‘Oh, really? My presence unnerves you?’ And he took a step closer, until there was very little space between them at all. ‘Is it just me, I wonder? Or are you flustered by other men as well?’

‘Not you at all, My Lord. It is just that I am unaccustomed to such attention. While teaching.’

He laughed softly, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose as he whispered, ‘You are lying again, and not very skilfully.’

‘I swear I am not.’ But her voice became breathy as she said it, with a tone that was all wrong for the earnest denial she should mount.

‘I will agree that you are not accustomed to teaching. But, looking as you do, I find it hard to believe that you are unaccustomed to masculine attention.’ He was making no effort to hide an interest that she suspected had little to do with her knowledge of geography. ‘A simple governess would not dress the way you do.’

He stood very close to her. Too close. For she could feel the heat of his body on the bare skin of her throat. ‘Perhaps I shall not have to remove you. It will be better if you decide to remove yourself. For you must realise that it is dangerous for you to remain under this roof with me.’

Christine Merrill lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Recent novels by the same autho r:

THE INCONVENIENT DUCHESS

AN UNLADYLIKE OFFER

A WICKED LIAISON

*MISS WINTHORPE’S ELOPEMENT

THE MISTLETOE WAGER

(part of A Yuletide Invitation) *Linked to DANGEROUS LORD, INNOCENT GOVERNESS

Author Note

Somewhere in the writing of MISS WINTHORPE’S ELOPEMENT, it became clear to me that I was only telling half the story. The more I wrote, the more I became convinced that there was another whole book that would explain the behaviour of Tim Colton and his wife Clare.

Perhaps Clare secretly had a heart of gold. Perhaps things weren’t as they appeared between her and the Duke of Bellston. Perhaps she only needed love, and if I gave them a little time Tim and Clare could work out their differences and live happily ever after.

Or perhaps not.

And as I wrote, I discovered that I’d been leaving myself little clues as to how unhappy they really were together, and what might happen between the two of them once they were alone in Wales.

Once I stopped fighting the truth, the book all but wrote itself. My research became a weird mix: the nineteenth century, British horticulture, conservatory design, and old-fashioned gothic romances. The result was the story you are about to read.

DANGEROUS LORD,
INNOCENT GOVERNESS

Christine Merrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Jo Carr. May it always be this easy.

Chapter One

‘Her Grace will see you now.’

Daphne Collingham followed the servant to the door of the sitting room, and took an involuntary breath as she was announced. Was it always this intimidating to seek employment? She certainly hoped she would never have reason to know.

Once her mission here was finished, she could return to her real life in London. And she would miss none of the Season: the parties, the balls and the tiresome chore of hunting up a husband who would meet with her father’s approval. But for now she must remember that she was a humble governess, whose only intent was to make a future in caring for the children of the Colton household.

She tried not to shudder at the idea.

Perhaps it was worse for her because she knew that her petition was a sham. And while it might be rather nerve racking to meet a duchess on a social occasion, it was much more so when the duchess stood as gatekeeper to a place one wanted to enter. Even more so when one was still trying to memorise an employment history that one had bought off a stranger on a northbound coach.

The Duchess rose as Daphne entered, which was entirely unnecessary, given their difference in class, and reached out to take her hand. ‘Miss Collins.’

‘Your Grace,’ she responded with what she hoped was appropriate subservience.

The Duchess sank back on to the divan, and gestured her to a nearby chair. The woman in front of her looked more like a schoolteacher than the wife of a peer. But looks could be deceiving. Daphne hoped that the Duchess believed the same, for she doubted very much that she was managing to look the part of a prospective governess. Her curtsy alone should have given her away. It would have suited in a drawing room, she suspected. But she had practised curtsying like a governess in front of a mirror at the inn, and could not seem to manage it.

The Duchess narrowed her eyes as Daphne bowed to her, as though she had recognised the deficiency. It had not been unfriendly. Merely a sign that the fact had been noted, recorded and filed appropriately. The Duchess of Bellston suspected she would prove difficult.

But now, the woman was examining her references, and smiling. ‘These seem to be in order. Although they refer to you as Daphne. I understood, from your original letter, that your Christian name was Mary.’

‘There was already a Mary in the last house, your Grace. So they called me by my middle name, Daphne. I’ve grown to prefer it.’

The Duchess nodded. ‘Daphne. Very pretty. And it suits you much better than Mary.’

She certainly hoped so.

The Duchess was reading more carefully. ‘These are most exceptional.’

‘Thank you.’ She had laboured long to erase the name of their previous owner, and insert her own. The fact that they were exceptional forgeries needn’t enter into the conversation.

‘You have been in service long?’ There was a definite upturn at the end of the sentence, as though the Duchess had her doubts. Probably the fault of that damned curtsy.

‘When one enjoys one’s work, the time passes quickly.’

‘And you do enjoy your chosen profession, and are not doing it solely from duty, or a need to make a way for yourself?’

‘I adore children.’ And there was the biggest lie of all. For while she hoped that she would manage to adore her own, she had never found the children of others to be better than a necessary evil.

‘Excellent,’ said the Duchess, eager to believe her. ‘For that is just what this family needs.’ She looked at Daphne with the same searching expression she had used upon the paperwork. ‘The residents of this house have undergone a loss, and the children’s behaviour has been somewhat…’ she paused significantly ‘…difficult.’

‘Difficult?’ Oh, dear. It had never occurred to her that the children would be part of the problem.

The Duchess smiled encouragement. ‘But it will be nothing to someone as experienced as you. It is just that they will need more than rote learning and a firm hand. They need understanding. And affection, of course.’

What they needed was justice. But Daphne nodded enthusiastically at the Duchess’s words. ‘The poor dears. One can never replace a mother, of course. But if it is possible to provide stability, and a woman’s touch?’ She gave a deprecating shrug. ‘One tries.’

The Duchess let out a visible sigh of relief. ‘I think we are in agreement. While I place a high value on education, the Coltons are bright children, and naturally inquisitive. Advanced for their years.’

Daphne nodded, as though she understood. It was strange that a woman who was little better than a neighbour should take such interest in another man’s children. Perhaps she thought it her duty, as lady of the land. Or perhaps there was some other, more ominous reason that she felt a need to insinuate herself into the household.

The Duchess continued. ‘They will find their own way. They need less help in that area than they need a sense that they are safe and cared for.’

As long as their father was present, there was little Daphne could do to ensure their safety. But she nodded again.

The Duchess rose and straightened her skirts. ‘If you will just wait here, while I speak to Lord Colton, the butler will be along shortly with some refreshment for you. When I return we will go to meet the children.’ She said it with confidence, as though the hiring was a foregone conclusion, even without the consent of the master of the house. Then she turned and left the room. Daphne could hear her on the other side of the partly closed door, speaking with a servant about tea and cakes.

She let out the breath she had been holding. The first hurdle was cleared. When she had met the real Miss Collins, while travelling to Wales for a family visit, Daphne had thought it amazing good luck. Here was a woman heading straight to the place that she had really wanted to see: the home of her beloved cousin, Clarissa. And since the true governess was heartily sick of tending the children of others, it had not been hard for a persuasive young lady to talk her out of her identity.

It had cost Daphne two of her favourite gowns, a garnet brooch and the spending money she had been given for her visit. But the total was more than a year’s salary for Miss Collins, and would give her an opportunity for a well-deserved rest. She could have her dreary life back, once Daphne was done with it, and no one would be the wiser.

Daphne got quietly up from her chair, and moved to the doorway. She stayed well in the shadow of the door, listening for the Duchess’s steps as they turned down the corridor to the left. Her slippers clicked quietly against the marble in an efficient staccato, pausing after a few seconds. There was the sound of her voice, distant and barely intelligible, requesting entrance.

It was impossible to hear the response.

Daphne eased the door open, expecting to hear a squeak of hinge. But it moved noiselessly. It hardly mattered, for when she poked her head into the hall, there was no one to hear any sound she might make. If she was quick, she could begin her investigations, and be back in the room before a servant appeared with the tea tray. No one need be the wiser. She followed the direction of the Duchess’s steps, taking care that her shoes made no noise at all as she moved, and counted off the paces she had heard the Duchess take. As she progressed, she could hear the sound of voices from an open doorway, increasing in volume as she approached.

‘And just what gives you the right, Penny, to meddle in this at all?’ It was a man’s voice, brusque and irritable.

Daphne slowed her steps to listen.

‘Do I need permission to help a friend, when I know he is in need?’ The Duchess’s voice had lost the edge of efficiency. It was warmer. Perhaps there was something more than friendship between the two. Daphne inched along the wall that held the door and glanced across the hall.

