They had overwhelmed him indeed.

  “I wish you would have told me, my lord,” Mr. Sackville said reproachfully, turning back to the earl. “’Tis odd indeed to hear it in this fashion. Why did you not inform me?”

  “I-I…I cannot exactly say,” began Timothy.

  “Mr. Sackville?” said Anne lightly. When the man turned to face her, she smiled. “You are the first to know.”

  A wide smile spread across Mr. Sackville’s face. “Am I really?”

  Anne nodded impressively. Really, it was all too easy. Most men were exactly the same; play on the ego, and you would have them in the palm of your hand.

  Timothy was the only man she had met not like that. He danced to his own tune, even if it was one that would make him miserable.

  “Well, I say,” said Mr. Sackville looking absolutely delighted. “You know, my lord, my family have always served yours in one capacity or another, and I am honored to be your solicitor for such a momentous event!”

  “Right,” said Timothy weakly.

  Anne stifled another laugh. If she had had the opportunity to forewarn him, then of course she would have done.

  As it was, Timothy had raced ahead far more swiftly than she had imagined. Calling in a solicitor? Was the man deranged? What good did he think it would do, confessing to a crime he did not commit to assuage the guilt he should never have felt?

  “I suppose you asked me here to revise your will,” Mr. Sackville was saying.

  Timothy blinked. “I did?”

  Anne could not help but feel sorry for him. Timothy was the sort of man, both by nature and by rank, accustomed to being the one who controlled the conversation. Now he was in the unfortunate situation of navigating one without knowing where they were going.

  “Yes, at some point we will,” said Anne quickly. “My husband and I want to ensure all our legal documents are in order, but I wonder now whether this is the best time.”

  Thankfully, Timothy was able to notice a hint that large. “Yes, now that you have returned from London, perhaps we should consider writing ours together.”

  “We would need to consult, privately,” Anne said delicately. “I had not realized you had written so quickly to Mr. Sackville.”

  Their gazes met once more, and this time Anne was certain Timothy understood. She should never have left him, but she did not think he would have done something so rash.

  “So I am afraid we have called you away from your warm fire for nothing, Mr. Sackville,” said Timothy magnanimously. “And for that, I do apologize.”

  “But you must come back another time,” added Anne quickly. “And until then, you will promise to keep our secret, won’t you?”

  Mr. Sackville looked between them with a dazed expression, as though he had been asked to fly to the moon and given a magical horse to do so, but no one had given him a saddle.

  “Right,” he said slowly. “Yes, of course your secret stays with me…that is,” and he spoke in a clearer voice, “anything you say is in complete confidence, and this is no different.”

  “Lovely,” said Anne with a smile, rising to her feet. “In that case there is nothing left for us to do but wish you a good evening, Mr. Sackville.”

  It was an abrupt dismissal, Anne knew––but she could not remain here with Timothy for much longer without giving him a full explanation, nor receiving one in return.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Sackville, stumbling to his feet and bowing. “My lord, my lady––”

  “Wonderful,” said Anne, walking over to the door. “You know the way out, do you?”

  “What?” Mr. Sackville looked utterly flummoxed as he stepped into the corridor.

  Anne spotted Poll wandering down the corridor. “Ah, Poll. Poll will see you out, Mr. Sackville, and may I say once again what a pleasure it has been to see you again so soon.”

  The door was shut. Anne leaned against it, took a deep breath, and blew it slowly out.

  The tension that had settled in her shoulders during her long journey back from London, tension which had only heightened when she had overhead Timothy bear the responsibility of Louise’s death, was finally starting to dissipate.

  Thank God she had got here in time. Thank God Mr. Sackville was so easily impressed, so easily persuadable. If it had been a hardnosed solicitor who required facts, dates of matrimony, explanation…

  Well, then she would not have managed the impossible.

  Anne could not quite believe she had declared herself to be his wife. Now needed to do the one thing she had dreaded.

  Face Timothy.

