss Salinger?’ It was a rule he observed himself, but he doubted his new governess grew up in a household grand enough to have a library.

‘My father.’

When she did not elaborate he nodded slowly. ‘Sensible man. Did he have any views on the best time of day to visit a library?’

‘There is sufficient moonlight to see by,’ Miss Salinger said, raising her chin a notch.

As she spoke the moon emerged from behind the thick clouds and shone in through the windows. As well as illuminating the books it reflected off the white of Miss Salinger’s nightgown that peeked out from under the loosely tied dressing gown.

Matthew couldn’t help but look. He was a man. A flawed man. A man who would never take advantage of a woman in his employ, but who couldn’t entirely avert his eyes when the moonlight made the cotton of a woman’s nightgown appear almost sheer over her body. He could only see a sliver of nightgown, but it was enough.

He swallowed. Blinked. She was an attractive young woman, tall with a body full of soft curves. This evening her hair was loose, dark locks cascading over her shoulders, framing a pretty face.

‘Indeed there is,’ he murmured.

She shifted slightly, making the nightgown ripple against her skin, hinting at the curves underneath.

Matthew closed his eyes, counted to five. He had been too long without a woman.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ As he spoke he moved to one side so he wouldn’t be looking directly at her.

‘Not yet. I was just browsing your titles. It really is a fine library.’

He murmured agreement, his eyes seeking out her lips again as she spoke. They were remarkably pink. Remarkably kissable.

As soon as the thought sprang into his mind he dismissed it firmly. Miss Salinger was far too important to even consider a dalliance. He couldn’t risk anything that might scare her off. Nine weeks he’d waited for a governess, nine weeks of emotional torture as the two little girls upstairs withdrew further into themselves.

‘Perhaps I can help you find something,’ he suggested, deciding his best course of action would be to hurry Miss Salinger on her way back to her bedroom. Far out of his line of sight. ‘What were you hoping to find?’

‘A classic, perhaps. The Iliad or the Odyssey.’

A woman of fine taste in literature. Not that he should be surprised that a governess was well read.

‘Here…’ he reached up to the shelves a little to his left and plucked two books from their places ‘…the Iliad and the Odyssey. You can decide later which you wish to read first.’

‘Thank you,’ Miss Salinger said with a smile. Her fingers brushed his as he handed the books over, soft skin against his callused hands, and he had to fight the urge to pull away quickly, pretending instead not to notice the contact.

‘Goodnight, Miss Salinger,’ he said, stepping back so she could make her way to the door. As she walked away he found his eyes trailing her, noting the sway of her body beneath the shapeless, sensible dressing gown.

‘Give me strength,’ he murmured to himself.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sleep well.’

With a final smile thrown in his direction she was gone, leaving him to his decidedly unchivalrous thoughts.

Chapter Three

‘A little rain never hurt anyone,’ Selina said, her tone calm but firm as she ushered the two young girls from the nursery, gripping their coats tightly in one hand.

‘It killed everyone who wasn’t on Noah’s Ark,’ Priscilla said, flashing her a dark look.

‘I hardly think we can compare this light drizzle to a biblical flood.’

Four hours, that was how long they’d been cooped up in the schoolroom, Selina trying her very hardest to follow Lord Westcroft’s instructions and teach the girls mathematics and history. It had been a disaster. For months they had been allowed to run free, to live their days without structure or discipline. She had been foolish to think she could instil it back in them in one day.

‘Coats on,’ she said, taking her cloak from a hook by the door. One of the maids had worked some magic on it, cleaning off the worst of the mud after her fall on the drive the day before.

‘If we catch a fever, our uncle will not be pleased,’ Priscilla muttered. At nine years old she was the more difficult of the two sisters. She was quiet but resentful, objecting to everything Selina did for no good reason. Selina knew it would take time, time to show the young girl she could be trusted, that she wasn’t going to disappear, that she was eager to help shape Priscilla’s future. Theodosia was more cheerful and accepting, although seemed to have limitless energy and a rather short attention span.

Selina peered out of the front door, smiling brightly as she regarded the sky.

‘Look, even the drizzle has stopped. I think I can even see a patch of blue sky.’

Priscilla looked at the grey clouds dubiously, but said no more.

‘Will you teach us to ride?’ Theodosia asked. ‘Mama never let us and Father was far too busy to arrange it. I’d love to have a horse of my own.’ Something caught her eye and the direction of her thoughts spiralled off at a tangent. ‘Archery…you promised you would teach us to shoot a bow and arrow. Can we? Will you teach us now? Please say yes.’

Priscilla snorted. ‘She’s a governess, Thea, not a soldier.’

‘But she promised.’

‘People promise things all the time.’

Selina watched as the little girl bit her lip, digesting this harsh lesson from her sister.

‘Did your father have a bow and arrows, Theodosia?’ Selina focused her attention on the younger of the sisters for a moment.

‘Yes. They’re in the back of the stables. He has one of those big target things as well.’ A note of hope crept into her voice. ‘Does that mean you’ll teach us?’

‘A promise is a promise,’ Selina said.

Theodosia slipped her little hand into Selina’s and squeezed it softly. She was only there for an instant, but Selina knew it was a start, the first building block of the relationship she would have to forge with these two grieving young girls.

‘It’s dirty,’ Priscilla observed as Selina hauled the target out of the corner of the stables. ‘And there are spider’s webs all over it.’

‘A little bit of dirt never hurt anyone.’

‘Try telling that to all the people who died of the bubonic plague,’ Priscilla muttered.

‘That was rats. This is mud.’

Ignoring her screaming muscles, Selina hauled the heavy target out on to the lawn at the back of the house. She set it down, tweaking its position until she was happy, then returned to the stables for the bow and quiver of arrows. Theodosia danced around her feet, excitedly chattering, but Priscilla remained where she was, watching the proceedings with the haughty disdain of a nine-year-old.

‘The bow is heavy,’ Selina said, weighing the weapon in her hands. ‘It is made for someone much bigger than you, so don’t be disappointed if you can’t get much movement.’

‘I’m strong,’ Theodosia said. ‘I eat all my vegetables.’

Priscilla snorted, earning her a black look from her younger sister.

‘I eat most of my vegetables,’ she corrected herself.

‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ Selina whispered. ‘I never eat my carrots and I can’t stand cabbage.’

Theodosia giggled.

‘Have you ever tried archery before?’

‘No, but I’m sure I’ll be very good at it.’

‘Have you, Miss Salinger?’ Priscilla challenged her. ‘It’s a strange skill for a governess. And if you don’t know how to shoot a bow then you shouldn’t be teaching us.’

