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Pip had to agree that the bonnet was a fetching confection and rather wished he could persuade the indomitable Mrs Harris to wear it. To see her serious features framed by such a bit of frilly nonsense would be charming indeed, but he was not about to tell her that.

“Tilly, you must resist the habit of spending other people’s money for them,” he said reprovingly. “Mrs Harris has a mind of her own, as I’m certain you are aware. It is one thing to suggest the bonnet would suit her, quite another to bully her into buying it.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t,” Tilly began, only to catch Mrs Harris looking at her. She sighed. “I was,” she admitted. “I beg your pardon, Harry.”

Mrs Harris smiled. “That’s quite all right. It is a lovely bonnet, but wherever should I wear such a thing? It’s quite inappropriate for a governess.”

“Well, that’s silly,” her charge said, looking mutinous. “I don’t see why a governess has any less right to look nice than any other lady. It isn’t fair!”

“No, it isn’t, but it is true,” Mrs Harris said ruefully. “Are you ready for lunch, my lord? We must confess to having worked up a considerable appetite.”

Pip nodded. “I am. I’ve reserved the private parlour too, so let us go and warm up.”

He almost offered Mrs Harris his arm, but stopped himself at the last moment, knowing she would refuse and not wanting to look foolish.

He noticed the regretful glance she cast the bonnet in the window display, though, and knew that Tilly was quite correct.

It was unfair that she was relegated to such dull colours and simple designs when she must long to wear beautiful things like any other woman.

Yet as she hung up her cloak and went to stand before the fire in the private parlour of the Crown and Thistle, he could not help but admire how the severe cut of her simple gown suited her.

She had a splendid figure, and whilst the dress was as modest as one could possibly hope for a woman in her position, it was beautifully cut and showed off her curves to advantage.

He found his gaze lingering as she studied her reflection critically in the mirror over the fireplace and lifted her hands to re-pin an errant lock of hair.

The movement was deft, her elegant fingers sure, and the position lifted her breasts, giving him a lovely image of her in profile that he could not help but regard with admiration.

Pip cursed himself and tore his gaze away before she could catch him gawking.

This really had to stop. He considered the prospect of visiting Mrs Howell, the lovely widow he usually spent time with when he was back home, and then remembered how Mrs Harris was disappointed in him.

No. No, that would not do, he thought irritably.

Really, this was an intolerable situation.

It was ridiculous to allow his daughter’s governess, of all people, to dictate how he behaved.

The devil of it was, he agreed with her.

He was not setting his daughter the best example, not like his parents had done for him.

Tilly needed a mother, and brothers and sisters, and he would not get those by dallying with the likes of Mrs Howell.

“My lord?”

Pip jumped, belatedly realising Mrs Harris was speaking to him.

“I beg your pardon, I was woolgathering,” he said apologetically.

“It’s of no matter. It’s just I wondered if you would take tea, or if you would prefer wine?” she asked, gesturing to the tray that had appeared on the table. Good heavens, a servant must have come and gone without him noticing.

“Wine, but please don’t trouble yourself, I can see to myself,” he said, moving to the table where Mrs Harris and Tilly had installed themselves. Tilly had taken out a new sketchbook and a small packet of pencils and was inspecting them with interest.

“A fine purchase, little bird,” Pip remarked, settling back with his wine as Mrs Harris poured tea for herself and Tilly.

“I finished my last sketchbook,” Tilly explained. “And I had quite run out of red and yellow for the pencils had been sharpened so much they were too tiny to hold on to, but you had to buy the whole packet,” she added, lest he think she had been immoderately spendthrift.

“I’m sure you’ll use them all up in time. You like to draw, don’t you?” he observed.

Tilly nodded, bending her head. “I do, but I’m not as good as Mrs Harris. She’s a wonderful artist and the things she draws really look how they are supposed to.”

“You are kind, Tilly, but I believe you will far exceed my meagre skills in a few years,” Mrs Harris demurred. “She has a real talent for it, my lord, and seeing Mr Weston’s portrait of her has captured her interest.”

“Can I draw you, Mrs Harris?” Tilly asked, looking up.

“If you wish to,” she replied with a smile. “But only until our dinner arrives.”