  Her revelation to the solicitor was not precisely the discretion he had undoubtedly wished for, but if she was fortunate, if she had not entirely misjudged his affections, she may…may have won herself a rather wonderful man.

  “Well,” she said quietly, finally looking at Timothy, still seated behind his desk. “That is the hard bit over.”

  “Anne Gilbert, what on earth do you think you are doing!” exploded Timothy. “You can't just waltz in here and announce yourself as my wife!”

  “You are right,” said Anne with a wry smile. “We will have to make it official as soon as possible.”

  Timothy’s brow furrowed. “You are such a whirlwind, I am not entirely sure I know what is happening! You pronounce myself your wife after running out of this castle in the dead of night, leaving me…leaving all of us!”

  Anne could hear the pain in his voice. “I know, and I am sorry for it.”

  “Sorry!” Timothy blew out his cheeks as he shook his head. “Anne, I do not know what…where can I begin? Everything I thought I knew, everything I was sure I felt…it is exhausting attempting to keep up with you!”

  Anne smiled and walked to the desk. “I have announced myself as your wife. That cannot be taken back, not easily.”

  “And to Sackville, of all people!” Timothy said. “You do realize it is––well, some sort of crime I expect, to lie to a solicitor?”

  Yet under all the bluster and the rage, Anne could hear it. The love. The relief she had returned. He had not yet permitted himself to feel these things because they were twinned with other emotions, painful ones. Fear of loss. Rejection. Betrayal.

  “Are you saying,” she said slowly, “you do not wish to be my husband?”

  For a terrible moment, Anne thought he would say just that. There was such a look of perplexity across Timothy’s face he did not appear to know if he was coming or going.

  And then Anne squealed. “Timothy!”

  She was not permitted to say anymore. She couldn’t have, even if she had wanted to. Timothy had grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap, his lips crushed against hers, all that rage and passion and fear pouring down in a most divine kiss that took Anne’s breath away.

  When the kiss ended, Timothy was smiling. “I have never met anyone like you, you know.”

  “And you're not likely to either,” said Anne. His arms were strong around her, keeping her safe, holding her still. The only place she truly wanted to be. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  This time she lifted her lips to his, taking her pleasure eagerly, greedy for the taste of him. He was hers, the only man for her.

  “I love you,” she murmured, unable to stop herself. “I love you Timothy––”

  “And I love you, you governess minx,” came the jagged reply. “God, when I when I discovered you gone…I had not experienced agony like it. I need you, Anne, every part of me is dependent on you. A life without you…”

  Words once again became impossible. The relief they shared, the desperate need to be closer, overwhelmed them. Anne’s senses were just as overwhelmed; Timothy’s hands around her buttocks, cupping her to him, the way his lips teased her, his tongue worshipped her…

  But a jarring thought cut through her passion and Anne broke the kiss.

  Timothy leaned forward for me, eyes full of desire, but Anne pulled away.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s…” Anne swallowed. She had to say this, could not rest if he was still here. It would not be a pleasant conversation. “Holt. Your footman, he also acts as your driver.”

  Timothy frowned with a hesitant laugh. “You…you want to talk about Holt? Now?”

  “You need to get rid of him,” said Anne. She did not take her gaze from his, and tried to make it clear just how serious she was. “He is a terrible man, Timothy. He…he was the one who seduced Louise. He suggested…well, that her death wasn’t an accident.”

  Timothy’s laugh died away, his expression solemn. “And you believe him?”

  Anne nodded. “Yes, I do. What would he gain by lying? And he tried to kiss me and…well, he was rather horrible to me, actually. I imagine the maids have similar stories.”

  Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “The blaggard. I should string him up by his ankles, I should call him out at dawn––but no, he’s no gentleman. I should flog him! Touch you?”

  Seeing him angry, the rage so controlled and restrained, was rather exhilarating. For the first time in her life, Anne saw what a temptation power was when it was just out of reach. To have that authority over another person’s life…it was thrilling.