Silently Selina weighed the bow, plucking the string to feel the tension. She selected an arrow, checking the point and the tail, balancing it in her fingers before positioning it against the bowstring. Taking her time, she adjusted her stance, raised the bow and released the arrow, sending it in a perfect line towards the target. It sank into the material with a satisfying thunk, not quite in the centre of the bullseye, but not far off.

The two girls looked at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

‘Do it again,’ Theodosia whispered.

Selina selected another arrow, repeated all the preparatory steps before sending it flying through the air to the target. Another hit, another excited squeal from Theodosia.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ Priscilla asked.

‘My father taught me.’

‘I told you,’ Theodosia rounded on her sister. ‘I told you she would teach us.’

‘Come here.’ Selina watched as Theodosia crowded close, but Priscilla hung back, even though there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. The older girl didn’t want to be intrigued, didn’t want to be engaged.

There’s no rush, Selina told herself. It could take weeks to build up the necessary trust, weeks that would be well spent. For now she had to just keep Priscilla interested, keep her from closing off entirely, and hopefully she would slowly start to allow herself to have fun.

‘When you hold a bow the most important thing is safety,’ Selina said, motioning to the arrows by their feet. ‘These are deadly weapons, and you need to treat them with respect at all times.’

Matthew turned the page on the report he was reading, about to delve into the latest accounts for the cargo ships that had recently docked in London. As his eyes skimmed across the first line a squeal of delight from outside made him pause. Nine weeks he’d been in charge of his two nieces and in that time he’d not heard them laugh, let alone squeal with happiness.

Resolutely he turned back to the report, but this time he only managed the first three words before another exclamation of awe came to his ears. Intrigued, he stood, crossing to the window. He expected to see the girls and Miss Salinger engaged in a game of some sort. Perhaps something that involved chasing or hiding. Hardly the most educational of pastimes, but he understood the need for fresh air and exercise to break up the school day.

As he looked out the window he nearly choked on the air he was breathing. Standing on the lawn was Miss Salinger, her arms wrapped around little Theodosia as she showed her how to hold a bow. He watched as the young girl drew back the bowstring, frowning with the difficulty of the task, and loosed an arrow. To her credit it did sail through the air, flying a few feet before embedding itself into the ground a fair distance away from the target.

For a moment his eyes focused on the figure of Miss Salinger, lingering just a little too long, before he stood and hurried out of his study. Someone had to stop them. Archery was dangerous, not to be trifled with by amateurs and certainly not to be taught to children by someone who didn’t know what they were doing.

Half-marching, half-running, he made it across the lawn in less than a minute, coming up behind the impromptu archery lesson.

‘Breathe in and draw the bow,’ Miss Salinger was saying to Theodosia, helping the young girl to pull back the bowstring. ‘Breathe out, focus on the target and then release.’

‘Stop,’ he shouted, seeing his niece’s quivering hand as she strained to keep the bowstring taut. He was sure she would drop her aim and shoot herself in the foot.

At his shout Theodosia jumped, half-turning and pulling Miss Salinger off balance at the same time. Matthew saw the governess’s eyes widen in horror as she started slipping, losing her grip on the bow. The arrow flew loose, travelling in an arc in his direction. Matthew tried to jump back, but was too slow, and with a bellow of pain he saw the arrow embed itself in his boot.

For a moment no one moved. Then everyone moved at once. Miss Salinger set the bow down carefully, a good few paces from the arrows. Then she moved forward. Matthew assumed she was coming to his aid and was surprised to see her crouch down in front of Theodosia.

‘Lord Westcroft is fine,’ she said, wiping the young girl’s hair from her face. ‘It was an accident, nothing more, and his fault, not yours.’

His fault?

He saw his little niece nod, her face pale, and was surprised when Miss Salinger brought the young girl in for an embrace.

‘Come to your sister, Priscilla,’ Miss Salinger said softly. ‘Take her hand while I see to Lord Westcroft.’

Only once she was convinced the children were safe did she move towards him.

‘Thank you for your swift attention,’ he murmured.

‘Sarcasm doesn’t become you,’ she said breezily, as if she hadn’t just shot him in the foot. He was sure she should be a little more contrite, a little more obsequious.

‘You just shot me in the foot.’

‘The arrow barely had any force behind it.’

‘You still shot me in the foot.’

‘And I’m sure it hasn’t even penetrated your foot.’

He looked at her with disbelief.

‘Luck and nothing more,’ he ground out.

‘I’m sure you’ve had much worse done to you in the past.’

‘That is not the point.’ He couldn’t quite believe he was getting a lesson in stoicism from an English governess.

‘You shouldn’t have shouted,’ she said resolutely. ‘Come, girls, let us get your guardian inside.’

‘Shouldn’t we pull the arrow out?’ Theodosia was peering over Miss Salinger’s shoulder with interest.

The governess bit her lip, looking down at the foot-long arrow sticking out of his boot.

‘Has it gone through the leather? Do you feel pain?’

‘Only a little.’

‘I worry if I pull it out here then it might begin to bleed in your boot,’ she said, her voice softening. He saw the concern in her eyes and realised her brisk manner before had been mostly to put the girls at ease.

‘If you give me your arm, I can lean on you back to the house. We can pull it out there,’ Matthew said.

He expected her to offer the slender arm that was currently hidden under the thick folds of her cloak. Instead she slipped her whole body under his arm, straightening up so he could rest his weight on her shoulders. It was an intimate position, even with the thick layers that separated them, and Matthew could feel the heat of her body. Something began to stir inside him, something long suppressed and primal.

‘You lead the way, girls,’ Miss Salinger said, motioning for them to go first.

As he walked he felt the sharp point of the arrow grinding against something in his foot. He clenched his jaw, picking up the pace in a bid to get back to the house quicker. They entered through the front door, held open by a surprised Mrs Fellows, her face settling back into a disapproving frown when she saw no one was seriously injured.

‘Into my study,’ Matthew instructed, and their little party made their way into the oppressive room that functioned as a private study. Miss Salinger helped him ease down into one of the armchairs and immediately sank down to her knees in front of him.

‘We will need clean hot water and something to bind the wound,’ she instructed Mrs Fellows who had followed them into the room.

The old housekeeper shuffled out, muttering something unintelligible under her breath.

‘Perhaps you could run down to the kitchens, girls,’ Miss Salinger said over her shoulder. ‘Lord Westcroft will want something sweet after we’ve seen to his injury. Ask Cook to prepare something.’

‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ he said quietly as the two girls reluctantly left the room. Although he was still miffed about the arrow in his foot, he found his main emotion was awe at how she was handling Priscilla and Theodosia in a situation where there could quite easily have been hysterics.

‘Shall I just pull it out?’ she asked, looking up at him from under her long, dark eyelashes. He knew it wasn’t meant to be sensual, that she wasn’t trying to be seductive, but the look sent the blood pounding round his body.

He nodded, gripping the arms of the chair. She pulled, putting her whole body behind the action, and Matthew felt the tip of the arrow shift in his foot, but after that there was no more movement.

She bit her lip again, a gesture that was fast becoming familiar, as was his reaction to the innocent but provocative expression.

‘Allow me,’ he said, finding the proximity of his governess more difficult to deal with than the pain in his foot.

Gripping the arrow, he pulled, feeling it slide from his foot and through the leather of his boot.

‘Well done,’ Miss Salinger said, as if she were congratulating a ten-year-old on her letters. ‘Now I’ll take off your boot and we can see the damage.’

Gently his fingers tugged at the leather, slipping off the boot and the sock underneath. Matthew glanced down, seeing the trickle of blood from the thankfully small wound. He flexed his toes, feeling a sharp stab of pain, but there seemed to be no impairment to his movements.

‘I’m sorry I…’ Miss Salinger muttered.

Matthew turned his attention to her, saw the pallor on her cheeks, the slightly glazed look in her eyes, and sprang from his chair just in time to catch her before she collapsed to the floor.

She was heavy in his arms, her body completely limp, and it took him a few seconds to lower her gently to the floor.

‘What have you done to Miss Salinger?’ Theodosia shouted as she reappeared at the door. The little girl launched herself at him, fists raised, in a show of temper Matthew hadn’t realised she possessed.

‘She’s fainted. She’s fainted,’ he repeated, waiting for the words to sink in. Theodosia slumped back, still looking at him with a frown.

‘Arrows shot at the master, governesses swooning all over the place. What is this house coming to?’ Mrs Fellows muttered as she came back into the room, clutching a little bottle in her hand. She brushed Matthew aside and wave the bottle under Miss Salinger’s nose.

He watched as, like magic, the governess’s eyes fluttered open.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, a hand flying to her mouth as she tried to sit up.

‘Stay there,’ he instructed her. The sharp tone of his voice was enough to draw dark looks from all the other occupants of the room. ‘You don’t want to faint again.’

Despite his words Miss Salinger wriggled up on to her bottom, closing her eyes momentarily as she adjusted to her new position. Theodosia stepped forward, looking as if she were about to throw herself protectively on top of her new governess.

‘Everyone out,’ he ordered. ‘Mrs Fellows, take the girls up to the nursery.’

‘But…’ Theodosia protested.

‘No arguments. Upstairs. Now.’

A shuffling of feet followed and after a minute he was left alone with Miss Salinger.

‘I’m sorry for fainting,’ she said, looking embarrassed. ‘I’ve never been very good with the sight of blood.’

She looked young sitting on the floor and he realised she couldn’t be much more than twenty despite her air of authority with the children.

Silently he stood, hobbling over to where Mrs Fellows had set down the water and strips of cloth for a bandage. Carefully he cleaned the wound in his foot. It was just over half an inch deep, but seemed to have missed all the important areas. Only once it was properly dressed did he turn back to Miss Salinger.

She was struggling to her feet and for a moment he thought she was about to swoon again. He darted back across the room, catching her arm.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly and, for the first time, looked him properly in the eye, holding his gaze for a long few seconds. Her eyes were dark green, wide and earnest, eyes a man could get lost in.

He had the urge to pull her closer to him, to cover those full lips with his own, to press her body to his. For a moment he thought he saw her sway towards him, thought her lips parted ever so slightly, but then she straightened and stepped back, her cheeks flushing and her eyes casting down to the floor.

‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘For shooting you.’

He wanted to murmur that no real damage had been done, that accidents happen, to pull her back into his arms, but that way ruination lay. She was a governess, his employee, someone he should safeguard not seduce.

‘You should never have put the children in danger,’ he said abruptly.

Miss Salinger looked up at him in surprise and it took her a few seconds to catch up with this change in his manner.

‘Before you came out we were perfectly safe,’ she said quietly and calmly. ‘Any fool knows not to creep up on someone with a loaded weapon and then shout out just as they are about to loose an arrow.’

‘Priscilla and Theodosia should be learning mathematics, history and music, not how to kill someone with a deadly weapon.’ He realised how stuffy he sounded, but felt his defences slamming down and couldn’t help himself.

‘They are children. They cannot be expected to work every waking moment of the day. They need fresh air, fun, something to fill their lives with joy.’ She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘Please excuse me, my lord, I need to get back to my charges.’ She swept from the room, turning back only when she was safely beyond the door. ‘Perhaps you could find time in your schedule to reassure Theodosia that you are not angry with her. That she did nothing wrong.’

Before he could answer she had disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, leaving him feeling unsettled.

Chapter Four

Selina turned back to the chalk board, ensuring neither of the girls could see her expression, and screwed her face into a silent scream. Four days she’d been at Manresa House. Four days of Priscilla’s sad, defiant little face watching her every move as if willing her to give up and go away. She needed a new technique, something to entice the little girl out of her protective shell, something to make her engage and let go of some of the anger she carried with her.

With a flourish she wiped the names of the Tudor Kings and Queens from the board. Today they would try something a little different.

‘What is history?’ she asked.

The two little girls looked at her with mild surprise in their eyes.

‘Learning all the Kings and Queens and battles,’ Theodosia volunteered.

‘Boring things that happened to people a long time ago,’ Priscilla said, looking at Selina defiantly. She knew the nine-year-old was testing her, she’d been doing it all week, trying to provoke her into shouting or losing her temper, probably so Priscilla could be satisfied in her dislike of her governess.

‘It does sometimes seem that way, doesn’t it?’ Selina said, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of them. ‘Battles and marriages and alliances. All between people who are long dead and who lived very different lives from those we live today.’

‘Why do we learn it, then?’ Priscilla challenged her.

‘I’ve always thought to learn lessons from the people who went before us. A great military commander could study the battles that were won and lost and work out which tactics to avoid and which to employ. Kings and Queens could look back at their ancestors and see which policies worked, which decisions were unpopular.’

‘And for us normal people?’ Priscilla said, a challenging tone to her voice. ‘I’m hardly going to be Queen of England or a military commander.’

Selina smiled—the young girl had asked the question she hoped she would.

