“Clarcton Castle,” the earl said with some relief.

  Placing her book in her reticule and shifting closer to the window, Anne looked for her first glimpse of her new home for what could be years, with her charge being so young.

  The drive was indeed well cared for, with oak saplings every few yards on either side.

  “My father took some advice from old Capability Brown,” said the earl with a great degree of satisfaction. “One day, there will be a magnificent avenue here.”

  It was rather difficult to imagine, in the gray and miserable drizzle currently seeping from the overcast sky.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice croaky for lack of use. “But it will be at least one hundred years, surely, before anyone will enjoy such an avenue?”

  There was a chuckle, and Anne looked over to see a genuine smile on his face.

  “My dear Miss Gilbert, I am an earl,” he said wryly. “The decisions I make are not for myself. I will not see the outcome of most of them in my own lifetime. No, I make them for descendants. A future Earl of Clarcton will find blessed relief from the sun and the joy of the greenery, and it will be because last year, I planted saplings.”

  It was difficult not to be impressed by such a statement, but Anne said nothing and merely turned back to the window, which was still full of views of saplings.

  Being an earl must be a rather wonderful and yet terrifying thing, she mused. He was right; his decisions could change the way an estate was managed for generations to come.

  While the carriage glided smoothly over the carefully managed drive, Anne found her eye drawn not to the saplings, but to the man who had order their planting.

  The Earl of Clarcton. He took his responsibilities to the estate seriously, which made it all the more strange he had evidently little interest in giving his daughter the upbringing she deserved, as Lady Frances Lexington.

  The further along the drive they moved, she watched him visibly relax. The tension dissipated from his shoulders, his arms, uncrossed and unperturbed by his sides.

  It was not so very surprising, thought Anne. Most gentlemen preferred to be at home in the country rather than in town. What was odd was just how long it was taking them to arrive. The driveway had swept along and the oak saplings had disappeared, bowing out to their natural successor, the parkland with wide oak trees and beeches in the distance. What appeared to be a river came into view, cutting through it like blue stitching across green cloth.

  A movement––deer. A smile broke across her face. She would have many pleasant evenings walking in this parkland, she was sure––if she was able to reach it from the house, that is. Still the carriage rumbled onwards, and they appeared to be no closer than when they…

  Anne gasped audibly. They had turned another corner, and a house had appeared as though by magic, hidden by the slope of the hill before it—and what a house.

  House was not entirely the right word for it. Castle, perhaps, though it did not appear to be the sort of medieval castle she had seen in her picture books when a child.

  She had never seen anything like it. The carriage slowed, giving her the chance to take a closer look at the huge building that was still yet unfurling itself, growing larger and larger the closer they came.

  It was awe-inspiring. More manor than house, more castle than manor, it was surrounded by gardens of the latest fashion, all clipped box and delicate stumps, which Anne assumed would, in the summer, reveal themselves to be roses. For now, they were all covered by a gentle dusting of wintery frost, even this late in the afternoon as the sun began to set behind the castle.

  There was a fountain––two fountains, either side of the rear of the house, neither of which were flowing in this cold temperature. There were benches, and what were probably two majestic greenhouses in the distance, one of which appeared to have an orangery within.

  The castle had four towers with two grouped together, as though the place had not been built but grown. What once could have been a moat encircled it, and the windows were mullioned, shimmering red in the dying sun.

  As the carriage came around and slowed, Anne gasped again at the impressive façade now visible. She swallowed, hands clasped in her lap and heart now racing against her ribcage.

  It would be easy to become overwhelmed as such grandeur, she told herself, but she was not so foolish. It was natural that an earl would live in a place like this. It befit his title, and it would soon become as homely to her as any other place.

  She had considered this Earl of Clarcton to be much on the same footing in society as her previous master. They had, after all, the same title.

  But this was different. The Earldom of Clarcton was ancient, far older and more noble. This was an assignment far more impressive than she had been led to believe in her hurried conversation with Miss Clarke.

  “Clarcton Castle,” said the earl into the silence as the carriage came to a halt.

  Anne nodded, rather than trust her voice. The place was magnificent, and the dying sunlight only emphasized the extraordinary stonework and elegant masonry.

  It had all been theoretical over the last few days, when this carriage ride appeared never to end, and she was stuck in the awkward silence that this gentleman seemed to prefer.

  But now? Now she had to face reality. She, Miss Anne Gilbert, was the governess here, of Clarcton Castle. That meant she had a responsibility to represent the house and family as best she could, giving her privileged access few in the town could dream of. Within weeks, the corridors of this place would become as familiar to her as they were now to its owner.

  She would need to win over the housekeeper, that was true.

  “Watch out for Mrs. Seton, I doubt she will like you.”

  Anne smiled. It sounded a hard task, and even the earl seemed to be aware that he had transgressed one of the basic codes of servanthood, which was never to tell one what the other thought of them.

  But after the housekeeper, the butler, the rest of the household, which now she saw the size of the property would be numerous indeed, and then…

  The mistress.