There was a large, gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite her, meant to bring light to the dark corridor from the conservatory at the end of the hall. As she moved closer to the open door, she could see the reflection of the study where the two were speaking.

After a frigid pause, the man responded to the Duchess. ‘Yes, your Grace, you do require permission.’

‘Your Grace?’ She could see the hurt on the woman’s face, as her reflection crept into view. ‘Suddenly we are to be formal, Lord Colton?’

‘I see no reason to pretend that engaging servants to spy upon me is an act of friendship.’

‘That is not what I am doing,’ the Duchess protested. And Daphne flinched. He had guessed her own purpose without meeting her, even if he was wrong about the Duchess’s part in it. ‘I am concerned for the welfare of the children.’

‘If you were motivated by concern, you would leave them in peace. And me as well.’

She had inched forward to the point where she could see most of the room and the Duchess in profile before the desk, and the man seated in front of her. She was not sure what she expected, but it was not what she saw. Clare had described her husband as weak, anaemic, cruel. In her own mind, Daphne had seen him as a great, grey spider, pale and thin but deceptively strong, and with influence far beyond the reach of his thin grasping fingers.

But that did not fit the real Timothy Colton at all. Dark brown hair falling forward on to the healthy complexion of a man who enjoyed the sun. His shoulders did not speak of great height, but they were straight and unbent. He was quite ordinary. And if she was honest about it, rather handsome.

It seemed her adversary was nothing more than a man.

The Duchess leaned forward, on to the desk, trying to catch his gaze, which was directed sullenly downward. ‘Perhaps solitude is the best way for you to deal with your grief. But must the children suffer?’

He raised his face to hers. ‘Grief? Is that what you think my problem is?’ He gave a bleak laugh. ‘I am glad that Clarissa is gone. In time, so will the children be, if they are not already.’ There was no hesitation as he spoke, no sign that he might feel guilt over speaking so about his wife of twelve years.

Daphne felt a fresh wave of hatred for the man seated behind the desk.

The Duchess whispered, almost as though she feared that there was a listener. ‘We are quite aware of your feelings on the subject. It would be easier for all of us if you were not so plain about it.’

‘Is that what this is about, then? An attempt to make things appear more normal than theyare? Your husband is the magistrate. He would have been better off had he admitted the truth, and dealt with this when he had the chance, just after she died. I would not have faulted him for it. You can hardly blame me if you find that maintaining the lie is difficult.’

So it was just as she suspected. Her cousin’s death was not the accident that everyone pretended.

The Duchess straightened, and her tone became chill. ‘It does not matter to me, Tim, if you wish to wallow in your misery. I care only for the children. It will not be as easy for them as you seem to think. A female presence will be a comfort to them, if you allow it.’

‘The only comfort they are likely to have will be gained far away from this mausoleum. Edmund is old enough for school, as is Lily.’

‘You mean to send them away, do you?’

‘I want what is best for them. And that is to be far away from the memory of their mother’s last day. And far away from me.’

‘Even Sophie?’

She saw the man stiffen in his chair. ‘I will find a place for Sophie. She is my daughter, after all. And no concern of yours. I do not need your help, your sympathy, your friendship or your misguided attempts to make right a thing that can never be repaired.’ Then he looked up out into the hall, and into the mirror. ‘And I do not need a governess.’

His eyes met hers in the mirror, and for a moment, she knew what it was to face death. They were the soulless black eyes of a murderer, and they stared into her as though he had known that she was there the whole time.

She turned and fled back to the drawing room, not caring how much noise she made.

Tim Colton leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. The Duchess gave no indication that she heard the prying governess clattering off down the hall. She seemed near to explosion. ‘You do need a governess, Tim Colton, if you mean to act like a spoiled child. Perhaps Miss Collins will be able to persuade you, since I cannot, that your behaviour is doing injury to the children you seek to protect. She will be an employee in this household, no matter what your opinion on the subject might be. If you resist me in this, I shall go to my husband, just as you ask. He will have you locked in your room until you can stand before the House of Lords and explain yourself. When you are gone, we will pack the children off to stay with their mother’s family. Does that suit you?’

‘You know it does not.’ And in his own ears, his voice sounded sullen. A spoiled child’s muttering, just as she had said. He had best gain control of himself, or the children would end up with the Collinghams. And the last thing he wished was for them to grow up to be just like their mother.

‘Then we are agreed. I shall go back to Miss Collins and arrange for her salary. You shall put on your coat, comb your hair and come to meet your new servant.’ She turned and swept from the room.

Tim sat at his desk, head cradled in his hands. Penny had made another effort to arrange his life. He supposed he was expected to be grateful for it, but felt nothing more than numb.

Perhaps she was right in it. If he was as concerned for his children as he claimed, then surely he did not wish to cause them more pain than he had already. And at this late date, an airing of the family secrets would do more harm than good.

With any luck, this latest governess would last no longer in the house than the previous one had, or the ones before that. They had all found the children ‘difficult’ and the master of the house ‘disturbing’, although he doubted that they had admitted that last fact to Penny. But on the rare occasions when they spoke to him directly, he could see that they had guessed the truth. It was in their eyes, and in the great care they took never to be alone with him.

Once Miss Collins fled, things would return to quiet and solitude. A few months would bring them to the start of the spring term. He would pack Edmund and Lily off to the best schools he could find. And for a time, he would be alone with Sophie.

He felt his heart wrench again, wondering how much lonelier it would be when he was left to parent the silent little girl, without the buffering of the two older children. Then he pushed it to the back of his mind, and rose from his desk to greet the new governess.

As he pulled on a jacket and ran a hand through his hair, he thought of the reflection of Miss Collins in the hallway mirror. He had seen her, from the corner of his eye, moving slowly into focus, trying to glean the details of a conversation she had no part in. Was she curious as to the fate of her employment? It spoke of a desperation that was absent from the previous candidates. If the job was so important to her, then it might be difficult to dislodge her from it.

Or it could be something else. Something far more sinister. Spies listened at doors. If she came to this house to learn and not to teach, then he had another problem altogether.

As he neared the sitting room, he could hear the sound of voices through the open door. Penny was arranging the particulars. He was hardly needed. If he was lucky, he might have no further contact with the girl after this brief introduction. He stepped into the open doorway and froze in surprise, unprepared for what he saw.

The reflection in the mirror had not done her justice. It had been watery and unclear. Other than her eyes, which were curiously intense, he had not noticed anything singular about her. But in person?

He caught his breath. She was a beauty, and the failed attempt at simple clothing and stern coiffure did nothing to hide the fact. Her hair was a rich chestnut, and framed a face that was softly rounded, with full red lips and startlingly green eyes. He could imagine the curves of her body under the stiff fabric of her gown, for she had none of the sharp angles he’d come to associate with women of her class. There was nothing to hint at a privation that might have urged her to take a position. Nor did she have the pinched, disapproving look of one secretly envious of her charges’ wealth.

He gripped the door frame in surprise as a wave of lust swept over him. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Too long, if he had begun to harbour thoughts about the servants, especially someone brought into his house to care for his children.

But as he looked at her again, he could not resist the thought that she might be better suited for the bedroom than the classroom.

Take her there, and see.

The thought chilled him, although his blood ran hot at the sight of the girl. It did not do to give too much weight to the odd thought that might cross one’s mind, in a moment of weakness.

Is it weakness or strength, to act on your desires instead of hiding from them? You were never such a coward, before.

More madman than coward, if he was hearing voices. And even more mad to listen. If what one desired was wrong, one must not succumb.

Too late for that. You are already lost. If you want the girl, wait until the house is asleep. Then go to her and take her.

No. He closed his eyes so he could no longer see the object of temptation, and willed his pulse to slow. But it only became easier to imagine the skin hidden under the plain dress, and the smooth feel of it against his, the soft lips startled open by his kiss, and the tightness of her body as he came into her.

The voice in his head gave a sigh of satisfaction. Open your eyes and look at her, coward.

He could feel his will weakening as he allowed himself to be persuaded. Surely she did not seek the life of a governess, unless all matrimonial options had failed. She must have resigned herself to never knowing the touch of a man. If she was lonely, and as frustrated as he was, then was seduction such a great crime?

You have done worse.

Everything inside him froze. He had done worse. And worse yet, he had escaped punishment for his crime. One could justify anything, if one could live with one’s self after doing the unthinkable.

Penny turned and saw him, standing in the entrance, and gave a hurrumph of frustration at his lack of manners. ‘There you are, Timothy. Come into the room and meet Miss Collins.’