‘That is why for our next project I want you to write something about your own history. Choose a memory, happy or sad, and write about it.’

Both girls looked at her blankly and Selina sighed inwardly. She’d tried this once before, with the little boy she had looked after before taking this position. He had been stifled in his education, too, all creativity and free thought knocked out of him by a dull and limited curriculum.

‘Priscilla, think of your favourite person in history, someone you admire…’

For a long moment she thought her pupil wasn’t going to answer her.

‘Queen Elizabeth.’

‘Very good. When Queen Elizabeth was young, before she was crowned, before she ever thought she might be Queen, do you think she thought her life would be pored over by historians, eager for every little detail?’

Selina saw a light dawning in Priscilla’s eyes.

‘No one can know where their life will lead them,’ she said, thinking briefly of her own surprises that had brought her to this classroom in Yorkshire. ‘One day you might be so successful that people want to read about your history.’ She let the girls have a moment to think about her words, then instructed them to get out their paper to begin writing.

‘I’m going to write about when Papa fell into the lake trying to rescue Colin,’ Theodosia said with a grin.

‘Colin?’

‘Our dog. He was so naughty and always running away.’

‘That sounds like a wonderful story to write about. Priscilla?’

The older girl was looking down at her paper, chewing her lip.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said quietly. ‘Just write.’

Head high, back straight, shoulders down, Selina told herself as she hesitated outside Lord Westcroft’s study door. It wasn’t a Sunday, the agreed day that she would update him on the girls’ progress and bring them in to see him for a short spell after dinner.

‘Ridiculous rule,’ she muttered to herself. She didn’t think Lord Westcroft was a bad person despite his occasional brusque outbursts and she thought she had seen flashes of affection in his eyes when he’d been close to his nieces, but it was clear he had absolutely no idea how to be around young children.

She rapped on the door, waiting for the curt command to enter before she slipped inside.

The study was dark, despite it being only late afternoon, and there were candles burning at points around the room. Lord Westcroft was sitting behind his desk, regarding her with poorly concealed irritation.

‘Miss Salinger,’ he greeted her, rising as she stepped into the room. He motioned to a chair, the good manners that would have been drummed into him in childhood winning out over his obvious desire to usher her out of the study as fast as possible.

Selina sat, making herself comfortable. What she had to say, what she had to show him, might take a while.

‘Is there a problem?’ As he spoke his dark brows came together in a frown.

‘In a way.’ Selina hesitated, gripping the sheets of paper tighter in her hand. She reminded herself it wasn’t a betrayal, that Lord Westcroft was Priscilla’s guardian and as such needed to know when something affected her welfare, even if that something was the girl’s own memories. ‘I asked the children to write a little excerpt of their own history, to choose something that they thought was interesting or important to them and imagine they were writing for an audience of the future interested in their lives.’ She paused, her fingers dancing over the sheets of paper in her lap nervously.

‘Go on,’ Lord Westcroft prompted. He did not seem overly intrigued, but at least he hadn’t chased her from the room.

‘Theodosia wrote an amusing little anecdote about her father falling into the lake as he tried to rescue their dog.’

Selina saw a twitch of a smile on Lord Westcroft’s face, but he got it under control quickly, his expression returning to one of impatient attention.

‘Priscilla wrote about something a little more disturbing…’ Selina gripped the papers in her lap and after a moment’s hesitation she held them out. ‘Perhaps it is better that you read it.’

With a frown Lord Westcroft took the proffered sheets and laid them on his desk. As he read Selina looked around the room. It really was oppressive, with dark panelling covering the walls and thick curtains blocking out much of the light that filtered through the windows. Her eyes flicked back to Lord Westcroft, watching his face, waiting for him to reach the part where Priscilla talked about her mother’s death. And what had come after.

He read in silence, only setting the papers down when he reached the very end, letting out a long breath and regarding the words for a moment longer before looking up.

‘It could be fiction,’ he said, although his tone suggested he didn’t really think that was the case.

‘Do you know how her mother died?’

‘No. I was in India. I hadn’t heard from my brother for a number of years. I didn’t even know she had passed away until the letter summoning me back here, telling me of my inheritance and guardianship.’

‘It must have been a shock.’

‘Quite.’

He was regarding her with his dark eyes, the intensity of his gaze making her feel uncomfortable.

‘Did you ask Priscilla about it?’

‘No. They handed them over just before their dinner. I came straight to you once I’d read it.’

Selina could see the thoughts running through Lord Westcroft’s mind. She knew a part of him would wish she would just deal with this by herself without troubling him, but she refused to let him get away that easily. He was their guardian, their one constant. Governesses could come and go, but he would be the one thing in their lives that they should be able to rely on.

‘Someone should talk to her about it,’ he said.

‘I wondered…’ Selina said, trailing off. It was a bold suggestion and had the possibility of going very wrong quite easily.

‘Go on.’

‘I think she is testing us, testing me. She could have chosen anything to write about, but she revealed the details of her mother’s suicide and the trauma of how she was forced into a grave outside the churchyard, marked as a sinner for ever.’

‘How is that a test?’

‘Priscilla has convinced herself that I am the enemy…’ She paused. ‘Perhaps that we are the enemy. She is rude and truculent, but I think she doesn’t really want to be that way. This is her lifeline, her way of reaching out. If we ignore it or don’t handle it properly, then she will retreat further into herself.’

‘You’ve thought about this a lot,’ Lord Westcroft said. Selina wasn’t sure if there was admiration or disbelief in his voice.

‘This is my job,’ Selina said with more passion than she had planned. ‘And those girls need someone to care about them.’

A stony silence fell between them as the implication of her words registered.

‘What do you propose, Miss Salinger?’ Lord Westcroft asked coldly.

‘I think we should take them out to visit their mother’s grave. Acknowledge their pain, but do something practical about it.’

‘We?’

‘Yes, we,’ she ground out.

Lord Westcroft leaned back in his chair. Eventually he spoke. ‘I can spare two hours tomorrow morning. We will take the carriage.’

‘Thank you,’ Selina said, rising to her feet. She’d got what she wanted, although she wished for a little more emotion from Lord Westcroft.

Slowly, slowly, she told herself. They just needed to spend more time together and tomorrow would be a start.

Chapter Five

‘Lady Theodosia,’ Lord Westcroft said, taking his younger niece’s hand and helping her up into the carriage. ‘Lady Priscilla.’ Selina stepped behind them and was surprised when he held out his hand for her. She slipped her hand into his, feeling the warmth and the slight calluses on his fingers. They were hands that had worked before, even if he held a title now.

