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Dearest Vivi,

Your story is a triumph. It is so well written and so touching, terrifying too, even though Rex and I lived some of it alongside you.

The story is on everyone’s lips, from serving girls to the cream of the ton.

Yet, I’m afraid everyone is certain the wicked duke is Sefton, and it has not taken long for people to remember the granddaughter who disappeared into thin air.

The latest on-dit suggests the story is being written by someone who has discovered Sefton is guilty of murder and wishes to have him brought to justice.

Though if Georgette dies in your tale, I fear there will be rioting in the streets, for everyone has taken the girl to their hearts.

That girl being you, my dearest Genevieve.

Perhaps you were not so foolish as you believed in writing your story.

Perhaps this will give you the opportunity to reveal yourself and live the life you ought to have been granted.

Won’t you come home to us, dearest? It’s been such a long time since we saw you and we worry for you.

Poor Rex blames himself for not having protected you better, but he was fighting his own battles, and I know you understand that.

Remember, though, that Rex or I would welcome you into our homes, surely you know that.

Now that Rex has a hold on our father’s finances, he no longer has the power over us he once had, and you would have no need to live with him.

In the light of your story, the mood of the ton is such that no one would let Sefton or Wendover bully you now they have read all that you have endured.

Regina watched the earl as he rode ahead of them, finding the safest path through the woods to lead them to his new piece of land beside the river.

Dappled light filtered through the trees, the canopy overhead not yet bereft of autumn leaves.

The sunlight touched Ashburton’s white-blond hair, and fell upon his broad shoulders and long, strong back, and Regina could not help but admire the figure he cut astride the powerful bay horse.

Horse and rider were in complete accord, and he looked a commanding figure.

Indeed, he looked to be everything he was, a titled man of influence and wealth, entirely at home in his own skin.

Regina’s nerves skittered beneath hers. She ought never to have come today, though the idea of missing out upon the pleasure of this outing was a wretched one.

Yet she was courting danger when she was already so close to disaster.

The delight of galloping through the lovely countryside on a crisp winter’s day with the earl’s horse thundering behind her had been so joyous, though, had made her feel so entirely alive, that she had forgotten who she was.

Fleetingly, she had forgotten she was Mrs Regina Harris, governess to the Earl of Ashburton’s daughter.

For just a moment she had realised what it might mean to be Miss Genevieve Hamilton, and it had been a revelation.

Not only to her, she feared.

The earl had looked at her with such an odd expression she still did not know what to make of it.

At first he had grinned like a boy at their race, looking so ridiculously pleased with himself at having delighted her to such a degree, her heart had turned over.

But then his delight had faded, and a look of mingled sorrow and compassion had settled over his austere features.

She did not know how to account for that.

What had he seen? What had he realised in those too brief moments of unalloyed happiness, and had it put her at risk?

There was nothing she could do but follow him and Tilly as they wended their way through the woods. On emerging from the treeline, however, she forgot her worries, as the vista opened up.

“How beautiful it is,” she said, overwhelmed by the loveliness of the spot.

The earl looked around and smiled at her and, to her relief, his easy manner seemed to have returned. “It is lovely, isn’t it?” he said with satisfaction as they led their mounts to the water’s edge to take a drink. “Can’t you just imagine coming here in the summer and picnicking?”

“Oh, yes,” Tilly said in delight, making Regina smile.

She could imagine it all too easily, for even though it was winter, and the grass was long and scrubby, the river glinted in the sunshine, and the trees sheltered the spot on both sides.

Large rocks jutted up through the ground, lending themselves to being climbed over, or sat upon, or against. In her mind’s eye, Regina could imagine the earl wading out into the water to fish while she sat on a blanket in the sunshine, watching him.

It was a foolish dream, and one that took her completely by surprise, for she had not been Mrs Harris in her idiotic thoughts, but Genevieve.

Ridiculous creature , she scolded herself sternly.

What was she thinking? For even if she was Genevieve and she and the earl were equal in status, she had no desire to be…

to be what? His mistress? Certainly not!

His wife, then? Good God, no! The idea of being married to a man who did not know what it was to be faithful was anathema to her.

She’d rather die an old maid than be subjected to such humiliation.

“What do you think?”

Regina looked up to discover the earl was speaking to her and did not know what he was talking about. Happily, Tilly saved her from embarrassment.

“I bet Mrs Harris already knows how to fish, for she knows everything,” Tilly said, and with such utter confidence that Regina blushed. “And I’m sure she would enjoy coming fishing with us when the weather is warmer again.”

“Yes, actually, I do know how,” she admitted. “And I would be pleased to come along.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, when she ought to have immediately said that it would not be appropriate for her to fish with them, but that she would happily watch.

She told herself it didn’t matter, that in all likelihood the earl would have discovered she was a liar and a fraud long before next spring and such an event would never happen in any case.

But she did not want to think of that. She did not wish to consider leaving Goshen Court, for it would break her heart to leave Tilly, who had become as dear to her as her own daughter.

Not just Tilly , whispered a little voice in her head, words she immediately stamped on and refused to acknowledge.

“Is there anything you cannot do, Mrs Harris?” the earl asked her, and there appeared to be genuine curiosity in his eyes.

Regina sought something clever to say, unsettled by the question, and by the notion he might genuinely admire her. “Many things, I’m sure,” she replied, trying to infuse some of her customary tartness into the words.

“Somehow, I don’t believe it,” Ashburton replied, a rather wicked smile twitching at the corners of his mouth which made her heart feel most peculiar as it fluttered about behind her ribs, foolish organ that it was.

“That’s because it isn’t true,” Tilly confirmed as they rode alongside the river.

“She paints and draws as well as an artist, and plays the piano, and she’s ever so good at embroidery.

She speaks French and German fluently and knows Latin and Greek too, and she writes the funniest stories to read me at bedtime, and—”

“Tilly!” Regina exclaimed, wishing the girl would hold her tongue. “Whilst I very much appreciate your admiration, your father is aware of my qualifications to be your governess. There is no need to list them all.”

“And she rides neck or nothing, and can fish too,” the earl added, eyes sparking mischievously, for she could not scold him in front of his daughter, though she was sorely tempted to do so.

“Quite so,” she said instead, hoping her tone was quelling enough to depress any further show of levity.

Perhaps it worked, for the rest of the ride was carried out in amicable silence, and whilst Regina was sorry the delightful interlude was over, she was relieved too. The sooner she returned to the house and got herself back on familiar territory, the better it would be.

Tilly scrambled down from her pony before anyone could help her, little hoyden that she was, but Regina could not follow suit.

It was so long since she had ridden, she feared if she attempted to dismount unaided she would end up tangled in her own skirts and fall on her face.

Looking around, she silently prayed for a groom to come and help her down, and was relieved to see one hurrying towards her.

“It’s all right, Dobson, I’ll help the lady,” the earl said before the groom could reach her, and Regina cursed the man.

Why was he troubling himself with her when the groom was perfectly capable of helping her down?

“There’s no need to scowl at me so forbiddingly, I won’t drop you,” Ashburton told her, amusement lurking behind the words.

Regina rearranged her expression, appalled that she had once again not known what it revealed. She was forgetting herself, forgetting that she must always be on alert and guard herself, yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to do.

“I am not scowling,” she replied coolly.