‘Miss Collins.’ He bowed, stiffly, from the waist.

The young woman stood as he entered, and responded with a curtsy, and a cool and professional smile. ‘Lord Colton.’

‘I understand you have been retained by the Duchess to see to the care of my children. It is so nice to finally meet my new employee.’ He gave her a pointed look to tell her he had seen her hiding in the hall, and was annoyed by it and the Duchess’s handling of the whole affair.

‘And to finally meet my employer.’ She responded with a look that seemed to convey her opinion of a man who cared so little for his own family that he would leave such an important decision to a neighbour.

Their eyes locked, as though in battle. For a moment, he was convinced that she had heard the voices in his head as clearly as he did himself, for she looked both disapproving and disgusted, though it was only their first meeting. Perhaps he deserved her censure. But it angered him, all the same. So he held her gaze far longer than was proper, until he was sure that she knew who was master and who was servant. At last, she broke away and cast her eyes downward. He gave a small nod of satisfaction, and said, ‘Welcome to my home. And now, if you will excuse me?’ And he left the room with Penny dumbfounded and his pride intact.

‘That man,’ muttered the Duchess in frustration and gave a small stamp of her foot.

‘Indeed.’ Daphne swallowed, trying to control the strange feeling she had had, as her cousin’s husband had smiled at her. He had stared at her far too long, until the look in his eyes had gone from sullen to seductive. He had looked at her as a wolf might look at a lamb.

She was sure that the Duchess had not seen the worst of it, thinking the man had been rude and not threatening. For when she turned to Daphne, she had a grim smile that said she would not be crossed in this, no matter how stubborn the master of the house might be. ‘Lord Colton has proved difficult on the subject of his children’s care.’

‘They are his children,’ Daphne said softly, rather surprised at how little the Duchess seemed to care about the fact.

‘Of course,’ the Duchess responded. ‘But recent events have left him all but unfit to care for them. As a close friend of the family, I feel a responsibility to help him through this difficult time.’

‘You knew Lady Colton?’ Daphne smiled eagerly. She might have an ally, if the woman had also known Clare.

‘I knew her. Yes.’ And now the Duchess’s look was one of distaste. She offered nothing more, before changing the subject. ‘But come, you must be eager to see the nursery wing and meet your charges.’ She rose quickly and preceded Daphne to the door and out into the hall, as though the merest mention of the children’s mother hung in the air like a bad smell.

As they walked up the main stairs, Daphne paused for a moment and glanced behind her. So this was where it had happened. She could almost imagine her cousin, who had been so full of life, lying dead below her on the floor of the entry. She shook off the image to further examine the scene of the crime. Smooth marble treads, and an equally smooth banister that might have denied an adequate grip to the woman who had struggled here.

She glanced at the floor to see faint proof that a rug had been present and was now removed. So the poor carpet had taken the blame. A loose corner, a trip and a fall. Perfectly ordinary. Most unfortunate.

But Daphne believed none of it. Clare had used the stairs for twelve years without so much as a stumble. There was nothing to be afraid of, if someone was not here to push you down. When she was finished in this house, everyone would know the truth and Clare would be avenged.

The Duchess did not notice her pause, absorbed by her own thoughts, which did not concern the unfortunate death of the mistress of the house. She gave a helpless little shrug. ‘I might as well tell you, before we go any further, that there is a small problem that I have been unable to deal with.’

‘Really.’ There were many problems with this house, and none of them small. Daphne wondered what would incite the Duchess to comment, if the death of Clare had not.

‘In my letter to you, I promised something I could not give. The bedroom just off the nursery is the one intended for the governess. Convenient to the classroom, and next to little Sophie should she need you in the night.’

Daphne nodded.

‘The oldest girl, Lily, has taken the room as her own. I have been unable to dislodge her from it. The two older children care deeply for the littlest girl. And in the absence of a regular governess they have taken the duties of Sophie’s care upon themselves.’ For a moment, the Duchess looked distressed, nearly to tears over the plight of the children.

Forgetting her station, Daphne reached out a hand to the woman, laying an arm over her shoulders. ‘It will be all right, I’m sure.’ It was comforting to see that the Duchess cared so deeply for the children, for it made her actions in the Colton house seem much less suspicious.

The Duchess sniffed, as though fighting back her emotion. ‘Thank you for understanding.’ She walked to the end of the hall and opened the door to the servants’ stairs, looking up a flight. ‘There is a small room at the top of the house. Only fit for a maid, really. But it is very close to the children. And yet, very private. There is nothing at all on this side of the house but the attics, and the one little place under the eaves. And it is only until you can persuade Lily to return to her own room.’

Daphne looked up the narrow, unlit staircase, to the lone door at the top. ‘I’m sure it will be adequate.’ It would be dreadful. But it was only for a few weeks. And living so simply would help her remember her position.

‘Shall we go and meet the children now? I have sent word that they are to wait for us in the schoolroom.’ She led the way past two bedrooms, which must be Sophie’s and the one Lily had usurped, to a small but well-stocked classroom. There were desks and tables, with a larger desk at one end for her, maps and pictures upon the walls and many shelves for books.

Remembering how she had felt as a child when cooped up in a similar room, Daphne was overcome with a sudden desire to slip away from the Duchess, to lead her in hide and seek or some other diversion. Anything that might prolong the time before she must pick up a primer.

The children lined up obediently in front of her, by order of age. Daphne felt a surprising lump form in her throat. They were all the picture of her beloved Clare. Red hair, pale complexions, fine features and large green eyes. Some day, the two girls would be beauties, and the boy would be a handsome rakehell.

The rush of emotion surprised her. She felt a sudden, genuine fondness for the children that she had not expected. She did not normally enjoy the company of the young. But these were the only part of her cousin that still remained. She had to overcome the urge to talk to them of the woman they both knew, and to reveal her relation to them. Surely it would be a comfort to them all to know that Clare was not forgotten?

But then she looked again. The light behind their eyes was the same suspicious glint she had seen in the man behind the desk on the floor below. They had also inherited the stubborn set of his jaw. Without speaking a word to each other, she watched them close ranks against her. They might smile and appear co-operative. And her heart might soften for the poor little orphans that Clare had left behind. But that should not give her reason to expect their help in discovering the truth of what had happened to their mother, or in bringing their father to justice.

She smiled an encouraging, schoolteacher’s smile at them, and said, ‘Hello, children. My name is Miss Collins. I have come a long way to be with you.’

The boy looked at her with scepticism. ‘You are from London, are you not? We make the trip from London to Wales and back, twice a year. And while it is a great nuisance to be on the road, it is not as if you have come from Australia, is it?’

‘Edmund!’ the Duchess admonished.

Daphne chose to ignore the insolence, and redoubled her smile. ‘As far as Australia? I suppose it is not. Do you find Australia of particular interest? For we could learn about it, if you wish.’

‘No.’ He glanced at the Duchess, who looked angry enough to box his ears. He corrected himself. ‘No, thank you, Miss Collins.’

‘Very well.’ She turned to the older girl. ‘And you are Lily, are you not?’

‘Lilium Lancifolium. Father named me. For my hair.’ When she saw Daphne’s blank look, she gave a sigh of resignation at the demonstrated ignorance of the new governess. ‘Tiger Lily.’

‘Oh. How utterly charming.’ Utterly appalling, more like. What kind of man gifted his first child with such a name? And, worse yet, a girl, who would someday have to carry that name to the alter with her. Clare’s frustration with the man had not been without grounds.

Daphne turned to the youngest child. ‘And you must be little Sophie. I have heard so much about you, and am most eager to know you better.’ She held out a hand of greeting to the girl.

The littlest girl said nothing, and her eyes grew round, not with delight, but with fear. The two older children stepped in front of her, as though forming a barrier of protection. ‘Sophie does not like strangers,’ said Edmund.

‘Well, I hope that she will not think me a stranger for long.’ Daphne crouched down so that she might appear less tall to the little girl. ‘It is all right, Sophie. You do not have to speak, if you do not wish. I know when I was little I found it most tiresome that adults were always insisting I curtsy, and recite, and sit in stiff chairs listening to boring lessons. I’d have been much happier if they’d left me alone in the garden with my drawings.’

The little girl seemed taken aback by this. Then she smiled and shifted eagerly from foot to foot, tugging at her older sister’s skirts.

In response, Lily shook her head and said, ‘Sophie is not allowed to draw.’

‘Not allowed?’ Daphne stood up quickly. ‘What sort of person would take pencils and paper away from a little girl?’

