The room––her room––only appeared more beautiful and luxurious the more she looked at it. She had come a long way to be here, both figuratively and literally, and though Anne was not entirely sure she deserved such luxury, she was hardly one to turn her nose up at it when offered.

  The peace of her own company was to be her reward, and she would need that rest before the biggest challenge still ahead: meeting Lady Frances, and her mother, the Countess of Clarcton.

  Just as Anne reached out to unfasten her luggage, a heavy noise reverberated around the room. A dinner gong.

  “Miss Gilbert!”

  The voice echoed, but it was clearly her master. Anne opened the door.

  “Dinner, Miss Gilbert, and your presence is required!”

  Anne’s mouth fell open, a habit that she was going to have to curtail if she was going to live here for more than a day. She had not been given the gift of even five minutes to herself, but there was nothing for it. She would have to go downstairs and see that cantankerous man again––and perhaps, if she was fortunate, meet his wife.

  Chapter Four

  The door opened and Timothy looked up, only to be immediately disappointed. The frown that covered his face was not personal; he would have defended that to the hilt. But surely she knew the basics of etiquette? She was a governess, for crying out loud!

  “You haven’t changed,” he barked across the room.

  Miss Gilbert closed the door quietly and faced him. The dining table was between them, long and formal. Timothy could not remember the last time he had dined here.

  Christmas past, perhaps? The obligatory visit from the Reverend Critchley?

  “Changed?” Miss Gilbert’s face was blank. “In the last five minutes?”

  Timothy did not intend to glare, but it was an instinctual reaction that bore more relation to her own looks than her actions.

  God’s teeth, but it was strange having her here. Timothy had never been one for throwing open the doors of his home and inviting guests. The customary balls were hosted out of duty more than anything else.

  But it was more than that. It was her. Miss Gilbert. Now he saw her in better light than that of a traveling carriage in winter, it was clear she was not an exact replica of Louise. There was softness around the cheeks. A gentleness in the eyes Louise had lacked. Moreover, the hair was entirely different.

  But not different enough. Timothy took a deep breath, as though that would change the frantic beating of his heart.

  No, she was not Louise, yet there was enough similarity to throw even him. It was as though a person had painted Louise from the verbal description of another.

  “Yes, changed,” said Timothy, suddenly aware the conversation would struggle if he did not response. “For dinner.”

  It was not as though his request was surprising. All society changed for dinner. Why, when last in town, forced to attend a few card parties in the evenings with undiscerning hosts, he had even spotted a few tradesmen and their families following the practice.

  She was a governess, for goodness’ sake. Surely she knew that?

  Miss Gilbert was looking at her day gown. It was mud splattered at the hem and appeared very much worse for wear.

  “Change for dinner?” she said lightly. “And you believe you gave me sufficient time to do so? I note you have only changed your jacket.”

  Timothy felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. “That’s as may be, this is my house and if I choose to keep the same waistcoat and––I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

  These last words were barked rather than spoken.

  Miss Gilbert smiled. “As I do not need to explain myself to you. I have not yet had sufficient time to unpack my trunks, and I believed a prompt arrival for dinner was more important than my apparel. Where would you like me?”

  The impudence! Timothy could hardly believe it. She had been the governess for another earl; surely he was asking no more than her previous employer––and yet she spoke to him like…like a child, who needed correcting!

  “Here,” he said, pointing at the seat to his left. He had no patience to chastise her now, and knowing his temper, he was liable to say something he would undoubtedly regret.

  Better to suffer through this dinner then return to his own chambers to sleep properly for the first time in…God knew how long.

  “Thank you, my lord,” came the smooth reply from the governess as she stepped lightly across the room and sank elegantly into her seat.

  Timothy nodded. By God, this was going to be an ordeal––but he knew what was due her rank, even if she had no care to recognize his own.

  A governess was…well, a sort of will o’the wisp, when it came to hierarchy in a house, he was vaguely aware. Servant yes, but not servant. Not merely a part of the household, but part of the driving force. Like Mrs. Seton, or Dewey—the people who mattered.

  “What a delightful dining room,” said Miss Gilbert cheerfully. “I can imagine you hosted many a fine dinner here, with friends and neighbors.”

  “Not often,” said Timothy, finding his curt response left his mouth before he could think of anything polite. “Not if I can help it.”

  Silence fell after this pronouncement.

  Ye gods, this was a punishment. Timothy had known, from the moment Louise had stepped into his life, that he would be unable to stay away from her, and that she would be his ruin.

  And he had been right. On both counts.

  He cleared this throat. “This won’t be something we do every day.”

  Miss Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

  “Dine together,” Timothy clarified. “I would not wish to intrude on your solitude, and I am a solitary creature myself. Just on Sundays. You can tell me how Frances is doing.”

  The last thing he needed was a lovesick governess mooning about the place, thinking he was inviting her to dine because he liked her. God forbid!

  No, this was strictly to ensure everyone, the household, the world, knew he was doing what was right by Frances. She should not have to suffer for her parents’ ills.

  “Sundays is an excellent choice,” said Miss Gilbert.

