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“Yes, yes, we ought then to be on an equal footing intellectually,” he said with a snort. “I do not wonder that you didn’t speak that one aloud, for it was far too easy.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, the words choked as she struggled not to laugh. “I d-don’t know what has got into me.”

“Hmph,” Pip said, shaking his head at her sadly. “I cannot think what makes you say so. When you first came here, I believe you would have remarked it with all seriousness.”

The mirth faded from her eyes, and she became serious.

“I would, and I’m sorry for that, but—but you are right.

I was afraid, both of you and this position and…

well, of many things. It has taken me a long time to feel at home here, but I do, and you have always been kind, even when I was so appallingly rude to you.

I ought to thank you for that,” she added, somewhat grudgingly.

“I beg you will not,” Pip replied, appalled by the notion of Mrs Harris feeling indebted to him.

She grinned, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Come and have a drink with me,” he said, heading for the door.

“Oh, but—” she began as he turned to look at her. She pulled a face and sighed. “It isn’t proper, my lord.”

“Do you care?” he asked curiously.

He waited as she considered the question and smiled as she pushed to her feet.

“Not really,” she admitted, and followed him out of the room.

Regina watched as Lord Ashburton poured her a glass of brandy and wondered what on earth she was doing.

Mere hours ago, she had promised herself she would not be so reckless in the future.

She would keep herself to herself and only speak to the earl when it would be rude not to do so.

Also, she would keep her answers brief and uninspiring and immediately squelch any strange desire he had to continue to converse with her.

Now here she was, alone in his study, allowing him to pour her a glass of brandy.

She was addled, she decided, queer in her attic.

Either that or so set on self-destruction, she might as well declare herself here and now as Sefton’s missing granddaughter.

Oddly, the compulsion to do just that tugged at the edges of her mind, frightening her so much she almost dropped the glass as he handed it to her.

The earl gave her a direct look and smiled. “There’s no need to be nervous, Mrs Harris, you are quite safe with me. I would never take advantage of a lady, not under any circumstances.”

That he might wish to take advantage of her was laughable, yet conversely, that he very obviously did not, made her feel strangely dispirited.

Still, she rallied herself. He had invited her because he was starved of intelligent conversation, as she was herself.

So they might as well enjoy a little debate.

She decided she would get the ball rolling rather than sit through the awkward silence that would surely ensue the moment he realised it had been ridiculous to invite her to have a drink with him.

“I read that Mr Alfred Tennyson has become poet laureate.”

The earl turned, his own glass of brandy in hand and a slight curl at his lip as he replied. “So I hear.”

“You do not approve?” she asked, immediately interested in his opinion of the popular poet.

“Approve is rather a strong word for something I have little interest in.”

Regina frowned, deflated by this reply, which she thought rather narrow-minded. “You dislike poetry?”

“On the contrary, I enjoy it if my mood is sufficiently peaceful, but I dislike overly sentimental and mawkish sentiments, which I find an overabundance of in Mr Tennyson’s works.”

“Oh, come now, my lord,” Regina said crossly. “That is a dreadful generalisation and not in the least accurate.”

“Is it not?” the earl asked, in his tone dry. “Have you read In Memoriam?”

“Yes, I have, and I am not afraid to say I cried. It is a most touching poem concerning the death of a dear friend,” she replied, tart now.

He regarded her with interest for a long moment, perhaps diverted by the idea of the coldly indifferent Mrs Harris shedding a tear over a poem. However, when he spoke, he surprised her again.

“Indeed, it contains some most affecting imagery and, in places, truly touches upon what it is to be human. I admit I found it very moving, but was it really necessary to beat the reader over the head with the idea for one hundred and thirty-three cantos?” he asked, and with such a look of indignant desperation, Regina could not help but laugh.

“Well,” she admitted, for even she, admiring the poet greatly, had become a little fatigued when she had discovered after some considerable time reading that she was only halfway through. “I will admit it is a somewhat challenging poem.”

“Challenging?” he repeated crossly. “It ought to come with a public health warning, for I was strongly tempted to leap out of the nearest window just to make it stop.”