‘Miss Salinger.’ He looked her in the eye as he said her name and Selina felt her breath catch in her throat. Then she was up in the carriage and the moment was gone.

She stepped up, thinking she would sit next to one of the girls, but they had huddled together and the carriage seats were only small, leaving no room for her next to them. She sat down, pushing her body into the corner as Lord Westcroft settled himself next to her.

After a moment the carriage lurched forward and Selina almost flew from her seat, only the restraining arm Lord Westcroft put out stopped her.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Where are we going? Is it to town, to buy new dresses? Or to the seaside? Oh, I do want to go to the seaside.’ Theodosia was bouncing up and down on her seat, unable to sit still for even a moment.

Selina sat back, giving Lord Westcroft a meaningful look. He sighed and she thought he had been about to roll his eyes at her, but something held him back.

‘Miss Salinger showed me your writing, Priscilla,’ he said gently. He held up a hand to halt the tirade that looked about to explode from his niece’s mouth. ‘I would understand if you were angry, but it was the right thing for Miss Salinger to do.’

‘Where are we going?’ Priscilla asked, her voice filled with barely restrained anger. Selina wondered at the maturity of this young girl. Most would shout and scream, but once again Priscilla was able to hold it all inside.

‘To visit your mother’s grave.’

Selina was surprised at the tenderness in Lord Westcroft’s voice. All she’d seen of him so far had been distant and formal. This was a different version of the man.

‘Her grave?’

Lord Westcroft nodded. ‘It is hard losing a parent, much harder losing two. Especially at such a young age…’ He paused and Selina saw raw emotion in his eyes. ‘I don’t know if your father told you about your grandmother, my mother?’

The girls both shook their heads.

‘She was kind and gentle and loving. I remember that about her, although sometimes I’m not sure I can remember her face. She died when I was eight.’ He smiled gently. ‘I used to go and sit by her grave, tell her all the things that had happened, all the things I was proud of, all my grievances. It made me feel closer to her.’

Selina could see by the sincerity in his eyes that he was telling the truth. Lord Westcroft projected himself as a cold, hard businessman so it was easy to believe the deception and forget that underneath was a living, breathing, feeling person, someone who had mourned the death of his mother and someone who was making the effort to comfort his nieces despite his initial reluctance.

‘It’s not the same,’ Priscilla said, a brittle edge to her voice. ‘Your mother would have been buried in the churchyard, given a proper place. Our mother is buried on a rough bit of land outside the church.’

Lord Westcroft nodded. ‘You’re right, it’s not the same. I had somewhere to go and sit, to feel closer to my mother. That is why we’re going to visit today. It might not be in the churchyard, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find some peace there.’

‘I wish we had some flowers,’ Theodosia said quietly. ‘Mama loved flowers.’

‘I cut a few stems from the garden before we left,’ Lord Westcroft said, surprising them all. Selina felt her eyebrows raise. It was a thoughtful gesture, one she wouldn’t have thought he would even have considered.

She was surprised to find the carriage pulling to a halt after they had only been travelling for ten minutes. She hadn’t realised the village was so close. In better weather, when the wind wasn’t gusting across the moors, it would probably make a pleasant walk.

Lord Westcroft stepped down from the carriage and helped each of the children and then Selina in turn. He reached up and took two small bouquets of flowers from the coachman, handing one to each of the girls.

‘Go on,’ Selina, urged them gently and after a moment’s hesitation the two little girls linked arms and walked across the grass around the side of the church. Selina made to follow, but Lord Westcroft placed a hand on her arm to hold her back.

‘They won’t want us there,’ he said.

‘They might…’

‘They won’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Walk with me, we will go and check on them in a few minutes.’

‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Everyone loses their parents at some point. I was just unfortunate to lose the kind, caring one first.’

‘Your father wasn’t caring?’ It was too intimate a question, but Selina felt it slipping out anyway. She needed to remember they weren’t friends, just an employer and his employee.

‘No.’

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.’

‘Are your parents alive?’

Selina shook her head, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. If only they were, if only her father was still around to explain why he had pretended to care for her so deeply, but had ultimately decided she was not worth providing for.

‘I lost my father eighteen months ago and my mother a few years before that.’

‘Eighteen months,’ he mused. ‘That was when you became a governess?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled brightly, hoping the pain wouldn’t show through. Before then she hadn’t had a reason to work for her living. She’d been the treasured daughter of a very wealthy man. She’d spent her days reading and socialising with other young ladies in Cambridge and her nights attending balls and music recitals and dinner parties. It was quite different from her life now.

‘You didn’t have any other relatives to take you in?’

‘No,’ she said abruptly, pushing the image of her half-brother from her mind. He’d made it perfectly clear that he never wanted to set eyes on her again, even providing his carriage to whisk her away from the city she knew and deposit her far away in London.

‘Pity,’ he said, ‘although not for me.’ He paused, turning slightly to her. ‘You have a way with the girls. I can see them doing very well with you.’

‘Thank you. They are lovely children under all the layers of grief.’

‘I am pleased they have you.’

Selina felt her body stiffen—he was going to try to distance himself from his nieces again.

‘They have you, too.’

‘Yes. Although I will return to India once everything here is settled.’

‘India?’

‘Yes, that is where my business is based.’

‘That’s a long way away.’

‘I shall wait until the children are settled into a routine with you and you are familiar with the house.’

‘Lord Westcroft…’ Selina said, hesitating, but deciding to press on. No one else was going to tell him how much his nieces needed him and it didn’t seem as though he would realise it himself. ‘Priscilla and Theodosia have lost their parents at a very young age. They will be looking for someone to step up and fill that void.’

He looked straight ahead, over the moor beyond the village, and for a moment Selina thought he might ignore her comment entirely.

‘They have each other.’

‘That’s not enough.’

‘It will have to be.’

‘You could—’

‘Miss Salinger,’ he said sharply, ‘you are employed to teach the children and attend to their welfare. Anything else is none of your concern. Is that understood?’

Selina stepped back as if she had been slapped.

‘Entirely,’ she said. ‘Please accept my apology. Clearly I have overstepped.’

Without looking back she walked away, moving towards the grave where the two little girls were crouched. She hesitated a moment before approaching, taking a minute to blink away the tears that were forming in her eyes. She knew all about being alone in the world, but at least she hadn’t found out how cruel those who were meant to love them could be until she was an adult.

Matthew perched on the low stone wall that surrounded the churchyard and closed his eyes. Somewhere to his left his nieces and Miss Salinger were tidying the grave, pulling up the weeds and laying down the flowers he’d brought. He knew he should be over there with them, he wouldn’t have to do anything, his presence would be enough.