  Relief, sweet relief spread down Timothy’s shoulders and released the tension in his chest, which he had not realized he was holding. He did not go out of his way to offend; it was just something that occurred naturally when he opened his mouth around other people.

  He had several reasons for wanting to keep the governess at arm’s length, at least for now. If the idea brewing in his mind could work, he would need to ascertain whether he was absolutely mad for conceiving it, and whether this Miss Gilbert would be amenable to his terms.

  Blood and bones, if the scheme could work––if he could make this entire thing work to his advantage…

  “Sundays was the arrangement I had at my previous posting,” continued the governess. “I think it will do well here, too. Thank you, my lord.”

  Timothy nodded. “Yes, the Alluns. I think their eldest daughter is about to come out into society, is that right?”

  It was not intended to be an interview. That work had already been done, back in London, in the Governess Bureau. Miss Clarke had been surprised at his insistence on discretion, perhaps even offended.

  “All my ladies are discreet, my lord,” she had said with a sharp look.

  And he had explained…well. Enough.

  “Yes, Lady Maria will attend her first ball at Almack’s this very week, I believe,” said Miss Gilbert. Her voice was a little wistful.

  “And you wish you could be there?”

  The governess caught his eye. “Now, wouldn’t that be a scandal? A governess, at Almack’s? I know my place, and it is certainly not in the company of the great and the good.”

  There was a sparkle in her eyes, and Timothy found to his surprise he was smiling.

  “I did not intend the remark as a trap,” he said mildly.

  “I am sure you did not,” came the arch reply. “But what a good thing I stepped around it, for both our sakes.”

  Timothy laughed, then halted quickly. They were not friends; they were master and governess.

  “The two younger children, of course, are now at school,” she said. “They were good boys, but in need of school by that age. Young people of a similar age to them, the chance to shift their horizons.”

  “I am not sure I had my horizons much shifted at school,” Timothy said as a door opened behind him, and food was brought out by a footman.

  Miss Gilbert examined him, a smile on her lips. “I don’t suppose you did.”

  Her nonchalance made him bristle. What the devil did she mean by that? He had been to one of the best schools in the country, and his parents had always ensured that––

  “Oh, tomato soup, my favorite,” said Miss Gilbert, smiling her thanks at the footman who had brought their bowls.

  Timothy nodded. Dear God, she did something to him, this governess. There was something about her, something about the cheerful and open way she spoke, about the curiosity which she gladly owned and did nothing to hide.

  It was as unlike Louise, unlike the life he had lived for the last five years as could be.

  Miss Gilbert was not a breath of fresh air; more a hurricane that threatened to upend the way he saw himself and his entire world.

  A world he had to protect.

  “When you were at the Alluns, you had a reason to be discreet,” he said abruptly as Miss Gilbert took her first genteel mouthful of piping hot tomato soup. “What was it?”

  Those blue eyes met his and held his gaze far longer than he was comfortable with. Timothy refused, however, to break it. It was her responsibility, not his, to speak.

  “I really don’t know what you mean,” she said finally with an honest expression.

  “So you keep your master’s secrets?”

  Once again, Miss Gilbert did not reply immediately. Instead, she gently laid down her soup spoon, licked clean in a rather enticing way Timothy attempted not to notice, and leaned back in her chair with her palms in her lap, examining him.

  “Yes,” she said finally, no hint of mischief on her face. “I keep my master’s secrets. That is what discretion means.”

  “I am not here for a lesson on definitions,” said Timothy sharply. “I wish to understand why you display such loyalty for a gentleman who is no longer your master. I am. And I am asking.”

  Miss Gilbert was not cowed by his tone. “That does not make his secrets any less secret. I would do him, and myself, a disservice if I considered my vows of discretion dissolved merely because he no longer paid my wages––as I would expect to keep any secrets shared with me in this house to remain secret, even after I left.”

  It was a long speech in the quiet room, and it was well made. Timothy found his respect for the woman increasing, despite himself.

  It was not as though he had been given many positive examples of women in his life to date. His mother was well-meaning, but a gossip to the bone, no sisters or cousins, and he had been too intoxicated with Louise to realize she was…

  He had become accustomed to thinking of women as those who could not keep their mouths shut, who could not keep to their word––who did not really understand what keeping their word meant.

  It appeared Miss Gilbert was a rarity. Thank God. If she stayed more than a week, she would need that skill.

  “Your own tomatoes, I presume?”

  Timothy blinked. “What?”

  Miss Gilbert indicated her soup. “Your own tomatoes? From your kitchen gardens?”

  It was such a change in topic that for a moment, Timothy’s mind struggled to keep up. “Kitchen––yes, our own tomatoes,” he said hastily. “Yes, Nelson, my head gardener, and Cook are very accomplished, very good indeed.”

  “I quite agree,” said Miss Gilbert, raising her spoon and taking another mouthful.

  She appeared to be utterly unfazed by his questioning, which was all to the good. Timothy had no time for women who threw hysterics to get their own way, or found fault in those around them, or took offense at simple questions.

  All lessons he had learned from one woman.

