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Dearest Auntie Cat,

I am glad to be going home for Christmas, but I shall miss you and Pops and Grandmama, and Uncle Ciarán, of course.

I hope we shall see you all in the New Year.

I wish you would all come and live at Goshen Court.

How merry it would be if we were always together.

For me, anyway. I suppose you would all get vexed with me if you saw me too often.

I am so glad I have Harry, for even though she gets vexed too, she is such a dear and never stays cross for long.

I hope she never leaves me, for she is my dearest friend and just like family. I wish she really was.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Ottilie Barrington to her aunt, The Most Hon’ble Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane.

Pip paced to the library window and looked out again, seeing nothing but the beautiful gardens and a long expanse of empty driveway. Surely they ought to be here by now?

Irritated, he made himself sit down again, picking up the book he’d been trying to read for the past half an hour. Yet he simply ended up reading the same page over again and still didn’t know what it said.

Though he was delighted to be home, it never felt like home until Tilly and Mrs Harris arrived.

Tilly, he amended quickly. It was Tilly he missed, obviously.

It was just that where Tilly went, Mrs Harris went too.

Certainly, at Goshen Court, where there was little in the way of society to be had.

They were his only company unless he took himself out.

He had a longstanding association with a lovely widow who was agreeable company for a few hours, but he did not feel he could discuss his family with her.

Unquestionably, he could not introduce her to Tilly and spend an afternoon with them both.

There were a few families he was on cordial terms with, and two had children of an age with Tilly, but he was always cautious of putting her too much in the way of other children.

They could be cruel creatures, and he did not wish to see his daughter hurt for her illegitimacy.

If anyone should bear the shame of it, it ought to be he, but he knew that was a forlorn hope.

Yet his and his father’s names were powerful enough to shelter her from the worst of it, and only the most obdurate prigs would shun her. Still, that was bad enough.

Setting the book aside, he got to his feet and, before he knew it, found himself at the window again. He fished out his pocket watch, checking it against the clock on the mantel. They were identical. He sighed and told himself not to be idiotic. They would get here when they got here.

He had come a few days earlier to ensure all was well with the house and that nothing had fallen off, down or into despair in his absence.

Keeping the place in good order was a constant battle, for as soon as one problem was fixed another took its place.

Still, he had come to love the property he had once considered a poisoned chalice, and took pride in the warmth and comfort to be found there.

There was still a good deal to do. The rooms that would belong to his countess, for example.

Somehow, whenever he decided he really must get them decorated, something more pressing came up, and he set the job to one side again.

He was not so blind to his own nature not to realise why.

If the rooms were ready to receive his wife, it would feel too imminent, and he would no longer be able to put off the inevitable.

The distant sound of carriage wheels had him looking up and his heart leapt with relief as he saw the carriage bearing his coat of arms and a smart team of horses, bringing Tilly back home.

Pip hurried out of the library and ran down the front steps just as the carriage came to a halt. He waved the footman away, opening the door himself.

“Papa!” Tilly exclaimed, jumping from the carriage into his arms.

For once, Mrs Harris did not reprimand the girl for her behaviour, but smiled indulgently.

“I believe she is pleased to see you, my lord,” she said wryly, getting up from the seat.

Pip kissed his daughter and set her down, offering his hand to Mrs Harris. She looked surprised by the gesture, and hesitated for a moment before putting her hand in his and stepping down from the carriage. “Thank you,” she said with a nod.

Pip looked at her, and though he had seen her face a thousand times before over the past years, the loveliness of her skin struck him then as something he had not fully appreciated before.

It was almost perfect, her English rose colouring petal-soft and delicate, but the time she had spent in the garden with Tilly during the summer months had dusted her face with the tiniest scattering of freckles that still speckled her nose and cheeks.

Pip found himself charmed by the display that most would see as a flaw, but seemed to speak of a playful side that was quite at odds with Mrs Harris’ usually stern demeanour.