  Anne swallowed again. It was always more challenging to win the hearts and minds of the women of a household, Miss Clarke had always warned them.

  “You are entering their domain,” she had emphasized during a particularly long lecture. “Remember you are the interloper here. It is their home, their right to consider you an outsider. You have to earn their respect, for you will not be given it.”

  Miss Clarke had been proven right at each of Anne’s assignments. The mistress of a home always considered a new governess to be a threat, and it was during her second posting that Anne had realized why. Naïve, innocent that she had been then.

  No danger of that here, though. Anne glanced at her master, the gruff, rude, and taciturn gentleman, who whined about roads and knew nothing about his daughter. No, she was unlikely to be tempted there!

  “Right,” he said, opening the door on his side and stepping out of the carriage.

  Anne waited for a moment, but instead of moving around the carriage and opening her the door, or even waiting for a servant to perform the task, the earl did neither. Without a backward glance, he strode towards the house.

  Anne sighed. She should not have been surprised, not really.

  Struggling with the catch on the door, it opened suddenly and Anne saw the driver, a young Mr. Holt, standing outside the carriage.

  “Don’t mind him,” he said with no preamble. “He’s like that, but he’s a good master. Good wages.”

  Anne nodded but did not respond. It was unladylike to speak of money, her mother had always told her. Even when it was the only thing preoccupying one’s mind.

  “Here, let me.” Holt held out a hand, and Anne took it gratefully and stepped onto the gravel drive.

  “Thank you,” she said, a little self-consciously. It was uppermost in her mind that though perfectly respectable, she was technically alone with a man she did not really know.

  He grinned. “Oh, it’s nothing. Let me get your luggage.”

  Holt stepped away and gave Anne the chance to take in her surroundings. The wind was freezing, far colder than she was accustomed to––but still, she had made it, and if Holt was anything to go by, there were servants here who were friendly. That would be important during the long winter evenings she would otherwise spend alone.

  A grunt caught her attention, and she turned to see Holt struggling with her trunk.

  “Oh, do you want a hand with that?”

  Holt looked offended. “No, I know where your room will be, and I am perfectly capable, thank you. I’ll take it up.”

  Anne hid a smile. Even the suggestion a man may not be strong enough, and you would soon see the fire in their eyes. Well, she offered to help. It would give her time to––

  “Miss Gilbert!” The earl appeared in the doorway. “Do you intend to enter my home, or make yourself comfortable in the gardens?”

  Anne bit down the retort she would have liked to give, and said, “Thank you, my lord.”

  Of all the arrogant, gruff, and discourteous men, she thought as she stepped forward with a banal smile, this man topped the lot.

  It was difficult to feel irritable, however, when she stepped over the threshold and into the hallway, which was vast and twice as high as she had imagined.

  “My goodness,” she murmured.

  It was like stepping back in time––at least, to a time that once must have existed but seemed to be more dreams of England than what England had ever been. It was a Great Hall.

  A minstrel’s gallery ran around the edges of the room high above her, the walls adorned with swords, knives, even a stag’s head! As Anne’s gaze moved lower, suits of armor appeared along with paintings of hunting scenes that looked as though they had been painted from life in the parkland she had just passed through.

  Anne swallowed, and tried to keep her face as unimpressed as possible. This was an entirely new level of nobility. The Earl of Allun had rented his country home, for goodness’ sake!

  What on earth has she managed to get herself into?

  “You must be tired.” The earl was being divested of his greatcoat by a man who could only be the butler.

  “I am,” she said honestly. “Very tired. If I may––”

  “Mrs. Seton!” the earl bellowed.

  Anne took a step backwards unconsciously, his voice was so loud. Goodness, this could not be the way the man managed a household, could it? It was barbaric!

  Yet that appeared to be the norm. The butler had not blanched. A door slammed somewhere in the depths of the castle and footsteps echoed until a woman with graying hair and a filthy scowl entered.

  Anne thought her first words and tone were rather unnecessary.

  “This her, is it?”

  Anne could not help but bristle. Really!

  Yet losing her temper was not liking to endear her to anyone, least of all her new employer and the housekeeper. She curtseyed low, and said nothing.

  Mrs. Seton snorted. “None of us here are impressed with your fine ways.”

  “Mrs. Seton,” the earl said in a warning tone.

  Anne looked between them and watched as the housekeeper sniffed and drew herself up, as though holding in all the things she clearly wished to say.

  “I suppose you want to see where your room is, then?”

  Anne took a deep breath before saying, “Yes, please, Mrs. Seton.”

  Without saying another word, the housekeeper turned and walked through the door she had come through. It could not be more evident she expected the governess to follow her.

  Anne looked at the earl for guidance, but he was gone. It appeared she was to be left to the mercy of Mrs. Seton, worse luck, and she caught up with the older woman at the base of a wide staircase.

  “It is lovely to meet you, Mrs. Seton,” she said quietly. The castle had a rather bizarre way of making any speech echo in a most disobliging way. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

  The housekeeper said nothing, merely stamping up the stairs in silence.

