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“Oh, but you do,” Ashburton replied, his smug expression growing by the moment. “My sister left one here the last time she visited, and I know for a fact she won’t wear it again as it will be last year’s style by now, which will never do for Cat. You’re about the same size, if I know anything.”

Regina bit back the remark brewing on her tongue, which would have implied he ought to know after having performed so much research into the subject of the female form. His eyes glinted, a rather wicked light gleaming there that made her wonder if he had known just what she was thinking.

Drat him.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Tilly cried, overjoyed by the prospect. “You can come riding with us, Harry! And Auntie Cat is so very stylish you are bound to look splendid in her habit.”

Regina let out a breath of laughter, defeated in the light of such happy exuberance. “Your papa is most thoughtful to have gone to so much trouble, so I do not see how I can refuse,” she replied, shooting a reproachful look at the earl, who appeared entirely unrepentant.

But, oh, how she wanted to ride out with them, and wearing something that was, as Tilly said, going to be far closer to the height of style than she was ever likely to get. It was too tempting to cavil further when she wanted so very much to give in.

“Very well, Tilly. Let us away and get ourselves ready,” she said, finding Tilly more than willing to do as she said.

The girl clasped her hand and dragged her from the room, chattering all the while.

Pip spoke to Mr Masters, the head groom, once he arrived in the stables, taking the time to inspect the work that had been completed recently to modernise some of the old stalls.

Finding everything to his satisfaction, he told Masters he’d see to his own mount and was just leading out a powerful bay gelding when he heard his daughter’s voice.

Taking a moment to secure his mount, he turned with a smile on his lips, which froze on his face as his gaze flitted from Tilly to the extraordinary woman standing beside her.

It was Mrs Harris. Except it wasn’t Mrs Harris at all.

Though they wore the same face, and the same maddeningly fingerprinted glasses, this woman was someone very different.

She was stylish in a riding habit of plum velvet that fit her better than even he had expected.

The severe military cut was not so dissimilar from her usual garb, but the dark frogging that trimmed the garment emphasised the tiny span of her waist and the lush curves of hip and breast. Buttons marched down the front of the bodice, which for some reason Pip found enticingly provocative, his fingers itching with the desire to undo them one at a time.

A black silk cravat tied in a loose knot highlighted the white lace collar at her throat, and upon her head, a ladies black top hat with a plum-coloured silk scarf tied about it, completed the dashing ensemble.

“Look, Papa! Doesn’t Harry look wonderful?” Tilly asked, running up to him and gesturing to her governess with such excitement it was clear the transformation had struck her, too.

It was not simply that the gown was more fashionable and stylish from the outfits Mrs Harris usually wore. It was something else, something less easy to pinpoint, except Pip had the strangest sensation that he was seeing something that had been long hidden from view.

“Indeed, Tilly, I felt certain Cat’s habit would do the job, but I never expected to see it worn with such flair,” he replied, meeting Mrs Harris’ eye for the sheer joy of seeing her blush.

She looked flustered and yet pleased, which in turn pleased him.

“Is Marigold ready?” Tilly asked, practically jumping up and down on the spot.

“You need to tack her up, love. See Mr Masters and he’ll help you,” Pip said, for he insisted that his daughter have the skills not only to groom her own horse and see to minor difficulties like a stone in its hoof, but tack up by herself too.

Having watched her run off to speak to the head groom, Pip turned his attention back to Mrs Harris. “When was the last time you rode?”

She pulled a face at the question. “Over five years ago.”

Pip nodded, having expected as much. “You never forget it,” he said with a smile. “Though you may be rather stiff tomorrow.”

“Yes, I rather think I may,” she replied wryly.

“Come,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him across the yard where a beautiful grey horse stood patiently, ears pricked, soft eyes watching the activity in the yard. She nickered and nodded her head as she saw Pip approaching and nuzzled his hand as he reached out to touch her.

“This is Lady Grey,” he told her, watching Mrs Harris’ face closely as she made the horse’s acquaintance.

“Oh, how beautiful she is,” she breathed, looking quite stunned and so overwhelmed Pip felt rather humbled by her reaction.