Tilly nodded and opened the packet of pencils, selecting the colour she wanted before getting to work.

“I hope your business was concluded to your satisfaction?” Mrs Harris asked politely, adding sugar to her tea.

He realised she always added a deal of sugar and concluded she had a sweet tooth.

Pip nodded. “It was, thank you. I have bought a piece of land.” At her look of enquiry, he explained about the stretch of riverside.

“It is the most beautiful spot, especially in the summertime, and the fishing is excellent. I have coveted it for some time, so I am relieved the deal was done so easily. Tilly will love picnicking there. As soon as we have some fine weather next year, we shall make a day of it,” he promised, realising he was very much looking forward to the outing.

He could just imagine Mrs Harris setting out the picnic things as he fished, and Tilly paddled about the shallows, catching minnows.

He was brought up short as he realised what it was he imagined.

He ought not be daydreaming about a future where Mrs Harris spent the day with them, but his wife.

Yet he simply could not imagine this fictional being or what she might look like, what she might say or do, and if he could not even imagine her, what hope was there that he would ever find the elusive creature?

“How is the portrait going?” he asked Tilly, who immediately covered up her work and told him not to peek.

“Not until it’s finished,” she said crossly.

Pip chuckled and let her get back to work. “Did you buy some new gloves?” he asked Mrs Harris, his gaze falling to her hands, now bare, wrapped around the teacup before her.

“I did. They’re in the carriage,” she said with a nod.

“Are they red, perchance?” he asked, slanting a glance at her.

Her lips pursed with annoyance and Pip experienced a little surge of delight at her reaction, and then his gaze settled on her mouth and the delight shifted, sliding into something else he stamped on the moment he recognised it. Good Lord, he had to get a grip on himself.

“They are dark blue,” she said evenly.

But as he looked up and met her eyes, he saw a flicker of amusement lurking there and knew she was not truly upset with him for teasing her.

“A pity,” he replied softly, watching the tinge of colour that bloomed over her lovely skin.

She looked away in confusion and he found himself enchanted by her.

Who was this woman, who guarded her secrets so closely, who was at once so fierce and capable and yet would blush like a schoolgirl if he dared to tease her even a little?

She was a conundrum, a mystery to him still, even after so many years in his service, and the desire to unravel that mystery was becoming hard to deny.

“You said your people hail from Norfolk, I believe?” he asked, thinking it a simple enough question for her to answer, as he knew this much already. Yet she stiffened instantly, and he felt her close herself off, the protective barrier she wore like a shield settling into place.

“That’s right,” she said, and he saw her try to relax her shoulders, to appear at ease, but that she was all on edge was undeniable.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” he asked, surely an innocuous question. It wasn’t like he was demanding names and addresses.

“No.” She shook her head, her gaze trained on the tea in her cup.

“That must have been lonely, growing up as an only child.”

Mrs Harris shook her head once more. “My grandfather remarried late in life, so I had an aunt and uncle who were relatively close in age to me. They were like siblings.”

“They lived with you?” he asked, relieved that she’d had family. He was close to his brother and sister and could not imagine having grown up without them.

“No. I lived with them. My parents died when I was a child,” she added.

Well, that explained her reluctance to speak of it, he supposed. The poor girl. “I’m so sorry,” he said, meaning it with his whole heart. “That must have been very hard for you.”

“Not really,” she replied, her words curt.

“My parents left me with my grandfather before they died, for they had no interest in raising a child. I was too much of a bother and interfered with their lifestyle. I hardly noticed they were gone after the accident that killed them,” she replied.

The words were hard and her expression cool as she met his eyes.

He felt she was provoking him on purpose, that she wanted him to think her cold and heartless, or perhaps she was daring him to disapprove of her. He wasn’t certain which, or why.

“Then I am even more sorry,” he said, his voice low. “You deserved far better than that.”

She started at his words, looking so shocked he wondered at it. Had no one ever shown her tenderness or consideration, for her to look so thoroughly startled by it? To his dismay, her eyes grew suddenly over bright, and she blinked hard.

“Oh, look, and here is our dinner!” she cried with too much enthusiasm as the door opened and serving staff hurried in with their meal. “Tilly, put your pencils away, dear. You can complete the drawing another time.”