“Oh, come now, you are becoming hysterical,” she scolded him, though laughter bubbled up in her throat at the image he created. “I cannot believe you are so easily disturbed.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But it truly had a lowering effect on my mood, for which I hold the man entirely responsible.”

“Yes, but ought we not to be serious now and then, especially over such a large and troubling subject?”

The earl sat back in his chair and regarded the crystal glass in his hand, turning it back and forth so the lamplight sparkled on the cut facets.

“Certainly we ought, but it is equally important not to become overwhelmed or obsessed by such subjects, for they can easily depress one's spirits. In an age where there is so much change, and no little unrest in the world, it is too easy to become dispirited and seeking such disheartening sentiment on purpose seems to me a foolish thing to do.”

“We cannot be happy every day, simply because we wish it,” she returned, for he was a wealthy man with all the privileges one could desire, which was not everyone’s reality.

“No. I know that and, before you scold me, I know I have every blessing to count in my favour, but I know many men just as blessed who are still miserable as sin and are constantly bemoaning their lot in life. I believe life gives one many opportunities for happiness, but sometimes they do not appear in the guise you expect them to.”

Regina smiled, understanding at once. “You are speaking of Tilly.”

The earl nodded. “When she arrived in my life I was terrified, and appalled,” he admitted, surprising her with his candour.

“That I had created this tiny, helpless creature who depended entirely on me, and that her mother had died bringing her into the world—it was overwhelming. I felt I would drown in guilt and regret in those first months. Yet, whilst I will never forgive myself for her mother’s demise, Tilly is the reason I do everything now.

She is the reason I work so hard to make Goshen Court a home where she can be happy, she is the reason I wish the estates to be profitable so I can ensure her future.

She is the reason I get up every morning with anticipation, wondering what the day will bring. ”

Regina smiled, knowing this to be nothing but the truth.

“Who was her mother?”

The earl stiffened, and Regina cursed herself for her curiosity. “Forgive me, I ought not to have asked such a prying question.”

He shook his head, a curt movement, a thin smile at his lips.

“My fault. I was unprepared for your usual measure of brutal honesty and the question surprised me, that is all. Her name was Jenny, and I was not her first protector, should you still harbour ideas of me corrupting innocents. I met her at a Cyprian’s ball and she made me laugh, which few people do.

She would not allow me to retreat into arrogant silence as I am wont to do when in company.

Jenny was lively and funny, but I found her endless desire to be at parties and the theatre and out in society utterly exhausting, which was why I thought she ended our alliance.

She told me she had found another man more in keeping with her lively lifestyle and wished to call it a day.

I was generous with my parting gift, I wish you to understand that.

She could have lived in comfort even without a protector, but I believed she had found someone. ”

“But she hadn’t,” Regina guessed, quite stunned by this extraordinary confession, for she had not expected him to be so open about the affair.

Ashburton’s eyes grew sorrowful. “No. Jenny had her own code of honour, and she knew how mortified I would be if I must confess to my father I had got a child on her. She bought a little cottage in the country and decided she would have the child by herself and never reveal her existence to me. I regret that more than I can tell you. I would have married her, you see, though I know I would have made her miserable,” he added with a self-deprecating laugh.

The admission shocked Regina, for whilst she had long realised Ashburton was not the villain she had once painted him, the idea of the top lofty earl marrying a highflyer was astonishing.

The scandal would have rocked the ton, and he would have become a laughingstock.

Yet, for all that, she believed him. He would have opened himself to public ridicule for the sake of his daughter and her mother.

“I don’t believe that,” she said, and then hurried on as she saw the pained look that flashed in his eyes. “No, I mean, I don’t believe you would have made her unhappy.”

He snorted derisively. “Then you are a romantic, Mrs Harris, and that surprises me more than anything. I enjoy spending time at my club, I like to play cards and drink with my friends. Occasionally, the theatre and exhibitions interest me. If I am in a sociable mood—which, I warn you, is a rare occurrence—I can be found enjoying leading a young lady around the dance floor, but on the whole, I prefer to live quietly here with Tilly.”