‘Coward,’ he muttered to himself. He had never meant to speak to Miss Salinger in such a fashion, but as she’d confronted him again on his relationship with his nieces he’d felt overcome with dread. He’d needed to say anything to push her away, to stop her from seeing the fear that lay beneath his refusal to get close to the girls.

The look of surprise on her face had seared itself into his mind, as had the expression of disgust that had followed. Of course she was disgusted. He might have only been acquainted with the governess for a few days, but that was long enough to know she was generous and caring. The idea that he wouldn’t want to ease the suffering of his nieces would be difficult for her to comprehend.

He shook his head. He had to stay strong. He’d learnt a long time ago that caring wasn’t always the best option. Trying to conform to everyone’s wishes, trying to do the right thing could end up in disaster. No, he knew his strengths and caring for two young girls was not one of them. The last time he’d been asked to care for someone vulnerable it had not been a success. He was smart enough not to make the same mistake twice.

He felt his resolve strengthen. This wasn’t his life, it wasn’t the life he had ever asked for or expected. His brother had been raised to be the Earl, his lesser importance had been made clear from a very young age by his father. He’d built a life for himself, been successful in the navy and then his shipping business, without any help from his family. That was his life and there was no room for two little girls in it. There was no point in them becoming attached to him or him developing an affection for them. In a few weeks, maybe months, he would be going back to India and it would be easier for everyone if they barely noticed him gone.

Still, he needed to apologise to Miss Salinger. There was never an excuse for rudeness, especially not to someone whose only motivation was trying to protect a child.

Rising, he walked over, crouching down as he reached the grave.

‘There,’ Miss Salinger said, pulling at the last of the weeds. ‘That looks better.’

Priscilla was quiet, her serious little face white and unreadable, but she gripped Theodosia’s hand tightly.

‘Goodbye, Mama,’ Theodosia said as they stood up.

Priscilla turned to Miss Salinger, fixing her with her wide eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, so quietly it could hardly be heard above the wind.

‘You’re welcome, Priscilla.’

‘Can we come back?’

‘Of course. Perhaps every couple of weeks we could bring fresh flowers and tidy things up. If Lord Westcroft would be kind enough to allow us the carriage.’

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Priscilla acknowledged him with the briefest look, then edged a little closer to Miss Salinger, allowing the governess to take her hand to steady her over the rough ground. It was a breakthrough, one that was well deserved on the part of Miss Salinger.

‘Shall we walk into the village before returning home?’ Matthew suggested. ‘It’s pleasant to be out.’

Miss Salinger eyed the dark clouds and trees blowing in the wind, gathering her shawl closer around her shoulders.

‘We should show Miss Salinger the local area, it is to be her home after all.’

As they emerged on to the road he informed the coachman that they would be a few minutes longer and then walked briskly to catch up.

‘Lead the way, girls,’ he instructed. Theodosia skipped on ahead, seemingly undisturbed by their trip to the grave. Priscilla lingered for a moment, but soon hurried to join her sister.

Matthew offered Miss Salinger his arm. It would have been impolite for her to refuse, but he could see her contemplating doing just that. Eventually she relented, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.

‘I wanted to apologise,’ he said quietly. ‘I was rude.’

Miss Salinger looked at him expectantly.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘Go on?’

‘You said you want to apologise.’

He paused, wondering if any other woman of lower rank would challenge him like this. He stopped walking, waiting for her to turn towards him and lift her chin so she was looking him in the eye.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I spoke harshly.’

She studied his face and then nodded.

‘Would you allow me to explain?’

‘There is no need, Lord Westcroft. I understand my place.’

‘No,’ he said with feeling. ‘I want to explain.’ He realised it was the truth. It wasn’t just about keeping Miss Salinger here in Yorkshire, although that was one of his main concerns. He realised he didn’t want her to think too poorly of him.

That thought made him pause. For the past ten years he’d perfected not caring about what anyone else thought of him. He’d ignored the disappointment from first his father and then his brother when he had broken away from the family to make his own path in life and ever since he’d learned to not worry about other people’s opinions of him. But now here was this governess, a woman he’d only known for a few days, and he didn’t want her to think too badly of him.

‘I wasn’t born to be an earl. It wasn’t the future I was prepared for. I’ve built my life, a life I enjoy, in India. I will be going back there in a few months, I have to.’ As he spoke Miss Salinger gave him her full attention, her head tilted a little to one side as if weighing his words. ‘I love my nieces and I want to provide well for their future. Manresa House will always be their home more than mine and I hope with you they will be happy there.’

‘But you won’t be there,’ Miss Salinger said quietly.

‘No. I won’t. I don’t want Priscilla and Theodosia to form too much of an attachment to me, not if I will be gone out of their lives in a few months.’

‘You could stay.’

‘No. It isn’t an option.’ It was an option, just not one he would consider. Nor would he tell Miss Salinger the true reason for keeping his nieces at a distance. No one ever needed to know his shame, his inability to protect someone as vulnerable as Elizabeth had been.

Miss Salinger searched his face, her eyes flitting over him, assessing.

‘I understand,’ she said eventually, ‘but you’re wrong.’

‘Wrong?’

‘To keep the girls at a distance. You might be leaving soon, but right now they need you. They’ve lost both their parents…their whole world has changed. You’re not protecting them by pushing them away, you’re hurting them. They crave your attention, your love.’

‘I don’t think…’ He trailed off. He felt a panic rising inside him.

‘It doesn’t have to be much,’ she said softly. ‘An outing every so often, perhaps a few impromptu visits to the schoolroom. Dinner together once a week.’

‘You are a very persuasive woman, Miss Salinger,’ Matthew said quietly. He watched as she blushed at the compliment and not for the first time he had the urge to reach out and trail his fingers over her cheek, to tuck the stray strands of dark hair behind her ear and let his hand linger for a moment.

‘Does that mean you’ll do it?’

‘One outing. No more.’

Chapter Six

Swallowing hard, Selina put on her sunniest smile and ushered the two girls into the study, knocking briefly as they piled through the door.

‘Good afternoon, Lord Westcroft,’ she said, bobbing into the shallowest curtsy she could get away with. ‘We’re ready for a walk on the moors.’

Lord Westcroft looked at her from behind the huge desk, a frown forming on his face. She watched as his eyes narrowed. He was quick and clever, a hard man to outwit, and she could see he already knew what she was trying to do.

‘You enjoy that,’ he said evenly.