Edmund responded, ‘Our last governess—’

‘Is not here.’ Daphne put her hands on her hips, surprised at her own reaction. She had not meant to care in the least about the activities of the children. But she found herself with a strong opinion about their upbringing, and on the very first day. ‘You…’ she waved her hand ‘…older children…’ it took a moment before she remembered that calling them by name would be best ‘…Edmund and Lily. Look through your books and see if you can find an explanation of the word tyranny. For that is what we call unjust punishments delivered by despots who abuse their power. And, Sophie, come with me, and we will find you drawing supplies.’

The older children stood, stunned, as though unsure if she’d meant the instruction or was merely being facetious. But the younger child led her directly to a locked cabinet, and looked hopefully at her.

‘They are in here, are they?’ Daphne fumbled for the keys the Duchess had given her at the conclusion of the interview, which fit the doors to the nursery and schoolrooms, the desk and its various drawers. But she could find none that would fit the little cabinet. The girl’s face fell in disappointment. She patted her lightly on the head. ‘Fear not, little Sophie. It is locked today. But I promise, as soon as I have talked to the housekeeper, I will remedy the situation, and you shall have your art supplies again.’

All the children looked doubtfully at her now, as though they were convinced that she would be unable to provide what she had promised.

But the Duchess was smiling at her, as though much relieved at the sudden turn of events. ‘Children, let me borrow Miss Collins to finish arranging the particulars. Then she shall have all her keys and you shall have your paints and pencils.’ She led Daphne back out into the hall, and squeezed her arm in encouragement. ‘Well done, Miss Collins. Barely a minute in the room, and you have already found a way to help the children. You are brilliant. And a total justification of my desire to advertise in London for a woman with exemplary references, instead of dealing with the problem in the haphazard manner this family is accustomed to. I am sure you will do miracles here. You are just what is needed.’

Daphne could only pray that the woman was right.

Chapter Two

The rest of the day passed in a whirl. The Duchess helped her to find more keys, made sure that her things were sent to the little room in the attic and arranged for her salary. When it was nearing supper time, she left to return to her own home, which was only a few miles away. Daphne felt her absence. It was almost as if she had made a friend of the woman, she had been so solicitous.

But now she must strike out on her own, and find the evening meal. Which led to the question—where did the governess usually eat? She struggled to think if she had ever seen one at her own family’s table, or dining with the family in the home of friends. But it was possible, even if they had been there, she would not have noticed. She doubted that they were encouraged to call attention to themselves.

She strolled down the passages of the ground-floor rooms, and found the dining room closed and dark. Wherever the Colton family ate, it was not a formal thing. But if servants were not waiting at table, then they must be below stairs, having a meal of their own. She went to the same stairway that would lead to her room if she followed it upwards to the end. She took the stairs downwards instead, and came out into a large open room with a long oak table set for supper. The servants were already gathered around it.

She came forwards and sat down at a place somewhere about the middle, offering a cheery ‘hello’ to the person next to her, who appeared to be a parlourmaid.

The room fell silent for a moment, and the housekeeper looked down the table toward her. Without a word, the woman went to the sideboard for a fresh plate, for the person Daphne must have displaced. This was handed down the table, and there was much shifting and giggling as the servants around her reorganized themselves according to their rank. It appeared that servants had a hierarchy every bit as structured as that of a fine dinner party above stairs. And Daphne had wandered in and disrupted things with her ignorance.

Once things were settled again, the housekeeper, Mrs Sims, announced, ‘Everyone, this is Miss Collins. She is the new governess that her Grace hired for the children.’

The staff nodded, as though they did not find the Duchess’s interference to be nearly so unusual as the presence of a governess at the servants’ table.

The housekeeper favoured her with another nod. ‘In the future, Miss Collins, you are welcome to eat in your room or with the children. No one here will think you are putting on airs.’ She said it rather as a command, not a request.

It rather put a crimp in her plans to gather intelligence below stairs. ‘Thank you, Mrs Sims. I was rather at a loss today as to what was expected. But I am sure this shall be all right, tonight at least. I wished to meet you all.’ She smiled around the table.

And was met by blank looks in return, and mumbled introductions, up and down the table.

‘Where did the previous governess eat?’ she asked by way of conversation.

‘Which one might you mean? There have been three since the lady of the house died. And many more before that. They all ate in the little dining room in the nursery wing.’

‘So many.’ It did not bode well for her stay here. ‘What happened to them? I mean, why did they leave?’ For the first sounded far too suspicious.

Mrs Sims frowned. ‘Of late, the children are difficult. But you will see that soon enough.’

And there was mention of the difficulties again. But in her brief meeting with them, they had not seemed like little tartars. ‘I am sure they are nothing I cannot handle,’ she lied, really having no idea how she might get on with a house full of children.

‘Then you are more stalwart than the others, and more power to you,’ said the butler, with a small laugh. ‘The first could not control them. And the second found them disturbing. The third…’ he gave a snort of disgust ‘…had problems with little Sophie. Thought the poor little mite was the very devil incarnate.’

‘Sophie?’ Having met the girl, this was more than hard to believe.

‘The master caught Miss Fisk punishing the girl. She had been forcing Sophie to kneel and pray for hours on end, until her little knees were almost raw with it. And the older children too frightened to say anything about it.’ The housekeeper shook her head in disapproval. ‘And that was the last we saw of Miss Fisk. Lord Colton turned her out of the house in the driving rain, and threw her possessions after her. He said he had no care at all for her safety or comfort, if she did not care for the comfort of his children.’

‘Served her right,’ announced the upper footman. ‘To do that to a wee one.’

‘You’ll think so, if he finds reason to turn you out, I suppose?’ asked another.

The boy smirked. ‘I don’t plan to give him reason. I have no problem with the children.’

‘Or the neighbours,’ said another, and several men at the table chuckled.

‘The neighbours?’ Daphne pricked her ears. ‘Do you mean the Duke and Duchess?’

The housekeeper glared at the men. ‘There are some things, if they cannot be mentioned in seriousness, are better not mentioned at all.’

The butler supplied, in his dry quiet voice, ‘Relations are strained between our household and the manor.’

‘But Lord Colton seemed to get on well enough with the Duchess.’

‘There is nothing strange about that, if you are implying so.’ The housekeeper sniffed. ‘The master has no designs in her direction.’

‘No,’ said one of the house maids with a giggle, ‘his troubles were all with the Duke. Her Grace wishes to pretend that nothing is wrong, of course. But she was not here for the worst of it. If she had seen the way the Duke behaved with Lady Colton…’

Now this was interesting. Daphne leaned forwards. ‘Did he…make inappropriate advances?’

A footman snickered, and then caught himself, after a glare from the butler.

But a maid laughed and said, ‘It was hard to see just who was advancing on who.’

‘Remember where your loyalties lie, Maggie,’ murmured Mrs Sims. ‘You do not work at Bellston Manor.’

Maggie snorted in response. ‘I’d be welcome enough there, if I chose to go. My sister is a chambermaid at Bellston. And she has nothing but fine words to say of his Grace and his new Duchess, now that our mistress…’ the girl crossed herself quickly before continuing ‘…is no longer there to interfere.’ She looked at Daphne, pointing with her fork. ‘When her ladyship was alive, I worked above stairs, helping the lady’s maid with the ribbons. And let me tell you, I saw plenty. Enough to know that his lordship is hardly to blame for the way things turned out in the end.’

‘Then you should know as well the reason we no longer see his Grace as a guest in the house.’ The butler was stiff with disapproval.

Daphne’s eyes widened in fascination as the conversation continued around the table.

‘It is a wonder that Lord Colton did not take his anger out in a way that would be better served,’ said a footman, ‘on the field of honour.’

‘Don’t be a ninny. One does not call out a duke, no matter the offence.’ The upper footman nodded wisely. ‘There’s rules about that. I’m sure.’

‘In any case, weren’t all the man’s fault.’

The housekeeper sniffed again, as though she wished to bring an end to the conversation.

‘Just sayin’. There are others to blame.’

The housekeeper tapped lightly on her glass with her knife. ‘We do not speak of such things at this table, or elsewhere in the house. What’s done is done and there is no point in placing blame for it.’

The table fell to uneasy silence, enjoying a meal of beef that was every bit as good as that which she had eaten at home above stairs. Daphne suspected that such meals had gone a long way in buying the loyalty of the servants, none of whom seemed to mind that the master had murdered the mistress.

One by one, the servants finished their meals and the butler excused them from the table to return to their duties. But Daphne took her time, waiting until all but the butler and housekeeper were gone. If there was information to be had, then surely they must know, for it seemed that they knew everything that went on in the house.

