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“You may begin at once,” Mr Hightower said briskly. “Viscount Amberson has provided funds enough for you to undertake the journey to Scotland. I trust this is satisfactory?”

Georgette stared at the man, hardly able to believe the truth, but she had done it. She had gained employment as a governess in a remote household far from Lord Hanover and her grandfather.

She would be safe.

―Excerpt of His Grace and Disfavour, by an anonymous author.

1 st December 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

Pip soaked in the bath, steam rising around him as he sipped at a glass of brandy.

The problem of what to do about Mrs Harris was becoming one he could not ignore.

Not that he had ignored it for the past week, he had simply run away from it, seeking to put distance between him and the object of his fascination.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. He might have realised he could not get away with avoiding her.

She was far too intelligent and observant not to notice and, since he had requested her to speak her mind, far too bold not to call him out.

Not that she would have held her tongue if he had not invited a more equal footing between them.

No, she would still have held him to account, the little termagant that she was, he thought fondly.

The wonder of it was that he didn’t mind.

Perversely, he rather enjoyed it when she scolded him.

The way she had refused to allow him to see to his own horse but imperiously called for a groom whilst ushering him out of the rain and bullying him into taking a bath made him feel unaccountably cherished and dreadfully aroused all at once.

After a lifetime of young ladies batting their eyelashes at him and agreeing with everything he said, Mrs Harris and her sharp tongue appealed to him in more ways than he could account for.

It was not simply her quick mind, nor her lack of respect for his consequence, however.

His mistresses were always more mature women, with experience and intelligence and so it was not as if he was unused to being around women who knew their own minds.

Something about Mrs Harris intrigued him though, tantalising him like a mystery he might spend the rest of his days unravelling and never get bored.

Lord, but he was in a bad way. He could see no way out of the problem, either.

He could not dismiss Mrs Harris without breaking his daughter’s heart, something he would not do in a million years.

Yet he could not be around her without wanting more, more of her confidences, more of her esteem, and not to mention the desire to tear her clothes off to reveal what he now knew lie beneath them.

Setting down his glass, Pip stood and took the towel his valet offered to dry himself off. There was only one thing for it, though the idea filled him with a maelstrom of emotions that ranged from pure embarrassment to excitement. He must tell her the truth.

The thought of telling his daughter’s governess that he had been avoiding her because he desired her company so desperately, that he wanted her in his arms so badly he feared doing or saying something he ought not every time he was in her company made him feel like a green boy.

Yet he could not entirely dismiss the notion that she might not be horrified and slap his face, and if she did not—

No, he told himself firmly. That was sheer nonsense.

He knew well enough how deeply she disapproved of him, and it was only recently that he had convinced her he was a tolerable human being.

Only tolerable, mind. No, Mrs Harris would be utterly disgusted and agree they must not be in the same room together ever again.

Hopefully, seeing such revulsion in her eyes would be enough to cool his ardour, and this whole predicament would resolve itself.

That inevitable conclusion determined, Pip dressed and made his way downstairs.

Dinner was interminable. Though the earl did not insist on dozens of lavish dishes in the way many of his ilk did, there still seemed to be too many courses when all Regina wished to do was demand he explain why he had been avoiding her.

Of course, the chances she would enjoy hearing the answer were slim.

No doubt it was just as she had surmised: he had found her company tedious, but had not known how to politely explain he regretted asking her to have a drink with him, or to speak to him freely.

She could not blame him, she supposed. It was years since she had tried to be anything other than a dowdy governess and her witty repartee, such as it was, had long since dried up.

In truth, she did not believe she’d ever had any.

She had no experience with socialising outside of spending time with her aunt and uncle.

She had certainly never flirted with a man in her entire life.

Not that the earl had wanted her to, she reminded herself at once, startled by the errant thought and wondering where it had come from.

But either way, sparkling conversation, flirting, and trilling laughter were all womanly accomplishments of which the ton wholeheartedly approved, and she had never attained.

The duke had kept her isolated from society, having no interest in launching her, which was far too much trouble.

It was far easier to marry her off at once without the expense and bother of a season.

He would have presented her at court, for to not do so would have set tongues wagging, but that would have been the extent of her come out before she was chained for life to the Earl of Wendover.

As ever, even after so many years, the man’s name made her shudder with revulsion, and she set down her knife and fork despite having eaten little.

The earl was not hungry either, it seemed, as she noticed his untouched meal with disapproval.

He would make himself ill if he kept up this silly behaviour.

Finally, dinner was over, and Tilly said goodnight to her father, for it was Regina’s turn to read to her.

Though she wished to race through the promised chapter at breakneck speed, Regina forced herself to read slowly, adopting all the voices of the characters as Tilly liked.

Usually, she enjoyed reading to the girl, taking pleasure in both the unfolding story and her charge’s eagerness to hear it, but tonight Regina was all out of patience, and once she had tucked Tilly in and kissed her cheek, she hurried downstairs.

She found the earl in his study as she had expected. He was standing in front of the fire, one foot on the fender, his arm braced on the mantelpiece as he looked down at the flames. He turned as she came in, and straightened up.

“Would you like a drink, Mrs Harris?”

Regina hesitated, and the earl returned a wry smile.

“You better had. I think you will need one, even if it is only required to dash it in my face.”

Startled, Regina nodded, wondering what on earth he could mean by that.

After a brief mental tussle over whether she ought to close the study door—quite shocking, to be alone with him—she shut it firmly.

Somehow, she thought it safer they not be overheard than the staff gossip about what might be going on behind closed doors.

She suspected the idea there was anything untoward happening would boggle their minds far beyond incredulity.

“Please sit down,” the earl said, gesturing to the chair she had taken the last time she had been here.

What a long time ago that felt now, she thought as she smoothed down her skirts.

Nervous now, her hands went to the line of buttons on the bodice of her charcoal grey gown.

It was her least favourite gown as it was the one that most clearly defined her as a governess, but at this moment it felt like a kind of armour, and her fingers touched each button in turn as her agitation manifested itself in the desire to fidget.

A shadow fell over her and Regina looked up to find Ashburton staring down at her, a glass held out in one hand, but his gaze fixed upon her fingers as she twisted and fiddled with the buttons.

Embarrassed for reasons she was unsure of, but viscerally aware of the strange quality of his gaze, Regina stopped at once and reached for the drink.

He held onto the glass for a moment longer than he ought to have done, their fingertips brushing for a bare second. Electricity lanced down Regina’s arm, shocking her to such a degree she almost dropped the glass.

The earl moved away at once, putting distance between them and returning to his position by the fire. He regarded her warily, a look of bewildered interest in his eyes, as if he could not quite fathom how such a strange creature had come to be sitting in his study.

Regina cleared her throat, increasingly ill at ease but determined to get the ordeal over with.

If he was going to make her feel small and pathetic for having had the audacity to imagine she might be friends with the Earl of Ashburton, she would rather he do it quickly and cleanly so she could scurry back to her room like the inconsequential governess she was.

“Well, my lord. You have admitted to avoiding me this past week. Might you do me the courtesy of explaining? Though I suspect I can guess the reason,” she murmured dryly, finding her lip curling a little and relieved that her voice did not tremble.

Instead of answering and putting her out of her misery, the earl’s gaze sharpened. “You can?”

Regina let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, come, my lord. It was outrageous of you to invite me here to share a drink and an evening of conversation. That neither I nor the novelty of the situation entertained you as fully as you’d hoped is hardly a difficult observation to make.”

“Ah,” he said, the soft exhalation tinged with amusement. “That is your new accusation? I wondered what I would be guilty of this time.”