  Anne tried again. “I have been told little about my charge, Lady Frances, and I am eager to meet her. When will I have the chance to meet the rest of the family––to meet the countess?”

  It was not an unusual question, Anne thought, and yet the housekeeper treated it as though she had asked the secret combination of the master’s safe.

  “’Tis none of your business, I would say,” she snapped. “I would not dwell much on the family, just focus on the girl.”

  The girl? Anne’s heart sank. The child was ignored or even disliked by most around her.

  “It is my business,” Anne said calmly as they reached the top of the stairs and started down a corridor. “I am here as the governess. It is vital that I––”

  “I said, it’s none of your business,” said Mrs. Seton with a fierce look.

  Anne did not speak immediately. It was bad the housekeeper was so disobliging, but she was attempting to remember the route they were taking so she could find it again. Up the stairs and left along the corridor, round the corner to the left again but take a right…

  “So the countess is not here, then?” Anne tried again.

  Mrs. Seton glared, but seeming to find it was impossible not to at least answer this one, snapped, “Not at the moment.”

  It was very strange indeed. As they turned another corner and started up a flight of stairs which looked as though it had been added there as an afterthought, Anne wondered where on earth the countess could be, if not here and not in town. Perhaps visiting someone else in the neighborhood?

  “What a shame, I would have liked to see her. I always think it most interesting to see the mother, to see what the daughter will become,” said Anne, trying to inject warmth in her tones as they reached the top of this staircase and took a right. “I suppose there is a portrait of the countess somewhere?”

  At those words, Mrs. Seton halted abruptly and turned on her. “What have you heard? What rumors got to you?”

  Anne was so astonished, she could not think what to say. Rumors? She had heard nothing, if one did not count that whisper of Beth Fletcher’s, and she certainly didn’t.

  “If you ask me, he did it.”

  What a strange reaction from a housekeeper about a woman that Anne had never met.

  The earl had mentioned nothing of note about his wife in their carriage ride, and it was only now Anne realized just how strange that was. Almost forty complaints about the state of the roads, and yet not a single mention or allusion to his wife?

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Mrs. Seton’s gaze narrowed. “Are you quite sure, Miss Gilbert?”

  Anne could not think possibly what had come over the woman––unless…

  Ah, perhaps that was it. Was it possible they were divorced, secretly, and that was why she was not here? The countess had been sent away, and the pain of potential scandal was still raw, even in the household staff?

  It was not impossible and would be scandalous if true. The earl would want to keep that quiet. Yet the housekeeper had said ‘not at the moment.’ Was she visiting relatives?

  “I am merely curious, nothing more,” Anne said aloud to the waiting housekeeper. “As I said to his lordship in the carriage, I like to know about the people I am working for. That was all.”

  The hackles on the back of Mrs. Seton seemed to lessen, and she looked uncomfortable that her temper had gotten the better of her.

  “Right, well,” she said awkwardly. “No more talk about that portrait. Come on, now.”

  She started walking again and Anne mirrored her, curiosity piqued.

  That portrait, Mrs. Seton had said. Not a portrait. There was one, then, or else the housekeeper would not have become so upset about it. Where could it be?

  Before Anne could think, the servant stopped and opened a door. “Here you go.”

  Her mouth fell open, a seemingly common occurrence at Clarcton Castle.

  “You must be mistaken,” she said in a strangled voice. “This cannot be my room.”

  It was magnificent. The rooms Anne were accustomed to were usually a little larger than a maid’s room; if she was fortunate, large enough for a bed, chest of drawers and wardrobe, a chair, and a desk. If she was lucky.

  But this…this was on a main corridor and appeared to be a guest room. Silk hangings around the four poster bed, a large bay window with a view that overlooked the formal gardens, there was a rug on the floor that could even have been an Axminster!

  “You…you’re quite sure this is my room?”

  “If I had my way, you’d be up in the attics, not this close to the family. But that’s his lordship’s orders. Close to Lady Frances.”

  She turned to leave as Anne stood in the middle of the room looking around in wonder, but she was prevented from doing so by a man holding a trunk.

  “Out of the way, Holt,” she grumbled as she stepped around him.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Seton,” said the man apologetically, but she was already gone. “Found it alright, then?”

  Anne smiled. A familiar face. “There must have been a mistake, his lordship cannot possibly think I need a room like this?”

  Holt heaved the trunk onto the floor beside a stunning chest of drawers, and drew himself up. “I don’t know, the master always is very good to us,” he said, trying to mask his breathlessness. “So. Miss Gilbert. Where were you before this?”

  Anne could sense his desire for conversation, but she had never been less talkative in her life. After such a journey, and such a welcome, all she wished to do was be left to her own devices to unpack and unwind.

  “Thank you for bringing up my luggage,” she said instead. “I will unpack now, I think. Good day, Holt.”

  “Right you are,” he said, nodding and closing the door behind him.

  Anne heaved a sigh into the silence of the room. She would have to be careful. The last thing she needed just as she arrived was to be accused of having a gentleman follower. That would almost be as bad as trying it on with the master!

  She laughed in the silence at the very thought. She could not think of anything less likely.