But before she could enquire, the housekeeper spoke first. ‘Why did you choose to eat below stairs, Miss Collins?’

‘I thought, since I am a servant, it was appropriate.’

The housekeeper gave her a look to let her know that she had tripped up yet again. ‘A servant now, perhaps. But a lady above all, who must be accustomed to a better place in the household than the servants’ table.’ Mrs Sims looked at her with disapproval. ‘And a lady with a most unfortunate tendency to gossip. It is not something we encourage in this house.’

‘I am sorry. I was only curious. If I am in possession of all the facts, I might be best able to help the children.’

The butler responded, ‘I doubt there is anyone in possession of all the facts, so your quest is quite fruitless. But I can tell you this: the less said about their mother, the better. She was a hoyden, who got what she deserved.’

Daphne let out a little gasp. ‘Surely not. The poor woman, God rest her soul.’

The housekeeper drew herself up with disapproval. ‘You think that knowing the truth will help the little ones? Then here it is, or all you need to know of it. What happened to our mistress was the result of too much carrying on. The children are lucky to be rid of her, however it happened.’

So Mrs Sims suspected something was strange about the death. But the housekeeper’s assessment was most unjust. ‘I hardly think it is fair to believe such things, when you yourself admit that no one knows all the facts in the situation. In the last house I was employed, everyone thought much the same of the only daughter. They were all most censorious, when she was guilty of the smallest breaches of etiquette. She strayed from the common paths in Vauxhall with one of her suitors. And before she knew it, she was packed off to the country in disgrace. I suspect she was no worse than Lady Colton.’

‘Do you now?’ The housekeeper shook her head. ‘Then you are most naïve. If the young girl you mention was already straying on to dark paths with young men, then I suspect it was for more tickle than slap. Perhaps the late Lady Colton would have called it innocent fun and not the death of the girl’s reputation. In fact, I am sure that my lady and the girl would have got on well together. Clarissa Colton would have approved, for the young lady you describe would have been taking a first step toward becoming what she had become: a lady with no discernible morals. It pains me to say it. But her ladyship had no sense of decency whatsoever. No respect for herself, and certainly none for her husband.’

It stung to hear such a blunt assessment of her character. For the housekeeper seemed to agree with Daphne’s parents that her trips to Vauxhall could have put her beyond the pale. And Mrs Sims had predicted Clare’s reaction to the thing well enough—she had said that there was no harm in it at all. She came to her cousin’s defence. ‘Perhaps, if I were married to Lord Colton, a man so distant, so cruel and so totally lost to gentleness, my behaviour would be much the same.’

‘If you were married to him?’ The housekeeper let out a derisive laugh. ‘Quite far above yourself, aren’t you, Miss Collins? His lordship is not good enough.’ She glanced toward the conservatory, as though she could see the master of the house through the walls separating them. Then she said softly, ‘I have worked in this house for almost forty years. I have known Lord Colton since he was a boy. And there was nothing wrong with his character before that woman got her hooks into him. A bit of youthful high spirits, perhaps. A slight tendency to excess drink, and with it, a short temper. Things that would have passed, with time. But under the influence of his wife, he grew steadily worse.’

‘So his misbehaviour is youthful high spirits. But the occasional straying of a girl will permanently damage her character.’

The housekeeper gave her a look that proved she thought her a complete fool. ‘Yes. Because, as you can see, his problems did not render him incapable of making a match.’

‘But I do not see that they have made him a good choice for a husband,’ Daphne snapped in return. ‘In my experience so far, he is a foul-tempered, reclusive man who cares so little for his children that he allows the neighbours to choose their governess.’

Mrs Sims frowned. ‘He cares more for the children than you know. And if you care for them as well, you will see to it that the boy grows up to be the man that his father is, and the girls learn to be better than their mother, and get no strange ideas about the harmlessness of straying down dark paths in Vauxhall Gardens. Good evening, Miss Collins.’

Daphne had the strange feeling that she was being held responsible for the wayward actions of her imaginary charge, and that Mrs Sims’s estimation of her skills had gone down by a wide margin.

Which made the truth seem all the stranger. What might Mrs Sims have said if Daphne’d admitted that she was the girl, and that her parents had no idea that she had elected to come to Clare’s home, instead of her dear aunt in Anglesey? She was supposed to remain there until such time as her behaviour was forgotten, her reputation restored and her head emptied of Clarissa Colton’s nonsensical advice.

She walked slowly up the stairs to her room. In retrospect, she had to admit that the outing to Vauxhall had been a mistake. She had been so blue, in the wake of Clare’s death. And her beau, Simon, had assured her that moping at home was no way to honour her cousin’s memory. But once she was alone with him in the dark, she suspected that Simon cared less for her feelings than his own. Her London social life had ended in a flurry of open-mouthed kisses, wayward hands and a slap that had brought her friends running to her aid. And then running just as fast to spread rumours of what they had interrupted.

As she looked at the three flights of stairs in front of her, she wished her parents could see what penance she had set for herself. Several weeks of hard work, with not a single ball, musicale or country outing to break the monotony. It had been exhausting just meeting the family and making arrangements for the position.

She suspected it was likely to be more difficult, once she began the duties she had been hired for. Although she knew nothing of teaching, she must begin proper lessons directly, or someone would become suspicious.

Unless there was no one who cared enough to suspect her. If the governess here normally ate with the children, in the absence of a governess, did anyone eat with them at all? It seemed unlikely that their father would come upstairs and take his meal if there were perfectly good rooms for that purpose on the ground floor. And she had been introduced to no nurses or servants who had charge over them.

It appeared that they were left to their own devices. She knew little of children, other than that she had recently been one. And in her experience, too much freedom meant an opportunity for mischief, and the fostering of wilful ideas that would make the job of governess to the Coltons a difficult one.

Her candle trembled a little as she climbed the last flight of stairs, and she regretted not investigating her sleeping quarters in daylight. With its lack of windows, the narrow stairwell would be intimidating, both day and night. She certainly hoped that the room above had some natural illumination, for to be climbing from darkness into further darkness would lead to unnecessary imaginings that would make for a difficult first night.

She opened the door, and was relieved to see a bright square of moonlight from the small window opposite her. She walked across to it, and looked up into a brilliant full moon, which seemed almost close enough to touch. The ground below was distant. The shrubs and trees casting shadows that were sharp as daylight in the white light from above, giving the whole an unworldly quality, as though a day scene were rendered in black and white. She turned and looked at the room behind her, which was lit the same way.

If she were a real teacher, she might know how great an insult she was paid by these accommodations. She was all but sleeping in the attic. Half the ceiling of the room slanted, to make the space unusable for one so tall as she. Her trunk had been pushed to that side, next to the small writing desk, which held a dried-up inkwell and the stub of a candle. On the other side there was a bed, pushed in front of a door that must lead to further attic rooms. That they’d placed furniture in front of it was the only assurance given that she would not have other servants tramping through her private space when bearing things to storage. There was no proper wardrobe, only pegs for her dresses. A small mirror hung upon the wall. And that was all. If she wished for a chair for the writing desk, she would need to steal one from another room, just as she suspected the intended chair had been stolen from hers.

She sat down upon the bed and tested the mattress. It was lumpy and narrow, and certainly not what she was used to. But if one was tired enough, one could sleep anywhere. She was already at that weird combination of exhaustion and wakefulness that one got sometimes when overtired. Enervated, but not sleepy. Perhaps a book from the library would provide the necessary soporific. The light in the room was almost bright enough to read by even without a candle, and she had no curtain to block it out.

She took up her candle again, and came back down the flights of stairs to the brightly lit ground floor, and the familiar feeling of warmth and civilisation. She found a volume that she did not think too dreary from the rather intellectual holdings of the Colton library. She wished that Clare had been alive to greet her when she arrived. Then she could stay here reading before going up the stairs to a fine guest room, secure in her place as a visitor in this house, and not an intruder.

When she turned to go back to her room, it suddenly occurred to her that two choices were open to her. She had taken the servants’ stairs to the ground. Surely, as governess, she was closer to family than serving maid, and entitled to use the main stairs? It would mean a flight in the open, postponing the stifling darkness that led to her room.

But it would also mean a trip down the nursery hall, past the children’s rooms, before she reached the stairs to her room. She suspected it was her duty to check on them, and make sure that they were all snug in bed, resting for the next day.

Her duty. If she were really the governess, her time would not be her own. She would be responsible for the watching of the children, morning and night. The needs of the family must always come before her own.