  “I must admit, I just assume the food will be good,” he said gruffly. “It has always been so here at Clarcton Castle, and I keep the same high standards my father expected. All who serve me know that.”

  Miss Gilbert did not reply, and Timothy found himself piqued. Was he a substandard conversationalist? Had he really been alone for so long that he was unable to keep a woman’s interest for more than five minutes?

  He ate his own soup in silence, calling down a curse on all women everywhere. God’s teeth, but if only Frances had been a boy. He could have found a perfectly decent tutor, and there would have been none of this female nonsense for him to deal with.

  The footman, Holt [he struggles to remember Holt’s name later. Suggest adding something here that makes him not so certain], stepped forward and removed their bowls––but not before a look of recognition and pleasant surprise on Miss Gilbert’s face, and a wink from Holt.

  The damned cheek! Timothy could hardly believe what he was seeing, right before his eyes. If that was not bad enough, a flush of color crimsoned Miss Gilbert’s cheeks!

  Well, he was going to put a stop to that immediately. He would have none of that in his household.

  A stern glare was enough to make the man drop his gaze and scurry out of the room.

  “Do not,” Timothy said darkly, “permit men to take liberties, Miss Gilbert.”

  The words had not been intended as censure, more as warning, but there was an answering force in Miss Gilbert’s face he had not expected.

  “You can rest assured, my lord, that I do not require advice on that front,” she said coldly. “It was pleasant to see a friendly face, that is all. I am sure you can understand, as I am miles from anyone else I know.”

  There was censure in her voice, and Timothy found himself feeling guilty for the heavy handed way he had expressed himself. For all he knew, governesses and footmen socialized in the kitchens and servants’ hall. Perhaps some matches were made, once in a while.

  Still. Miss Gilbert was not here to make friends. She was here to make Frances a lady.

  As though the governess had read his mind, she said quietly, “And when will I have the pleasure of first meeting your daughter?”

  “Frances,” corrected Timothy, despite himself. Ye gods, he needed to get himself out of that habit if he was going to ensure no rumors ever left this house. “Yes, Mrs. Seton will bring her in for a few moments.”

  There was a look of genuine confusion on Miss Gilbert’s face as she asked, “Not your wife? I had assumed the countess would be here to dine with us, even if she were visiting friends in the neighborhood.”

  It was such an innocent question, asked with no guile. No, she spoke as she found. How could he explain it all? She had barely been here five minutes, and already she was asking the pertinent questions he absolutely would not answer.

  Not yet. Not until he knew he could trust her.

  True, Miss Gilbert had betrayed no faults that would encourage him to return her to London. She was polite, genteel, and genuinely discreet, which was a miracle.

  But it was too soon for her to hear the whole sorry tale––or at least, to hear the portion of the truth that he would have to, eventually, tell her.

  “You do not have anything to fear from me.”

  Timothy looked at Miss Gilbert, who had spoken softly but with real warmth. How did she do it? How did she intuit precisely what his concern was at any given moment?

  “I can keep my silence, if required,” she said softly, “but it is always easier to lie when one knows the truth.”

  Timothy could not help but laugh dryly. Well may she say that, in her ignorance. Ignorance was a state he was determined to keep her in. For now.

  “The countess is not here,” he said, trotting out the lie that all the household had agreed, even Mrs. Seton, and that had taken some persuading. “She is away. For her health.”

  It was not the best lie. Timothy was aware of that. If he had had any sense, he would have created a more complex falsehood that would have stood up to questioning. But he was loath to create worthless drivel merely to appease the curiosity of a stranger.

  Miss Gilbert surprised him. The curiosity he had been expecting never came.

  Instead, she nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Relief surged through his heart. Another obstacle overcome, and though it was with a lie, it was a cleverly chosen one.

  Away for her health. It was vague enough not to require proof, but personal enough that anyone with good breeding would not dare to ask any more questions.

  Clearly Miss Gilbert was one such well-bred lady, for she did not appear to have any questions to follow.

  Timothy fiddled with the fork beside his plate. Damn this silence, damn this waiting! He had found himself a lady, that was true––didn’t she mention at one point in the journey here that her father had been a gentleman?––but still, there was nothing more awkward than sitting in silence with a person one did not know.

  Her father a gentleman, and yet here she was, a servant in another person’s home? The family must have fallen on hard times if a daughter of the house was working for her keep.

  What could have happened?

  Though tempted to ask, Timothy held back. That was a dangerous path. As soon as he asked a question, it would surely give her the right to ask more questions.

  Questions he would not answer.

  Besides, she was just a governess, nothing more.

  The door behind him opened once again, to Timothy’s relief, bringing in not just the next course of their meal but––

  “Papa!”

  Timothy beamed. There she was; the one creature in the world he could look at without hatred or irritation.

  Frances. She was hand in hand with Mrs. Seton but quickly released her grip to rush towards him, giggling wildly.

  “Come here, you little rascal!” Timothy could feel his heart practically bursting with affection. The one person who looked at him and smiled, who would never betray him. “And what do you think you’re doing?”