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“These are excellent, Mrs Harris, though one wonders at you having gained so much experience in such a short time. How old did you say you were?”

“I did not say,” Genevieve said crisply, having adopted the persona of her old governess, Mrs Harold.

She had been a humourless creature who thought little of men and did not quibble about saying so.

She would have never allowed a man to get away with such a prying question and, as she had no desire to answer, a sharp put down was called for.

Mr Ludlow looked somewhat uncomfortable and returned his attention to the letters.

Genevieve pushed her glasses up her nose; they were clear glass but gave her an owlish appearance which helped to age her.

She had been careful to cover them in fingerprints, to obscure her eyes a little.

Along with an egg wash which she had left in her hair to make it appear dull and rather stringy, and a little judicious makeup, she thought even Delia would fail to recognise her.

She certainly looked far older than her years.

Mr Ludlow set the letters down and looked up at her. “I think perhaps you understand from the advert that the situation is a little, er… delicate.”

“I do. I assume the child was born out of wedlock,” Genevieve remarked, her expression carefully neutral.

“She was,” Mr Ludlow allowed. “But Mr Russell is a respectable man with a reputation to uphold, and he is keen to find someone who will be kind to her, seeing as she has no mother to care for her. It is a rather unusual situation, I grant you, for he does not hold with ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ I warn you now, he will not tolerate his daughter being treated to such punishment, which would mean instant dismissal. In fact, that is why the position is available at all. Mr Russell was very keen that I get this point across before I engage anyone to the position.”

Well, that was interesting, Genevieve thought, having been slapped often by a variety of nannies, and her governess, too. At least the feckless father had some scruples, though that he was ‘a respectable man with a reputation to uphold’ made her want to snort with laughter. The wicked hypocrite.

“I have no argument with that. If a child is properly instructed, it ought to need nothing more than a rebuke to change its behaviour,” Genevieve said with the utmost confidence.

Or at least, she hoped she sounded confident.

In truth, her palms were sweating and her stomach was in a knot.

She had not taken a calm breath since the moment she had woken that morning.

Even getting out of the house with ease had done nothing to soothe her rioting nerves, for what was she to do if she did not gain this position?

The memory of the Earl of Wendover’s stale breath wafting over her face made bile rise in her throat and she swallowed hard.

She did not doubt for one moment that his threat to do her harm if she thwarted him was one he would keep, and enjoy doing so.

Panic gnawed at the edges of her composure, and she shifted in her chair.

Don’t think of that now , she told herself. Chin up, look confident .

Mr Ludlow regarded her with interest and sat back in his chair.

“It might sway your decision to know that the position is in a remote part of Monmouthshire. A beautiful place, I believe, but with little society, and the property is in a state of disrepair. It will be some time before it is a comfortable home, but that, combined with the need for a woman of discretion, is why the wage is so generous.”

Genevieve nodded, excitement making her heart thunder.

Wales! How perfect. She would be miles and miles away in the back end of beyond.

Oh, please, please , she begged inwardly.

Was he going to offer it to her? Struggling to keep her face impassive, her hands still, Genevieve fought for calm, for Mr Ludlow could not know that the position in the wilds of Monmouthshire was her dream come true.

No one would ever find her in such a spot, not in a million years.

She would be free. Well, not free , exactly, she would have to work for a living, but the prospect did not terrify her.

Compared to being wife to the Earl of Wendover, it would be a pleasure, and she would be safe from the machinations of her grandfather and the vile man he wished to see her wed.

She would thwart them if it was the last thing she did and, if Wendover caught up with her, it very well might be. Genevieve quailed at the idea, and it took her a moment to realise Mr Ludlow was speaking to her.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, hoping her sudden distraction didn’t put him off.

“I asked if you thought the position would suit you? And if it does, when would you be free to leave? I understand there is some urgency, so the sooner the better.”

Genevieve was so startled and delighted she almost cried out in delight, stifling the sound at the last moment, which made her take an odd hiccoughing breath.

“Leave?” she repeated, dazed by her good fortune.

“Oh, at once, Mr Ludlow. This very moment,” she said, reminding herself that Mrs Harold would never have shown enthusiasm, not under any circumstances, and rearranging her face into something more sombre.

A hard task when she felt like dancing a jig on the spot.

“Excellent,” Mr Ludlow said, looking relieved of a significant burden. “The e—that is to say, Mr Russell will be delighted. I have here enough money for you to undertake the journey and instructions on how to find the property.”

Hardly able to believe her good fortune, Genevieve took the envelopes he handed over along with her forged letters of recommendation and tucked them safely away before standing to leave. She could not wait to be out of London, far away from the Earl of Wendover and her grandfather.

“I hope you have a safe journey, Mrs Harris,” Mr Ludlow said, rising and offering his hand. “I wish you every success in your new position.”

Genevieve took it and offered him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr Ludlow, you have been most helpful. I am sure I will be most content. Good day to you.”

Once back out on the street, she let out a breath.

She had done it. She had really done it.

From this day on, she would be Mrs Harris.

Mrs Regina Harris, she amended with a smile.

She thought Regina sounded queenly and commanding, and Mrs Harris would certainly be that.

She would not suffer fools, definitely not arrogant men.

Mrs Harris was the kind of woman who no one could bully nor take advantage of, and her life was about to begin.

Dear Thorn,

I am well. Thank you, Brother, for your concern, and little Tilly is growing fast, sometimes I think before my very eyes.

She’s as imperious as a duchess and has more of our father about her than I like to admit.

‘No,’ is her favourite word, I’m certain, and she has us all dancing to her tune.

The devil of it is that we don’t care. She’s a delight and a joy to me.

Yes, I shall be at Dern for Christmas, though only for a few days, as it pains me to leave Tilly behind.

I comfort myself with the idea that she does not yet know what Christmas is, but it breaks my heart all the same.

I swear it will be the last we spend apart.

Yet she is beloved by all. For once fortune has smiled on me, for the nurse who has taken my daughter in her care is as affectionate as any mother, and fiercely protective.

The woman holds me in utter contempt, I might add, but I can hardly blame her for that as I do too, but Tilly adores her, and that is all that matters.

Some days I believe I am being punished for my years of indulgence and then I look at Tilly’s sweet face and wonder how I can think so. She is a gift I am not—can never be — worthy of. But I shall try.

Inheriting Aunt Marguerite’s property was a poisoned chalice, though, of that I’ve no doubt. The place is a beautiful wreck, falling down around my ears, and yet I am determined to put it to rights, to make a home here, for me, for Tilly.

I know this little idyll cannot last. Father will discover my secret.

We both know he is giving me this time. He knows I’ve got myself in a mess and he’s just waiting until I have courage enough to face him.

How hurt Mama will be too. Christ, could I hate myself anymore?

But I shall rebuild this blasted house if I must do it with my bare hands, I will be everything my daughter needs, and I will prove to our parents I can be a good father, a responsible human being and perhaps then their disappointment might be bearable.

I beg your forgiveness for the hundredth time, Thorn, for making you keep this secret for me.

I shall see you soon, brother.

Pip x

―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Mr Thomas Barrington, (younger son of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess, and Marchioness of Montagu) from his older brother, The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton.

18 th December 1844, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

The Earl of Ashburton looked down at the letter he’d written to his brother and sighed.

Guilt sat heavy on his shoulders, a burden that seemed to grow by the day.

He had promised his parents he would show his face this Christmas and feared, if he did not, they would turn up on his doorstep.

That he could not allow, for he was not yet ready to confess his sins.