Until such time as she revealed the truth about Clare’s death. Then she need answer to no one, least of all the murderous Lord Timothy Colton. Tomorrow would be soon enough to begin the charade of watching his children. Tonight, she would have one last night of her own, no matter how mean the comforts might be.

So she went to the end of the hall and opened the door to the servants’ stairs. The stairwell was narrow, and the rise steep. The first flight was just as black as the stairway to her room. She took a firm grip on her candle, tucked the book tightly under her arm so that she could grasp the handrail for safety, and began her ascent.

She could not help the chill feeling and the shiver that went through her, alone in the dark with only her candle for company. The hall doors were shut tight on all the landings, cutting the regular pathway of the servants off from the rest of the house, as though they were mice in the walls, and not a part of the household at all.

She started as she heard a door above her open, and someone else beginning a descent. The person was beyond the bend in the stairs, so she could not yet see who it was. It was ridiculous to worry, but she was suddenly taken with the notion that when she arrived at the next landing, there would be no one on the stairs above her. The ghostly footsteps would walk through her, with only a passing feeling of icy air.

What a foolish notion. More likely, it would be a footman on his way to the kitchen, or someone else sent on an errand. She would round the next corner and find nothing unusual. But she could not resist calling a hoarse ‘hello?’ into the darkness.

The space around her got suddenly darker, as though a candle around the corner, barely able to cut the gloom of the stairwell, had been extinguished.

Did the person above her mean to keep their identity a secret? There was no point in it, for she would come upon them with her own candle in just a few more steps.

But the footsteps had stopped as well.

She could feel her own steps falter at the realisation, before plucking up her nerves and continuing her climb. She rounded the bend in the stairs and kept climbing, eyes averted, before working up the nerve to look up at the silhouette of a man, looming on the flight above her. He was not moving, just waiting in stillness for her to pass him.

This was not normal behaviour, was it? For though it might make sense to wait while another passed, it made no sense at all to do so in silence. It turned a chance meeting into a threatening situation. Or perhaps it was only her imagination. She proceeded up the stairs, hand on the rail and eyes focused on the shadowy face of the man in front of her, watching the features sharpen in focus with each step she took.

Then she gasped. ‘Lord Colton.’

‘Miss Collins.’ He did not move. And although she had not thought him a particularly large man, he seemed to fill the stairwell in front of her, blocking her progress. ‘What a surprise to find you creeping about the house so late at night.’

His tone was insulting, and she caught herself before responding in kind, remembering that he was her employer, not her equal. ‘Merely coming back from the library with a book for my room. It is sometimes difficult to sleep in a strange place.’

‘And since you are educated, you sought solace in a book.’ In the flickering candlelight, his smile looked like a sneer.

She nodded.

‘Very well. But you had best be careful on your way. Stairs can be dangerous.’

What did he mean by that? Was it a threat? And why threaten her, for he hardly knew her? What was he doing on the servants’ stairs at all? He had even less reason to be there than her.

She glared back at him, not caring what he might think. ‘I assure you, my lord, I am most careful when it comes to stairs. And since lightning does not strike twice in the same place, a second fall in this house would be a most unusual circumstance indeed.’ And then, without waiting for dismissal, she released the handrail that they were both holding, and went to pass him and continue her ascent.

There was not enough space to go around without brushing against him, and she steeled herself for the moment when their bodies would touch.

And suddenly he reached out to steady her, his hand on her waist. The touch was like a jolt of electricity, cutting through the fear she felt of him. For a moment, she was sure that he was debating whether to embrace her, or give the downward shove that would cause another fatal accident.

Then the moment passed, and he was helping her to find the handrail and go on her way. She continued up the stairs, hurrying her pace, all the time aware that his downward steps did not resume.

Tim waited on the stairs, frozen in place, listening to her progress. She must be in the small room in the attic, for he could hear her, passing the second-floor landing and continuing upwards. It was a lonely spot at the back of the house, far away from prying eyes and ears. No one would know if he turned and followed her.

But he did not want that, did he? For only a moment before…

He hurried down the stairs to the ground floor, shutting himself up in the study and reaching for the brandy decanter. One drink would not matter, surely. Just to steady his nerves. He poured, and drank eagerly, praying for the numbness that would come with the first sip.

For a moment, when he had heard her call out, he had been convinced it was Clare. Although he had not noticed it at the time of introduction, there was a similarity in tone, just as there was in colouring. And her voice had startled him so that the trembling of his hand had put out the candle. He’d stood, rooted to the spot, hearing those approaching footsteps, waiting for the figure that would round the corner: the vengeful spirit of his wife.

And he had not been disappointed. There were her accusing green eyes staring up at him, as though daring him to run. He had all but given up the main staircase. For that had been where he expected to see her, when she finally came for him. But the sight of her approaching on the back stairs had been totally unexpected and utterly terrifying. When he realised that it was a mistake of the light and his overwrought nerves, his response had been a jumble of emotions. Anger at being so foolish. And suspicion of her behaviour, which had been quite ordinary and probably an appropriate match to the strangeness of his.

And then, there had been that hint of desire, as he’d stood close enough to feel the warmth of her body and smell her scent. Longing that a touch might lead to something more than a chance meeting on the stairs.

He looked down in to the half-full glass of brandy, momentarily surprised to find it in his hand. Then he smiled and set it aside. He gave a nervous, involuntary chuckle, and ran a hand over his eyes in embarrassment. It did not say much for the state of his nerves if he could manage to work himself into such a state over nothing. There were no ghosts on the front stairs, or the back. Although she was most attractive, the governess’s resemblance to Clare was superficial, at best.

The cause of all his problems was a penchant for brandy and redheads. Once he learned to leave them both alone, the remainder of his life would go easier. And he sank back into the chair, and laid his head on the desk to rest, too weak from the realisation to take either set of stairs to his room.

Chapter Three

Daphne awoke with the dawn, the rays of morning light streaming upon her bed with aggressive good cheer, making sleep impossible. It was just as well. For she suspected the real Miss Collins would have risen intentionally at this time, so that she might be washed and dressed and down the stairs to breakfast. She would be ready to start lessons before the children were half out of bed.

Daphne had never been an early riser. The best she was likely to manage was prompt, but surly. She pasted a smile upon her face and put on one of the sensible gowns that she had bought off the real Miss Collins. Then she came down the stairs to the nursery wing, walking down the hall until she found the open door to the children’s dining room.

The sight of it made her smile; it was attractively decorated but informal, rather like the breakfast room in her own home back in London. The woman who had been introduced to her on the previous evening as Cook was setting eggs and ham and tea things on a side table. It was most unusual to see her doing work that would be better suited to a footman. But she gave Miss Collins a defiant look, that seemed to say, What if I am? Someone must watch out for them.

The children filed in from the hall, and Cook greeted them pleasantly, making sure that their plates were full and that everyone had enough of what they wanted. She extended her offers to Miss Collins, as though relieved to see that there would be an adult present at the meal, before excusing herself and returning to the kitchen.

Daphne smiled hopefully at the three children across the table from her, and attempted polite breakfast talk. Had they slept well? Was it not a beautiful day? Did they have enough to eat? And were they sure that they did not want a second helping of anything? Absolutely sure? Because she had no problems with delaying the lesson, and they should not feel a need to rush their morning meal.

It would have been a blessing to her if they could manage to delay lessons indefinitely. She had no more interest in sitting in a classroom as teacher than she had managed to display when she had been a student.

The children answered all questions in polite monosyllables, as though they had decided her presence was to be tolerated for the moment. But they intended to make no effort at a closer relationship than was absolutely necessary.

Eventually, her attempts at conversation were exhausted, as was the breakfast food. She suggested that they wash their hands and make their way to the classroom, where the real business of the day could begin.

They were almost eerily agreeable to it, as though faintly relieved to be able to do something they preferred over socialising with the governess. They took what appeared to be their regular seats in the room, and folded their hands on their empty desks, waiting to be impressed.

‘Very well then,’ she said, and waited for something to fill the blank void in her mind as to what would happen next. Perhaps it was best to discover what the children already knew, before attempting to educate them further. ‘Please, children, gather the books you have been working in and show me your progress.’

They remained unmoved, still in their seats, staring out at her.

So she reached for the nearest book, a maths primer that had given her much trouble when she was their age. She opened it, paging through the equations. ‘This would probably be yours, wouldn’t it, Lily?’ She arched an eyebrow, for she had seen the girl’s name written clearly inside the front cover. ‘Show me how far you have got.’ And please Lord, let it be not far, for Daphne had given up on that particular subject before she was halfway through the text.