“Welcome home,” he said to her, knowing he ought not tease her but finding it impossible to resist. When her lovely skin turned a deeper shade of pink, he could not help but feel pleased with himself.

Mrs Harris returned a steady gaze that told him she knew well she was being teased but was not about to rise to the bait. “Thank you, my lord. It is good to be back. Is it not, Tilly?”

“Oh, yes! I am so tired of that stuffy carriage. It was such a long way,” she complained. “Is there tea? I’m famished.”

“Of course there is tea,” Pip replied with a laugh. “Mrs Morgan has been baking all day.”

“Oh, are there queen cakes?”

“As if she would forget queen cakes,” Pip said with a snort. “Come along. Let us feast on cake and spoil our appetites for dinner.”

“Huzzah!” Tilly cried with delight.

Pip glanced at Mrs Harris, wondering if she might take Tilly to task for her enthusiasm, but she only smiled as they went up the steps together.

“You will join us, I hope?” Pip asked, as he realised Mrs Harris was not following them to the front parlour but heading towards the stairs.

“I do not wish to intrude on your reunion,” she said politely.

“Stuff!” Tilly exclaimed.

“Miss Ottilie!” Mrs Harris said, apparently having indulged the child enough. Enough was enough. “What language.”

“I beg your pardon, Harry. Only you’re not intruding at all. We want you to come to tea. Don’t we, Papa?”

“Certainly we do,” Pip replied, turning to Mrs Harris and meeting her gaze with a challenging expression.

Mrs Harris opened her mouth and closed it again. He could practically feel her desire to refuse, but she did not wish to disappoint Tilly. “Very well. I should be delighted to join you, if you do not mind granting me a few moments to wash and tidy up. I am all rumpled and creased.”

Pip’s gaze immediately fell to her gown, which looked as prim and pristine as it always did, despite the long journey. He felt the sudden and unaccountable desire to ruffle her himself. It would be interesting to see Mrs Harris truly in a state of disarray.

No.

No, it would not, he reminded himself with some force. Good God, what was wrong with him? One did not have lascivious thoughts about the staff. It simply wasn’t done.

“Tilly, you must wash your hands too,” she said, and Tilly obediently went with her without a murmur of protest.

Still, despite knowing he ought not, he watched Mrs Harris go, walking up the stairs with her hips swaying provocatively.

Not provocatively, he told himself sternly.

She was a woman. It was how they moved. It was built in.

Nothing she could do about it. All the same, he watched until she got to the top of the stairs and could not tear his gaze away.

Regina hurriedly brushed and repined her hair in the severe style she always adopted, a centre parting that lay smooth and covered her ears and was tightly pinned at the nape of her neck.

Throwing open her luggage, she did her best to shake the creases from the dark blue gown and selected a white lace collar and cuffs to brighten it up a little.

Once satisfied she was as neat and tidy as was possible on such short notice, she made her way down the stairs feeling strangely agitated.

She halted outside the parlour door, suddenly reluctant to go in.

What is the matter with you? she demanded crossly and, having no immediate answer, raised her hand to knock.

Yet still she did not. Regina put her hands on her hips, shaking her head, and then gave into vanity and ran to the huge mirror in the entrance hall.

Once she was certain no one was around, she checked her reflection.

This was hard to do sufficiently in the little hand mirror she had in her room, and in the bright light afforded in the entrance hall, she thought she looked rather wan and colourless.

Though she chastised herself for being a silly goose, she took a moment to pinch her cheeks and run her teeth over her lips to give them a little colour.

“Daft as a brush,” she muttered under her breath, but took herself back to the door once again, and this time knocked before going in.

“Harry!” Tilly cried from her place on the rug before the fire. The girl scrambled to her feet and ran to her as the earl stood. She took Regina’s hand, towing her over to the chair by the fire. “You’re just in time. Will you pour the tea for us?”

“Of course,” Regina said, nodding at the earl and taking the chair Tilly had manoeuvred her into.

Ashburton sat opposite her, his expression unreadable and Regina decided she would do well to ignore him unless he spoke directly to her.