He took for granted the fact he could ride whenever he wished to and had many splendid mounts to choose from.

But seeing the sheer joy in this woman’s face at the prospect of riding such a beautiful horse made him feel oddly protective of her and wish to ensure this afternoon was as perfect as it could be.

“Look, Papa!”

Pip turned around to see Tilly trotting out on her pony, Masters hovering solicitously beside her.

There was no need, for Tilly was already proficient in the saddle, if a little too daring for her own good.

She knew not to go haring off alone, however, and once Pip had nodded approvingly, she made Marigold stand and the two waited patiently for their companions to ready themselves.

Pip turned back to Mrs Harris, who was speaking quietly into Lady Grey’s ear and stroking her soft muzzle.

“Ready?” he asked her.

She turned and smiled at him, and even through the blurry glass of her spectacles, he could see the way her eyes shone with anticipation and happiness, and felt suddenly quite winded by it.

“Yes!” she said, so much delight contained in that one word Pip could only smile in return.

“Come, then,” he said, gesturing to her to mount.

He waited for her to move into position, intending to make a cradle of his hands so she could use them to step up, but at the last moment some devil whispered in his ear, and he changed his mind. Instead, he put his hands to her slender waist, and lifted her up, setting her down in the saddle.

She gave a squeak of mingled surprise and shock as he put her down, and Pip took a step back, startled himself by the sensation that had jolted through him.

The velvet of her gown had been warm with the heat of her body, despite the chilly temperature of the afternoon, and her tiny waist had fit his hands so perfectly he could all but span the distance.

Desire jolted through him, his palms suddenly tingling, as though the warmth of her skin had burned him, had left some kind of indelible mark upon his flesh.

Disconcerted and aware of her shocked gaze still upon his face, Pip concentrated on putting her foot in the stirrup and arranging her skirts neatly.

Neither action did anything to settle his sudden agitation, as the glimpse of her delicate ankle was only compounded by the scent of her that drifted to him as he carefully draped her skirts over the saddle.

It was a surprisingly complex scent, with hints of rose and bergamot and a spicy note he could not place.

It made him think decadent thoughts, and he wondered at it, for such a perfume would be exceedingly expensive.

Had he found the lady’s weakness, perhaps, after all these years?

Had she spent some of her hard-earned wages on a bottle of scent that she wore for her own pleasure, for he had never noticed it before.

The image of her sitting at her dressing table by candlelight in a demure white cotton nightgown, applying the wicked scent behind her ears, suddenly captivated him.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it, he told himself severely, but the image lingered, as did the scent, and he wondered if this had really been such a wonderful idea after all.

Yet as he mounted his own horse and the three of them rode out, he could not regret it. For the laughter and happiness that he could hear and see writ plain on both of their faces, lit up his heart as nothing else had done for a long time.

It did not take Pip long to realise that Mrs Harris was an excellent horsewoman.

Her hands were light on the reins, her seat perfect, and that she had taken to Lady Grey and the Lady to her rider was perfectly obvious.

They moved as one, lithe and lovely in the winter sunshine, and Pip struggled to keep his eyes from the glorious sight.

“Where did you learn to ride?” he asked, hoping she would not freeze up as she had the last time he had asked questions about her past.

This time, however, it seemed she was too delighted to take offence and replied at once.

“My uncle,” she said, turning to look at him.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, strands of hair coming loose from her coiffure and curling about her face and she looked so young and carefree it seemed like another revelation, another layer peeled away from the mysterious woman who bothered him with increasing intensity.

“He has a magic touch with horses and could always ride anything in his father’s stables, no matter how temperamental.

I’m afraid I was terribly competitive and if he could do it, I wished to do it too. ”

Pip found he was intrigued by the information.

The way she spoke gave him the impression of a household of considerable means, if there were such a variety of mounts available for her uncle to try his hand at.

Who was this uncle of hers, and what manner of relation was he that he could see her become a governess and do nothing to help?

Of course, the family could have fallen on hard times, or perhaps he was reading too much into it.