The girl took the book sullenly and flipped through pages until she was nearly at the end.

Daphne gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, my. How well you are doing. Perhaps I will allow you to tutor your brother.’

Lily gave her a disgusted look. ‘He has been this far and further for at least six months.’

Daphne narrowed her eyes. ‘Then perhaps I shall allow him to tutor you. Edmund!’ She smiled and turned suddenly upon the boy, to catch him making faces at his sister.

He had the grace to look embarrassed at being caught, and then his expression turned as sullen as his sister’s.

‘Lily says you are good at maths. Is that your best subject?’

The boy raised his chin and said, ‘I prefer reading.’

‘Do you? Well, we can not always do what we prefer, but I wish for our time together to be enjoyable. What is it you like to read? We will see if we can incorporate it into our studies.’

He went to the shelf and brought down a book that was almost as big as himself, and held it out to her. ‘Plutarch.’

She smiled feebly. ‘In Greek.’

He nodded. And she could tell by his smile that he knew he had bested her.

She turned to Lily. ‘And I suppose you enjoy Plutarch as well?’

‘Yes. But not so well as Edmund.’

‘Then we must see what can be done to encourage you.’ She pointed to the front of the room. ‘Edmund. Today, you may read to us. I wish to hear you declaim. Choose your favourite passage.’ She walked to the back of the room and took a seat.

The boy began in a clear, unwavering voice, reading with what she supposed was accurate and enthusiastic inflection. But the prose was, quite literally, all Greek to her. She had no idea how to correct him, or if it was even necessary. So she chose a polite and interested expression, similar to the one Lily was wearing, and folded her arms across her chest. It would be possible to spend at least an hour of the school day, if the passage was long enough. By then, she would think of some other trick with which to keep them occupied.

There was a slight pause in the reading, and Edmund said something, still in Greek.

There was another slight pause, which she suspected was just long enough for the older girl to translate something she did not expect to hear in the reading. And then she stifled a laugh.

So they had realised she knew little Greek and were going to have fun at the expense of the governess. ‘Please return to the text that is printed before you.’

She must have guessed correctly, for Edmund responded with a look of surprise, and fear that she had understood whatever rude thing he had said.

She glanced over at the younger girl, Sophie. Unlike the other two, the child was doing her best to be obedient. She sat quietly, staring down at the hands folded in her lap, and shooting glances out the window, when she thought no one was looking. The poor thing clearly wanted and needed to run and play, but was afraid to call attention and risk punishment.

Yesterday, it had appeared that the girl liked to draw. Perhaps with paper and pencils, and a little peace, she would find a way to express herself. ‘You do not have to sit through the lessons if they are too advanced for you, Sophie.’ She spoke softly so as not to alarm the girl. ‘I’m sure your turn will come with Plutarch, before too long. But for now? Perhaps you would prefer to draw instead. I promised you your art things, didn’t I? And now I’ve got the keys, I can give them to you.’

She opened the cabinet in the corner and found a rather nice selection of pens, brushes, paints and crayons, and paper of a quality that made her almost envious of the little girl. Then she prepared a place at the table near the window, where the light would be good for drawing.

Sophie smiled in relief, and climbed up on to the chair, taking the pencil eagerly and stroking it and the paper as though they were more precious than china dolls.

Then Daphne went back to allowing the boy to teach her his Greek. Edmund continued to recite, this time with a tired voice that said that he understood well what she was trying to do, and that the whole thing bored him to tears.

There was a limit to this, she thought, before it became plain to everyone that she had no idea what she was doing in a classroom. When she had hatched the plan, she had thought that she might occupy the children for a few weeks before they caught on to her ruse. But if they had tumbled to her within hours?

The Duchess was right. They were as sharp as needles. Too clever for their own good. But since the house made little effort to hide its secrets, perhaps she would not be here long.

And what was to happen to the children, if that was so? They seemed just as stubborn about remaining in the house as their father did in sending them to school. But if their father would admit to his crime, and accept punishment for it?

Then they would have to go somewhere, wouldn’t they? They could not remain in the house alone. Perhaps the Duchess would see to their education. She had no children of her own, and she seemed most fond of them.

What happened to them did not really matter, she reminded herself. For they were no concern of hers.

But perhaps they were. They were Clare’s children, as well as Lord Colton’s. There was a family connection to her. Perhaps she could persuade her father to take them in. Clare’s parents could not do the job. They’d seemed to care little enough for what had happened to the mother, once she was off their hands. Why should they want a good home for their grandchildren?

If she meant to disrupt their lives further in the name of justice, she held some responsibility in seeing that they were cared for. She must give the matter more thought.

Edmund reached the end of his passage and returned to his seat.

‘Very good,’ she said. ‘You read well. Let us see how you write.’ She went to the shelf, and pulled down another book, and gave him a page from Homer to translate. ‘And, Lily, why don’t you work on your maths? Since you seem to be managing well, you may work at your own pace.’ Then she wandered to the window to check on Sophie. ‘Have you finished your drawing, little one?’

The girl nodded eagerly, and held the paper out to her.

And Daphne dropped it in revulsion as she got a look at the subject.

It was Clare. Or what had been Clare. There was no mistaking the fact, for the rendering was skilful, even in the hands of a five-year-old. It was a woman’s body, dead at the foot of the staircase, arms and legs at odd angles, and a head that was curiously misshapen.

Daphne crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor.

Sophie drew back in alarm, sure that she had done wrong and trembling as she awaited punishment.

The older girl gave her a look of bitter triumph. ‘It serves you right for giving her the pencils. Our first governess ran screaming to Papa. The next one called her a devil. And the last one tried to beat the devil out of her, until Papa caught her at it and sent her away.’

Daphne took a deep breath and scooped up the paper from the floor, straightening out the wrinkles and laying it back on the table. ‘Since I did not assign her a subject, I have little right to complain about the finished work.’ She tried to ignore the subject matter and focus on the execution. Then she looked down at Sophie. ‘I would not normally give lessons so advanced to one as small as you. But it is clear from looking at it that you have more than normal abilities for a child of your age.’ She crouched down beside the girl and urged her back into her seat.

Sophie looked at her in confusion, tears in her eyes, still half-expecting punishment.

‘It is all right,’ Daphne said. ‘You needn’t worry. I love to draw as well. And I know how comforting it can be to sit with pen and paper, especially when one has something on one’s mind. Unless I tell you otherwise, you may draw whatever you wish. Is that all right?’

The girl gave a hesitant nod.

Daphne steeled herself to look again at the wrinkled sketch. ‘You have a good eye for detail and your proportions are fair. But no one has taught you about light and how to draw it.’

The girl gave her a puzzled look.

She smiled back encouragingly. ‘You might think that there is nothing to see in empty air. But it is possible for the artist to show the light, by showing the shadows. Let us put figure drawing aside for now, and start with something simple, like an apple.’

She took a blank sheet of paper, and drew a rough fruit, then showed Sophie how to choose a direction for the sun, and put in shading and highlights with a bit of chalk. Then she offered the paper back to the girl. ‘Now you try. Begin with round things, like apples. And then try something with angles, like the bookcase or the window frame.’

Sophie looked at her with growing amazement, as though these were the first words she had understood in hours. And then she smiled and took the pencil back in her hand, placed a fresh sheet of paper on the table and bit her lip in determination, bending eagerly over her work.

Daphne watched the older children, who were exchanging looks of surprise and confusion, as though she had interrupted the perfectly intelligible Greek with a language they could not understand. She turned to them, hands on her hips. ‘I suppose this is as good a time as any to see how you children draw. Lily, show me your watercolour book.’

‘I do not have one.’ The girl was almost stammering in embarrassment.

Daphne fought down the feeling of triumph. ‘You do not draw?’

‘It is hardly necessary, for if one knows maths and languages…’ Edmund said in a starchy tone.

‘Your father knows those things, I am sure. And how to draw, as well. He enjoys gardening, does he not?’

‘He is a botanist,’ said Lily, as though deeply offended by the slight.

Daphne waved it aside, not much caring about the difference. ‘Then he must know enough drawing to render the plants he works on.’

The older children’s eyes grew round, as though they had never considered the fact.

‘And I doubt he would like to hear that you are dismissing any element of your education as frivolous. We must work to correct our ignorance, rather than making excuses for it.’ And now it was her turn to be surprised. That last had sounded rather like something her school mistresses had said to her. Perhaps all that was necessary to turn oneself into an educator was to starch one’s bodice and put on a stern expression.

