The door opened and the butler stepped in soundlessly. Anne caught his eye.

  “…admit I quite like the father, but the mother!” Clarcton shook his head with a dry laugh. “No, you must avoid her at all costs, she is far too inquisitive and will assuredly ask more questions than you are comfortable with. The son, however…”

  Anne smiled briefly at the butler, who rolled his eyes. She had to stifle a laugh. It was pleasant, if only for a short moment, to feel herself connected to another while preparing for this rather wild scheme.

  The agreement had changed things. Of course it had, she had been foolish to assume it would not. The isolation she had felt on the first day she had arrived at Clarcton Castle had started to thaw, and now it had returned.

  Still, it was painful. The distance between herself and the others had somehow opened into a gaping chasm, now she was to be introduced to the world at the ball as their mistress.

  “Are you listening, my dear?”

  Anne smiled but did not turn to the earl. “I am indeed, Clarcton. Please do continue telling me about Master Hastings, and why he is more palatable than his mother.”

  She would not permit herself the pleasure of seeing how impressed he was with her ability to both pay complete attention to his words and consider other things.

  Well, really. She was a governess! More, she was from the Governess Bureau. Did he really think she could not do two things at once?

  “Right,” came the rather surprised reply. “Yes. Yes, the son is charming and yet innocent in his own way, so I would not concern yourself with him…”

  Anne’s gaze meandered over to her charge. Frances had finally, it appeared, reached boredom. Instead of playing with the cushions, she was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.

  The poor child was evidently accustomed to being bored out of her mind, and yet she did not cry, complain, or criticize. She did not even speak.

  And that meant, Anne knew, she was accustomed to no one listening.

  She was here, first and foremost, not as a countess but as a governess!

  “––though when I last saw him––”

  “I am sorry, Clarcton,” said Anne with a bright smile. “I am afraid my countess classes will have to wait. I am needed.”

  Clarcton blinked. “Needed? Needed by whom? I am the one who requires you to––”

  “I may be your countess for one evening, but my purpose here was to be a governess,” said Anne. She nodded her head towards the child who was motionless and silent on the floor.

  Clarcton shrugged. “I find children can usually entertain themselves. See, Frances is not unhappy.”

  It was all Anne could do to hold her temper, but her pulse was starting to pound in her ears and her hands were warm.

  How could he say such a thing––how could he mean it? He had evidently spent so little time with his daughter he had no idea of her boredom. Worse, had he completely forgotten what it was to be a child?

  “Timothy Lexington,” she said aloud, her governess voice perfectly pitched. “Was that what you did, when you were young? Entertain yourself, all alone?”

  His gaze met hers with just as much steel as her voice. “Why, yes.”

  “And how did you like it?” She held his gaze for what felt like an entire minute, and then he blinked.

  “Not in the slightest, as a matter of fact,” he said, a wry smile across his lips. “Goodness, my dear. Perceptive, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but then that is part of my stock and trade. If I cannot perceive what a child needs, no matter the age of the child, then I am not worth my salt.”

  For a moment, she thought she had gone too far. The Earl of Clarcton was not a gentleman to be trifled with, and though he had asked her to partake in this ruse, she was not foolish enough to think this put them on an equal setting.

  “You know, Anne Gilbert, I think I like you,” Clarcton said softly. “You’re not bad at all, are you?”

  Anne’s heart skipped a beat. “I do not think so, but then I am biased.”

  He laughed, the tension breaking. This was a gentleman who perhaps, if he had been a friend of her brothers’, she may have liked.

  May have loved.

  Anne forced away the thought. He may play at being equals, but she should never forget there was a chasm of difference between them. The Earl of Clarcton and a governess? Preposterous!

  “So, what is your remedy?” asked Clarcton. “I assume you have one?”

  “I do indeed,” said Anne, who had no plan but was hardly about to admit it. “I suggest a walk.”

  They both looked over at the windows, where thin, watery sunlight was managing to make its way into the room.

  “A walk? It’s November, Miss––my dear,” corrected Clarcton, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nothing like a brisk stroll in wintery sunshine,” said Anne bracingly. Anything to be out of this drawing room where he would drone on and on about people she would soon meet.

  Clarcton did not look convinced. “You just want to escape listening to me.”

  “I can think of more exciting things to do, yes,” said Anne, honestly. “Do not think I am ungrateful for the advice, but if we took a walk, I can look around and be entertained while you…monologue.”

  It was the most audacious speech she had spoken to him, but instead of being offended, the earl looked pleased.

  “You know, I have forgotten how refreshing it is to have honesty spoken to me,” he said lightly. “You really think you’d prefer to be outside?”

  “I can listen to you just as well outside as inside,” said Anne, cheeks slightly flushed at the praise. “And Frances would benefit from the exercise.”

  She watched him glance over at his daughter, and once again there was that shadow she did not quite understand.

  What had gone wrong between Timothy––between the earl and his family? Wife missing, for all intents and purposes, daughter almost entirely unknown to him…

  Was it a wonder he was so lonely?

  “Fine,” he said heavily, with a mocking air. “Off we go then.”