‘It’s going to be so much fun,’ Theodosia said, skipping over to his side, peering unabashedly at the documents spread over his desk. ‘I shall walk with you if you like.’

Selina saw him consider. She had gambled on Lord Westcroft’s softer side, hoped that he would not refuse a direct request from his nieces to spend time with them, even if she had shamelessly engineered the situation.

‘Go find your coats, girls,’ he said, his voice restrained. He stood, waiting until they were out of the study before crossing to the door and closing it behind them. Selina tried to keep her breathing level, but as he turned around he was standing close, his broad shoulders brushing against hers.

Nervously she licked her lips. For a long few seconds he didn’t move, standing just out of her line of vision, and she wondered if he was about to send her to pack her bags.

‘I could have just refused Theodosia there and then,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, but still managing to be forceful.

‘Yes.’

‘It would have upset her.’

‘Yes.’

‘But that is none of my concern. It would not have been my fault.’

He stepped closer and Selina caught a hint of his scent, a mixture of soap and something more exotic, something she couldn’t identify. She looked up, having to tilt her chin to meet his eye, and felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. He was an attractive man, powerfully built with thick dark hair and a strong jaw. The sort of man her friends in Cambridge would have whispered about, hoping he would notice them.

She swallowed, feeling her mouth turn dry.

‘Why didn’t you?’ she asked quietly.

He took another step closer. Their bodies were almost touching now and Selina had the irrational urge to reach out and place a hand on his chest, to trail her fingers over the soft material of his waistcoat and feel the muscles underneath.

‘Why didn’t I?’ he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe she had the audacity to ask the question.

Every inch of her skin felt hot, unbearably so, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. It was as though she were being hypnotised, her body coming under the spell of a man she would normally keep her distance from.

‘You could have said no.’

‘Perhaps I will.’

She shook her head, holding his gaze. Reminding herself she was doing this for the children, she dropped her shoulders and tilted her chin another notch. Now was not the time to be overcome with such irrational thoughts of desire.

‘No,’ she said quietly but firmly. ‘You won’t. No matter what you say you don’t want to hurt those girls.’

He looked at her silently for well over a minute, time in which Selina had to battle with herself to stay focused. Never would it be appropriate to let her body sway towards his, but she felt the pull, the primal urge to move closer to him.

‘This time I will overlook your behaviour,’ he said eventually. ‘But understand this, Miss Salinger, I will not be manipulated.’

‘Understood.’

He stepped away and Selina let out the breath she had been holding. Her body felt as though it was on fire, every sense was heightened and as Lord Westcroft moved back towards his desk she had to pinch the skin of her hand to bring herself back to reality.

‘Five minutes,’ he said abruptly. ‘I shall meet you in the hall.’

Selina stepped out of the study, knowing once again she’d been lucky to stay on the fine line between looking out for her charges and insubordination. As she walked through the dingy entrance hall she couldn’t help but let a smile creep on to her face. Lord Westcroft might protest his very hardest that he didn’t care, that he was capable of turning his back on his nieces and returning to India, but when faced with disappointing them he just wouldn’t do it, would he?

‘It’s only a little wind,’ Selina said in her most persuasive voice. Three pairs of eyes looked back at her dubiously.

‘There is no such thing as a little wind up here on the moors, Miss Salinger,’ Lord Westcroft said sternly. ‘The weather is a dangerous foe and none more so than the blowing winds from the east.’

‘It’ll be bracing, bring some colour to our cheeks.’

‘It’ll be cold,’ Priscilla countered.

‘And the exercise will be good for us.’

‘Unless we fall down a hole or get blown off a cliff.’

Selina wagged a finger admonishingly. ‘I might not know the area well, but I am well aware that we are at least five miles from the sea. There are no cliffs to fall off on the estate.’ She looked at all three in turn, trying out her most winning smile. ‘It is either this or two hours of Aristotle in the schoolroom.’

‘A threat indeed,’ Lord Westcroft murmured.

Silently Priscilla and Theodosia filed out, fastening their coats as they did so. Selina followed, feeling the presence of Lord Westcroft right behind her. Despite the biting wind she felt a warm glow deep inside. This was what the girls needed, time and attention from their guardian.

‘We’ll head out through the formal gardens and east over the parkland,’ he instructed the girls, watching as they linked arms and bent their heads to the wind.

Selina shivered. It was colder than she had first thought.

‘Regretting your suggestion?’

‘A little wind never hurt anyone.’

‘Apart from the thousands of sailors lost at sea each year in storms.’

‘Well, yes. Apart from them,’ she conceded. ‘It’s not good for the girls to be cooped up inside all day long.’

In truth, she had been the one becoming restless. She’d never been very good at staying inside for a whole day. In her old life in Cambridge she had often ventured out into the slippery cobbled streets even in the pouring rain to avoid a whole day spent inside.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ he conceded, ‘but personally I prefer a little warmth when I venture outside.’ He looked off into the distance, his eyes glazing over ever so slightly.

‘You’re imagining you’re back in India?’ she asked, watching as he turned his face up to the pale sun behind a fast-moving cloud.

‘Always. The heat is wonderful there and when the wind blows it’s a welcome reprieve from the humidity, not an icy blast that cuts right through you.’ His tone had softened a little as he spoke about the country he clearly considered to be his home.

‘Don’t you miss anything from England when you are away?’

Selina knew it was intrusive of her to ask such a personal question, but she was intrigued. Lord Westcroft was shrouded in mystery. She hardly knew anything about her employer apart from his eagerness to leave England at the earliest opportunity. The servants at Manresa House were a sullen group who seemed to disappear whenever she entered a room as if they didn’t want to engage with her and as such she hadn’t even heard any of the usual gossip servants were sometimes happy to share.

That in itself wasn’t altogether unusual. Selina had learned over the past year governesses occupied a strange position in the household. Not quite a servant, but still far removed from the family—it was a lonely position to be in.

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘What is there to miss?’

‘I think I’d miss plenty. The way the earth smells after long-awaited rain. How the sun reflects off the stone of the colleges in Cambridge. The rivers and lakes and hills and farmland.’

‘You sound as though you love your home.’

Selina felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes as she always did when thinking of her father’s house, nestled in the very heart of Cambridge. She missed the cosy rooms and the ornate fireplaces and the pretty little garden where she had sat reading in the summer. Most of all she missed her father. The long talks, the feeling of being safe and loved. The security. Even when they had travelled the few miles to their country estate she had missed the cosy house in Cambridge where they’d spent most of their time.

‘I did.’

‘Did?’