  “Send him away,” she said quietly. “We have no wish for a scandal, but I would ask that he be kept apart from women. The Navy perhaps.”

  A slow smile spread across Timothy’s face. “I shall purchase him a commission. Everyone will think we are rewarding him for some great service, but he will know he is being dismissed. Let the Navy deal with him.”

  Anne laughed. “I admit the Navy is an idea that never occurred to me. Just get rid of him, I don’t want him near Frances.” [for this to be the last we hear of Holt is unsatisfying. He’s been such a presence; his hatred for Timothy actually made me gasp; then he is Frances’s father; THEN he tries to rape Anne! PLUS! So much is made of the fact that Clactons never release servants yet Timothy is about to for the first time ever!!!! And all we get is a passive scene sending him to the navy…. NOOOOOOO!]

  Timothy kissed her gently on the cheek. “Well, I suppose as my wife, you have the authority to do that! When did we get married by the way?”

  Laughter rang out in the study. To see him happy, to hear him jest; it was all she wanted.

  “Not too long ago, actually,” she said with a smile. “And we had better make it official quick, before Mr. Sackville lets anything slip to anyone.”

  “Oh, I think Mr. Sackville can be trusted,” Timothy said. “One does not keep a family of solicitors for a few hundred years if they cannot be trusted.”

  “But can you be trusted,” Anne teased, “not to bed me until we are officially husband and wife?”

  He did not need to answer her in words. Anne received her answer with kisses, a trail of them that started on her lips but slowly moved to her neck and down towards her breasts.

  “I think that answers that question!”

  Timothy halted his devotion and looked into her eyes. Anne’s heart skipped a beat. She had never known it was possible to feel love like this.

  “You cannot just pick up her life, you know,” he said softly.

  Anne’s stomach lurched, but she controlled herself. It was natural for this concern to rise, and she would not simply ignore it because it was uncomfortable.

  “I don't intend to,” she said quietly. “We're going to make our own life, in new ways, exactly how we want. With Frances, too. Besides, after all the rigmarole you put me through for that Christmas ball, I have earned it. I have earned you.”

  For a moment she thought she had gone too far, but Timothy did not censure her nor criticize her words. Instead, he sighed.

  “Sometimes I think I didn’t deserve the trouble Louise brought me,” he said with a wry smile, “but then at other times, I thought I did. It was hard to know. I admit, I probably did not help her ease into this kind of life.”

  Anne’s heart softened. “She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and I am afraid to say that it appeared as well as wanting you, she…well, she wanted Holt. It’s just a shame she paid for that with her life.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, before Anne finally spoke the pain weighing on her since the moment she realized she loved him.

  “I…I feel guilty for inheriting her happiness.”

  “You have nothing to feel guilty about,” said Timothy fiercely. “No, look at me, Anne. Whatever has happened in the past, we love each other. I love you, all of you, all the clever things you do, the way you look at the world, your heart––all of you. You.”

  Anne placed her arms around his neck and kissed him, unleashing all the passion which had been desperately dammed within her soul. It had to find a way out.

  When the kiss finally broke, Timothy smiled weakly. “Christ in his heaven, we had better make this official, before I take you upstairs and do something I will very much not regret. We will have to be careful, though. Marry somewhere quiet. I am afraid your family will not be able to attend.”

  Anne smiled. “Don’t worry, I am a governess of discretion.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  1 January 1813

  The house was bustling and for the first time in two years, Timothy was glad of it.

  “Careful now, Burnham!” called Mrs. Seton sharply. “That chandelier is four times your age and just as delicate!”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Seton,” came the nervous reply of the footman.

  The housekeeper shook her head as Timothy passed. “They mean well, my lord.”

  Timothy smiled. “I am sure they do. Please do not worry, Mrs. Seton––the guests have already arrived and are in the ballroom, there is no need to concern yourself with––”

  “If that boy knocks over the Clarcton chandelier because of mere foolishness, there will be plenty to be concerned with,” said Mrs. Seton severely.