  It took but five minutes for Anne to find a coat and scarf that would fit Frances. They appeared to have been designed for young gentlemen rather than young ladies, and Clarcton laughed heartily as they stepped into the Great Hall.

  “Dear Lord,” he said. “It’s been almost twenty years since I saw those.”

  “They are yours, then?”

  “Mine, my father’s before me––if there’s one thing that will never go out of fashion, ’tis well-made gentlemen’s coats,” he said with a laugh. “Are you warm enough, little one?”

  Frances’s eyes shone as she looked up at her father. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone for a walk with you before, Papa.”

  Anne felt his embarrassment rather than saw it. He did not permit his face to alter in any way, but the discomfort in the atmosphere increased.

  “Well, I think it’s about time we changed that, don’t you?” said Clarcton with an impudent smile. “Come on.”

  Anne watched as the man offered his hand to the child who took it eagerly.

  In all this subterfuge and strange feelings that Timothy stirred, she really must remember to prioritize the relationship that really mattered here.

  That between father and daughter.

  It was a crime they were so distant. Perhaps, in time, she could help him see what a treasure he had, even with his wife gone.

  “Are you to join us, Anne?”

  Anne blinked at the pair waiting by the door. “I am indeed.”

  She stepped forward and braced herself for the freezing temperatures. Thank goodness she had seen fit to pack both scarf and muffler in her trunk in that hasty one hour window between being selected for this assignment and leaving with her new master.

  Clarcton laughed as he opened the door and a freezing gust of wind blew in, making Frances squeal and Anne gasp.

  “Come now, I thought you were the one who wanted to go outside,” he said, stepping forward with Frances’s hand in his. “Keep up, Anne!”

  She could not help but laugh. There was something about him which drew her to him even when he was being his most irritable, his most irascible.

  It was attractiveness, but not as she knew it. A handsome man had always been, she had thought, someone whose features were pleasing to the eye. Though the earl fitted that description, there was something more. Beyond how he looked.

  Anne shivered as she followed them into the cold air. That memory of Timothy––of Clarcton handing her the gown had surfaced once again in her memory.

  Why did it keep coming into her mind?

  “Goodness, it is cold,” said Anne as the cold wind worked its way through her pelisse.

  Clarcton raised a knowing eyebrow. “Did I, or did I not, say that you would be cold?”

  Anne was not about to let that go unchallenged. “What you said, Clarcton, was it was November––something I never contested. Frances, which direction would you like to go?”

  The child looked almost overwhelmed and looked around her with wide eyes.

  “Any direction you want,” said her father with a smile. “You just tell us.”

  Frances smiled, all adoration. “This way!”

  They set off towards, as far as Anne could make out, parkland. It truly was a beautiful estate, and if she had arrived at the beginning of spring, rather than winter, she would have explored a great deal more.

  As it was––

  “Now, I had not started listing the families with which the Clarctons have friendly relations,” said Clarcton, clearly ready to begin a new monologue, “and those who are only invited because otherwise it would be a great scandal. In the first group, there is––”

  “Clarcton,” said Anne, “do you not want to know anything about me?”

  She had meant it in jest, and was pleased to see him utterly shocked at her suggestion.

  “You?”

  Anne nodded. “Yes, me.”

  Clarcton stared over Frances’ head. “Why would I want to know about you?”

  It was spoken so honestly, with so little guile, that Anne could only laugh.

  “Because,” she said, as they stepped along the path, “I am about to pretend to be your W-I-F-E!”

  She spelled out the word, suddenly conscious of her master’s daughter between them, but the child did not look at them. She was far too preoccupied with looking around.

  “Acorns!”

  She ran off and picked up a handful of the things, before turning back to the two adults and grinning.

  “Can you find me five acorns that all look alike, Frances?” asked Anne.

  The child nodded, looking carefully at those in her hand.

  Anne came to a halt with Clarcton beside her, the wind rustling the last few oak leaves not yet on the ground.

  “We are about to have a house full of guests,” she said under her voice, watching the Frances. “Do you not wish to know if I can dance, what music I like, whether I can play the pianoforte?”

  Only then did she look at him and saw his panic.

  “I did not think of that,” he admitted.

  Power rushed through Anne. He may be the earl, the one with the money, the power, the title––but it was she, and she alone who could make this ploy a success.

  Or failure.

  “I do not know why this scheme you've got up means so much to you,” she said lightly, “but if you want to make it work, you have got to put in the effort.”

  Frances squealed with delight as they watched.

  Eventually he spoke in a low voice. “I thought all the effort would be yours.”

  Anne smiled. “Not entirely. But then, you are a gentleman, Clarcton. You should have no difficulty extracting those details from me through conversation. You may even enjoy it.”

  Why had she said that? It was a flirtatious thing to even think, let alone say! Anne felt her stomach twist slightly uncomfortably, but the earl did not look embarrassed.

  “So, tell me,” he said with a dry smile, “and pretend we are in one of the best salons in London. Do you have any siblings, Miss Gilbert?”