‘When my father died eighteen months ago the house…’ She trailed off, blinking back the tears.

‘It went to someone else?’

She nodded. Even after all this time she couldn’t voice her half-brother’s name and the cruel glint in his eye as he’d demanded she leave.

‘My brother,’ she said eventually.

‘Your brother? But surely he should provide for you?’

Selina laughed, hearing the note of bitterness and stopping abruptly. She’d always promised herself she wouldn’t let her brother’s final act taint all her memories of home, all her memories of her parents.

‘No.’

She was saved from further questioning by the return of Priscilla and Theodosia, who had run ahead and were now returning, battling against the wind that whipped at their skirts.

‘I want to show you the folly, Miss Salinger,’ Theodosia said, taking her hand. Selina was glad of the distraction, aware of Lord Westcroft’s curious eyes probing hers. She’d never told anyone of her disgrace, of the circumstances surrounding her banishment from the family home, and she wasn’t going to start now, no matter how much she wished to scream and curse her brother.

‘You can climb to the top if you’re very, very careful,’ Theodosia said as she pulled Selina along by the hand. ‘And then you can see all the way to the sea.’

‘Apparently,’ Priscilla added quietly. ‘We’ve never been able to see that far.’

‘Father did,’ Theodosia insisted.

‘So he said.’

‘He wouldn’t lie.’

‘I used to come up here when I was a boy,’ Lord Westcroft said, interrupting the quiet squabbling. ‘And on a very clear day you can see the cliffs and the sea beyond.’

In front of them, at the top of a small hill, rose a tower that looked like something out of a fairy tale. It was made of grey stone with windows dotted at intervals up the walls. A wooden door stood closed at the bottom and at the very top there were crenulations surrounding what she assumed must be a small viewing platform.

‘It is out of character with the rest of the house,’ she observed.

Manresa House was imposing and severe whereas the folly was whimsical.

‘Courtesy of my great-grandfather,’ Lord Westcroft said quietly. ‘I understand he was quite mad. His father built Manresa House.’

At the front of their little group Priscilla pushed open the door to the folly, revealing a spiral set of stairs winding up. Before Selina was inside Priscilla and Theodosia had started clattering up the wooden stairs, their blonde hair trailing out behind then as they ran.

‘After you,’ Lord Westcroft murmured, allowing Selina to ascend first. It was surprisingly tall, with the spiral staircase winding round and round again and again before opening out on to a platform at the top of the folly. With the girls already up there it was a tight squeeze for Selina and then Lord Westcroft to step up on to the wooden flooring.

‘Steady,’ Lord Westcroft said as she stepped back almost on to his foot. Selina glanced around, aware of his proximity, knowing she should press herself against the wall to make room.

‘No chance of seeing the sea today,’ Priscilla said, throwing a challenging look at Selina.

‘The conditions aren’t the clearest,’ Selina admitted. ‘But it is still pleasant to be out exploring the countryside.’

Theodosia was standing on her tiptoes, squinting out into the distance and trying her very hardest to see the cliffs and the sea beyond. It was cloudy, the visibility poor beyond the immediate area, but Selina’s heart squeezed for the little girl as she looked, scrunching her nose with concentration.

‘This way,’ Lord Westcroft said quietly, directing his niece’s gaze. ‘If you look hard enough, you might see the white crest of a wave.’

Priscilla rolled her eyes, slouching against the stonework.

Stepping back to give Lord Westcroft the opportunity to move closer to his nieces, Selina stumbled, correcting herself quickly. Even before she had reached out a hand to grasp the parapet she felt Lord Westcroft’s hands on her waist.

‘Careful,’ he said quietly, his words tickling her ear. ‘It’s a long way down.’

He held her for a moment longer, his hands seeming to burn through the fabric of her dress. Selina swallowed as his body brushed against hers momentarily before he released her and stepped to one side.

As he leaned his forearms on the stone wall that ran round the edge of the tower Selina risked a glance sideways at him. Her heart was still pounding in her chest and she wasn’t entirely convinced it was because of her little stumble. No, her body was reacting to what had come after, that feather-light touch from a man she wasn’t even sure she liked.

Lord Westcroft was attractive, there was no denying it. As well as his looks he exuded a self-confidence and sense of authority that were powerful.

Selina looked away, gripping on to the parapet herself to give her a distraction. Thoughts of attraction were inappropriate and unhelpful. He was her employer, but more than that he was a man of the aristocracy. A man not to be trusted.

‘Shall we continue?’ Lord Westcroft motioned to the stairs.

Obediently the girls clattered down, Selina following. She had to squeeze past Lord Westcroft to duck her head back through the low doorway and as she did so she felt a steadying hand on her arm.

‘Watch your footing,’ he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers.

They descended the tower in silence, emerging once again into the ferocious wind at the bottom, the girls flattening themselves against the stonework to shelter from the gusts.

‘I think you are going to have to admit defeat,’ Lord Westcroft called above the wind.

Selina chewed on her lip. She wanted longer, wanted to stride across the moors, to allow the girls to burn off some of the restless energy that had been building for the past few days. Even more than that she wanted a little longer with Lord Westcroft. For the children, of course, but if she was being completely honest with herself, for her, too. It was lonely here, with only the children for company during the day and servants who barely acknowledged her.

‘Theodosia will blow away if we venture any further,’ Lord Westcroft said, a fleeting smile passing over his lips. Selina was pleased he was no longer angry with her—fresh air did wonders for everyone. ‘Come, girls,’ he said, holding out his arms to usher his nieces back towards the house. ‘We can continue our exploration of the estate another day. A day when the weather is a little kinder.’

Selina studied the faces of her two charges, saw the hint of disappointment there despite both girls having protested initially to the excursion. She suspected it was disappointment that their time with their uncle was going to be cut short.

‘Instead I propose hot chocolate and biscuits in front of the fire in the library,’ Lord Westcroft said. Theodosia and Priscilla both smiled, linked hands and began to hurry back towards the house.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘What for?’

‘You saw their disappointment and you didn’t ignore it.’

‘I was worried if I did you might march us all the way to the sea.’

‘You can joke all you want, Lord Westcroft, but what you did there was kind.’

‘I’m not a complete monster then,’ he murmured quietly.

‘No, not completely.’

With a smile he offered Selina his arm and she felt a thrill of anticipation as she took it. It was reckless speaking to her employer like this, but it was very hard for her to act meek and submissive. Her upbringing hadn’t trained her for a position in service and, despite all her practice, Selina still often thought of herself as the respectable daughter of a wealthy man.

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