  Timothy smiled. Some things never changed, and Mrs. Seton was one of them.

  Besides, she was right. An almighty crash of crystal and gold onto the Great Hall floor would certainly bring an unplanned ruckus to the proceedings––though when it came to hosting balls, he was starting to learn there was nothing that one could entirely predict.

  “Well, if you need to adjust the candles there before the night’s end, please continue,” he said magnanimously. “If it can wait until the guests are gone and the thing can be lowered, even better. Now, I must continue to the ballroom. You have everything under control here?”

  Mrs. Seton glared at the blushing footman. “I certainly do.”

  Timothy could not help but laugh as he left the Great Hall and started along the corridor. The whole house had come alive in the last few weeks and he knew the cause. She was waiting for him in the ballroom––though if he knew Anne, she would be busy.

  Conversation and excitement would be rife, if he was any judge, the place packed with all from the surrounding area and a few from town, probably––all to see the new Countess of Clarcton.

  Not that any would own they had not realized she was not Louise at the last ball. Timothy had almost cried with laughter when they started to receive congratulations letters.

  Even Lady Romeril––

  “Ah, there you are,” said Lady Romeril, bearing down on him along the corridor. Evidently, she deigned to wait with the rest of his guests in the ballroom for his entrance. No, she had to be the one to speak with him. “You have been hiding from me.”

  Timothy inclined his head. “Lady Romeril. I would never dare do such a thing.”

  “Hmmmph,” was the response he received. “And I suppose I should congratulate you on your marriage, though I do not know if you deserve it. You attempted to play a very fine trick on us all, you know, but I was not for one minute taken in.”

  Timothy raised an eyebrow as guests passed them in the corridor. “You were not?”

  Lady Romeril raised herself up impressively. “Goodness, no. I could see it was a different woman, of course. Different nose.”

  It was all he could do not to laugh. “Different hair.”

  “That’s what I said,” Lady Romeril said smoothly.

  Almost seventy years old yet she held herself haughty, as though she ran the world.

  And of course, in a small way, she did. As one of the matrons of Almack’s, displeasing Lady Romeril meant one could find oneself on the wrong side of society for the entire Season. Why, Timothy himself knew of a family of three daughters who had––

  “I am still rather unimpressed with you,” said Lady Romeril, interrupting his thoughts as she fluttered her fan. “It is a good thing I was so taken by your mother. If you have any of her traits, you will do well.”

  Timothy inclined his head. “Then you do me great honor. To be anything like either of my parents would make me a fortunate man indeed.”

  “And I am sure your wife thinks likewise,” shot back the matriarch. “Tell me, who are her parents?”

  He hesitated before responding. Now they were married, such things did not really matter. The question of her family, her background…he knew these were the questions on everyone’s lips. Questions he would not be answering.

  No one would ever know the truth of the entire affair, and that was how he would keep it. Discretion indeed would be the focus on their marriage, as well as a rather delectable enjoyment of the bed––

  “I said, Anne is a rather common name,” said Lady Romeril severely. “Come now, my lord, there should be no secrets between equals, let alone friends. Just whisper in my ear the name of––”

  “I am sorry, Lady Romeril,” Timothy cut across her with what he hoped was a charming smile. “Both for disappointing you then with our façade, and disappointing you now with my silence. Good evening.”

  He had bowed and left her before Lady Romeril could splutter much more than ‘my word!’ and Timothy took that as a victory. Not every gentleman was that fortunate.

  He was so hasty to leave his conversation with the matriarch, however, that he almost ran headlong into the Duke of Kilkerth as he rounded a corner.

  “God’s teeth, watch––oh, it’s you,” said the duke with a scowl.

  Timothy grinned. Old Kilkerth was always bad tempered, always irritable. Not that he could blame the man. His wife had died what––a year ago?