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Dear Mrs Weston,

Firstly, congratulations! I am so happy for you. Mr Weston seems to be a true gentleman, and I am delighted to hear of your good fortune in having the manor restored to you.

As to the other matter, I beg you will forgive me for my cowardice.

The truth is, I feared you would ask a lot of questions which I have no wish to answer at present.

I hope one day I might return to my old life, but for the moment I prefer to live quietly and anonymously.

I know I may rely on your discretion in allowing me to continue to do so.

I can imagine how excited you must be to be back in your own home for Christmas, and with a husband to share the festivities with. How fortunate you are, and how well deserved.

I should be honoured to count you my friend and hope that you will in return, consider me yours.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Regina Harris to Mrs Magdelina Weston.

30 th November 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

For the next week, Pip did everything in his power to stay out of Mrs Harris’ company.

It wasn’t easy, as he wished to spend time with his daughter and the two of them came as a matched set.

Not that he minded. In truth, staying away from Mrs Harris was almost as torturous as being in company with Mrs Harris. Almost, but not quite.

Whenever he looked upon her now, he could not help but realise that he knew what lay beneath those tightly laced, prim little dresses, and the knowledge ate away at his peace of mind.

It was worse than that, however, for the more time he spent out of her company, the more he realised how much he missed it.

He had not realised how much time they spent together during an average day, even before he had invited her to come to his study and have a drink with him.

Whilst she would never impose upon a conversation between him and Tilly unless invited to do so, he realised now that they often sought her opinion and wished for her to involve herself in their lives.

Little by little, over the course of the past five years, she had become something more than just a governess, but remained something less than a friend or relation.

It was this that had bothered him, he realised.

The night he had invited her to have a brandy with him, it had been this sense she ought not have such restraints upon her that he had wished to dispel.

He did not wish her to be merely a governess, he wished her to be a friend too.

That idea had been fraught with complications even before he had seen her naked.

Now it was so dangerous he hardly dared think about it. Yet he could do nothing else but.

Then the dear creature had scolded him for staying out all day in the cold.

He smiled, remembering how cross she had been, though she had given him a nasty moment there too.

For a horrifying few seconds he had believed her omniscient, and that she had somehow realised he had spent the entire night plagued by erotic dreams about what might have happened if he had opened her bedroom door and stepped inside.

Of course, in reality she’d likely have screamed and thrown things at him, but his arrogance was firmly enough in place that in his dreams she welcomed his arrival with open arms and a passion that matched his own.

Pip groaned and pushed the papers he’d been trying to read to one side. He put his head in his hands and wondered what he’d done to deserve such torment. Oh yes. Now he remembered, he thought with a snort of derision.

Perhaps this was the almighty’s idea of a joke, or maybe it was a test, to see if he really had changed his ways and become the man he had promised to be for his daughter’s sake. If it was a test, he was failing it and had been failing it for some time, devil take him.

Frustrated with himself and the situation, Pip reached for the newspapers that had arrived that morning and sifted through them.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, as his last avenue for a distraction was missing once again.

Getting up, he pulled the bell cord and waited until Kerridge arrived a moment later.

“Where is His Grace and Disfavour?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but it never came,” Kerridge said apologetically.

Pip sighed. “Very well. I shall have to write and demand the missing copies are resent. Honestly, I have never had any problems with post arriving before. I’m certain someone must be taking them en route because they’re as desperate for the ending as I am.”

“As all of us are, my lord,” Kerridge admitted. “Mrs Morgan is that worried for little Georgette, she is. It’s unbearable, not knowing what’s happening to the poor girl.”

Pip smiled, amused despite his annoyance that the entire household was being kept on tenterhooks by the fate of a fictional girl.

“Ah, well. I will see what I can do. I promise to read them quickly and pass them on the moment I am done, I promise.”

“Diolch,” Kerridge said, and then looked startled as he realised he had spoken in Welsh.

“Croeso,” Pip replied in kind, earning himself a warm smile. “I’m afraid my Welsh is poor, Kerridge, but I am applying myself and am determined to improve.”

Kerridge’s dark eyes nearly popped out of his head, for a report that had been published several years earlier, highlighting the poor standard of education in Wales, had been used as a device to destroy the Welsh language.

Children were forbidden to speak anything but English at school and punished if they did not comply.

Pip thought it a horrific thing to deprive people of their native tongue and had done what he could to stand against the action, but to little avail.

However, upon his estate, he insisted the language be spoken freely, though it caused him no little difficulty if there was no translator at hand.

“Ah, Mrs Morgan told me you didn’t mind us speaking our own tongue, though I never intended to speak it to you, thinking you’d not understand, but then to hear you reply…!”

Pip looked chagrined. “I know. My accent is abysmal.”

“Ah, it’s not so good as that,” Kerridge said, his eyes twinkling appreciatively.

“Devil take you,” Pip replied, laughing. “Get away with you or I might withhold those pamphlets in return for your cheek.”

Kerridge grinned and then executed a formal bow before making himself scarce.

“Not as good as that,” Pip muttered, shaking his head in amusement. Not only was his governess sending him to Bedlam from the effect of no sleep and baulked lust, but now his butler was a comedian. He must have been very wicked in a past life, he decided and did his best to return to his work.

1 st December 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire

The Earl of Ashburton was definitely acting strangely. At first, Regina had thought she was imagining things, for the earl was a busy man with many calls on his time, but now she was certain of it. He was avoiding her.

Regina considered this odd behaviour the next morning when she came down to breakfast with Tilly, only to find the earl had once again disappeared early.

Tilly, though disappointed, brightened up when Regina assured her she would see her papa later, for he never neglected her, no matter what, ensuring to make time for her during the day and coming to read her bedtime stories on the nights it was his turn.

Yet, in the past week, he had failed to appear for several midday meals and no less than four dinners.

When he did appear, whilst he listened carefully to anything his daughter had to say, the rest of the time he seemed fidgety and distracted and seemed to count the minutes until it was time to leave the room.

Having only recently been treated to a new version of the earl as a more relaxed and friendly presence in the house, this volte face was somewhat disturbing.

No matter what she did, Regina could not put her finger on the problem.

Whenever she caught his gaze, however, he seemed uneasy, and guilt would flicker in his pale silver-blue eyes.

Regina was just reaching for a freshly baked roll when the truth occurred to her, a truth so obvious that she cursed herself for a fool.

Of course. It was perfectly obvious why a man would look fidgety and be so eager to leave the house, why he would look guilty and ill at ease.

The earl had found himself a new mistress.

Perhaps it wasn’t even a new mistress, perhaps he had simply given up on the idea of trying to set his daughter a better example and gone back to the old one.

With regret, Regina realised he must have found her company wanting, for was that not why he had asked her to join him for a drink, to indulge him with the intelligent conversation he craved now his mistress was off limits?

Well, he must have given the idea up as a bad job.

So much for helping him live as a pattern card for the well-behaved modern man, she thought, telling herself it was disgust she felt for his behaviour, even though she knew very well it was not.

She had never blamed him for taking lovers.

Well, blame was not precisely the right word.

It was more she became enraged by the double standard that existed between the behaviour that seemed to be not only tolerated, but encouraged in men, whilst a woman could be ruined beyond saving by simply standing alone in a room with a man.

The earl had everything he could want or need.

So why would he not settle down with a woman he could love and esteem, rather than have not only his cake, but the whole bakery window, and eat them all whenever he pleased? It was infuriating.