She smiled at the children so as not to appear too forbidding, remembering the minimal effect such lectures had had on her. ‘For now, you may continue with the lessons you have. But in future, we shall see that you gain some talent for art.’ She smiled at Sophie, who was dutifully drawing an apple from memory. ‘After I have got the more advanced student properly settled.’

The little girl turned to her with such a look of surprise on her face that it almost made her forget her role and laugh. But then Sophie smiled, as though the words were better than rubies to her. With such talented siblings, she had never been the star pupil.

And if what the older children had said was true, she had endured far worse since Clare had died. So it helped her to draw horrible pictures to help recover from her mother’s death. Was there really any harm in it? Daphne picked up the sheet of paper, considered throwing it on the fire, and then smoothed it and set it aside. If it was destroyed, the poor girl would only draw it again.

She stared down at the image of her cousin, crumpled in death. The girl had drawn it from memory, just as she had the apple. Had no one the sense to keep her away, so that she did not have to see such a horrible sight? But the picture was very informative, for it showed just what she had expected: Clare lying on her back as though she had toppled backwards, and not fallen face first as one likely would if the death were accidental.

Without realising it, Sophie might help to prove her mother’s murder.

Chapter Four

Daphne took the picture and placed it between the pages of her own sketchbook. It was too disturbing to hang on the schoolroom wall, but the information in it was too important to discard. She would conceal it for now, then take it to her room where she might examine it in detail. She encouraged the children to work on what they wished, and gave only the barest supervision, assuming that they would come to little harm reading from their texts.

At lunch time, Cook delivered trays of food to the nursery dining room, and they paused in their lessons to eat. The same seemed to hold for tea, and would happen at supper just as Mrs Sims described. The household had given the children no reason to come below stairs at all, if they did not wish to. She wondered if the intent was to keep them away from their father. For if it was, it told the real truth about the loyalty of the servants to their master. They would support him, of course. They took his side in what had happened to his wife, and frowned on gossip about it.

But they feared him, feared for the children and kept them far out of his path.

When a maid had come to clear away the tea things, and they were almost ready to return to the classroom, she noticed a shadow from the doorway that fell across the room.

Lord Colton was there, observing them. She had not heard him approach, and could not shake the feeling that he had been standing there for quite some time, unnoticed. It put her on her guard. Though she doubted he had seen or heard anything of interest, it was disquieting to think him so adept at spying.

‘Miss Collins.’ He gave the same curt bow he had given her on the previous day, and she feared he was ready for another disquieting battle of wills.

Before he could catch it, she broke her gaze, and gave another curtsy, eyes downcast to hide her discomfort. ‘Lord Colton.’

‘How are the children today?’

‘Very well, my lord.’ She hoped that she was not expected to go into detail on their progress, for she had nothing to add.

‘We shall see about that. For if I find otherwise, I will turn you out, no matter what the Duchess might say.’

She flinched at the suddenness of the threat. And when he saw her reaction, and that she was showing none of the bravado of yesterday, he gave a faint laugh and went to greet his children.

She felt her muscles tense in instinctive defence of them. They were stubborn little beasts, to be sure. But what could one expect, when they had a monster for a father? What poison had he poured in their ears about their mother? And what abuses had they undergone to leave them so suspiciously quiet?

Colton’s smile changed as he approached the children. As he looked at them, the lines seemed to smooth from his forehead, and his lips were turned upwards not in a cynical parody of mirth or seduction, but with joyful anticipation. The tension in his body disappeared, making his movements easy. He seemed to become younger with each step, almost as if he were a denizen of the nursery wing and not the master of the whole house.

He came to the boy first, bending down, smiling and offering his hand, which his son took and gave a pale imitation of a manly clasp. The father asked how the studies were progressing, and the boy answered that they were satisfactory. And then Colton said something in what sounded like Latin, and the boy answered quickly and easily, as though in his native tongue.

They conversed thus, for a few minutes, and the child cast a sidelong look in her direction. They were talking about the new governess again, were they? If she lasted long enough to make a difference here, she would take an opportunity to teach the children some manners. It was quite rude to switch languages, and take advantage of the ignorance of others. Even more so when the other was your teacher and had so much ignorance to abuse.

The boy said something adamant, his jaw set in a stubborn parody of his father’s.

The older man shrugged. With a half-smile, he glanced in Daphne’s direction and shook his head. Then he turned to the older girl and dropped to one knee so that he could greet her face to face.

‘Bonjour, Papa.’ She gave him a shy kiss upon the cheek, but her smile had a wicked glint to it. She continued in French, as though she wished to prove that she could best her brother in something.

Her father answered her in the same language, and they proceeded to discuss the day. Daphne had less trouble with this, for she knew more than a little French, although the girl did speak quickly for one so young. Apparently, the day was bon, as was the new teacher. Although the girl was equally adamant that such guidance was not necessary, and that they would show him how well they could manage, if left to their own devices.

Her father answered with a c’est la vie. If Tante Penny wished it, then what were they to do? The children must prove that they could take care of themselves by giving no more trouble to the new teacher, for he knew what mischief they were capable of. While he did not wish her here, neither did he wish to see Miss Collins running to his study in fits, or, worse yet, to the neighbours, because his children were being naughty. But if the governess were to try any of the evil tricks that the last one had, they were to send word. He would come and deal with her, and there would be no more trouble. He looked up at Daphne, to make sure that she had understood the warning.

She looked back at him, and raised her chin a fraction of an inch to show that she did not fear him. She had to admit, if the last woman had been as bad as the servants said, the family had a reason to be less than trusting of her.

But while Lord Colton obviously disliked her, his conversation was surprisingly innocent, and he was even tempered with both children. It came as rather a surprise, for she had expected some sign of the problems there. Perhaps the children did not understand what had happened to their mother, or their father’s part in it. He must be a master actor, to be so calm and pleasant with them that they felt nothing of what he had done.

And then he turned again, dropped to both knees and held his arms wide. ‘And where is my little Sophie? Come here, darling, and give your papa a hug.’

She turned and looked, expecting to find the strange, haunted child warming to the sight of her father, as the other two had done. But instead, she heard a quick scurrying behind her, and felt the tug upon her skirts. When she looked down, she saw Sophie’s little face turned up to hers, the tear-stained cheeks pressed tight to the fabric of her dress, fingers white and claw-like, twisted into the cloth so tightly that Daphne was afraid that there would be holes worn in it, when she managed to get the girl to release her.

And the little eyes were shut tight, screwed closed, as the mouth murmured something silently, over and over again, like a prayer.

‘Sophie, sweetheart, come here and tell me about your day.’ She would have expected the tone to be more demanding, in response to such obvious disobedience. But instead it was even softer, and more gentle then it had been the first time. ‘Did you draw a picture? You love to draw.’ There was a wistfulness to the tone, and Lord Colton cleared his throat, and addressed Daphne directly, as though she might not have heard. ‘She very much loves to draw, and is surprisingly proficient, for a girl of such small years.’

The little girl burrowed further into her skirts, clinging even tighter, as though each word from her father’s mouth was a blow upon her back.

Daphne looked helplessly at the master of the house, afraid that he would demand that she pry the poor creature loose, and turn her over to him. Then she put her hand upon the head of the child in a gentle caress, and felt the girl snuggle against it, eager for protection.

Still on his knees, her employer dropped his hands to his sides in a gesture of defeat. ‘No hug today then, little Sophie? Tomorrow, perhaps. I will wait.’ If she wished to see the man punished for his deeds, perhaps it had already happened. He was brought to his knees before her, and his daughter’s rejection was sufficient to leave him broken, his shoulders slumped, his expression downcast. As he rose to his feet, he seemed a much older man than he had when entering the room.

‘It is good to see you all doing well.’ He glanced at Daphne as though she were a canker in a rose. ‘And so, I will leave you in the capable hands of Miss Collins.’ It appeared she had bested him, without even realising they were competing. Lord Colton turned to leave.

The two older children took a step forwards, as though to stop him, but then froze in their tracks, afraid to signal.

And young Sophie was the strangest of all. For though she was obviously terrified of the man when he came close to her, she watched his retreating back with a hunger greater than the others. Daphne could feel the girl tensing, ready to spring after the man in the doorway, to throw herself upon him like a little animal.

But if she wanted her father to stay, why would she not just say so? It was clear that he wanted to be with her, and the other children as well. It was only Sophie’s rejection that was keeping them away.

Daphne shook her head, confused at her response to the scene. She was not here to make it easier to reconcile father and daughter. She was here to get the horrid man away from them, so that they had a chance at a normal life.

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