  “Two brothers and a handful of sisters,” said Anne. “Our father died when we were young, so my brothers and I had to work, a great disappointment to our mother. Her sister lived in the neighboring town, and our cousins were almost like siblings, though I admit I did not care for all of them.”

  Perhaps she had spoken too much. The last thing Clarcton probably wanted was old family gossip.

  “Not all of them?” he asked curiously.

  Anne shook her head. By God, it was years since she had last thought about her. “No, one of them––”

  A scream, high pitched and gut wrenching, cut through the air.

  “Frances!”

  The name was uttered quickly by them both, but as they turned Anne saw she was happy and well, examining the acorns in her hand, leaf mulch staining her cheek.

  “What the devil––” Clarcton looked around them hastily as another scream wrenched the air.

  Could this be something to do with the missing wife? Such a scream, such terror or pain within it…

  And then her eyes caught sight of the culprit. “There––look!”

  Her heart was pounding. Further down the path, three gardeners were surrounding the trunk of an old oak tree. It had died on one side, and Anne could see they were attempting to saw off part of it. One of the gardeners was trapped underneath it, and his piteous moans were terrible to hear.

  “The poor man!” Anne found her lungs filled with air but her brain frozen in panic. From the shouts she could hear, the man was badly injured. What could she do?

  Clarcton, however, had no such question. He just acted, rushing over to the gardeners desperately attempting to move the heavy wood from the man’s leg.

  Another cry, this time of an entirely different pitch—Frances. Anne saw the child sobbing, and rushed over to pull the child into her arms.

  “There now,” she said comfortingly, kneeling on the lawn to embrace Frances tightly. “Everything will be well.”

  Even as she spoke, she looked over the child’s shoulders at the man still entrapped below the oak branch. It was a dangerous world, even with the security of a place at a castle. Clarcton may treat his servants well, but there was always something that could go wrong.

  “Together men, after three,” shouted the earl, trying to get his shoulder underneath one part of the heavy branch. “One, two, three!”

  They heaved together, and Anne could not help but stare in awe. No panic tinged his heart, and instead of leaving his servants to their problem, he ran instead towards the disaster.

  A warmth curled around her heart. No matter the mystery of his wife, and the rather gruff way he spoke, Timothy Lexington was a good man. His wife, wherever she was, was fortunate to have him.

  With groans of effort, the oak branch was shifted.

  “Right, coats, everyone,” said Clarcton quickly. “Hold them out––make a stretcher, it will have to do, we must get him into the house.”

  He was pulling off his own greatcoat as he spoke.

  “It’ll just take two of us,” said one of the gardeners, face red and eyes concerned. “Can I go get doctor, five more minutes could––”

  “Yes go, do what you think is best,” said Clarcton not looking at him, eyes only for the patient. “It’s John, isn’t it? How do you feel, John? Stay awake for me.”

  Anne could do nothing but watch as two of the gardeners stepped away from the patient. The one who had voiced the desire to seek a doctor––a wise thought––ran towards the house, and the other approached her.

  “Sorry you had to see that, miss,” he said, taking his hat off and twisting it in his hands. “And the child, too.”

  Anne nodded. No words seemed adequate.

  “Isn’t master a brick?” he said, and Anne could hear the admiration. “I was fortunate to get this position, my mum in the village was hopeful, but there are only a few vacancies every generation.”

  This seemed so incongruous with the vast numbers of servants Anne had already met that she frowned as she straightened up.

  “Really?” she said. “I would have thought there would be ample opportunities here.”

  The gardener shook his head, hat still twisting between his fingers. “A job here is a job for life, always has been. No Earl of Clarcton has ever sacked a man, nor woman neither.”

  Anne frowned. “What, not ever?”

  “I can’t think of no one who has ever been asked to leave,” shrugged the gardener, eyes still fixed on the injured man. “If you get sick, or old, there’s always a house in the village for you.”

  The more she heard of Timothy, Anne thought, the more impressed she became. What sort of master was he, that he could on the one hand rush towards danger at the drop of a hat, and on the other side, request that his daughter’s governess pretend to be his wife?

  “He always seems to know what to do in every situation.”

  The gardener snorted at that. “Not he. When the mistress ran––”

  Anne turned to him. “I beg your pardon?”

  The gardener flushed and carefully returned his hat to his head. “I had better go, miss, you understand.”

  He was gone before she could ask any questions.

  His wife ran––ran what? Ran to where? Where was this countess whose presence hovered, almost ghostlike, above them all?

  “Is Frances frightened?”

  Anne turned to see Timothy standing in the freezing wintery air with nothing with his jacket over his waistcoat, his greatcoat being used in the transportation of the gardener who was still moaning in agony.

  “You––you were so brave,” breathed Anne.

  “Gaskell will call on the doctor now, which is all to the good,” Timothy said, not questioning her response.

  “Well, yes, but how will the poor man afford it?”

  It was as though she had suggested the stupidest thing in the world. “Afford it? My dear Miss Gilbert, you cannot think that I would allow a man like John to pay his own doctor’s bill? After being injured on my land, serving on my staff? Dear God, the bill comes to me.”